Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Life, death, and pink cowboy boots

I'm rarely on the Upper West Side during the middle of the workday, but today I had a doctor's appointment at 11:15 on West 70th. I was done by 11:45 so I decided to stop by the apartment and walk the dogs before going back to work.

In twelve blocks I must've seen ten baby carriages, most pushed by nannies. It was a cold day, but the sun was out, and little faces were peeking out, some with red noses and cheeks.

At 76th I passed Riverside Memorial Chapel, and I could hear someone talking inside over the speakers. It sounded like a young man, maybe a little older than Samuel, and he was giving a eulogy. "He always showed in little ways that he cared about you."

At 77th I stopped at the bagel shop. There was a nanny trying to get coats and gloves on two little kids. The little girl was probably four. She had lost one of her pink cowboy boots under the table and was struggling to slip her tiny foot back into it. I smiled and told the nanny that I loved those boots. The nanny said, "She does too. That's all she'll wear."

I love my neighborhood.

I love the babies with their red cheeks, the little kids with pink cowboy boots, the grown-ups who love them dearly and pass on their love and are missed when they go. 

We're all just tiny pieces of the puzzle, as insignificant in the scheme of things as tiny pink cowboy boots, and, in the scheme of things, just as important.


  1. Well said. May all neighborhoods be as comforting. I know that mine is.

  2. Were the baby carriages traditional or modern?

    1. A mixture. Occasionally I see those old-fashioned Mary Poppins-like carriages, which I never saw when my kids were little.