Like Antaeus

Antaeus was the son of Gaia; if he was hurt, wrestling with Hercules, the moment he was thrown to the ground, contact with Mom would heal all his wounds and make him happy and fit. So I, emerging from Pennsylvania Station this morning (after four and a half hours doze) felt suddenly energized by contact with my native turf. What's to love? A perfect, balmy October day, clear skies and sunshine, and my fellow New Yorkers all around me. People. Compression. Noise. Speed. Bliss.

I went down to my old grade school in Greenwhich Village (where hardly a single store remains from my childhood) and checked in with the development office (I'm hosting an alumni dinner next month). Then came back up to the Flatiron Building and checked in with alg, tnh, [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com], my buddies Claire and Melissa, and my former boss, Tom Doherty. Got a fascinating lecture on current the publishing/distribution; gave out strawberry jam to the millions; talked with alg about why the current WIP is sticking to the roof of my brain; went out for lunch at the Malibu Diner (a weekly ritual of NYC based writer/editor types too numerous to mention, else I'd be typing LJ tags all night), then had coffee with my friend Lucie. Had a meeting at 5:45 on the upper west side, then back to Brooklyn to crash. It really doesn't take much to make me happy; friends, and a city that never sleeps, that's it.