9:07am. I am parked at a brand new Starbucks on 100th & Columbus. It’s a beauty, all windows. And I am sitting here between two strangers. A man in a black windbreaker, his fingers furious on his keyboard. A woman in a nurse’s uniform eating the egg white/turkey bacon egg sandwich I love. She drinks her coffee through a straw like I do, a fact that intrigues me.
I am sitting here thinking about life and love and loss and words. I just dropped Middle Girl at school and in a few hours I will meet Sister T and my good friend/colleague Kelly for lunch on the Upper East. And then I will pick up Big Girl after her fashion class. Tonight, I will gather with a handful of girlfriends for dinner. And in between, I will find places in this city to sit with strangers and sip and think and write words like these. I do not take for granted how cool this is, this being here, this doing this, this city, this splendid, happy sky that hangs above me. Speaking of that sky…
When I began writing, the sky, though blue, was mottled with wispy white clouds. And now? It is clear and electric blue. That is what words do for me. They part clouds, clear crumbs. I am thinking about a post for tomorrow, a tough and tricky and true post, and writing these words, these simple words about the details of a day, has helped.
Today, I am thinking about the view. The view from here, the ever-shifting Here, is good and grand and I am thankful.
The woman next to me has gone and a girl has just plopped her bag down to save the seat. It is big and brown and studded and here I am wondering who she is, who she will be.
Who is she? Who will she be?
I ask these questions a lot here.