Claudia's Blog

It was a talking water fountain. My first. And she was telling me how happy she was that I had spent the afternoon walking the Highline.

The entire time I stood there washing my money under the cool, flowing New York City water, she continued to thank me for playing in the above ground park.

I now believe that more appliances and gadgets should speak. As long as they only have nice things to say.

I hadn’t planned on exploring the old elevated rail that day. I kept reading about it and had it on my to-do list this summer, but work and weather and other distractions kept me from heading downtown to see it. Then I looked at the calendar and began to panic. My time in New York was running out. So I grabbed my MetroCard and my credit card, my phone,  a few bucks and a foil wrapped chunk of dark chocolate, left the building and traveled south on the 6 train down to Union Square. From Union Square I strolled down to Washington Square where a pianist was making beautiful music on a grand piano outdoors, right under the famous arch. The gardens were exploding with colors and fragrance and the shadows of the extravagant trees stretched out along the pathway shading the chess players as they studied their boards.

In the West Village I browsed through a bin of used books and picked up a copy of Edith Wharton’s New York Stories, because who wouldn’t? Then in the late summer heat, I hiked over to the wide, cobblestone streets of the Meatpacking District where butchers once ruled which is now a late-night playground for those who party. During the day it is a place to shop in high-end boutiques. It is also home to the southern entrance to the Highline.

There is a staircase as well as an elevator leading up to the manicured park. As I climbed the stairs it soon became obvious I was about to see the city from an entirely new perspective. Not only are the views spectacular, the Hudson River peeking between buildings, the flow of the city down below, but the mile and a half long park itself is a work of art created to encourage people to slow down and enjoy the moment. There are benches and welcoming lounge chairs made of wood sanded as smooth as river rock. Flowers bloom alongside lush, sweet-smelling grasses which undulate in the breeze. A water feature encourages kids to splash and a café serves salads and sandwiches, cool drinks, and even beer and wine.  I wasn’t really hungry but did think it would be the perfect time to enjoy a nice chunk of chocolate which I had so cleverly stashed in my pocket. Reaching in I discovered it had come unwrapped, and now my pocket was filled with chocolate soup. My cash was coated. My phone looked like something Willy Wonka would own.

Hence the money laundering at the talking water fountain.

To everything there is a season and as summer began to wind down my going-home season approached. I was determined to wring every bit of pleasure out of the humid August air in New York City. It isn’t that I dislike returning to California. I miss my husband Michael, my family and friends and the cooler weather. But Manhattan has a choke hold on me and has for as long as I can remember. So leaving is complicated. Always complicated.

I have been away for two and a half months. There have been downpours and thunder. Lightning and hail. It has been in the triple digits more than once and I spent one week with a flu bug which I thought might never leave. And yet. Well, I am still smitten. And bitten. Literally. Thanks to the rain that encouraged mosquitoes to breed. I’ve been bitten on my ankles, the bottoms of my feet and a place in the center of my back that only Michael, patient, Michael, can reach when I finally get home.