I'm several decades younger than the writer, but I remember a time when rent for ALL was affordable, and you could live on next to nothing. Now, greed rules and the greedy lasciviously rub their hands as they become ever richer (and greedier) while everyday people sweat out how to afford the rent or worry that they will lose their shelter. Tax the rich in proportion to their wealth.
"But at 82, I have become a sequence of nesting dolls, and she is now too small, buried too deep. And it’s time to head back to the hotel, check out, and drive home. "
What an interesting way to think of it. I know I feel like I've been many different people in this one life.
Abigail, your writing has been a strong influence on my own. If you wrote a daily stream of consciousness, I’d devour it. “Nesting dolls” is perfection.
Th.ank you very much. i I think we are all a set of nesting dolls, and it gets harder to reaach our younger selves except from the eyebrows up. True of me, anyway. Thank you again for your lovely comment.
Tangential, but relevant to Abigail Thomas and to the sentiments expressed in this piece: I was surprised the last few times I taught Grace Paley stories to students (at both Tulane and NYU, to be specific). The stories did not seemed to resonate as much as they used to. In fact there was an almost active resistance. I thought it was a matter of voice and style. Too old, too weird, too Jewish. Something. But maybe it's as simple as money, how it is valued and discussed. How that togetherness that underpins Paley's work, the "broke but in it together" vibe as AT puts it, is just hard to imagine in a city where the walls of the castle seem even more forbidding. Dunno. It's not that Grace Paley was every that widely celebrated and embraced. I remember Amy Hempel quitting a jury over it not giving the National Book Award to her collected stories (went to Gaddis). But this shift in attitude feels significant to me, somehow.
God, I loved Grace Paley, but I read her when we were all young and broke. I can't go to the city anymore except for specisl cccasions, I hate all that wealth everywhere there used to be just us. Who do they read? Have you read Anatole Broyard's When Kafka Was The Rage? Great book, it's The Village in the forties and maybe the fifties. Try that on them. At least it's far enough back they won't expect kinship. Thanks for this interesting slightly depressing post. They are all just bunnies, I guess.
Beautifully written story. A lot of Russian nesting dolls is on my book shelves. I never thought about this metaphor before. Brilliant! Only I think the smallest one is me at the age of three, my first conscious remembrance of war and the biggest one is right now, after all transformations of life and aging. Thank you for your musing on life at so remembered by me Washington Square.
Loved the simple words and beautiful imagery, esp the line about being willing to sleep with any man who could fog a mirror. LOL! I also think the new cover of the book is beautiful. But PS, you paid 35% of your income to rent your apartment back then ($143 out of $400/mo income) -- it's the same percentage used today to calculate if you're tenant-worthy.
Thanks!. so glad you enjoyed the piee. As for the money, I never thought of it that way, maybe because the amounts were so small, and everything was cheaper back then. I had three kids and we could afford the Leroi Street pool. and a bite to eat going back home.
Ahhh, YOU! I was struggling with memoir writing until I read your work. You unlocked me by demonstrating much could be said in shorter bursts. I'm forever grateful.
Abby, I wish this were longer. Perhaps the point is that it could not. Accepting its brevity, albeit with reluctance, is part of the experience you have shared so vividly.
THANK YOU, RONA. I CAN'T MAKE IT LONGER, BUT THANKS FOR WANTING TO READ MORE. I WOULD HAVE TO CRIB FROM OTHER BOOKS TO DO THAT AND I LIKE WRITING SHORT. I'M GRATEFUL YOU LIKD WHAT I WROTE ANYWAY.
Always, Abigail, you give us such a gift. Thank you for this me. Me, too...those nesting dolls. And that littlest one inside, the one that doesn't open to reveal anything more...that solid one. That's the one that's been there all along, but sometimes I forget her.
You saved the best line for the last paragraph, leaving us with the nesting dolls to carry around for the rest of today. I can relate to the 60s - the hopefulness, the 'willingness to sleep with any man who could fog a mirror'! Bless you for writing this.
First I have to figure out again how to put up a post. When I get it up there it is always a miracle and I've lost the luck I had. Seems so complicated. Lots of things I'd love to post. Thank you for liking my writing.
I'm several decades younger than the writer, but I remember a time when rent for ALL was affordable, and you could live on next to nothing. Now, greed rules and the greedy lasciviously rub their hands as they become ever richer (and greedier) while everyday people sweat out how to afford the rent or worry that they will lose their shelter. Tax the rich in proportion to their wealth.
True that. Makes me furious.
Love this!
"But at 82, I have become a sequence of nesting dolls, and she is now too small, buried too deep. And it’s time to head back to the hotel, check out, and drive home. "
What an interesting way to think of it. I know I feel like I've been many different people in this one life.
Thank you. I'm so glad it rang a bell, several bells, for you.
A number of people have said similar things in responses to the Oldster Magazine Questionnaire!
Abigail, your writing has been a strong influence on my own. If you wrote a daily stream of consciousness, I’d devour it. “Nesting dolls” is perfection.
Th.ank you very much. i I think we are all a set of nesting dolls, and it gets harder to reaach our younger selves except from the eyebrows up. True of me, anyway. Thank you again for your lovely comment.
Tangential, but relevant to Abigail Thomas and to the sentiments expressed in this piece: I was surprised the last few times I taught Grace Paley stories to students (at both Tulane and NYU, to be specific). The stories did not seemed to resonate as much as they used to. In fact there was an almost active resistance. I thought it was a matter of voice and style. Too old, too weird, too Jewish. Something. But maybe it's as simple as money, how it is valued and discussed. How that togetherness that underpins Paley's work, the "broke but in it together" vibe as AT puts it, is just hard to imagine in a city where the walls of the castle seem even more forbidding. Dunno. It's not that Grace Paley was every that widely celebrated and embraced. I remember Amy Hempel quitting a jury over it not giving the National Book Award to her collected stories (went to Gaddis). But this shift in attitude feels significant to me, somehow.
Interesting.
God, I loved Grace Paley, but I read her when we were all young and broke. I can't go to the city anymore except for specisl cccasions, I hate all that wealth everywhere there used to be just us. Who do they read? Have you read Anatole Broyard's When Kafka Was The Rage? Great book, it's The Village in the forties and maybe the fifties. Try that on them. At least it's far enough back they won't expect kinship. Thanks for this interesting slightly depressing post. They are all just bunnies, I guess.
Beautifully written story. A lot of Russian nesting dolls is on my book shelves. I never thought about this metaphor before. Brilliant! Only I think the smallest one is me at the age of three, my first conscious remembrance of war and the biggest one is right now, after all transformations of life and aging. Thank you for your musing on life at so remembered by me Washington Square.
Thank you very much. My smallest is also about three, but I really can't reach her at all, alas.
Loved the simple words and beautiful imagery, esp the line about being willing to sleep with any man who could fog a mirror. LOL! I also think the new cover of the book is beautiful. But PS, you paid 35% of your income to rent your apartment back then ($143 out of $400/mo income) -- it's the same percentage used today to calculate if you're tenant-worthy.
Thanks!. so glad you enjoyed the piee. As for the money, I never thought of it that way, maybe because the amounts were so small, and everything was cheaper back then. I had three kids and we could afford the Leroi Street pool. and a bite to eat going back home.
Ahhh, YOU! I was struggling with memoir writing until I read your work. You unlocked me by demonstrating much could be said in shorter bursts. I'm forever grateful.
That makes me very happy, thsank you. Distilling instead of embroidering. So much simpler, right?
Abby, I wish this were longer. Perhaps the point is that it could not. Accepting its brevity, albeit with reluctance, is part of the experience you have shared so vividly.
THANK YOU, RONA. I CAN'T MAKE IT LONGER, BUT THANKS FOR WANTING TO READ MORE. I WOULD HAVE TO CRIB FROM OTHER BOOKS TO DO THAT AND I LIKE WRITING SHORT. I'M GRATEFUL YOU LIKD WHAT I WROTE ANYWAY.
Always, Abigail, you give us such a gift. Thank you for this me. Me, too...those nesting dolls. And that littlest one inside, the one that doesn't open to reveal anything more...that solid one. That's the one that's been there all along, but sometimes I forget her.
Well, she doesn't forget you. I bet she keeps an eye out for you.
And thank you for liking this.
Such an apt description of what it feels like looking back over our younger versions❣️
Thank you. Also love thinking of our younger selves as different versions! I'm going to let that sink in. So glad you liked it.
I love this. You're a few years ahead of me, but I too spent good time at Washington Square. Those were the days...
Those were definitely the days, yes. Thanks.
I can really relate to this wonderful memory of Washington Square and NY. Beautifully written.
Thank you very much. I am grateful.
Swept away by the gorgeousness of the last sentence.
Thank you. It came to me late, then suddenly thee it was. I liked it too, glad you also did.
Abby always says so much in so few words...
You saved the best line for the last paragraph, leaving us with the nesting dolls to carry around for the rest of today. I can relate to the 60s - the hopefulness, the 'willingness to sleep with any man who could fog a mirror'! Bless you for writing this.
Thank you very much. Thank you for getting it.
Gorgeous
Thank you, thank you.
Beautiful!
hank you. So happy you liked it.
I hope you’ll post more! I’d love to read.
First I have to figure out again how to put up a post. When I get it up there it is always a miracle and I've lost the luck I had. Seems so complicated. Lots of things I'd love to post. Thank you for liking my writing.