Trains never run proper on weekends; I found myself upended on the far end of Bleecker street, and the torrential downpour followed me home. Restaurants along Bleecker stood empty in the rain, but the line outside Poisson Rouge stretched around the block. We pick our battles. In Brooklyn, the windows shuddered from the storm, but the company was worth the trek. We pick our battles, indeed.
As I turned the corner on Morton, I found myself slowing down, reluctant to return home and hear the news of Orphan Puppy's condition. The morning had seen a setback and we were again reminded of Reality, of Mortality. But when I got home, her wagging tail and eager eyes reassured me, bought us another day.
Faced with mortality, every day lived is another battle won.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
One a.m.
I wish I lived on the upper west! he explained, when I for the nth time assumed that's where he lived. Something about him just screams UWS. That's what I want; married, having kids. They all have kids up there, it's made for it. The night ends early; I walk alone down Morton Street and am not tired.
I forget that people here, too, want that life. That millions of them are living it. They've found their one, against all the odds of dating in the city, and they want to settle down. They just want to do it here. No weird artsy job, no mad youthful endeavors in the LES night. They want their nine-to-five, their family, their life in order.
One a.m. and my book is spiraling out of control. Twists and turns, I am not in control. But I see clearly how my subconscious weaves its tales into the word processor. My subconscious could not care less about the upper west side. And at the end of the night, that's the company I prefer to take to home.
I forget that people here, too, want that life. That millions of them are living it. They've found their one, against all the odds of dating in the city, and they want to settle down. They just want to do it here. No weird artsy job, no mad youthful endeavors in the LES night. They want their nine-to-five, their family, their life in order.
One a.m. and my book is spiraling out of control. Twists and turns, I am not in control. But I see clearly how my subconscious weaves its tales into the word processor. My subconscious could not care less about the upper west side. And at the end of the night, that's the company I prefer to take to home.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
How to Save a Life
Friday night and all is well with the world. I giggled from the moment I woke up right on time and realized I'd forgotten to set my alarm, through the work day of silly children and chilly sunshine, to the last hours of counting down until it was time for Friday night cocktails. Unexpected company and we all felt the tingle of the anodyne cocktail flowing into our veins, the remains of the day finally washed away.
Hours later, I walked home down west 10th street and New York had that weird glow it does when the clouds roll in and every building bounces its lights into the nighttime sky. Front yard trees revealed hints of leaves and Bedford was quiet despite the Friday night buzz. Saturday morning lies waiting with not a care in the world.
There is something inexplicably delicious about such a moment. I do my best, to savor every morsel.
Hours later, I walked home down west 10th street and New York had that weird glow it does when the clouds roll in and every building bounces its lights into the nighttime sky. Front yard trees revealed hints of leaves and Bedford was quiet despite the Friday night buzz. Saturday morning lies waiting with not a care in the world.
There is something inexplicably delicious about such a moment. I do my best, to savor every morsel.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Presently
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
— Ernest Hemingway
— Ernest Hemingway
Weep for Yourself
Another sunny day, I squint into the sun the entire way to work and smile. But March is treacherous, and the air is so cold I no longer feel my fingers. Spring is waiting in the margin, I know it.
The parks have been cleaned up, and along the earth I see them, tiny, tiny green sprouts seeming effortlessly to rise to the surface, stretch in the afternoon sun. The trees seem to lose their sharpness, and it takes me a while to realize that it is because little knobs are growing on them, preparing for the moment when they may burst forth and paint the world in a new light. Birds return to the concrete, looking for crumbs and gossipping with the neighbors.
My steps are longer in the mornings now, my back straighter. I still pace within these four walls and cannot muster up the energy for any actual living, but I know it is within reach. I know that soon enough, my eyes will open properly for the first time in months. I know my smile will be truer, my heart lighter. It is coming. It is coming.
Can you feel it?
The parks have been cleaned up, and along the earth I see them, tiny, tiny green sprouts seeming effortlessly to rise to the surface, stretch in the afternoon sun. The trees seem to lose their sharpness, and it takes me a while to realize that it is because little knobs are growing on them, preparing for the moment when they may burst forth and paint the world in a new light. Birds return to the concrete, looking for crumbs and gossipping with the neighbors.
My steps are longer in the mornings now, my back straighter. I still pace within these four walls and cannot muster up the energy for any actual living, but I know it is within reach. I know that soon enough, my eyes will open properly for the first time in months. I know my smile will be truer, my heart lighter. It is coming. It is coming.
Can you feel it?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
March On.
Today the sun shone brightly on the Hudson River. Jackets opened, faces softened, hope sprang to life. The sweetest soul brought armfuls of tulips, pastel bright lights to our dank house of gloom. We spoke of changing seasons and emerging from hibernation, our sickly bodies stretching in the fresh air. Everyone is speaking of that, lately. Another year comes full circle, and we near the light at the end of the tunnel.
Only, in this case, reaching the light doesn't mean we're dead.
It means we made it out alive.
Only, in this case, reaching the light doesn't mean we're dead.
It means we made it out alive.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Repose
Suddenly, she eats. Devours entire slices of smoked turkey deli meat and triple cream cheese from a Brooklyn co-op. It brightens her eyes and perks her walk. We skip down Leroy Street in the sunshine and death feels so far away. Lurking around the corner, certainly, but no longer entrenched in every breath. Friends come to visit her, my sister calls to say goodnight via webcam; everyone wants to spread the love into every available space in her tiny body. We rejoice in the good moments, smother her in five times as many embraces as before.
But it is not that which is truly the best part of getting these last few days with her. The best part is when I wake up in the morning and stumble into the kitchen to make my coffee, and I see her lying there in her bed under my chair, nuzzled into her blanket like so many mornings before. It is turning a corner and seeing her great big eyes stare up at me before she pitter-patters away down the corridor in search of new adventure. It is all those normal moments that have become routine, that have become a part of our home. It is that which will be so empty, once she is no longer there to fill it, that I truly cherish now.
Absorb the everyday magic. It is that which makes up your life.
But it is not that which is truly the best part of getting these last few days with her. The best part is when I wake up in the morning and stumble into the kitchen to make my coffee, and I see her lying there in her bed under my chair, nuzzled into her blanket like so many mornings before. It is turning a corner and seeing her great big eyes stare up at me before she pitter-patters away down the corridor in search of new adventure. It is all those normal moments that have become routine, that have become a part of our home. It is that which will be so empty, once she is no longer there to fill it, that I truly cherish now.
Absorb the everyday magic. It is that which makes up your life.
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