In winter the well was dry, so I wondered: why now? Was it listening to Albin de la Simone on repeat? Was it the texture of herbs under my fingers as I chopped them? Or maybe the smell of the lemon zest? (Something that comes to life by scratching a surface?) Was it still the quiet restraint of "Mrs. Dalloway"?
"Be careful," my mother said as I put down a bowl of milk for him, and sat down on the concrete of the carport. I spent a lot of time trying crouched down, meowing, hand outstretched, to the cats that crossed the yard. They usually ignored me or an in the other direction. This cat seemed to need me. His cries were so desperate.
That evening I paced across the rug in the living room through a dense cloud of my thoughts. Do you ever feel as though you are just...waiting? Like you are paused watching something far away grow close, but you can't tell if it's good or bad, and you can only stand and wait?
If you don't nail down the holidays, hold tight to the warm evenings and baton down the sunny afternoons, you'll lose it all in an August windstorm. I'm never as strategic as I would like. Some summer Fridays pass by and all I do is binge watch TV. Every May I scroll past the weeks on my calendar saying things like: Bermuda, Montreal, New Orleans. It never happens.
Thinking back, this was a week of two things: friends and weather. I had many dinners and drinks in all my favorite places, and as I commuted I pulled my jacket collar over my neck. Sure, there were brief moments of sun and warmth but I only experienced them on my ten minute lunch breaks. It rained quite often.
Saturday morning I zig-zagged through midtown. It was raining, not a polite drizzle, but a downpour. My insides were anxious, my stomach jumped. I sat in my doctor's waiting room and couldn't even look at my phone and I hadn't been sleeping soundly.
A rare optimism persisted on Monday and Tuesday of last week. I had plans every night on Tuesday through Friday. If only the weather would cooperate -- the temperature dipped into the thirties, I retrieved my winter hat from the closet and frowned.
From far away I noticed a man -- tall, over-tanned, perhaps in his early 40s -- approaching the pool area. He bypassed the towel stand. The attendant was mid-sentence and tried to stop him but he kept going. He took off his white t-shirt and tossed it on a chair and dove gracefully in the pool.
The rest of the week unfolded in a series of surprises. I knew that I would be at the doctors office on Wednesday, a gala on Thursday, dinner out on Saturday. But none of those things went exactly to plan.
"Do you want to say goodbye?" Alistair asked. We were at the threshold of my old apartment. We'd dumped the last of my furniture (my old beige couch, a white dining room table and my childhood desk) with the help of two Task Rabbits. Someone came by and bought my bookshelf.
People are always telling me, "You can't please everyone." But that line doesn't work on me anymore, it has to be more extreme, I have to say: "You will make enemies." Because I will. If I live the life I've wanted for myself, naturally, people will disagree. That's OK.
November of 2013, my real-estate broker, Mike, and I were standing on the stoop of a Harlem walk-up, ringing the bell. I realized that this was our third Saturday in a row together touring uptown apartments in the bitter cold.
Sunday afternoon I jumped on a Google hangout call with Suni and Philippa. These days, as I go through several life-changes, they feel like friends and co-conspirators. I took their well wishes and support and carried it with me all week long. I had to hang up after a few hours but I could have talked all evening long.
I remember very clearly thinking that my first New Years Eve was going to be like a movie. After a few years you learn that you will never meet a masked stranger, you'll never kiss said masked stranger. You'll spend one hour in line trying to get in, two hours trying to order a drink, an a half hour or more trying to get a cab home.
This year we were returning their house for Thanksgiving. On Wednesday morning Alistair's cousin came to pick us up for the four-hour ride to Boston. The weather was a big topic on the ride up: this year temps would drop into the teens.
I also love early mornings in midtown. I was wearing my new coat, stepping confidently in the crowds towards my destination. I looked up at the gray sky and could smell the damp snow on it's way. My friend Felix was in town from Paris, but only available for breakfast before a conference.