Feverishly gardening, mowing, and washing clothes; dodging among the rain showers; training children in chick-sitting and greenhouse-watering . . . all in preparation for our trip to New York City on Tuesday. The boys are missing most of a week of school and couldn't be happier. They want to go to the zoo; they want to eat lunch at the U.N.; they are full of big plans for fun fun fun. I wish we had a transporter like in Star Trek so we didn't have to drive for 10 hours to get there, but I am resigned.

Going to New York from rural Maine is like entering a parallel universe. Up here, I forget that such things exist: noise and crowds and restaurants; stores open all night, and a bar on every corner. We stay with friends in Brooklyn, who still live like college boys, by which I mean that they decorate with beer and the stereo and find small reason to clean the bathroom. It's refreshing, and exhausting, to dip back into that lovable old life.

from Manahatta

Walt Whitman

Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,

A million people--manners free and superb--open voices--hospitality

          --the most courageous and friendly young men,

City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!

City nested in bays! my city!