Central Park

The gentle melody of a saxophone lingers through the air and thin leaves and flower petals fall over the cobblestone walkway like snowflakes drifting in winter, but, unlike in winter, the curling tree branches are covered in lacy green leaves that flutter and sway in the breeze and far below the grass thrives in the warm sun while birds dart about playing games among the bushes. It is a veritable paradise amidst an industrious urban empire. One moment you are among the swift taxis and brusque traffic of Fifth Avenue, the next you are walking around Wonderland.

All types of people ramble around the park- men, women, children, artists, dancers, crafters, tourists, residents, wanderers, idealists, realists, runners, yoga enthusiasts, and so many others. Paths wind this way and that, around lakes and ponds and reservoirs, under dark tunnels and over bright bridges and through branch covered passageways. In the distance, atop the trees, are sky reaching buildings with golden tops.

The sun sinks lower in the sky and shadows of intertwining branches dance across the walkway. Gray and white pigeons peck at the ground and squirrels run between one tree and the next. Laughter echoes in the breeze that scatters leaves across the ground. Horse-drawn carriages go slowly by as children run in circles around picnics where their parents sit on blankets sharing food and glasses of wine. Not a single soul seems troubled or discontent; it is a world of happiness.

Moving East

           I sat on the floor with my hands in my lap. I had four suitcases total. Two for clothes, one for shoes and one for decorations, like my photos and books and those kinds of things. I sat there and stared back and forth from my piles of stuff to the suitcases to my piles of stuff and back to the suitcases. I did this for probably about fifteen minutes. There was no way it was all going to fit, but how do I decide what to bring and what to leave? Maybe if I stared at it for long enough, it would all just magically fit.

            I have a pretty good collection of books and DVDs. There are the classics like On The Road and The Breakfast Club, nonfictions like Into The Wild and Anthony Bourdain’s Medium Raw, and then there’s the bestsellers like The Help and Crazy Stupid Love. I also have that collection of magazines. A giant stack of European Vogues and other random magazines like Wonderland and a National Geographic featuring the fifty best NG photos of all time. I have tons of kitchen stuff too, like a clock shaped like a chef and a pot made solely for making hot chocolate and probably about ten different mugs and twenty different shot glasses (my favorite is the crooked one that says ‘Tipsy in Indiana’ that I bought at a gas station when I was passing through). I have a porcelain elephant, a couple of small African masks I found at a street fair, and a large poster of a monkey getting drunk. I also have a Jimi Hendrix record, but no turntable. How could I leave any of that behind?!

            Yes, I do have a lot of random ass shit. Very few of it makes sense when put together in one place, but I love it all.  Now I realize that moving across the country may not be as easy as I thought it might be. I don’t even have an apartment yet, let alone a job, and I’m leaving tomorrow, but I’m sure everything will work out. Must stay positive!

            I left the shoes for last. This would also be very hard, as I had picked out more than twenty pairs from my closet that I wanted to take. Four pairs of boots, four pairs of ballet flats, a couple pairs of Sperry’s, umpteen high heels, a pair of kitten heels, a few pairs of sandals, and so on and so forth. The same notion came over me as I sat on the floor looking from shoes to suitcase. Maybe if I stared at them long enough, they would all magically fit. I started with a couple pairs of tennis shoes, then some heels, then the flats and sandals. In total, I am bringing fifteen pairs of shoes to New York. I’m not even sure how that worked out. Possibly it was all the squishing and shoving until not even a baby shoe could fit in there.

            As we arrived at the San Francisco airport the next day, my mother and I that is, I noticed a few odd looks from passersby as the driver unloaded one large suitcase after another after another. They probably also noticed that I was wearing boots, a jacket and a hat as well as carrying a wool coat and a large stuffed purse even though it had to be almost seventy degrees out. With six bags in tow, four of which were mine, we looked like a couple of gypsies walking up to the United check-in desk. And, as you can probably guess, we were those people at security. The ones who have too much stuff and take forever and end up having to have their bags checked for possible weapons. The weapon turned out to be a candle. Watch out! It’s a weapon of mass nasal sensation!

            We arrived in New York and took a car to our hotel, The Warwick, where we finally got to unload and change out of the clothes we had been travelling in all day before going to dinner at a hip New York restaurant, Tao. We sipped on cosmos, got rather inappropriately hit on by a man who invited us to sit with him and his friends (I mean come on, I’m with my mother!) and ate some of the most delicious coconut shrimp tempura and orange chicken I have ever tasted. So far, New York was off with a good start.

            Next, apartment hunting!