In honor of Theta Mom's Time Out Thursday (www.thetamom.com), I delightfully relived my last night's outing...
I took the train into Manhattan to visit with some dear family friends. In order to do so, I finagled and favored my children to others, switched car pools, etc. (My friends rock!)
I showered (gasp), adorned my face with artistically applied make-up AND THEN dressed in some hot mama clothes. I took the train into the city; I sat, by myself, with a book and magazine and my iPod and my Blackberry and my thoughts. Sometimes I watched the changing topography. Others I zoned. Then I'd read. I did whatever the hell I wanted. Pure, uninterrupted joy.
Once in the city, I felt so elegant and hip dashing off to the Waldorf to join my friends. When my cab pulled up, the flags on the front of the esteemed, grand hotel greeted me with brisk waves and snaps. I sauntered in (oh yeah, I sauntered) and breathed in the hotel air, heavy with past conversations, steeped in every imaginable emotion. Then, HUGS when I saw my dear friends. Rapid fire conversation darted from one catch-up to the next. Then, we went to a restaurant that serves raw food--I've never eaten raw before but found it delightful, healthy and delish. Phenomenal jewelry appeared on the table because one of women with whom I dined (a new friend!) owns and designs an eclectic, beautiful jewelry line. I drooled over the fabulous and unique pieces.
Candle lit flickers danced amongst our voices and hearts. The evening ebbed; we started many conversations that we did not finish. Another time, another place, we'll pick up. More hugs, goodbye tears and kisses chased me out the restaurant door to my cab.
As I periously navigated through the train station, many thoughts ricocheted through my head. I noted the hordes of people who were actually awake at 10:15 pm. (This evening I'd broken out of my normal routine--jammies by 8 pm, asleep by 9:30 pm-- and I felt giddy seeing how this part of the night lives and moves.) My giddiness switched to despair when fronted with the homeless people who congregate at the station. They accosted my senses. My insular life rarely encounters people who don't shower because they don't have a shower. I give a small prayer of thanks for my life, and one for theirs. I wondered what events brought each of these homeless people to this moment in their life. I wondered if they were happy.
On the ride home, I sat, cocooned in the train car, swaddled by my thoughts and dreams.