Greetings and salutations!

Thought I would give y’all a bit of a progress report as to what’s going on.

I still have NOT heard back from the NYTimes. Honestly, it’s like I’m a student checking to see if I’ve been admitted into the Ivy League school of my choice. I really, REALLY want this.Now, don’t get me wrong–I submitted my story at the beginning of November, and the website said it would be a minimum of 3-4 months (or more) before they’d get back to me.So, I’m well within the range of expecting a response, but at the same time, within the range that I shouldn’t expect to hear something from them yet.

I was thinking why I want this so much. Part of it is that I believe I can write well when I’m focused and disciplined. Part of it is that I believe I have a story to tell, one that will do me good to finally express after everything that’s gone down between Special K and I.The ultimate act of catharsis–and revenge? LOL, who knows? Really though, that revenge aspect deserves some SERIOUS introspection.

The biggest reason I want this is because it’s the New York Times. New York has always had a special hold on me. I remember the first time I truly experienced it, and it was only a peck on the cheek, but I fell in love.My friend and I were coming back from Washington D.C., and we had an extended stop over in NYC. Being poor, we had taken the bus, and our wait time was long enough so we could leave the Port Authority, and explore a bit. He left his luggage with me, and explored. He came back later…none worse for wear, and then I left. I exited, and stared in amazement at the tableau in front of me. The neon lights, the hustle and bustle, the crowds-the loud noises and the sea of humanity that faced me pulled me in.Not literally-I volunteered to join the crowd in a heartbeat! Mentally and emotionally? I was hooked. I vowed then and there that I would be visiting New York City more often. And I did!

I talked to my friend some years after that bus trip. He said when he first saw the miasma of flesh and noise of NYC, he was scared. There’s nothing wrong with that–NYC city can be a scary place.I think though, it goes to show that even for a brief moment, The Big Apple and I shared a bond. We were meant for each other, and it took less than a New York minute to figure that out.

The New York Times was my lifeblood! It was so smart, so well written and erudite! It provided someone who loved politics and American history a fix that I couldn’t wean myself off of. Even to this day, I get a copy of the Sunday edition.As Carrie Bradshaw said in ‘Sex And The City‘ ” New York is in such a hurry, the Sunday edition of the NY Times is available Saturday night!” (And it’s true, by the way).

I may not have New York any more. With COVID and the perilous state of the body politic, I don’t see myself visiting in the near future. But I will always have my memories, my photos, and my Sunday edition of the NYTimes.

That’s why I want this so badly. I want to be published in the only newspaper that counts and means something to me. I want the cachet of googling my name and seeing my words in The Times. So will I be disappointed if I don’t get it? Absolutely.I will also understand because not just anything gets into the New York Times.

My e-commerce store is coming along. I have a web page designer, and I’m almost done editing and choosing the photos I want to showcase. It’s been a long road, with ups and downs.I think, nay, I hope that people will find my work enchanting enough to purchase as a print, or to have a photo adorn something they will use every day. I have confidence that my work is good. I want to see if my confidence is justified.

Ahhh, this time of year. I started my blog around this time, give or take a few weeks, two years ago because of the emotional devastation I was going through. All the previous blog entries are here. It was a rough time. Time and therapy has done a good job of healing all wounds.I read what I wrote, and respect enough to see where I went wrong, while cringing at the same time, while being thankful that I’ve moved past a lot of the stuff and issues I was dealing with. It’s a roadmap of where I was, and a warning not to do it again.After all, isn’t that why the present is written? To help people in the future?

Every now and then, I do miss the friendship. It’s hard not to in the loneliness of a pandemic. Still, I have him blocked on social media. I was thinking about that. Is that a sign that I’ve healed, or a sign that I’ve got work to do?

G.K. Chesterton said, “Don’t ever take a fence down until you know the reason it was put up.” In the past, I put that fence up to protect me from myself–to make it difficult to stalk, and check up on him.I put it there as a barrier for me–because I couldn’t trust myself, and because I wanted the lines of communication to be open for him to reach out. I think that’s flipped on its head now.I see no reason to remove something which might give the idea that I’m ready for communications, even though the chances are remote, zilch, nil. Like the IRA said of Maggie Thatcher when they almost blew her up-she only has to be unlucky once. LMAO.My fence is a statement of resoluteness and determination. For now. LOL. I can change, and maybe I’ll feel free to take it down sometime. But for now? I’m happy.

So to recap? I think we’ve covered all the “A”s today…Anniversary of my blog, my love of the Big Apple, and the apparitions that former friends and loves that remain in your shadows, haunting you. Maybe “B” next time? We’ll see! Or, We’ll be? LOL.