I was missing New York, but loving Texas

I was missing New York City for a minute or a lifetime just a second ago. It's been 16 years since I moved to Texas. And just a minute ago I was missing my apartment on 3rd and 90th street. I was missing the 10 foot ceilings with pressed tin, the bathroom that was bigger than most bathrooms, the wrap-around windows that gave us views on three sides as we were on a corner.

I was missing Central Park, and the American Museum of Natural History, and the Modern, and the Whitney, and the Frick, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was missing the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel, where I lived for a couple of months years ago.

I was missing riding my bike to High Times to work, and I was missing playing one wall handball, New York City style with my friend Earl the Pearl immensely. I was missing my family a lot, and late night walks with my friend Chuck or earlier, with my friend Phil B.

I was missing real Chinese food, real sushi, street hot dogs, perogies in the Village, hot sesame bagels with a good shmear, and fresh smoked mozzarella on a roast beef sandwich at an Italian deli.

I was missing cooking at Jimmy Day's and The Mad Hatter, and The Lounge, and missing Chefing at Arthur's Court, the Banana Boat, Keats', and co-chefing with Sarah Appel at Wilson's for so many years.

I was missing working at Multiples Art Gallery on Madison Avenue, and pulling the squegee on Warhol silkscreens and Olderberg silkscreens for Chrysalis, or working on Rauchenberg and Marisol work for Dave Basinow, the Impossible Man.

I was even missing Diamond Lil's, a topless joint I helped build way back in the day on Canal Street. I was even missing driving a taxi. And everything else.

I don't know why that came on me like it did, like a summer shower that turned into a downpour unexpectedly and very quickly. No way to get out of it. Just get soaked and soaked I was.

But while it was happening, while I was rushing through a million scenes from my life, I was standing on my freshly painted wooden bridge that spans the tiny seasonal creek next to my garden here in Texas. I was looking at two crawfish that come up out of the earth when it rains and make their way downstream to some place I never found.

I had just fed the chickens and ducks rice and bread and lettuce and picked up a few eggs. I was thinking about fixing my dog Boots chicken livers and hearts mixed with left over rice and beans, and the cats their cat food with a little fresh meat tossed in.

The sun was shining, the garden was giving up beautiful hot Peruvian Charapita peppers and a few late season tomatoes and cherry tomatoes.

So I was missing New York, but I was loving my life.

All told, a pretty good one, then and now.

Thanks, universe.