A politician lives behind us. He’s apparently well-known in NY, but completely unknown by his curious female neighbor. I’m just as curious about the old man who occupies the small, tidy apartment to his left and loves to feed squirrels. He’s feeding squirrels when I wake up. Feeding squirrels when the sun is burning the very top of my head midday. Feeding squirrels when I look at my comfortable bed at 3 and fight everything in me not to lay down for just a sec. Feeding squirrels when I’m feeding myself as the sun inches quietly below the soil.

I’ve never seen a man so contented by feeding squirrels. It makes me wonder if he has anyone else, and I sure hope the answer is yes. Some days, I love that he’s feeding the squirrels. Other days, I find it terribly sad because I go down the lonely rabbit trail of questions, wondering who he has to love him in return. And is he as kind to individuals as he is to the animals? Is he an enjoyable person outside of the 6 X 12 ft. window?

Sardines in one shared Manhattcan. That’s what we are here.

Does he have anyone else?

Who’s she talking to on the phone that makes her laugh that hard in bed? A sister? Brother? Lover?

A dinner party. Does he even like those people? Is he waiting for them to leave so he can be alone?

Why that painting on the wall? It’s fabulous. So perfect with his colors.

And so on.

There’s the squirrel feeder. And the housecleaner who lives on the top floor. And the important politician. And white-sheets-early-bedtime lady. And phone woman. I’ve never seen someone laugh so hard on the phone. She talks at the same time each night and I’m convinced it’s a lover in a far away land who commits to calling at the same time each evening.

And so on.

Home. A place where people return to unwind and turn off. Instantly, in that space, it doesn’t matter who each person is or isn’t in society. They are all the same when viewed through a window.

The politician, to me, is a boy with his dog.

Wag

wag wag wag

wagwagwagwagwagwagwagwagwagwagwag. Important politician Boy is home. It’s the only time of day Old Yeller gets this excited. Boy puts his things upstairs in his room. Boy return to the living room to work on his blackberry sit with his dog at his feet. Dog licks boy’s toes. Boy pets dog. Dog rests his head upon boy’s lap. Boy lets him. And they sit, night after night, alone together.

Goodbye for now. I love view.

]]> http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/21/a-boy-and-his-dog/feed/ 7 Mackenzie Rollins window_1 window_2 window_3 window_4 http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/20/3560/ http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/20/3560/#comments Sat, 21 Nov 2009 01:50:21 +0000 Mackenzie Rollins http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/?p=3560 ]]>

SoHo, NY.

Alki Beach, Seattle, WA.

Goodbye for now -n- I love you.

(Don’t ask. I’m kind of sick. It must be the cold medicine, right?)

Dear Sister ‘O Mine,

Even though you’re cruel to animals and like to eat them raw (while others *kindly hold them), my love for you remains. I’m not happy that your visit has come and gone. Frump. Hmph.

I love you and can’t wait to see you at Thanks. Oh geez will we give some thanks.

Xo,

Kenz

Separated by concrete posts, buzzing fluorescent bulbs, layers of polyester. Separated by race, creed, borough. Separated by career, social standing, waistline. Are you a fan of elephant or ass? Fox or CNN? SoHo or UES?

As I watch all the people tucked around me in subways, I can’t help but drown in the differences. I submerge myself each day deep breath gulp! down the stairs into the city’s overactive and growling underbelly.

A few friends and I were talking about our subway experiences last night at dinner. I have to force myself not to have my iPod in the whole time… or I spend all my people-energy at work and my commute is my down time. I don’t talk to people and I don’t want to… or I find the subways to be really depressing. Everyone is in a rush. No one looks up. Everyone’s in their own world. There’s no desire for interaction.

I fall on the opposite side of the spectrum. Neither side is good or bad, but different.

I enjoy the subways. I enjoy rubbing shoulders with all of humanity. I can’t wait for the free peek into peoples’ lives, however uninteresting they prove to be. I appreciate the differences in race, financial status, clothing style (and goodNIGHT nurse there are some odd ones here, not that I know anything about fashion.) I love that everyone has something about them that’s  a bit off. A scuffed boot toe, two shades lighter than the rest – an indication of much walking, little money. A strand of hair, unhinged, though the others stay firmly in place. Smells of hairspray, cigarettes, expired perfume, intrusive body odor. Skirts tucked into pantyhose. Smudged mascara – at 8:00 a.m.! Gasp. The smell of someone’s bologna sandwich crawling into my nostrils.

The subway experience in NY has proven to be one of my favorite aspects of living in this city, daily. I’m realizing more and more how small I am in the scheme of things. How I can make my little dent in the world, but that its enough. That just as each face was intentionally created by God, each face will be intentionally cared for by God, whether that involves me or not. I’m at a point of trying to find where my small dent is (or should be) in the world. I suppose I’ve been doing that for a few years now, but this hailstorm feels on the verge of ceasing…or at least calming to 20 mph winds. I am learning to pull close those who have sat in the wake of my storms and have held on for dear life. Having Darc here this weekend was one of those times. I wanted to pull her close and never let go.

NY continues to be good to me. I’m grateful to be here.

Goodbye for now. I love you.

I think I’ll wear the pink and brown striped ones with the tired elastic waist. Those are my softest AND the hot chocolate won’t show if I spill some while we watch the movie. Ooh, and those green fuzzy socks mom bought me. Who cares if they don’t match? I wonder what movie we’ll watch? Maybe even two?!?! And we can stay up late and build a fort and whisper into the wee hours of the morning and cook a yummy breakfast and go to the park … and … and …

Darcy came to visit me this weekend and it was that kind of weekend. A comfy pajamas with elastic waist kind of weekend. A time when you feel cozy, held, and warm while also getting a chance to play and explore new magical forts (or cities) together. We stayed up late. Went to a few shows on Broadway. Added a few restaurants to my “fav places to eat in NY” list. Laughed. Laughed some more. Caught up on all the drama. Boys, jobs, routines, frustrations, little victories, our (cutest) niece (ever). Bandaged blisters from walking too far. Rode ferries. Ticker tape paraded. Drooled over Jude Law as he quoted SHAKESPEARE. (Think fried OREO. Or first class on a DIRECT flight. Or everyone able to be together for Christmas IN Paris. Something good made that much better.) Made a pseudo-fort. Whispered. Giggled. Taxi’d. Cried over beautiful choreography, costumes. Spilled. ed ed ed.

The movie we watched was better than I could’ve imagined as I yanked those striped pajamas up my thighs. The socks kept my toes warm. The whispering filled my soul with joy. The breakfast was worthy of superlatives. The park, magical. It has topped my list as my favorite time ever with Darc.

There are so many pictures to go through from this and that and that and… and…

Goodbye pretty Darc. I love you and miss you.

There are two people in life. People who always have the perfect haircut. Whose hair always looks fabulous and magazine-worthy. And then there are the rest of us, whose hair always just misses. And when your haircut just misses, it really misses. It’s almost cute, almost flattering, but just…well, not. Like that discounted pair of jeans you bought at Ross because they saved you twenty dollars. Not anywhere as cute as the Joe’s you tried, but you don’t mind just missing to save a few bucks.

And so it is with hair. You (I) go to a cheaper barber (Are they even referred to as barber’s anymore? That tells you a little sumpin’ sumpin’ about the places I’m going) to save a few bucks and leave on the verge of tears EVERY time. Hold it in, hold it in. Don’t hurt her feelings. She knows not what she does (did) and how she just ruined my life until this grows out in 2014.

It happens every time I go for a haircut. EVERY time. Texas. Bosnia. Seattle. And now New York. I have a glorified mullet this very moment, which is so not okay on the upper east side.

Phillip (above) is only 16 months old and already knows a bad haircut when he sees one. When I held up my hair, his comment:

Uh oh. Oh no! Oh no!

Lovely.

I hate getting my haircut. I wish I knew what to ask for. I wish they could guess exactly what I wanted and make my hair perfect. How do all the other girls manage to come out with that hair?

Goodbye for now. I love you, and your haircut, be it good or ghastly.

]]> http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/05/yet-another-hairy-situation/feed/ 9 Mackenzie Rollins me_pdid http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/05/garb-de-ghouls/ http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/2009/11/05/garb-de-ghouls/#comments Thu, 05 Nov 2009 14:50:11 +0000 Mackenzie Rollins http://goodmorningsarajevo.wordpress.com/?p=3435 ]]>

Ghoulbye for now. I love you.

Above: THE studio on Greene Street, by night.

Below: My beautiful friend, Hannahbell. Okay, so I added the last part but it fits. She’s a designer for Marc Jacobs and their office happens to be a few streets away, which makes for convenient lunch/coffee rendevous’. She’s girly and graceful, with fair skin and the cutest giggle. Her eyes sparkle when she smiles and speak of deep joy and hope. She flitted into my life the first week I was in New York. Funny story, really. And go…

I moved up here on a Monday. Toward the end of that week, I was invited to go to dinner on a lady’s rooftop. I had no idea who she was or what she did. I knew no one else at the table, with the exception of my kind friend who invited wide-eyed-Texas-doe-who-needs-friends to come along. So I went. I enjoyed the time with them on that rooftop. It was incredibly comforting being around the warmth and laughter of people who clearly enjoyed one another. I felt hopeful that I, too, could find good friends to laugh with in this city.

We wined and dined. I left, not ever talking to gentle-lamb-woman-who-hosted-rooftop-dinner.

Until…

I started a Bible study on Thursday nights. The second week, guess who walks in the door? And guess who is “partnered” with me for prayer?

The fairy herself.

Flitter. Flutter. Fairy dust.

She’s become the woman I know best here. We laugh, cry, pray, eat, wine & whine to each other. Goodness am I thankful for her dainty little brave heart.

In a city of 23 million people, one can make all the difference.

Goodbye for now. I love you.

* And speaking of Tinkerbell, I got the cutest pictures of a Teagenbell today. Trina, thank you so much for those! She looked fabulous! It’s good to know that there’s a little fairy dust being scattered on both coasts, though I do think this coast could use a little of yours. I think a visit is in order.