oh autumn. delicious autumn.

listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere,

don't always agree it's real,

even with my feet upon it

and the postman knowing my door

my address is somewhere else.

hafiz

a little letter.

ben is my friend.

we are both from houston. and we both like mexican food.

we met the summer after our junior year. in chicago. not houston. (go figure).

ben was my prom date. it was 80's themed. he wore a blue t-shirt with a gray blazer. and yes, the collar was popped. i wore a metallic blue dress that i had gotten off of ebay. (and so much eye-shadow that i will never speak of it again).

and then ben and i both went to juilliard.

i've blogged about him before. because he's funny. and he makes me laugh.

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the week before i left for my three-month-summer-sojourn i got to see ben quite a bit. there's something about spending time with a person who's known you for a while. who comes from the same place. and shares the same love of food.

we talked about how i was on a saturday morning flight to houston. and ben on a flight to los angeles that same day. we talked about this several times. (at least three) but never mentioned the time of the flight or from the airport from which we'd be flying.

i was on a terribly early flight--a flight that only i would choose.

i remember being unbelievably afraid that morning. walking out of the apartment. the cab to the airport. my god, what was i doing?

getting through security. rolling my large suitcase. panicked heart-beats.

and arriving at the gate. at something like six in the morning.

and i looked over. and there across the sea of blue seats was ben. head-cocked, looking at me.

and i laughed. because he'd chosen the crack-of-dawn-flight too. and he'd gotten there even earlier than me. kindred spirits we are. yes, he was off to la, but he was catching a connecting flight through houston. go figure.

ben's presence that morning (and the surprise of it) was a little gift of some higher power. to calm my breathing. and remind me that we're given what exactly what is needed, exactly when we need it.

we talked our way into neighboring seats. and as i began the first leg of my journey, i did so with a friend.

ben was off to la because he got this little job. doing a television show. no big deal. he's the lead, but whatever. and it's on nbc following the office, but you know, that's life.

i've seen the pilot. and i must say the show is lovely and funny and so well done. and ben is gorgeous in it. absolute perfection.

i'm most excited for the people-magazine-spread about him that is sure to come. because they always dig up high-school prom photos (and need i remind you that we went to prom together?).

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i suppose this is an open love letter to ben. a thanks for his friendship. (despite kinda ditching him at the dance, despite the hard years of school, despite my hermetic tendencies).

ben, darling, i'm so proud of you.

and sorry ladies, he's taken. and not by me.

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watch ben on outsourced this thursday. 9:30/8:30 central.

(ps: i totally have a crush on the guy playing "man-meat")

returning. coming home.

the city in autumn is equal parts explosion and bouquet.

it is profusion of light.

it is the soft, gray glow of saturday evenings. autumn creeping in. playing a taunting, haunting game of hide-and-seek.

it is the young jewish boys. celebrating the high holiday. dressed in fine, black suits, slightly too big. each one holding the door open for an elder. an act of reverence and honor. of youth bowing before tradition and history and all that is to come.

it is the ichabod-crane-like-trees buttressing the north side of the museum of natural history. tall and thin. bare, white trunks. high, reaching arms. silent screams to the sky.

it is the grid of streets. crossword puzzles for the feet.

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i fell in love with the city my first night back.

i saw it for its parts. and its whole. i saw it with the expanse of my back. and i saw with the crook of my elbow. i saw it with my feet and my fingers and my nose and the strands of hair just around my face.

i felt the city. and there on the blackened streets, beneath the thinning trees i offered thanks for both the odyssey and the return home.

giving thanks.

there are moments when i can't get over how incredibly fortunate i am.

when the sheer weight of all the blessings in my life is almost too much to bear.

and so i find myself sending up silent prayer after silent prayer. giving thanks.

thanks for mornings in the kitchen, here in my childhood home. the streaming light and marble countertops.

for time with my mother. in the car. running errands. talking about all the things that mothers and daughters talk about. for the habit and comfort of it.

thanks for my father. and the fact that he drags me to the gym with him. and plops 5 lb. barbells in my hands as i walk on the treadmill.

thanks for parents who rally around me. protect me when they sense it is needed.

for nights out to new italian restaurants. and nights in watching silly television.

for the comfort of the tree-lined streets and blazing-heat.

for a home i can always return to. a cocoon of love and safe-keeping.

and the freedom to leave. and live my life. mistakes and all.

image.