We took the red-eye from Phoenix to New York last night. Nothing has changed here it seems. The apartment glistens (thanks to our wonderful sub-letter). I open all the drawers, running my fingers over my silverware, admiring my pots and simple white dishes, and gripping the beloved Bunn coffee maker for an instant. Then, I take in the colors of the rooms—the warm hardwood floors, the black-and-white furniture, the green accent pillows and bedspread. It is all there, just as I remembered it in May.
That is not the end of my revelry. I pull on skinny jeans, a tank top, and ballet slippers, and skip down to the street corner to buy bagels and coffee from the sidewalk cart. The cart stands under the shadow of the hospital where I will deliver our little one in February. The shouts of children can be heard; they fill the nearby park with color and motion. Young women flit by in skirts and old men hobble along clutching sacks from the drug store. Here and there, a well-dressed professional walks by at a sharp clip.
Hours later, a trip to the OB/GYN takes me on a pleasant walk through the tree-lined streets of Brooklyn Heights. The doctor does an ultrasound of our baby. I thought motherhood would give me special eyes to distinguish the baby in the blurred picture. No such luck. I point to the head and spine on faith in the doctor’s identification of them.
With the first baby picture in hand, I return to the cobblestone streets and set off to buy food. The grocery store clerk is Muslim. As with all grocery store clerks here, she won’t talk to me. Yet, I take comfort in her silence; it’s the New York way. Next door at the produce stand, the Korean owner is all smiles and conversation. Gala apples are still $1.49/pound!
Please, readers, do not misunderstanding my joy at returning to NYC as mere girlish melodrama. While my love for this place is surely related to the fact that this is the first home I made with my handsome, brilliant husband, it also has objective merits. The brownstone houses. The quaint parks. The grocery stores, banks, boutiques, and restaurants all in a row. The people filling the sidewalks. The Henry Street Burrow and all of my things.
I’m home, and it is splendid.
That is not the end of my revelry. I pull on skinny jeans, a tank top, and ballet slippers, and skip down to the street corner to buy bagels and coffee from the sidewalk cart. The cart stands under the shadow of the hospital where I will deliver our little one in February. The shouts of children can be heard; they fill the nearby park with color and motion. Young women flit by in skirts and old men hobble along clutching sacks from the drug store. Here and there, a well-dressed professional walks by at a sharp clip.
Hours later, a trip to the OB/GYN takes me on a pleasant walk through the tree-lined streets of Brooklyn Heights. The doctor does an ultrasound of our baby. I thought motherhood would give me special eyes to distinguish the baby in the blurred picture. No such luck. I point to the head and spine on faith in the doctor’s identification of them.
With the first baby picture in hand, I return to the cobblestone streets and set off to buy food. The grocery store clerk is Muslim. As with all grocery store clerks here, she won’t talk to me. Yet, I take comfort in her silence; it’s the New York way. Next door at the produce stand, the Korean owner is all smiles and conversation. Gala apples are still $1.49/pound!
Please, readers, do not misunderstanding my joy at returning to NYC as mere girlish melodrama. While my love for this place is surely related to the fact that this is the first home I made with my handsome, brilliant husband, it also has objective merits. The brownstone houses. The quaint parks. The grocery stores, banks, boutiques, and restaurants all in a row. The people filling the sidewalks. The Henry Street Burrow and all of my things.
I’m home, and it is splendid.
5 comments:
Glad you are back!
Ah. There really is "no place like home." Now that you have established your own home, going back to that of your childhood no longer feels the same, either.
I am glad you are back, too. I am also hoping to see more blog entries from you! :-) I have missed you sorely over the summer.
Will you be posting photos and notes about your WA reception? Would love to see that, and wished I could have dropped in on it.
TM
So do we know what the sex of the baby is yet? I can't WAIT!
skinny jeans?!?!?!? Please tell me they are stretch...
TM - I'll post what I have from the reception, but it's not much. I was too busy gabbing to take pictures. :-)
Jen - no word yet on the sex of the baby. Will know in about three weeks.
Heather - of course they were stretch! How else can any woman fit in those pants!
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