Melissa Senate

Two years ago, a Redbook magazine editor read the essay I wrote for the anthology It's A Wonderful Lie: The Truth About Life In Your Twenties, and asked me to pitch a short essay about a life-changing day. I've never written a magazine article before, but I wrote my little pitch about the day that I resigned myself to living in Maine (let's just say it had something to do with divorce and child custody). The editor liked it, especially the "here I am, and here is home" aspect, and she contracted me to write the essay, all of 500 words. Now, as the author of several 100,000 words-ish novels and two 3,000 word essays, I thought: no prob. But, there was a prob, and my poor little essay never did see the light of day. The problem was that at the time, two years ago, I was here, and here was home, but "here" didn't feel like home and I hated every minute of it.  A little history:

Four years ago, in August, I moved from the Upper East Side of Manhattan (where I'd lived since 1990) to a small town in Maine (with one traffic light). Everyone shook their heads and said: you, in Maine? No way. Something about my lack of appreciation for nature, large bodies of water, anything to do with hiking or fresh air . . .  I was a city girl through and through. The thing about Maine is that you can't help but appreciate just about everything about the state, except maybe the way the snow piles up on the curbs all winter long. Summer in Maine almost makes up for those snow piles. Still, I woke up and made faces at the gorgeous oak tree out my window.

But this past year, something strange happened to me. A couple times a week, I head down to Borders, the only large chain bookstore around. (There are several great independents very close by, including one a block away from my house, but I like to browse Borders to check out the new releases of women's fiction, ALL of which my indies don't necessarily stock, and I'm obsessive about seeing everything that comes out every month.  Anyway, this Borders is something of a schlep, a 20 minute drive down I-295, and when you get off the highway into South Portland, it's like you're all of a sudden in the crazy shopping mecca of Paramus, New Jersey, where I spent my teen years (in the malls). Anyway again: on the way back, when I'm driving north along lovely 295, the Presumpscot River suddenly appears once you pass the city of Portland, and the sight of it, this absolutely beautiful body of water, gives me that same feeling of peace and "ah, I'm home" that the New York City skyline or the exit for 71st Street used to give me off the FDR Drive.

It's taken four years, but Maine now FEELS like home, and not just in a here I am kinda way. I like it here. A lot.  I think it's been an entire year since I've been to New York City, and though I have this burning urge to go, I don't think the city will feel the same to me, give me that same peace and contentment and "this is where I belong." When I was a teenager, my dream was to move to Manhattan, and through my twenties and thirties, living in Manhattan felt like a dream come true. Now, my dream is to own a very cute house in my sweet little town, on the water.  Interesting.  

Anyway again, today was my dear boy's first day of first grade, and I can think of few better places to raise this amazing kid than right here. One day I will go back to that essay. I didn't realize that I wasn't ready to write it then, and I'm still not. Some things are actually not meant to be written, which I'm learning all the time. 

I usually don't blab on about myself this way, so back to books: I'm reading two novels right now. One in my bag and one is on my nightstand. In my bag is The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones. The reason I picked up this gem was because the front cover said: By the author of Lost In Translation. So naturally, I thought it was that Lost In Translation, a la the movie. But it's not. Anyway, pure serendipity–I love The Last Chinese Chef, and now must go back and read the other Lost In Translation. The book on my nightstand is Sweet Love by Sarah Strohmeyer. If you're a writer or a reader and you don't read The Lipstick Chronicles blog every day, you are missing out. I think this group blog (six or seven writers, including Sarah Strohmeyer) is razor-sharp brilliant, but beware that it's not for the faint of heart; they say it, and it has a wide range. Harley Jane Kozak, the actress and a very talented mystery writer, is one of the regular contributors, and when I see her little photo atop the blog, I always think of Rick Moranis serenading her in Parenthood, one of my favorite movies: "Why do birds suddenly appear, everytime you are near…" This makes me smile.

Books I ordered today: Thin Is The New Happy by the always smart and funny Valerie Frankel, and The Smart One and The Pretty One by Claire LaZebnik. 

Must go make two snacks and one lunch for tomorrow's school day. Max will not eat cafeteria food, even when it's chicken nuggets or pizza or even today's interesting first day choice of french toast. If he could, he'd eat nothing but Nutella sandwiches and sour Skittles and black bean nachos. 

Melissa