It’s funny; I did an etymological exploration on the word portal after eating at a restaurant in Asbury Park (called “Porta”). What you call a portal invokes the sensation of a tin can on a string telephone for me. People go to London all the time but they might not experience it the way you do. How many 13 year olds would consider vacationing with their grandmother life-altering? My friend, Dan, is my portal because we encourage each other to adventure. But people talk to Dan all the time and don’t get that feeling; it’s as if we can only be connected to these portals if something inside us speaks directly to something inside them. 🚪
One of the absolute best posts thus far! To go from artistic inspiration to geography to your grandmother is the true evolution of portal understanding! My portals are art, writing to music, and anything that makes me cry.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom on this trip to Paris — she was certainly a portal for me in all ways, but Paris was a portal for us both. Though we first saw the city together through adult and early teen eyes, respectively, we were discovering it together, equally in awe. Now, with her gone, returning for the seventh time (I think?), I pick little entry points, like buzzers to the portal, to push into. Her favorite sour cherry clafoutis. The street we usually stayed on when I came with her. She and my father dancing along the Seine. Thanks for inviting this, for sharing Elaine with us (remembering your other stories about her, too!).
Well, I am simply obsessed with this post
It’s funny; I did an etymological exploration on the word portal after eating at a restaurant in Asbury Park (called “Porta”). What you call a portal invokes the sensation of a tin can on a string telephone for me. People go to London all the time but they might not experience it the way you do. How many 13 year olds would consider vacationing with their grandmother life-altering? My friend, Dan, is my portal because we encourage each other to adventure. But people talk to Dan all the time and don’t get that feeling; it’s as if we can only be connected to these portals if something inside us speaks directly to something inside them. 🚪
Mine is the dark of a theatre just after a performance ends and before the applause begins. It's the loudest, richest silence I've ever experienced.
Also, reading your writing about Grandma Elaine is a big, life-affirming YES for me. More please.
once a theater kid, always a theater kid :)
the portal is my favorite place to be!! entered it briefly while reading Helen Molesworth's writings on Ruth Asawa this weekend 🩵
Oooh, LOVE!
One of the absolute best posts thus far! To go from artistic inspiration to geography to your grandmother is the true evolution of portal understanding! My portals are art, writing to music, and anything that makes me cry.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom on this trip to Paris — she was certainly a portal for me in all ways, but Paris was a portal for us both. Though we first saw the city together through adult and early teen eyes, respectively, we were discovering it together, equally in awe. Now, with her gone, returning for the seventh time (I think?), I pick little entry points, like buzzers to the portal, to push into. Her favorite sour cherry clafoutis. The street we usually stayed on when I came with her. She and my father dancing along the Seine. Thanks for inviting this, for sharing Elaine with us (remembering your other stories about her, too!).
london food forever! and glad you are through the pink eye! :)