The City & the Country no.75 – April 21

Da spring is sprung / Da grass is riz/ And everywhere da boidies is / Dey say da boid is on da wing / but dat’s absoid! / Da wing is on da boid!

I wonder how many of my students would recognize that once-famous verse. Or voise.

Spring has certainly sprung, to everyone’s vast relief, after a long merciless winter. New York City spring overwhelms me with memories: it was my now 102-year-old nanny Ann (op.cit.) who would take me into the park as soon as minuscule shoots of green appeared, “bud’ns” as my German grandmother called them, for whom buds and buttons were oddly confused, and the bud’ns on Central Park shrubs have for me a quality of amazing renewal unlike any other. Otherwise this is my quietest time of year, preparing to wind up the classroom routine – 3 weeks till I fly off to San Francisco, the day following the last day of classes, to perform the narration in the Cosmic Reflections symphony again, this time at Stanford.

High points of recent weeks include Claire’s continue run of superb portraits, one of her subjects being our daughter Chiara, about to graduate from Bard…

Meals with the Rubinsteins, featuring Lolly’s fine fruit flan, and regularly with my beloved friend and fellow-novelist John, at Anarkali, our favorite Indian restaurant…

And of course, journeys through the purgatory of the New York City subway system, featuring many people peddling salvation. This one was crying over and over: “Ladies and gentlemen, where will you spend eternity?” The answer seemed simple enough: in the New York City subway system.