Me and Mr. T

I am sitting in the MacDowell Colony's Colony Hall, listening for the return of Mr. T. Mr. T is a black cat and he makes just about everyone around here smile. That of course includes me.

Adam and I got here this afternoon and it's been a teary, emotional, triumphant whirlwind. I've been riding the emotional roller coaster about this for weeks -- okay, months -- and that feels ever stronger now that I'm here.

This afternoon I stood over the graves of Edward and Marian MacDowell and said: "Thank you."

I like that some people here seem shy and others outgoing, but that all have something special that drives them to exist within these walls. I loved listening to Oliver Sacks, the "poet laureate of contemporary medicine", speak while drinking champagne. I cannot believe I'm working in the same studio as Ruth Reichl, Alice Sebold, Mary Higgins Clark, and Suzan-Lori Parks, among many other talents.

I miss Adam terribly. I missed him before he even left. We sat at a pub in adorable downtown Peterborough eating nachos and something called a Blairwich, and I couldn't hold back the tears. They flowed all over his shirt before we finally parted.

There is a moment when you dance on that fracture of life, when you hurt and are healed at once. That is this moment.