I want a vacation

Up until a few years ago, a group of friends and I made regular spring trips to New York. Not all together, but usually overlapping so we could get together for drinks or dinner or lunch or coffee. Some of us ran (walked, in my case, with an occasional spurt of jogging) in the More Magazine half-marathon in Central Park. One spring the race was scheduled for a weekend in late April that ended up being coolish warm, perfect for a run, and sunny, perfect for the baby green leaves on trees and the tulips and the daffodils. It was absolutely gorgeous.

We haven't made this spring trip in a few years, but I have a door-hanger from Anthropologie to remind me of the fun a weekend in the big city can be: "I'm in New York. Come back later."

I have been wanting a "me" vacation for a while, and New York seems like as good a place as any. I would love to just wander, poke in and out of shops and museums, stop for coffee, wander through Central Park, visit the Union Square farmers market and explore the parts of the city that I don't know.

In my 30s, I interviewed with The Wall Street Journal and had a pretty good shot at a job there. Carl didn't want to live in New York and I've always regretted I didn't push harder for us to try it. We were young enough then and probably could have gotten over the cost of living shock. Now, not so much.

Anyway, teeny weeny spring vacation: Walking the dogs tonight, we wandered along a street with no sidewalks. Lilacs in full flowers hung over part of the asphalt. Twist of course found something underneath to investigate while Holli waited patiently. I waited, too, and stuck my nose deep into some of those lovely blooms, breathing in their perfume.

Lilacs, a cool spring evening, me, and the greyhounds. Pretty short vacation, but it'll do for now.

The coo of the doves

I've been enjoying so much lately listening to the mourning doves, who become more vocal in the spring, along with all their winged brethren.

Their cooing takes me back to college and my lovely old apartment on Neil Avenue, north campus. The building, I'd put it at 1920s vintage, had an "E" footprint, with the spaces between the horizontal extensions of the letter serving as tiny courtyards, paved in stone and coolly shaded from the sidewalk. Three stories, if I recall. My apartment, a very spacious studio, was on the second floor.

Between my sophomore and junior year, I stayed on the OSU campus for summer quarter. I don't remember waking up to an alarm, though I had a job as a secretary in the anthropology department that required my presence at around 8.

But I do remember the coos of the mourning doves, serenading me as I awoke and prepared for the day.

That is the first bird call I ever paid attention to, and, though they are among the most humble and common of birds, I treasure their song, because it reminds me of a less complicated time of life (though, of course, back then, I did not realize it!)