Repeat

The night is mild, soft, breezy. Long row of cars line Morton Street as we sit with our Friday Night Cocktails and watch the slew of dog walkers passing by. Neighbors from upstairs and down pass us on the stoop, carefully treading between clinking glasses and plates of salume while remarking how warm the night, how lovely spring. Reluctant to return upstairs to the real world, we order pizza and dumplings for the steps, giggling about how to direct the delivery boy.

All day is spent staring into the sun. Running around playgrounds with kisses and giggles, carrying piles of clothes unworn. I take the long way home and call a world of people to gloat about spreading crocus and suddenly flushed cheeks. My phone beeps with messages of babies on the verge of being born, and I can't imagine a better day for it. Welcome, this is the only Life you know, isn't it perfect? The dogs skip down the street and tell me the times are a-changing.

It's like turning a light switch. Every year, it's the same procedure. Every year, the same amazement and surprise. The familiarity of the feeling, the delighted giggles as though it were the first time. Spring grabs me by the heartstrings, and I fall helplessly and happily into the whirlwind of rainbows and sparkles.

Spring is here. I am tickled pink.

Reminders

It is good to be questioned, to have to put into words. See this city with more attentive eyes. Show someone else what makes it magic for me. We walk the streets up and down, tire ourselves and still don't get very far. The Village is calm, the city doesn't seem particularly big at all.

The little Spanish girl was not satisfied; if my parents lived in Utah, my sister in Sweden, and here I was only living with a friend, then where was my really real home? she asked.

This is it, I said. This is my really real home. And if she didn't believe me, at least I was convinced. This is my really real home, in the end.

Ultima Thule

They said there would be an ice storm. I woke up to glistening, frozen branches outside my window, but walked out to inches of cold, cold water all along Hudson Street. Miserable doesn't begin to cover it. The children stopped and played in every puddle between the swim lesson and the house. Their joy so contagious, I couldn't keep from dancing the last block myself.

I want this winter to be over. I always want winter to be over, but this year, it seems like such a continuous slap in the face.

Still, as I walked home from Hell's Kitchen last night, my back straight and my heels reassuringly even in their pace across the slippery streets, I couldn't help but feel happy about where I was. The grayer New York gets, the colder, the tougher, the dirtier, the more miserable, the more my heart paints curlicues and rainbows around its name. I miss Australia something fierce, the sun, the surf, the sweetness of the people and the ease of living, but this is my home.

This is my home.

First Day of School

When the alarm rang it was still dark out, despite summer barely having ended. Walking to the subway, it was still black, and only on the avenues were there any cars; residential Leroy Street was completely silent and everyone slept but the rats, who scurried to their corners as I snuck by. West 4th was quiet, the express train still running on the local track, and class showed up quickly when i was the only white person on the train until midtown. Leaving the subway station, there were a few more people. All men. Unloading vans, setting up food carts, and many that were harder to define and classify than during the day. Why would this guy be up? As I walked down a sleepy 52nd street I realized that I was all alone on a dark street and that maybe that wasn't so smart. I got tricked by my daytime attire.

At the apartment with big windows, dawn was approaching, the sleeping City at its most beautiful. Out of the inky void came little stars of office lights turning on. Great silhouettes of buildnings reaching for the skies emerged, and the backdrop turned purple, blue. I sat in awe and looked at it. By the time the little girl had woken up, the sun had burst through and made all the buildnings brown, the glittering lights of Times Square no longer distinguishable. She yawned and stretched like a kitten; when I asked what was special about this day, she said, "Today is the day for feeding the Frogs!" Not until later did she mention that it was her first day of school.

And so it was, that I, not her parents, took her to her first day of preschool. The closer we got, the tighter she held my hand. In the playground, her nervousness made her run around crazily but all the time coming back and nesting in my lap, when it got too scary. Once in the classroom, she held on tight when I tried to leave her on the carpet with her new teacher. But then, she got asked to sit at her new seat at the table, and she got to pick a paper to write her name on, and suddenly, she was in her new world. She wouldn't speak this strange language they spoke, but she knew what the teachers said and nodded diligently.

And I stood in the doorway, and couldn't leave. I felt my heart expanding in my chest and wanting so much to hold her hand, to tell her that everything would be okay and convince her that she'll make friends and learn so much and love every minute. But I can't tell her. She has to see it for herself, and I know she will. I had to be the patient one, the strong one, and walk away. I've no doubt she's having a great day now, that I am far out of her mind. But it became painfully clear that she now occupies a large part of my heart, and that I am glad she is there. I always was a sucker for children.

By nine o'clock, my work was already done. I trudged toward Columbus Circle and was nearly swept away by hoards of people going in the opposite direction. What's so great about 58th street, I thought, until i realized that all the office people were simply beginning their work day, when mine was done. It's like there are different universes going on in the City, and for brief moments they overlap. I clock out. You clock in. The City inhales and exhales without interruption.