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.