Pictures at an Exhibition
Subway: Woman wearing an infant with a small boy wearing a backpack and rainboots got on with me and a 20-something girl who I accidentally plowed into coming down the stairs to the platform. We were the only ones going down when two trains worth were going up.
Small boy took his game boy and went to sit next to the girl. They took a shine to each other. I chatted with the mother who gave me advice about living with kids in the city. Every now and then NY feels like a small town.
Unexpected: I had a working lunch with a colleague today. As soon as we returned, the fire alarm went off – our annual fire drill. We sat down on the stairs and continued chatting. A handsome, well-dressed man came over and joined us. He turned out to be the head of our company. He knows my friend, who’s been here quite a while and is fairly high up in the hierarchy. I was introduced. He had lunch with my uncle a couple of weeks ago, but I was too shy to mention it.
Sad: My car service did not show up to take me to the airport on my way out here. I sent an email about it to the owner of the company, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to rely on them. It’s happened before. He tells me my ride him is free and that he personally will be driving. He also tells me the driver was fired. I’m sad about this because he was a very nice man and has a son about AJ’s age who means the world to him. I am telling my story to Mr. Spy who tells me that he’s probably had problems with this driver before, but it doesn’t really make me feel better.
Change of plans: Magpie emails me a link to a NY Times story about a dinner for Obama near her office, which is on my way home. “It’s a ZOO,” she says. I think of seeing Marine 1 in L.A. and wonder if he is stalking me. I decide to take an alternate route home, not because of the stalking, but because of the secret service.
Friday: Thursday nights before I fly home are the nights I miss it the most. I miss Mr. Spy and AJ of course, but what I really dream about on Thursday nights is playing music. I make set lists in my head for guitar, mandolin and fiddle. My hands are itchy. I should be doing laundry or cleaning. Instead I am thinking about how it will feel to have “Your Rocky Spine” back under my fingers.