Come Pick Me Up
It’s easy to hate the city on mornings like this.
My morning run was gross. I was ill equipped in shorts, a windbreaker, and baseball cap. The wind blew right through me. It was relentless. And wet. I ran headlong into the wind and rain. Worse, the entire sprint to the park was hampered by poorly timed traffic lights, dogs on long leashes, and meandering commuters.
Central Park, though, was gorgeous. The wet concrete was luminous. There was a carpet of fallen leaves, all yellows and oranges. Below it, the green lawn still shine through.
The commute, though, was atrocious as ever. I lacked an umbrella, but thought, ‘The trees will keep me dry.’ No such luck. They’re bare. The subway, as always, requires a remarkable sense of humor: the long faces, the pushing, and prodding. Augustana’s “Wasteland” and the new Rolling Stone got me through.
By the time I got to the office, I was already over everything. So I reached for some comfort food.
I slipped U2’s “Vertigo ’05 Live” into the DVD player, and turned it up. Then I opened my “Elizabethtown” book, and read the inscription as I have a dozen times before…
Who made us feel more than understood… and who took the E-town ride with us in the greatest of ways… Thank you for your questions, your words and your booster-rocket of support.
We hail you!
Like a well-worn sweater, some tea and a scone, I was warm again. And pointed myself towards another Tuesday.