In the lobby of this hotel a non-royal bride came and sat next to my on one of the loveseats, her wedding gown beside her in that special white body-bag they use for such garments. She had the bag unzipped too so you could just see the bust all puffed out with tissue paper to make it look as it would when filled with a live girl.
I longed to take a picture but how could I when the rule in New York is to pretend nothing is surprising or novel? A man could walk past with a mastodon on a leash and people waiting for the bus would yawn and go back to tapping the new Morse code onto their cell phones.
I came to this nice fusty old place for the annual conference the decidedly NON-fusty American Society of Journalist and Authors. The elevators are humid and slightly overheated and help us all remember that our fate is indeed linked to the fates of others riding. I;m all for such reminders so I like the elevators. I also like the pendant crystal drops of the chandelier with its flags draping gracefully down from the balcony.
It’s true that the tiles in my bathroom could use re-grouting and some unknown fool seems to have burned a corner of the comforter with the in-room iron provided for our convenience. And I did look down at the carpet Friday night and think “maybe I’ll keep my socks ON.”
But the sheets are all-cotton and the mattress is a fine firm chariot to carry me back and back through space and time to that furry cave of slumber.
I have more conference sessions ahead before the five hour trip back to that other place where the bathroom tiles need re-grouting and where we all know exactly which fool it was that burned a hole in the comforter with her little iron.
In the meantime I’m happy to be here in this room safe and tucked away with the view of an office building beside me. Looks like in spring the sun can shine on just about anything and make it pretty.