They say New York City has reached the 60s. I am only a little bitter. When I was there we had 16 inches of snow dumped on us. I kept insisting that it wasn’t my fault but no one seemed to believe me. The low point was trudging through miles of snow between train trips to reach the Cloisters. I have wanted to see the Unicorn Tapestries for years and I was determined it was going to happen. I am pleased to report that even with wet feet and chilled insides it was still worth it. Art like this used to be the stuff of life in Britain and is now an oasis in the middle of suburban America. It fed my soul.
I also got to see my beloved roomie for the first time in years. Who can believe we’re approaching the tenth year since graduation not from high school but from college! We packed a lot of chat into a few hours and I finally laid eyes on her sweet boys.
And, in the grand tradition of our family, a whole lot of drama was introduced when my sister-in-law, Darcee, and my sister, Courtney, had their babies only a day apart from each other. Anastasia and Charlie are now of course destined for marriage. And I, the older sister, look on in amazement as they become mommies, with strains of “Sunrise, Sunset” echoing in my head.
But most of the moments in NYC were spent buried deep in John and Vangie’s underground bunker – I mean, apartment – getting to know my new niece. We admired and analyzed, wondering how to get her to sleep better and why she wasn’t eating more. And of course the answer was always that she just needed to be held and rocked a little bit longer by her Auntie Bryonie.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are learning the Adoption Dance. It’s called the “Hurry up and Wait.” We did the Hurry a few weeks ago and didn’t have much time to master the steps. Now we’re working on the Wait, which isn’t as fun, and is more difficult. Last night over dinner Josh clinked his glass of red against my white and said, “Here’s to Wednesday Grace.” And that’s all I get today. I’m told that’s all I need. Sometimes I believe it.