Remember Cowboy Junkies? What happened to them? Springtime, it's hard to just be in it without saying "soon it will be too hot to bear." It's in the 70s every day and we lurch towards summer, dread and anticipation, layering clothes for air conditioning as if going on trans-atlantic flights.
Spring in New York: I've been to two Yankee games. A friend's mother passed away. There are people running faster and slower than me, and they're all on the path by the East River, gumming up the works. Something about an afternoon spent doing nothing. Sometimes I go out in shorts even though no one wears shorts here. My pedicure is chipped and my ingrown toenail is back again with a vengeance. There is so much work to do. The construction continues. The radio interviews, the difference between hope and expectation.
In New York, on a random Friday, you could walk into the Union Square Barnes & Noble and find Al Gore. I dreamed I went on a book tour with Oprah and Ira Glass. I talk a lot about Al Gore being president.
It's like 1999, but with less certainty.