Yesterday was spent at Thank You, Robot practice, lunch with the boys, and then a great dinner with all of Thank You, Robot. It was just a damn pleasant finish to an mindblowingly kick-ass weekend.
There were some things about The Idiotarod that bummed me a touch (counting but not limited to: The JACKASS attiude of a lot of the racers, the slight smell of Crisco and fish still on my flesh, the loss of the cheese balls, the NYPD illogicaly shutting down the afterparty before it started, the dip-shit who I tackled as he started spray painting the park). There is also that post-event depression. All of that work and then it is over. Gone. Ephemerial except for the Flickr pictures and the smell. But Sunday but my mind on my future plans
As I come up out of the subway at Grand Army Plaza, I am greeted with flurries of snow. And it is sticking! Everything has taken on that special fresh snow quiet. The dirt of NY is painted with a fresh coat of white and it all seems so clean. The snowflakes kiss me and I kiss back and I am just filled with joy and calm.
Falling snow always makes me think clearer. I know what I want from the present and the future, and I know that I know what I want. But this weekend I forgot to say that. The snow told me that I could. That it is okay to speak up. Time is too short not to.
I am making plans and living in the moment, which is the balance I have ALWAYS have a hard time with. But not right now. And I have too much great stuff on my plate to worry about the potential that the Mystery Dish may be the best thing ever.. especially when the kitchen is still checking to see if there is any left. (Most tortured metaphor of the week.)
I spent a large portion on the morning trying to get the race results out, so I still haven't had time to write down my thoughts of the Greatest Race in the History of the World. Soon. Tonight. I promise.
Russia's The Dead Hand
8 years ago