Stacy Horn

I went out for a walk last night after the most spectacularly bad day of writing EVER. I worked for six hours on only two paragraphs and I never got them right. Six hours! On two paragraphs! I’m not exaggerating. I just kept refusing to give up and I kept working on them and then it became “I can’t give up now after all this time because then all this time would have been for nothing,” it was as insane as writing insanity can be.

Worse, the paragraphs were about singing Ave Maria to my dying mother. All Christmas Eve long, that was what I was focused on.

Thank God I finally made myself step away from the computer and go out for a walk. This guy who had been selling wreathes at Union Square just started walking around and giving them away. I followed him and it was so much fun to watch. Person after person getting a surprise gift. He must have had a ball.

I cheered up quickly, thank God. The memory I was describing isn’t a bad one per se. I mean it is, but it’s bittersweet now. I bought myself some egg nog ice cream, came home, and watched TV. After checking Santa’s progress on Norad and Google Earth. He was up to Brazil where I have friends so that was nice.

I’m torn. I really need to work on my book, but it’s Christmas Eve out there. I want to go to the Met to see the tree and to remember singing there, the Frick for the Vermeers and this was someone’s life, and to just walk around and take in the sights and the people and take pictures.

That reminds me, I saw my first real shopping crowds yesterday. They were all at food places on Bleecker Street, and the biggest one was at a butchers, where the line was around the block. Other than that, for the most part, all the stores around me have been empty every day. If you went by my experience, no one is getting gifts this year. Or, just meat.

Looking down into a below-street-level store.

This place used a blow-up doll in their Christmas window. I think she’s supposed to be Santa. Ish.

I watched the movie Up yesterday and it still holds up. Very moving. I had to fast-forward during some tense moments, though. How is it that I am getting worse at dealing with these moments in movies as I age? The ones where your hero is in trouble of some sort? I’d seen the movie before in this case, so I even knew how it would all end up!

I feel like I’m the last to know, but this artist, Jon Rafman, has been collecting screen grabs of photographs from Google street views, he calls the project 9-Eyes. There are a lot, but I had to look at every single one. You’ll see what I mean when you start looking. Here is a link to Jon Rafman’s page on Artsy.

I took this picture because I was noticing how every establishment, no matter how humble, makes an effort to decorate for Christmas. Damnit. Another series idea which I will never do. But now I want to do a series of these poignant Christmas tableaus, delis, etc.

Speaking of tableaus, scroll down …

The creche outside St. Anthony of Padua at Hudson and Sullivan Streets. Forget something St. Anthony’s? (No baby Jesus.)

I went to a party Monday night with the people who worked on the book New York Diaries: 1609 to 2009. That is the author, Teresa Carpenter, on the far left, and I’m going to be writing more about New York Diaries at the beginning of next year. I was a fact checker for the book—best job ever—which I’ll talk about.

The gentlemen in the picture is Stephen Pascal. He edited the journals of Leo Lerman, and the review I’ve linked is just so evocative of a world that I must have this book. I also wish Stephen Pascal was my next door neighbor and best friend so we could grab a cup of coffee and talk every day about our lives, New York, books, and what is gone and what is left. to Stephen’s right is one of the editors for the book Victoria Wright, also fabulous.

I must say I’m very disappointed in my upper arms. I swim or work out daily. I’m in great shape, I’m thin. They should look better! Damnit. More cut or something.