More like a journal

Do I push the send button to buy two tickets to New York so that Ronald and I can attend the Ad Age Hispanic Creative Awards Gala this Friday evening? We don't yet know if we have tickets to the event, so the executive decision here is whether to go regardless or wait until we're sure in order to book. But what if the flights sell out? I luv JetBlue and feel like they love me back. Mijita Evelyn has graciously invited us to stay at her home in Park Slope, and it's been many months since we've seen each other. That grounds me, because it makes the trip more meant to be. The big question is whether I wait for Ronald in order to confirm, or do it myself as a voilá moment. What will he think about a 7:15 am departure out of Ft. Lauderdale? I think I'll wait a minute or two. But let me put it out there; I am visualizing lovely interactions, and the thrill of experiencing New York together. I see us three on Sunday morning sipping Bustelo on the hammock in Evelyn

3 am Sunday morning, haven't gone to bed, Ronald viewed a tutorial for color masking video and I've been here, such are the benefits of marriage that Saturday nights can feel so full. We had a glorious dry sunny Saturday and even swam in the ocean. Now the rain drenches outside, and perhaps a lot of friends will show up in the afternoon, one of those parties that just occurs.

A recurring theme in my life is my deprogramming. I am of an intense spirituality, a "nice Jewish girl" deeply involved with G-d, intimidated by the orthodoxy required to really understand the K, but loving it just the same, have stepped into other spiritualities, seeking teachings of the Sufi, the Yogi, the Buddha, all adding to my understanding. For several years I grew into a devotee of a teacher, enthralled in the beauty of her power, knowing i was in the arms of a cult but not caring because of the bliss of the experience, the transformation in me, aware that it was all too controlled,  strange, and incredibly appealing. However, once I realized people were being mistreated, I was out of there, brokenhearted, but seeking the words of kindred spirits and lovers of the I recently encountered a most captivating blog, a poignancy that wouldn't allow me to stop reading, so astoundingly written, with the softness of autumn leaves on the humid, smoky ground of Nove