A Thousand Words,

I miss the summer I could have had.

If someone were to write a book about us,

The book would have to be written from an outside perspective. I can only imagine that we are that much more fascinating from the third person. To become disconnected from the fine threads of our lives which have become interlaced over time.

The bends and swirls of conversation and action so natural it must seem unnerving.

We, who feel extremely open and compassionate are probably seen as cold and exclusive by those trying to enter in.

I can see the lines typed on the bottom of some off white page between hardcover bindings. It will seem commonplace to some, but it will nail it on the head for others. (I enjoy using literary cliches when it comes to us).

"No one knows quite what to think when it comes to them," she said, her voice barely traveling the few inches to my ears, "they seem harmless enough, but no one can deny they keep to themselves."

On afternoons,

Today I sat on the beach and thought about the sun.


I woke up earlier than I should have considering the time I went to sleep. I am not a morning person but I managed to crawl out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water run yesterday's chlorine down the drain. I brushed my hair out, letting the breeze dry it the way it would, and slipped into my most comfortable pair of shorts.

We all met at the park. Scattered in the far corner were tables covered in white and red checkered table cloths. It all seemed so picturesque, but this was real.

Almost immediately I found myself running down to the beach with friends. We walked along, picked up sea glass in a second nature kind of way, and chatting in the easy familial fashion. I didn't notice as my calves readjusted to the kind of walking one has to do on fine sand, and the burning sun didn't make my eyes squint.

Later, as the army of small blond haired children ran relay races I was shown the truth of the statement, "It takes a village to raise a child". Everyone's food was open to devouring, and everyone was fair game in the water gun fight.

Then I went to the beach alone. I didn't go far, but just long enough so the sand to seaweed ratio was a different and the people were fewer and far between. I turned my back to the ocean and glanced at the path behind me.

It was just a dirt path running through the few yards of trees that separated the park from the beach. But the trees on either side had overgrown and it created an arch over the entryway. It seemed like something sacred, and it reminded me of so many pictures I had seen on postcards. I knew that few friends of mine would believe something so achingly beautiful existed here on my island.

I turned back and squinted at what may be the ocean or may just be Narrows bay. If I squinted hard enough I could ignore the people at the very edges of my vision. If I concentrated on the sound of the waves hard enough, I could ignore the lifeguards voice to my right. With the slightest help from my imagination, I could see the sail boats in the distance being made of cheap plastic and containing doll house toys. If I were alone here, this moment wouldn't be any less beautiful. I could feel no less significant in this universe, even if all life disappeared.

Later, as I returned to the picnic, and surrounded myself with the stories, and the camaraderie I was faced with a question I will never be able to answer.

People without a solid church family... what do they fill that hole with? When that small part of you isn't allowed to blossom in the sun, where does it go?

On Billboards,

Before my concert last night, we parked the car in Chelsea. It just so happened it was right underneath a billboard for Armani featuring David Beckham.

All you boys should count yourselves lucky that I was able to stop myself from sending a picture of it to Moment pic.

The Day that Wendy's Broke My Heart,

My grandmother, being the saintly woman of God that she is, yelled down to me this afternoon while I was watching Lost. She told me that Kari had asked her to go to Wendy's, was there anything I wanted.

Now, lately I have been trying to break my addiction to Diet Coke (and really artificial sweeteners in general) so we haven't had any Diet Coke in the house for the past week or so. However, when a girl's grandmother is making a Wendy's run, your instincts tend to take over.

While running up the stairs I was already yelling, "Yeah, gram do you think you could get me a large diet coke!" (Because guess what, its diet, and you can get a large if you want to.)

Coincidentally, Hannah was yelling the same thing at the same time I was. I was not the only one feeling the pains of withdrawal.

So for the next half hour I thought of the most glorious thing in the world. The large yellow cup which my grandmother would walk through the door with. Hannah and I actually had a long discussion about how the majority of the world just doesn't, shouldn't, couldn't possibly understand the joy of the ice cold diet coke.

Well, you can imagine that when gram's silver Honda civic pulled back in the driveway, Hannah and I were sitting on the stoop waiting for her. The ultimate summer indulgence was about to be had.

The first sip was not as I had imagined. Why, may you ask. Because it was thick, intensely sweet, and with the sour after taste I had long associated with things I had no business putting in my mouth. Yes, I had in my hand a large glass of regular Coke. Regular, full calorie Coke.

Hannah and I just looked at each other, and walked back inside.

"Let's just absorb," Sarah proclaimed as the train came to a stop.

There are people on this planet who spend thousands of dollars on plane tickets and traveling expenses to fly to New York City and do exactly what I did today for $6. Every time I come home I remember this, and every time I leave I forget.

Sarah (my trusty and true travel companion and fellow adventurer) and I left the island at a spur of the moment decision that today we needed to be at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So we went. Because Sarah and I listen to the wind and go where we are needed.

We ate our sandwiches in Central Park and Sarah tortured some innocent birds. Kristin's cinnamon cookies went to great use as a snack for this one baby bird, but before the baby could get to it a sparrow came and grabbed it right up. I believe Sarah startled some of the people present by shouting, "YOU LITTLE BASTARD GET AWAY FROM HIM! LOOK AT THIS LINDSAY, NEVER TELL ME TO BE NICE TO ANIMALS AGAIN."

Another of my favorite Sarah quotes came a bit after that. I was waiting for her outside one of the park bathrooms and she came storming out and said, "Lets just go." I asked her what had happened and she said, "Well, I went into the stall and there was pee on the seat but no toilet paper, and then some girl went in after me so she probably thinks I peed on the seat. Also, there were two girls making out in there and it just wasn't working out for me."

We found out after awhile that the Met was actually closed (as it is every Monday, apparently) but this was for the best. Because God had a whole lot more planned for us this afternoon, and like the girls we are we took it all and ran. Because Sarah and Lindsay are not held back by silly things like calendars. The good time is with us wherever we go, you remember that now children.

So we took to meandering, because we're so good at that. We strolled through the park, and sat and looked good doing it. We sat by the fountain and I thought about how if I could choose to be one place forever it would be right there. We ran down Madison avenue in the pouring rain. I had hot subway air puff at my face and realized no one else understands that feeling but New Yorkers. I finally told someone about the thing I'm doing which nobody knows.

We sat in Union Square for a good hour, watching the people walk by. We drank our Venti Starbucks (because we are the kind of girls who get Venti's) and tried to pick out the strangest looking people. We finished the day in the Strand, where I could have spent the whole day, and where I will spend many more rainy afternoons.

I discovered several truths and shall document them here-
I love doing nothing in the city more than doing nothing anywhere else.
Sarah and I are always moving full speed and enthusiastically in the same direction.
Rain does not dampen our days.

I read once,

I read once in a magazine that some celebrity believes that life moves in seven year cycles. That you can see common patterns in your seven year blocks. Common lessons you should be learning, common obstacles you come up against. That you are, in most ways, the same person for a solid seven years, until you shift into your next stage.

I've thought about this a lot lately. If any of it is true, I am close to ending one of my seven year blocks. I am seven months away from my twenty first birthday.

I will allow myself to indulge in this idea for a few moments.

In the years between 14 and 21 I have faced very little tragedy. I do not believe I have been tested to my limits and the idea that this next chapter could hold that is... frightening.

I have always been successful... could this this next chapter hold failure on the epic scale?

Could the things I have been yearning for be found in the next seven years?

My head is full and my heart holds no answers. My God is silent in directions and my feet don't want to move.

The newest type I am fascinated by,

People who are living on the fringes of one of the greatest cities in the world who believe their lives will begin once they leave the island.

How can we all be so willing to believe that our chances of going up are better than going down?

A thought on friendships,

I was very wary of coming home this year.

However, my Thursday night changed that for me.

Thursday night was spent in the company of three of my closest female friends. These are friends which do not need to be tended to all year long. These are friends who are growing closer and closer as the years go by. These are friends who I always turn to when I begin to lose myself. They can always remind me of who I am.

It's a fascinating pattern. We all move in separate directions for months at a time. Some of us battle the wintry winds of Western New York. Some of us spend their winters in flip-flops. Some of us stay here, waiting for the lost to return.

But inevitably, when our foot steps are all retread and we come back to the island. It all just fits.

Our friendships were hard. Sometimes we didn't all like each other, and sometimes it took a damn lot of work to make them happen. But now we are older, and time seems to have blessed us.

We have something valuable. It is so valuable that sometimes I can forget how much it means.

We have history together. We have grown and changed. As we watched each other change we would always shove over and make room for whatever was necessary. We have stuck by each other's sides and now we can look back with joy.

I love the blonde's from Staten Island I choose to spend my time with. I love how I can sit in a kitchen and talk to their parents just as easily as I can talk to them...

So now, yes, I am finally ready to start my summer.

Because my friends are readers,

1. Grab the nearest book.


2. Open the book to page 123.


3. Find the fifth sentence.


4. Post it, and the next 2-3 sentences along with these instructions.


5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).


6. See if anyone can guess what book it's from.

"She would have to send her kisses on the wind, hoping that the wind would touch the boy's face, and would tell him that she was alive. That she was waiting for him, a woman awaiting a courageous man in search of his treasure. From that day on, the desert would represent only one thing to her: the hope for his return."