Easy Summer

So much time in New York City is frantic, over-programmed.  I am not a huge planner. So I often get left behind.  There are times when I email or call a friend and say how about dinner this weekend? Then, I am given their calendar, the dates they have available, oh not this weekend but maybe 6 weeks from now?

It's not rude or even surprising.  It's something I've grown accustomed to, living in a place where calendars are important, where every hour is an hour to fill.  (And I'll admit there have been periods in my life where I have done the same.)

Of course, Tyler and I are in a phase where we only plan our day the morning it is about to unfold and we often find ourselves in the predicament above. 

On Saturday, however, something wonderful happened.  I had known one of my favorite friends would be in town from Boston to see a musical with her family but timing was unclear, so we hadn't made plans, and the day before, we decided we'd meet at Grand Central, we'd wander from there.

Another favorite friend had told us to stop by, the same day, to see their beautiful baby girl, who came into the world 5 weeks ago (5 weeks too early, in fact-- aha! babies don't like calendars either!) 

And, as all this took place, a text from more favorite friends: we'll be in your neighborhood, want to meet for a drink?

It never happens.  But it did.  So we skipped around and saw some of the best people we know.  

It felt a lot like being at Rosemary's house, my mother's cousin, who I adored more than almost anyone in the world, who always let us stop by, unannounced, and people floated in and out while I sat in one of her wooden kitchen chairs drinking sweet iced tea, eating crumb cake, with everyone laughing, telling loud stories.


When you were at Rosemary's it always felt like being at the best party because you didn't know there was going to be a party at all.

So I think of Rosemary and summer and friends and post these two photos. I took the first in winter.  I took the second on Saturday.  Look at the difference.

Saturday was summer, feeling the way it should.  Sun-soaked. Green. Easy.  Like running out the screen door, jumping the three steps to the grass, racing down the street, banging a fist on the door of a friend's house, wanna play?

Through The Trees

It's been a warm winter in New York City.  Too warm, some argue.  We were blanketed with white only once and it melted hours later.  March has, so far, refused to live up to its fate. It has come in like a lamb. 

Yesterday, I left the office in the middle of the day to read.  Maybe a little reckless of me.  But.  Well.

I sat at Madison Square Park and was struck by all you could see through the trees.  It is the best thing about winter.  The view it affords.  With trees in bloom, I would not be able to see the Empire State Building, the clock tower, or building tops dipped in gold.

Later that evening, I walked to Bryant Park before attending a late night recording session for work. And again, I could see the New York Public Library and buildings soaring into sky just before the sun dropped. 

I'll try to remember the relief of this winter, next winter, when I'm stuck inside, when I'm shivering while waiting for a train.  I'll try and look up and remember that bare trees allow us to see so much more.