(Jul. 21, 2004) - At the age of 9, I probably could have recited most of Marguerite Henry’s book, Misty of Chincoteague, from memory. Horses, at the time, were my passion — I rode them, read about them, drew them, and would have done just about anything to have one of my own. I fantasized about participating in the annual roundup and "pony swim" between the islands of Assateague and Chincoteague, Va., and about buying one of the ponies at auction the following day (never mind that we would have to find space for the pony in our little townhouse in Bronxville). It never happened, and gradually I turned my attention to other things. But when I got an opportunity, at the age of 41, to finally see the annual July pony-penning for myself, I was as excited as a child.
(Dec. 21, 2003) - Last year, my son, Alessandro, put on hold a career in which he’d been successful beyond any of our expectations. He had what many would consider a dream job — glamorous, high-profile, and quite lucrative considering he only worked a few hours a week at most. Not bad for someone who started working before he could sit up on his own and, at the end, could only express his desire to retire by screaming and refusing to leave my arms when he arrived at work one day.
(Nov. 21, 2003) - Cassius Clay rolls a flaming torch down his chest, and then nonchalantly inserts it in his mouth (Clearly, this would be in the "Don’t try this at home" category). A little later, three masked men on stilts dance to Caribbean music, making moves from eight feet up that I wouldn’t try on the ground. We’ve seen limbo dancers, colorfully-costumed dancers re-enacting 18th-century life in Bridgetown, and barely-costumed dancers shaking and leaping to every form of music known to Barbados in the past 300 years.
(Sep. 21, 2003) - I’ll take a cruise any way I can get it, but I’ve always thought that sailing out of New York Harbor would have a movie-like glamour and grandeur which would be hard to replicate in a port like, say, Baltimore.
(Sep. 21, 2003) - I awoke, as I often do, at 4:30 in the morning. This time, however, I found myself in a Junior Suite at The Lodge at Catskill Corners, in what may have been the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.
(Apr. 21, 2003) - Twenty-five hours after our train left Penn Station and started south through snow-crusted New Jersey factory yards, my husband, my son and I stumbled like three sleepwalkers into Club Med Sandpiper's courtyard, gratefully inhaling the humid Florida evening breeze.
(Apr. 21, 2003) - Shrunken heads, waxen gangsters, a carousel, street magicians, ice cream, and lots of reptiles. Just the right ingredients for a perfect vacation — and all available in St. Augustine, Florida.