Winter. And everyone is so bundled up in their cold weather outerwear, you barely recognize them. No one stops to say hello because they're rushing to do whatever they're rushing to do.
And then comes a spring day and it's time for stoop sitting. I saw the people who live in the building next door sitting on their stoop for the first time in ages. One woman, who I speak to often in good weather (I guess you'd call her a fair weather friend) got a new dog, a Maltese; she calls him Maximus.
Maximus is only five months old. But what a white, fluffy duster of fur he is. How do you spell adorable? While we were out there someone walked by with two grown Maltese and there was all kinds of oohing and cooing.
I ran into another Third Street friend on Seventh Avenue. She looked fetching in a bold brown and black striped Marimekko shirt and we talked for a good half hour about this and that and this.
Best and Oldest called first thing this morning to see if I wanted to walk around the park. "It's 50 degrees," she said when she heard hesitation in my voice.
Walking around the park was lovely.
Back at home, I heard music wafting up from our front yard.
"What is that?" I queried Hepcat.
"I think it's Ravi's sitar," he said.
Indeed. OSFO looked out the window and said that Ravi, our second floor neighbor, was playing the sitar. He sounded one year better than the last time he was in the yard a year ago. And he sounded pretty great back then. He's only 16.
On the first springy day just five days after "the biggest snowstorm of the season" everyone is in such a good mood in the Slope. Barrio opened their French doors and are letting the fresh air in. Lisa Polansky has tables of shoes and boots out in front of her store.
A man selling books on Seventh Avenue called out to me:
"You know I buy used records." he said.
"How did you know I have records," I said.
"I just took a guess," he said. "Dylan and Beatles. Some Beatles LP's fetch $10,000."
"Well, my dad died and he was a record collector," I said.
"Sorry to hear that," he said.
"And I do have Dylan's Blonde on Blonde with the photo of the woman on the inside…" I said. "My dad collected 78's."
"There's a Robert Johnson 78. Cracked in half it went for $10,000."
And by then I was half a street away.
