A rainy night in Chelsea

My whole family has come to New York to help me celebrate my son’s graduation from NYU.  The big surprise is how my father fits in here, a big Irish talker, chatting up the waitresses and talking to all the cops and the cab drivers and joining right in with all the commentary of the city.  Tonight, he connected completely with an adorable Greek woman, who liked that we were all together, the family, enjoying each other. 

It’s a wet, cold night, with a blustery wind.   We spent the day ducking the rain and shivering in teh cold.  I am very glad to be home again, in the apartment I found in Chelsea.  Just this moment, I’m sitting in front of a fourth story window that faces the street.   There is a party going on in the brownstone directly across from me–something very civilized, with little knots of well-dressed people moving from floor to floor.  Some of their movements are obscured because there are trees in the way.  On the roof is a well lighted tree with red leaves, and waving fronds of some tall grass. 

Behind the brownstone is another building, raising against the cloudy night with lights blazing in every apartment.  Red walls in one, a purplish flourescent in another (which I imagine is a growlight in a kitchen, with plants beneath it), somone standing now in the long windows, and I think they are talking on the phone.   It’s so different from the view from my office window, where I look out at the tidy view of houses and the rugged line of mountains.  I try to calculate how many lives I can glimpse from here.  So many.   So very close and observable.  So very, very far away in reality. 

(Oh, dear.  It appears the police have arrived at that little party across the street. And it looked so civilized.)

This is one of my favorite cities on the planet.  I’m always glad to be here.