April is the cruelest month.

So said T.S Eliot in The Wasteland. I'm not entirely sure what was his particular gripe was, but from where I sit, April 2011 has been the worst kind of seasonal tease, withholding Spring like a spoilt child. Too many times my Winter coat has gone optimistically into the closet, only to come right back out again to shield against the icy chill or the biting rain.

I've tried keeping in good spirtis, I've tried dressing inappropriately in the hope that she'd take pity. Pathetically, at the end of March, I even threw a 'first of the season' BBQ in our shady backyard, to try and summon the warm nights and balmy air in some sort of yuppie-pagan ritual. Still the rains and wind came at regular intervals.

This Saturday, in spite of grey skies and bitter wind, I defiantly (even jauntily) rode my bike one neighborhood over to celebrate a friend's birthday at a great little pub in Carroll Gardends called 'Jakewalk'. After which I had to abandon ship and return to Park Slope (1.1 miles away) in a car service, to avoid the epic thunderstorms.

Then on Sunday this happened.



Out of the sun, the air was still cool, but as I wandered around the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens more and more evidence of what promises to be the sweetest Spring I have ever known was bursting out, full of colour and fragance and romance.

And it occurred to me, that though this Winter has felt interminable in its slugglishness and while sometimes it feels like nothing will ever change, I can't help but smile at how far we've come in a few short months.

In honour of my recently renovated blog

In 1945 Elizabeth Smart wrote a book about a passionate love affair called 'By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept'. During my undergraduate degree I carried it around in my bag for almost a year, but pathetically I never finished it. It's considered a masterpiece of the 'prose-poetry' genre, which to me seemed a bit like being a gold medallist in grass growing - sure, the result might be beautiful, but anything beyond a cursory appreciation felt a lot like hard work.

Also, for someone who'd made up her mind that she wanted to live in New York, there was a little too much weeping and a little too little Grand Central Station.

Grand Central endures as one of my most favourite places in the city. Every time I arrive feels like the first time; I'm a visitor all over again and I wish I lived in New York. Then I remember that, miraculously, I do.

In the past few weeks I've had time to read over this wayward blog, and I realised that for a bunch of ramblings collected under the heading New York Minutes, it's a little short on the New York.

So I changed the backdrop, to remind me of my own passionate love affair, and in honour of that, I present a random collection of Grand Central Minutes.

Things I have done at Grand Central Station

1. Sipped a cappucino, solo, at the coffee bar in the food court, while waiting for the train.
2. Had cocktails at the famed Oyster Bar, while waiting for the train.
3. Kissed a boy in the Grand Hall, while waiting for the train.
4. Chatted to the chefs at the Patisserie, while waiting for the train.
5. Stared in awe at the cathedral ceiling with a man named Gus, who I met on the train.
6. Had a secret conversation via the 'Whisper Wall', with the touring cast of Macbeth.
7. Boarded the train and ridden along the Hudson River to Cold Spring, in time to perform Shakespeare under a tent.
8. Boarded the train and ridden along the icy Hudson River to Cold Spring, in time to perform Dickens by the fire place.
9. Toasted my engagement over a glass of champagne at Campbell's Apartment.
10. Raised a glass at Cipriani Dolci in tribute to my friend and teacher, after learning of his death.


Things I have NEVER done at Grand Central Station

1. Sat down and wept.