My Summer Love Affair

From Under the Umbrella at Coney Island

I spent the summer falling in love again. All winter long, my lover endlessly betrayed me. There were long, cold days in which I felt only inches from complete despair. Icicles grew on my heart like stalactites. I was stuck in a terrible cycle of frigid sadness, waiting and waiting for some glimmer of hope from my dear love, some sign that the misery would end and we would once again experience the joy of renewal. No! My lover said to me over and over, you must endure pain in order to have gladness, feel agony in order to find elation, experience blackest midnight before the dawn of hope.

Finally the ice melted, the sun came out, and my lover, New York City, rewarded me with the most sublime summer anyone in recent memory could recall. A summer as mild as sweet as the winter had been terrible and cruel. The worst winter in decades followed by the loveliest summer I've ever known in this Master which is my city, the shaper of my destiny, my dear love and my sometimes foe.

I had braced myself for as searing a summer as the winter had been brutally cold. Planned my escape to some cool and refreshing clime. But the heat never came. We had, perhaps, four days when the temperature hit 90, but not enough of them in a row to constitute a heat wave. Nearly every day dawned mild and breezy: 82 degrees, crystal blue skies, dry breezes. Enough rain to make the flowers and grass flourish. And then more sunny days and balmy nights. We went swing dancing outdoors at Lincoln Center and barely broke a sweat. The Fourth of July required a light jacket. We dozed on the beach at Coney Island in perfect comfort. I opened my arms to my beautiful city, bathed in delight, and received its kisses, its embraces, its repentance. It said to me, "Forgive me, my darling, for the suffering you endured at my hands. To show you how much I care for you, I will reward you now with my bounty, my beauty." And so I did not leave. I canceled any plans to go away. As August wore on and school started in other parts of the country, the tourists fled and the town was ours alone. All the happiness I needed was right here. 

Now, as summer draws to a close and what is usually the best season in New York, autumn, comes upon us in all its glory, I pray that when the winter solstice follows, bleak and forboding, when the short, dark days are upon us, and when the north winds blow, my lover will remember the sweet carresses of summer and will not desert me again. I pray he will spare me the punishment of the previous winter, and show me how kind and how dear he can truly be. Please, New York, be faithful, be true.

Meryl Streep Stole My Life

I was supposed to have Meryl Streep's life. Though about ten years younger than her, I was supposed to be the unconventional beauty who was popular in high school, who had the golden career, who won the Academy Awards, who played the meatiest and most challenging roles, managing to have a happy marriage and be a wonderful mother to my children at the same time.


What exactly went wrong? Let's analyze:
#1: I wasn't a cheerleader in high school like Meryl, nor was I very popular. I was a drama nerd who made it through high school thanks to the joy of doing theater in my high school's excellent drama department, and a few fiercely devoted friends.
#2: I didn't go to Yale Drama School like Meryl. Yet I did go to New York University's Tisch Theater Program. For some reason you get all the great contacts at Yale, but not NYU.
#3: I'm not as pretty as Meryl. She may not be what one thinks of as a typical beauty, but she definitely has a certain unidentifiable appeal. I'm not exactly chopped liver, but I'll admit I don't have that special quality she has.
#4: I'm not as talented as Meryl. God, that's hard to admit! Oh, I think I'm a pretty talented actress, just not as talented as she is, and we all know to make it as an actor you need one of two things, and preferably both: supreme good looks and supreme talent. I obviously don't have enough of either.
#5: Ah, finally something we have in common...a good marriage...I'm quite sure mine is as good as Meryl's, maybe better! And, I think I'm an excellent mother though I had only one child, and she has four. I didn't want four, no thank you.

So here's where the whining really starts: I wanted it all, just like she has. I wanted a spectacular acting career, great looks, Academy Awards AND the wonderful husband and family. However, I've moved on. Oh, I'm not saying I wouldn't take a really good part if offered. I just don't pursue them anymore. Now, I just want a brilliant writing career. And guess what? I don't need good looks for this one. I do need talent; whether I have it or not is up to my readers to decide. Fortunately, the thing I most lacked as an actor - drive - is something I have as a writer. This career is falling into place. There may even be a part for Meryl in the film version of one of my time-travel novels. She's a bit too old for the main character who, of course, is a more beautiful and intelligent version of me, but she could play the best friend in the Regency-themed book, the fiery revolutionary mom in the Antebellum-themed book, or one of the feisty friends in the Italian Renaissance-themed book. Goodness knows she can do the accents!

Why does Ms. Streep stir me up so much? When I really think about it, it's a combination of many things. Her acting thrills me. I've seen her on the New York stage twice and each time she just took my breath away. I can't even name all the movie roles in which she made my mouth fall open in astonishment. How she can so totally morph into another human being is almost beyond comprehension. Then, when I see her on a talk show, which is rare, or accepting an award, which is also rare since she's received something like seventeen Oscar nominations but only won three, I realize she's just a lovely, sweet, down to earth person who adores her family much more than her career, or so it seems. So I suppose if anyone was going to have the life I wanted to have, I'd rather it was Meryl.