All the windows are open...

...in our apartment. Right now. Cause it's beautiful outside.

Things are pretty okay in this fair city of ours. Aside from working entirely too much and sort of fighting off the mild depression that comes with having been sick for a week, I am okay. I am also a little (LOT!) bummed out because Nicole and her husband have decided to leave our little Polish ghetto for sunnyier skies, specifically Los Angeles. You can't actually get further away from here in the continental U.S. and now one more person who keeps me sane is going back to Cali. It is safe to assume that aside from my husband, the people that I care about most almost ALL live in California. Which leads to me ask the following: why don't I live in California?! To tell you the truth, I do love it. But I love New York, too, in a completely different way. I feel like this is where I am supposed to live, and not for some lame existential reason but for the simple fact that it feels good to me. It feels especially good to live here, despite the percieved rat-race overtones of it all.

Last night as I walked down into the F train to come home from work, I heard what sounded like cello music. And there, on the subway platform, was a guy tuning his cello. I was surprised because he looked (as best as I can describe) like Kevin Federline. By which I mean he was a little scrappy, a little bit gangsta, and not someone who you would immediately associate with Bach, which is what he began to play. I asked him where he was last night, cause last night I had my cello with me down here and we could've jammed. He got a kick out of that. Then when the F train came, he got on with all the rest of us, sat down, and began to play the prelude from the Bach Cello Suites. It was so beautiful, no where close to technically correct, and as the train climbed out of the tunnel and became an "el" train you could see out of the dirty windows the glittery Manhattan skyline against the sunset. It was truly a magical New York moment to be on the train, and I was instantly and deeply glad to be where I was. He finished the piece with a flourish and I applauded wildly, alone. He said thanks, got some change donations from some fellow riders, and hopped off as the doors were closing.

I think I shall practice on the subway playform one day, too. I don't sound nearly as good as that guy, but who will I offend? Yoyo Ma? I don't think he rides the F train very often.

I will conclude this blog with a plea to my friends and family: As it gets warmer here in the New York City, I urge you to think of just how much you long to come visit. Don't try to hide it; I know you lay awake at night thinking of ways to fly out here and visit Lonely Me. Think of the things we could do together... frolic in Central Park, eat at Katz's Deli, take pictures of skyscrapers. Doesn't that sound super-fun? And if you haven't met Jack the Dog, well... you should.