Speaking for Sarah

Here's my lunar eclipse story, to add to the ones already out there in the blogosphere (or my corner of it):

Wendnesday was one of my busier days, starting with a doctor's appointment at 11:30 a.m. for my yearly physical. In the course of the appointment, I mentioned that I had adopted a sleep-late strategy to deal with not being able to eat anything until after the appointment. "I didn't go to work this morning," I confided. My doctor said, in a motherly but rather clueless way, "Well, I hope you don't have to go to work now."

I just looked at her. "Well, yeah, I do."

"Oh, that's a long day," she said. I replied, "Well, actually I not only have to go to work, but then I teach in the evening." When I told her I wasn't done teaching until 8:15 p.m., she said, "Oh, that's a really long day."

It turned into an even longer day. Not only did I go to work after the doctor's appointment, and teach, but decided to stop off on the way home from teaching to see a friend from work perform at a jazz club. (Well, it is one of my New Year's resolutions to hear live music!)

I'm always kind of wired after teaching, so it felt great to go to a club, have a beer at the bar, and get to see my friend perform in an amazing band--a ten-piece tango orchestra.

After the set ended, I chatted with my friend a little bit and then left. I was so happy from hearing good music and being out in the city that I decided I could even stand to take the subway home. (Faithful readers will know that I struggle with my addiction to the expensive comforts of the taxi home after my teaching nights--and at other times, too.) As I was walking to the subway (only a block away), still hearing the lush, romantic tango music in my head, I began to notice that it was a little cold outside. I stared longingly at one taxi that went by. Well, maybe....

Then a voice said to me: "Look up for a minute."

I turned, confused. Was it the taxi driver, leaning out the window? No, it was a security guard standing in front of one of the cold, empty office buildings.

Then I remembered as I looked up.

"The eclipse!" I said.

"Yes," he said. "It's almost over now."

There was the moon, almost covered in shadow, with a bright crescent sliver visible on the right.

"Wow," I said to the guy. "That's great." Then I added, "I guess it's coming back now?"

"Yeah," he said.

I stared up at the moon, shivering in the cold darkness of a clear night in the city, happy to have this moment with someone I didn't know.

The guard said, "You know, some people, you say somethin' to them, and they look at you like . . . " He pantomined a look of fear and distaste.

"Yeah, I know," I said. I smiled at him to show him I wasn't one of those people.

He turned to go inside, and I said, "Thank you."

Then I got on the subway.

Greetings to all my readers--I know you're famished for news.

Here it is:

Just a whirlwind of things the last couple of weeks: four days in Puerto Rico for a big fifteenth-birthday party for the darling niece of my niece and nephew (too long to explain--suffice it to say we're all close). I traveled with my niece and nephew and my sister and we stayed at a hotel on the beach, where our rooms had balconies overlooking the ocean. We walked through the colonial streets of Old San Juan and took lots of pictures. We sauntered from the pool to the beach and back. We read mysteries. (Actually my book was a stunningly beautiful novel of slavery called The Known World--I felt odd lounging by the pool and reading about atrocities but these, I guess, are the contradictions of life. And the novel wasn't only about atrocities but about love and family and survival.) We caught up on all the Puerto Rican gossip, old (what happened to that guy who used to be married to, you know, so-and-so's sister?) and new (on Sunday, post-party, the talk was all about which fifteen-year-olds had been seen carrying on with each other in the elevator at the hotel. This discussion, carried on by the other fifteen-year-olds, took place in the pool, with the sun shining brilliantly down on us. It was all in Spanish, but I could pretty much catch on from the illustrative gestures that went with it.)

The trip was nostalgic, especially for my sister and my niece and nephew, since my sister lived in San Juan for ten years and my niece and nephew were born there, but also for me, since I visited many times in those years, which coincided with my teens and early twenties. I think this was probably the first time all four of us were there together since the late seventies, when they still lived there. I felt a little bit of the weight of time passing, but mostly I was just very happy to be there celebrating a most festive occasion. And of course, getting away to the tropics at the end of January was replenishing, to say the least. Looking at the pictures with my sister after we got back, I said, "I can't believe we were actually there." She said, "Yeah, it's like we went through a portal into this happy, sundrenched world."

My return to reality started at the airport Sunday night, where the flight that I was on that was supposed to leave at nine, getting me in at midnight, was delayed for several hours, so that I got in to JFK after 3 in the morning. It was a little surreal, but I had no trouble getting a cab to zip me home. Fortunately I wasn't scheduled to work at my office job on Monday, but I did have to teach my first class of the semester that night! In fact, the whole time in Puerto Rico I had been vaguely worried about being ready for the first class. Nevertheless, I slept until noon (I guess I wasn't that worried) and then somehow got ready, made it to class on time. Class was great and continues to be great. I taught Monday and Wednesday evenings, also went back to to work Tuesday, and Thursday night I babysat for a friend's seven- and eleven-year-old kids. So it was a busy, busy week, topped off by the great pleasure of hanging out with jo(e) at the big conference for creative writers over the weekend. It was strange to be in another hotel so soon; I kept forgetting that I lived in New York and that I wasn't staying in the hotel. I can confirm that jo(e) enjoyed the vegan burrito at the little Mexican place I took her to; in fact, at dinner, every time I tried to say something, she would interrupt me to say, with reverence and a kind of wonder, "This is so good." One of the other high points of our conversations was when she told me she had gone to the Famous Museum in Midtown with Lots of Modern Art. I said vaguely, "Oh, yeah, I think they did it over not that long ago. I haven't been there since they did that." Jo(e) did a kind of quick doubletake; she seemed momentarily surprised as she said, "You haven't been there? I think I've been there three times since they reopened."

What can I say? It's that old thing, when you live in a place you forget to take advantage of its world-class museums. Maybe I should move to Snowstorm City.