Is That My Honing Instinct?

Last night I was hit with an overwhelming sense of home sicknesses. Which is a bit confusing because I'm not exactly sure which home I am sick for. Poughkeepsie, NY - where my parents are? Rochester, NY - where I spent the first eighteen years of my life? Or New York City, where my brother and oldest friends live?

The best I could figure was that I am missing New York State. The entire state. Missing it something terrible.

I have this longing in my stomach for all of these places and smells and tastes and views.

For the drive between Rochester and Ithaca where you pass all the wineries and produce farms. For the hills and small towns of the Western Frontier where my grandpa had a hunting cabin. For a view from a lawn chair on the shore of one of the finger lakes with zabs hots grilling in the background. For the walk from the West Village to Tribecca along the Hudson River. For lunch at the Moosewood Restaurant. For a picnic in Highland Park. For shopping in Woodstock among the packs of leftover hippies and Rhinebeck yuppies. For a Manhattan roof party. For a fifteen dollar four course meal in a Poughkeepsie Greek diner. For a French film at the Little Theater. For dinner at a cash only Italian restaurant in the East Village. For a walk on the beach in the Hampton's. For a meander through an upstate Wegman's. For a new play workshop on the Vassar campus. For a concert packed with SUNY students on the lawn at the University of Buffalo. For a trip to Darien Lake.For a Sunday morning reading the Times while sprawled in Prospect Park. For an authentic Chinatown dim sum. For an abbot's custard cone.

I want it all. All of it. Right now.

The thing is, I go and I spend two days in these places and it's never enough. It's just never enough time.

(As a small consolation I am listening to Ani and Dar, our New York girls, on a constant loop. They get it.)