Katrina Woznicki

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Author: katrina

Where Rabid Bobcats Roam

Posted on February 27, 2017February 27, 2017 by katrina

On the shuttle ride from Sedona to the airport in Phoenix, our driver shared with us the following: — A rabid bobcat attacked a waiter in Sedona who was putting out the trash. — How Arizona towns along the highway got their names: Bloody Basin; Big Bug Basin, Bumble Bee near Bumble Bee Creek, and…

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Castanet Sleigh Ride

Posted on January 6, 2017January 6, 2017 by katrina

When it snows out, I play John Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things,” a tradition that dates back to 21 years ago today when I returned to my apartment on Bleecker Street, got caught in a blizzard, and watched the city go silent. I owned two CDs back then: John Coltrane and The Black Crowes, and snow…

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Crossing Borders

Posted on December 30, 2016December 30, 2016 by katrina

During a morning walk in suburban Florida this week, I passed this pile of discarded plastic flamingos on a lawn that looked cared for but not really used, and I couldn’t help but think about the American dream as we approach the inauguration of the next president. America is going through some funky, disturbing times….

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Christmas in New Netherland

Posted on December 6, 2016December 6, 2016 by katrina

On Sunday, I had brunch with a friend at a lovely French restaurant on the Upper East Side, where, to both our surprise, a simple bowl of berries cost $14. Just some chopped strawberries, blueberries and raspberries in a bowl. No fancy sauces or drizzled purees. I don’t even think the berries were organic—for all…

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The Beaches and Their Stories

Posted on October 8, 2016October 17, 2016 by katrina

Now and then, you get glimpses of Old New England. Not the chic galleries and pride flags along Commercial Street in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Not the farm-to-table fine dining with views of the coast. Not Boston and its history of Irish immigration. You get it walking on the beach on a windy day when no one…

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Recent Work

OFFASSIGNMENT: 6:32 A.M. AT BOUDHANATH STUPA in Kathmandu is a rapid current of silence and hope, a clockwise ritual that welcomes me without question. I can come. I can go. I can pray. I can walk and pretend to pray. It is the hour of the observant, of chants and prostrations, of prayer and potential... continue reading

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