The best day of my summer

...may have been on Sunday. I had just more than 24 hours at the lake house, with my hubby, so for once, we didn't do chores, we weren't entertaining others, we were bound and determined to make the most of our day at the lake--and make the most of one of the remaining days of the summer. So we slept late, then my husband made us poached eggs with tomatoes from the garden. Then I did a little editing work for a friend--a screenplay, which was interesting. It's amazing how, when you're writing a screenplay, you have to describe every gesture a character makes, every expression that flickers across his face. A very different kind of writing, hugely detailed oriented and more action than dialogue oriented. A good exercise for me.

Next, my husband packed a surprise picnic and we went down to the lake and unlocked the kayak. Usually, I get into the kayak with the goal of just paddling around for a while and getting out, but this experience was both more aimless and more purposeful. First, we skimmed around in a desultory way, searching for osprey and bald eagles (didn't see any, though we did spot turtles and our resident blue heron). Then, my guy broke out a libation: cava with raspberries, followed by a snack of hummos and salsa made from tomatoes from the garden. Nicely buzzed, we paddled around some more, than ended up in a long conversation with neighbors, who were lazily paddling in their kayak. Kind of like conversations over a white picket fence, except this was on the water. Finally, we decided we wanted to get some exercise, so we did five or six sprints, paddling as hard as we could, until we were breathing hard and feeling our muscles. I was shocked that kayaking could feel like actual exercise--when you're doing it hard, you use your entire core, your upper body, and your legs, which press with each stroke. Then, we docked, lolled a bit in our tent, and grilled sliders for dinner. Next summer, my goal is to have more chore-less days, spent paddling on the lake and running into other paddling neighbors. I felt connected to my husband and to nature in a way I haven't for a long while.

Did you ever wish you could swap your life...

for someone else's? Well, when you do a house swap (my favorite site is homeforexchange.com, you kind of get to do that. Sleep in their bed. Look at their photographs. Peruse their bookshelf. (But I promise--no looking in the bedside table drawers!). Beyond the house itself, each swap usually comes with exhaustive lists of local restaurants, the best markets, walks, beaches--mostly things you won't get in any guidebook. And sometimes, friendships develop from these swaps. My hubby and I still see a young woman we met through a swap we did in Brazil (we traded my modest 1 bedroom apartment for a studio in Rio and a fab beach house in Sao Paolo. Not a bad deal). I'm starting to develop a bit of an email friendship with the lovely couple, Avril and David, who swapped with us recently--they spent a few weeks at my pad on the upper west side and a few days at the lake; we settled into their funky, comfy apartment in the wonderful neighborhood of Neve Tzedek, in Tel Aviv. And now, I get to read about their impressions of New York City on David's cool blog, Tel Aviv Rooftop. Turns out we were having parallel experiences. My hubby and I were amazed by the friendliness of Tel Avivians--so unlike New Yorkers, we thought! A & D were amazed by the kindness and generosity of NYers (you guessed it: so unlike citizens of their country). Pretty funny. I say it's the "vacation state of mind" most of us bring to travel: When you're away from home and  routine, your eyes are open, your senses are alert and you are drinking in experiences. It's hard for others not to be attracted to that kind of openness. When I get back from vacation, for the first few days, I catch myself smiling at strangers in the street and expecting to strike up conversations (not always a good idea in the city), until I get back into my "I'm in a hurry--don't bother me" mentality. Sigh. It's nice to know that all of us--my s.o. and I and David and his wife--brought out the best in our respective city dwellers--and maybe ourselves.

Take a look at the amazing photographs taken by David of NYC and our little house by the lake. Fresh eyes, indeed.

Life is just a bowl of...

tomatoes! A country girl I am not, but it feels great to be spending the day at our little lake house, even if it means traveling more than six hours for not much longer than a 24 hour stay. I'm sitting on the deck, resting my eyes on the water and my hubby is topless, lounging on the hammock, listening to "Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me!" on NPR. Our cat is slinking around like the huntress she aspires to be. The brook is burbling. A woodpecker is pecking. The hot tub is heating up. And I've just picked a bowl of tomatoes from our garden. Way more than we could ever eat. At this moment at least, life is exactly as it should be.

Declaration of dependence?

It's important to appreciate the little things after the end of a long vacation. The waning of jet lag. Seeing friends again. Resuming a running routine. (Two days in a row around the Central Park Reservoir and counting, despite a sore toe and knee. Must be getting older, because the number of sore joints are adding up.) Clean laundry. Sleeping in one's own bed. The fact that as hot and steamy as New York City can be in the summer, it will never be quite as hot and steamy as it was in Tel Aviv. Walk outside and dare to step out of the shade and you are instantly drenched in sweat. Or, at least, that's how it was for me.

Then again, coming home also brings a few negatives. Like not being with my honey. After we travel together, I get accustomed to having him around. But I may not see him this weekend, which will mean two weeks spent apart. I have a family event in NYC this weekend, and my s.o. can't come. My current plan is to get on Metro North after the event on Saturday night, ride up to New Haven, have him pick me up, and  spend late Saturday night and Sunday together. Then back to the city Monday morning. Part of me feels silly  doing that kind of traveling for what amounts to not much more than 24 hours together. After all, shouldn't I take the opportunity to enjoy the city, my apartment, solitude, etc., etc? But the truth is, the longer I'm married, the less I like being apart--and a two week separation feels like a big drag. Does that mean I'm turning into a weenie? Becoming too dependent on my husband? I'm not entirely sure. But I miss our little lake house, I miss our cat, Lexi and I miss the physical presence of my partner. Scary to feel so tethered to another person. What has happened to the fiercely independent woman I used to be?

Intertwined? Attached at the hip? How much connectedness is too much?

Does jet lag get worse as you get older?

I'm not sure, but all I know is that it's been a rocky adjustment to life back in NYC. Post vacation goals: appreciate my husband and marriage, spend more time with good friends, less time on my computer and get more sleep, jet lagged or not.

I've never been good at transitions, at comings and goings. After two and a half weeks with my husband in Israel and Istanbul, the prospect of going back to our dual domicile existence was daunting. I'll admit it: When we returned to NYC on Labor Day, after an 11 hour flight (thus the jet lag) I shed a few tears at the prospect of his returning to CT and leaving me alone in my upper West Side pad. After a few minutes of tears (mine), he said: "Okay--I'll stay the night!" My immediate response: Guilt! Had I cried my way into getting something I wanted (e.g., my husband's company for another 24 hours?) Was I losing the independence I've always prized? Was I being manipulative on some level? All I know is that he stayed, and it made facing real life a lot easier.  Now, after two days back at work, I'm finding my bearings again and getting used to the apart-ness. And it's always nice to sleep in my own bed, whether I'm alone or with my s.o. (The key is a great feather bed to put over the mattress.)

Below, a shot of me on a camel in the dessert. Camels fart a lot. And make funny noises. But I'm sure we all would too if we led such a hard life.

The joy of sensual pleasures

I'm not talking sex. I'm talking the welcome surprise of a more-luxurious-than-expected hotel room (with a balcony! and a view of the blue mosque!) after a way-too-early wake up call. I'm talking the Hagia Sophia, which is worth the trip to Istanbul alone, with its mosaics and awe inspiring domes, suffused with natural light. I'm talking an amazing massage with a totally hot Turkish masseuse who seemed to know just where and how hard (and soft) to touch me. I'm talking a king sized bed with crisp white Turkish linens. I'm talking the perfect end to a vacation.

Below, the view from our balcony at the Neorion Hotel (under $200 a night!). As my hubby would say: "Ahhh. Pleasure."

Romney and Ryan (and Clint!) from afar

...seem perhaps even more ridiculous. My hubby and I watched some of the goings on at the RNC via iPad last night, on our last evening in Tel Aviv. Perhaps it was due to being in a two-week politics-free vacation state but...seriously?

On a more meaningful note, we are at the Tel Aviv airport, finally having some good coffee after countless passport checks and questions ("What was the purpose of your visit? Do you know anyone in Israel?") Security is tight, but friendly, and no one asks you to take off your shoes or throw out your water. We are on our way to Istanbul for an afternoon and night, then back to reality. This was a very different Israel trip than my first post-college experience. That one was a bus tour with a gaggle of young 20 somethings, with stops at all the major sights and no interactions with Israelis other than our voluble and enthusiastic guide. Back then, I went expecting a spiritual experience, because that's what I was told I would have. Didn't happen. This time, I thought I was traveling with fewer expectations, but when I arrived, I realized that because I was in Israel, I felt a pressure that I don't feel as much on other vacations. To see the holiest sights. Or to see every sight, in general. Somehow, I didn't associate Israel with vacation and relaxation; to me, it felt as if I had a duty to check everything off my list. And so, for the first half of the trip, we traveled and saw sights, and (I'll admit) I felt a bit stressed. Trying to see all there is to see in Jerusalem in 36 hours is about as impossible as doing the same in New York City, plus the reverence factor. It was only during the second part of the trip when I realized, "Hey, this is a real place like any other, with restaurants to try and people to watch and beaches to lounge on." Which is when we finally slowed down, stopped trying to cram everything in, and began to truly enjoy ourselves. We skipped a final trip to Jerusalem and instead decided to enjoy the pleasures of our incredibly charming neighborhood, Neve Tzedeck. I shopped. (Great boutiques. Great prices.) We went to the beach every afternoon from 3 pm til sunset, sitting on the deck of our favorite restaurant, eating mezze with amazing bread and watching the sun melt into the mediterranean. We lingered at rooftop bars. We saw a way-too-avante garde dance performance (we both agreed the dancers looked like they were having spastic fits, but hey--we got some culture). We struck up random conversations with Israelis. We relaxed in our air conditioned apartment during the high heat of the day. We had breakfast at our favorite restaurant every morning and became "regulars." Snuggled with our adopted cat, Shakshuka. That's her, below, licking my s.o. with zealotry. We read and read and read. (I took a break from book number 3 (Edgar Sawtelle) to start book number 4: Orange is the New Black, a memoir by Piper Kerman, an upper crust Smith grad who ends up spending a year in prison for a drug trafficking crime she committed as a reckless 22 year old. (I decided I wouldn't do so badly myself in a minimum security prison. People skills and intuition can take you pretty far in that kind of situation.) And so, two weeks in, I finally reached the vacation state of mind that I'd been striving for. Calm. Rested. Clear of mind. Full of vows to keep some perspective when I hit my desk on Tuesday morning. Now I just need to keep it going to the end of the first week, at least. But first, a day and night in Istanbul.

Below, a shot of the Tel Aviv airport, with a cool fountain, where the water drips from a skylight, like a giant passing shower. Why can't JFK look like this?)