Woke up, fell out of bed.

An Ephron piece brought some peace from homesickness today. I was at home for a moment.

It is increasingly evident as I read more of her work that Nora Ephron is a kindred spirit (a phrase I often borrow from Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Montgomery: “bosom buddy” or “kindred spirit”).  Ephron passed away yesterday (may she rest in peace), but we are lucky to have the glimpses into her soul, life, and mind through the fruits of her creative work we are free to peruse, view, and enjoy.     

I felt emotional while reading the line, “The point I want to make is that love may or may not be homesickness, but homesickness is definitely love” - Nora Ephron (from Moving On: A Love Story, The New Yorker, June 5, 2006).

The perspective and understanding that she reflects in this piece made me feel understood and not alone in my thoughts of late on life and values, effectively making me feel at home and almost leaves me with the sentiment that “everything will be okay, just go on the ride that is life.”  

The piece, insert hyperlink here: http://archives.newyorker.com/?i=2006-06-05#folio=034, revealed several lines that resonated strongly with me, especially given the context of my life at this moment.  

Here are some quotes that truly resonated with me, and I apologize for not elaborating (or feel obligated to apologize, because really I just want to remember these quotes for myself and watch how meaning changes for me over the years given that I see this blog as a pseudo journal of my life escapades-at least of documented moments where I feel enough inspiration or motivation to post, as well as when it is exceedingly convenient for me to post, hahah the beauty of the era of smartphones.)  

MMMMM okay fine. Some facts/thoughts that will help inform your understanding as to why I relate to Ephron’s perspective or the below quotes: (1) Like Ephron who graduated from Wellesley, I was one of the last graduating classes from Douglass College at Rutgers University, the women’s college where we had additional requirements focused on women’s studies, but also took classes all over Rutgers University-New Brunswick campus; (2) I fit into a certain make and model, if you will: I was born in the city, grew up in central NJ, then lived in the city while I finished my Master’s- upper upper east side actually (ironic after you read the article) and now I live in Denver; (3) My confirmation name is Cecilia, the patron saint of music (again read article); (4) the premise of this piece places high value on love, the idea of loving and having relationships with an idea or situation, such as a culture or a location, but then puts it all in another perspective by the end, which reminds one that life is a journey and we are ever-changing around a central core (like the earth).  

Quotes from Moving On: A Love Story, by Nora Ephron. (The New Yorker, June 5, 2006) :

“On the other hand, I wasn’t exactly me.  I was in love.  I was a true believer, just like one of those French villagers in the Middle Ages who come to believe they’ve seen the tears of St. Cecilia on a scrap of oilcloth; I was a character in a story about mass delusion and the madness of crowds.  I was in short, completely nuts.”

“I signed it because I was, as you already know, an expert in rationalization, and I convinced myself…”

“Many years ago, when I was in analysis, my therapist used to say, ‘Love is homesickness’…but I don’t mean to digress.  The point I want to make is that love may or may not be homesickness, but homesickness is definitely love.”

“My rent had effectively been rasied four hundred per cent in three years.  

And, just like that, I fell out of love. Twelve thousand dollars a month is a lot of cappuccino.  And guess what?  I don’t even drink cappuccino.  I never have…

The new place was considerable smaller than the apartment in the Apthorp.  It was on the Upper East Side, a neighborhood that on some level I had spent more than twenty years thinking of as the enemy of everything I held dear.  It was nowhere near a Cuban-Chinese restaurant.  But the fireplace worked, the doorman opened the door, and the Chinese food was delivered to your apartment.  Within hours of moving in, I was at home.  I was astonished.  I was amazed.  Most of all, I was mortified… What failure of imagination had cause dme to forget that life was full of possibilities, including the possibility that eventually I would fall in love again?  

On the other hand, I am never going to dream about this new apartment of mine.  

At least I haven’t so far.

And I am never going to feel romantic about the neighborhood-although I have to say that it’s much more appealing than I would have guessed.  

But it’s not love.  It’s just where I live.”