Pinch of Dirt

Dear reader, I’ve missed you! I’ve missed writing to you; I’ve missed hearing from you. I just don’t quite feel the same when I’m not newslettering. They say that chronically online people would probably benefit from just keeping a diary already and not putting everything out there (I’m almost entirely sure this is true). But—I like thinking aloud, and I’ve missed doing it.

Dear readers, I have many more thoughts on Big Sur, fast travel, car camping, our disconcerting journey through California’s endless almond groves, Yosemite, and the legendary Camp Four. I hope to share those with you all soon enough. But of late, I’ve been finding it difficult to make time to write this newsletter on top of my full-time job and the never-ending hassle of keeping oneself alive.

My parents honeymooned in Big Sur after they were married. The ceremony was small—the only two people in attendance were my great aunt and uncle, R&R. My mom wore a light gray wool suit that I would have loved to have appropriated for myself, but when she took it out of storage when I was very small it was riddled with moth holes. (If that had happened more recently, I might have said don’t throw it out, I can fix it.) After the wedding, R&R rented my parents a cabin in Big Sur.

The month I entered and got into the Big Sur marathon, I ran just twice. The month after, I ran three times. At the time, E and I were preparing for a move, mentally and physically, and running and other healthy habits are always the first thing to go when I’m busy and under stress. So when it came time to train, I was starting from level zero in all ways except one: I knew without a shred of doubt that I could run a marathon, because I already had.

When we left New York, the trees were still in flower—and those that don’t flower were just a bunch of sticks, really, with small nubs of green dotting their limbs. We touched down in San Francisco six hours later after a bumpy flight, and hightailed it to Taqueria San Bruno, a Mexican restaurant just a few minutes away from the rental car center with a salsa bar and some of the largest veggie tacos I have ever encountered.

It’s Boston Marathon Monday for those who observe and in honor of the occasion I thought I’d share the Boston marathon story that I’ve never quite gotten over. Maybe you’ve seen these photographs: They show Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon as a registered runner in 1967, being attacked on the course by race manager Jock Semple, who tried the rip her number off because he didn’t want women in his race.

I went to Stephen Sondheim’s Old Friends on Friday night. Seeing Bernadette Peters perform live fulfilled a childhood dream I didn’t even know I had, because it didn’t occur to my younger self that that would be a possibility. The revue included six songs from Into the Woods, which has been one of my favorite musicals ever since I saw the recording of the Broadway show at a friend’s house in 5th or 6th grade.

ONE of the things I perpetually tell myself I’m going to learn how to do is to identify New York City trees on sight. This always feels most pressing, delightful, and rewarding in spring, when many of the trees are in bloom. I mean, wouldn’t it be amazing to know (and retain!! the most crucial step) the difference between a Kanzan, a Yoshino, and a Higan cherry tree??

Last weekend, E and I returned to the Long Path. Not to Palenville, where we need to pick up the trail to finish our section hike, but to the start of the trail at the George Washington Bridge. The second-longest long run in my marathon training program is 22-23 miles, and so of course I got the boneheaded idea that we should run (run-walk) 23 of the 24 miles from Manhattan to Nyack, and then have a nice cool-down walk into town.

Ask not what you can do for the trees, but what the trees can do for you. That was my takeaway from “Redwood,” the new musical starring Idina Menzel, now playing on Broadway at the Nederlander Theater.