When last we left our heroine
It is, at least temporarily, starting to look like spring in New York City. The crocuses and snowdrops and hellebores are up in the tiny yards of the brownstones across the street and it looks like the daffodils won’t be far behind. From my window I can watch kids dragging bats and gloves to the park, my own kid among them.
It is Saturday morning and the guitarist across the street has finished piling his instruments and garment bags into the back of his car and is pulling out into traffic, headed to Jersey or Connecticut to play a wedding, no doubt. Tantrum Alley is once again open for business and the wailing and gnashing of teeth begins at the playground exit I can see from my window. Bicyclists are zipping up and down the bike lane, while my own bicycle remains chained to the iron fence in front of my building where it has been all winter, its chain growing ever rustier. This is the time of year where I wonder where the chain lube is and go buy a new can before finding my old one immediately upon return from the bike store. It is an annual event.
I have a month off from travel, but it’s a month where taxes are due and where I’m covering several people’s jobs at the office. I’m hiring for one of them and though the job was only posted at the end of the day yesterday, the resumes are already starting to pile up in my mailbox. And there is a family illness that keeps us by the phone and has me marveling at the way you can pick up a phone in one city and a few minutes later, hundreds of miles away, a vase of flowers sprouts in a hospital room. It is reassuring.
There are flowers, too, at the Green Market at last. When I go with Cranky and J and whichever stuffed friend J brings along (this week it was Bunny — Best Bunny, not Cousin Bunny. It is hard to tell them apart.), she drags me to the flowers and we pick the ones we like the best and smell everything. Today I came home with a bunch of tulips in bright colors. “They are the most beautiful,” says J, and who am I to disagree?
And there are birthdays. AJ becomes a teenager this week. How did this happen? When I started this blog (or, rather, its previous incarnation), it was the summer after AJ turned 2. He, too, is sprouting, and seems to grow inches in the night as if he is being stretched. My father’s birthday too, on the same day, which once again we will celebrate with a phone call from far away. AJ is celebrating his birthday by having three baby teeth pulled the day before. It seems unfair, but also maybe appropriate as he takes one more step towards adulthood.