It's A Beautiful Day

New York


Yesterday, I left my “place in the country” near Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, at 5a.m. I arrived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan much earlier than I’m going to tell you. But I will admit that it didn’t take two hours. I dropped off the parcels that I’d brought back: the infant toys for Edward Isaac, my new grandson; black-eyed susans for Jenn, my daughter-in-law; a bottle of French Chablis wrapped in a cloth bag with a purple ribbon for the hosts of the luncheon that I was to attend later in the day.

I checked email in my apartment, watered the plants, ratcheted up the air conditioner, and dressed for the party. The hosts were new friends—my designer and her husband, Anne and Bernie. Anne helped me create something out of nothing at my apartment in New York, and from the moment she walked in with her portfolio, I knew it was a good match. She is on faculty at the New York School of Design, a seasoned designer, and more importantly to me, she listens, negotiates, and produces. That’s a pretty good set of qualities.

I arrived in North Salem, New York via the very scenic Sawmill Parkway, and was …early. I’d misread the invitation, and arrived at 12:30 which I thought was fashionably late for noon party. The party began at 1pm. Well, it happens. Bernie and Anne showed me around the wonderful 1850s house that had been right on the edge of the reservoir but had been moved up the hill to protect it. The artwork and the eclectic furniture they have chosen for the home are all exquisite—each piece they showed me, another treasure.

The other guests arrived, about twenty in all. There were a couple of families with babies, lots of school of design folks, and some neighbors. I ended up spending a great deal of time with a couple who had lived in North Salem for 28 years—Marvin and Nancy. He is an accomplished, no, famous jazz trumpeter who cut his teeth in the business in the Stan Kenton band.

We began our conversation with a discussion about Iowa, my birthplace. He not only knew where Iowa was—he had played at the old, now defunct ballroom in Waterloo, Iowa, my girlhood home. Amazing.

He and his wife, Nancy, an accomplished horsewoman ( and wise woman all around ) talked for nearly two hours. We discussed our adult kids,;the struggle to stay with your passion up against life’s exigencies; Marvin’s experience as a musician with the effect of drug use on performers in the 60s and their focus (or lack of it) as drugs became more pervasive in the studio/clubs.

Their daughter, Teal, age 25, was there for a bit, too. Dark haired with caramel eyes, she started talking about her journey –college for a bit, then seeking healers to work with, finally coming home for awhile, now going west to learn more about healing. Every once in awhile, Bernie or Anne would come by our table for a bit and add to the conversation.
Three hours later , champagned, wined, feted with sumptuous food, I slid onto the seat of my jeep and headed back to Manhattan.

OK, this is the kicker. I found a parking space right outside my apartment.( Now, don’t be too underwhelmed –that’s a big deal and enough to make most New Yorker’s entire day. ) I parallel parked in a space with 6 inches l to spare front and back. Not only that. The sign above the space read: Tuesday and Friday, 11 to 12:30pm ( Translation—you don’t have to move until Tuesday. )

Now, dear readers, you see why I claimed that it was a beautiful day?

M.C.