So I wake up in the city that never sleeps early; early enough that everyone around me and everyone out the window is still sleeping. We are perched on the 20th floor of a beautiful post-Deco building that overlooks Central Park and the streets that fan out from the Park south. We are on Central Park South. This morning I remember and am grateful for all those times that I worked late, late, late early into the morning, meeting deadlines and commitments. I would work until 3 or 4 am in my office at home and then stumble leadenly down the hall to slip in bed for a few hours. We would all get up then and I would struggle through the morning routine and meet another set of deadlines, as the kids got into those Catholic School uniforms, thank God for Catholic School uniforms, and collected their gear and headed out to school. I remember it all clearly, but remember so few details. I remember it was really hard. But I don't remember much else; that tells me that I wasn't feeling a fair amount of what I was going through in order to get through. But I made it. Raised my children, buried my parents and collected stories, adventures and people along the way. I think of them all this morning and say a silent prayer of thank you. For helping me, for kindness to me, for love and encouragement to me and for the gentle pats and hugs. For the smiles, for the flowers, for the coffee, for the ribbons of surprise and delight . I'll be thinking of you this week. I would not be who I am nor where I am if it were not for the collective efforts of all you and your thoughts and prayers. I am humble, indeed. Today I sing of you.
New York, New York