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Inevitably there are days when an American Living Outside the Continental US (ALOCUS) feels too foreign, too exhausted and frustrated and longs for the familiar flora, fauna and fragrances of home. There are many scenarios, both real and imagined that in my reverie I embellish and elaborate upon.

I am particularly susceptible today to a foreigner’s fabulations due to excessive sleepiness and I just caught myself in mid-imagination. In my soporific solipsism the Connecticut shoreline, which is quite lovely and green this time of year is populated by charming talking birds who sit in the basket of my bicycle and tell me the sanctuary’s secrets as we ride under a canopy of leaves on my favorite street in Westbrook.

At other times I have daydreamed about my former life in New York City in which my morning walk to work was like a Busby Berkeley musical with men in suits and hats who swing red lipped women around their broad shoulders and welcome me to the day with glad jazz hands and spiffy choreography. In reality most days began with a trip on the sulfurous W train, butt to butt with a 52-year-old Ecuadorian man who was eating a Chinese pork bun.

In another life Wallace Stevens and I walk together every day and consider thirteen ways of looking at a taco.

There Are 2 Responses So Far. »

  1. The road not taken? Could it be? Will we ever be content with where/what we are? I love you, Jilly!

  2. Your mind is a wonderous place!

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