I have yet to be eaten by a bear.

Even in the center of the western world, New York City, I find a little bit of heaven barefoot in the grass in Central Park, chomping on a Snow Cone. As I relaxed on July 4th, Independence Day, with my faux-family in Allentown, PA, I came to the realization that I long passed my own "independence day." And yet, somehow, I am still not entirely dependent. I find myself relying on others now more than ever, now that I am part of the Real World. This morning I woke up thinking I was driving someone just 45 minutes away to a NJ Transit stop in Dover. Shortly thereafter I found myself in Newark on a train to New York City, without earphones, wireless card, or cellular phone. I'm heading back out on the subway to Penn Station just as soon as I can remember how to get there and rest my toes. I spent $4 on the ticket to NY, $2 on the subway, and $5 on the Met (don't go to see the Tara Donavan piece, it's unimpressive at best, and if there were more air currents in the room it might be a little more lively.) Artscape is going on in Baltimore, and here I am, miles away and a world apart from all I know and love, and I'm doing just fine okay at that. ...And now, just hours later, I'm back on the porch of my cabin, Twins, enjoying a hazy late afternoon and watching the young phoebe's that nested atop my porch light hawk and hover in pursuit of some unlucky flies and such. Drinking white birch beer and enjoying the midsummer breeze, I've got to say that New Jersey, thus far, has become quite good to me.