"Hello , just a short note to say hi and let you know we are thinking about you. We hope all is going great for you in New York. We saw mom and dad last Saturday and got your e-mail address. We went with them to Evan and Amy's open house. Their condo is nice and they seem very happy there. It was nice to get to visit with mom and dad. Dad said you may come home for Christmas that would be nice. Grandpa is feeling much better. He has had some health issues but they seem much better now and he got a good report from his doctor today. He went in for his check-up and got his flu shot. He must be feeling better he is teasing again. He asked mom and dad if you had a boyfriend and dad said yes, you were seeing someone who is a professional chef at a restaurant in Manhattan. (grandpa was impressed) . It just seems so far away he said. Fall is really here the leaves are all gold and beautiful. However they are starting to fall so it is sort of messy. I love fall and the colors. Well honey just wanted to say hello and let you know we miss you and love you bunches…. Grandpa Carl and "Gram "Dee"

This note from my grandpa and stepgrandmother Dee brought me to absolute tears. Even now I get choked up and stuffy reading the heart-felt email from two people who really care about me. Grandpa has been having some health problems lately and gets thinner every time I see him. Before the 2008 campaign began, Grandpa always used to say that I would be the first female president. Now that Hilary is leading in the polls, he said he called her people to see if I could be part of her staff. Out of all the silly and hilarious things he says (Grandpa is quite a kidder, never censoring himself and he always tells outrageously embellished stories), I have always remembered this quip:

"Shit or get off the pot."

If ever there were words I could live by, that phrase coming out of my grandfather's toothy grin would be them. To me, it always meant if you set out to do something, really do it, and don't do it half-assed. If you're not going to do it all the way and try your best, there's no point in doing it at all. In a way, that's how I've always tried to live and lately it's getting harder and harder. After a teary discussion (really half discussion, half me getting chewed out by a mother with an exercise-induced endorphin rush) with my mom today I realized I'm not being my usual aggressive self when it comes to assignments at Audubon and I really need to start making myself more known around the office. What I'm doing is not good enough, and I'm not trying hard enough, according to Mom, and ultimately, no matter how badly it makes me feel for being intimidated by the whole situation I've been thrown into, she's right.

So I have resolved next week to pitch some really stellar ideas, get to know my editors better and show them that I can take on bigger projects.

Meanwhile, I went to an art exhibit last night to cover an "Eco-footprint" themed project. Talking to the artists ahead of time, I was particularly interested in Barbara Roux, a Long Island resident who finds what she calls "small habitat niches" to photograph her "work."

She made this image by painting a bird on a glass pane and waiting for the sun to set enough for her to hold up the glass and project the image of the bird on an oak tree. It's called "As the Crow Flies."


Her other photography is stunning, and the self-proclaimed "Conservation artist" is quite the character. At the exhibit she gave me four little books full of her photography and invited me to a talk she's doing in a couple of weeks. This one is called "The earth views the sky.":
Barbara is so charming and sincere, I just might attend her talk if not to cover it journalistically, to listen to what this woman has to say.

Today was considerably chilly, and I went outside in a tee-shirt thinking I could handle it. Hey... it's not that cold, right? Mike often makes fun of me because I told him no one in Washington uses an umbrella. Which is true!! But I said this having no idea how large the rain drops here can be. As Mom said, "it isn't the delicate drizzle of the Northwest." I figured, hey, I've got a good raincoat, never bothered me before, I'll be alright. This, my friends, is not the case! I stole a random umbrella from the cubicle I work in on Thursdays as I left last night. I'm not sure who it belongs to, but it kept me dry as I trekked to the art exhibit.

I've been doing a lot of reading lately, as the hour train to work allows. By far my favorite author lately is David Sedaris. He also contributes to NPR's "This American Life" quite frequently (check out the radio show if you haven't already). Something about his writing and his voice I completely relate to, and if I were to write something, I mean... put it in a book I guess, it would be very similar to "Me Talk Pretty One Day" and "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," his two latest compilations of essays. He views himself much as a rubbish collector. He takes down notes of stories in his everyday life and stories from family members and converts them into some of the most interesting, humorous writing I've ever enjoyed.

So... I live with this Vietnamese woman who I believe I've mentioned before. For the life of me, I can't remember how to pronounce her name. I've deduced that it starts with a "T," and there's probably an "A" at the end of it, but everything in the middle was hopelessly lost in the depths of my overwhelmed mind when I first met her. I've lived with her for almost a month and I can't remember her name. I feel awful. But what am I supposed to do? Just now ask her how to say her name? That would be terrible! At any rate, this woman is the most anal-retentive person I have ever met. She is obsessed with keeping the bathroom clean and tonight I made popcorn for dinner (classy, I know) and she knocked on my door to get help with her computer. She couldn't figure out why her volume control wasn't on her toolbar anymore, so after I fixed it, she tried to make small talk, all the while commenting on the "ugly" smell of popcorn. "Maybe the people downstairs made some," she said, with a scrunched, obviously dissatisfied face. "Yeah," I said. "I dunno." All the while I wanted to scream "IT WAS ME! I MADE THE POPCORN, OK?!" Upon entering my room again after she finally let me go, I made sure to squeeze in a little crack in the open door so she didn't see the full bowl of popcorn on my desk.


Things are (relatively) fine. It was a hard day, but this weekend will be better and I am determined to figure out this giant of a city.