Afternoon Delight

Today on a mellow sun dappled spring afternoon I discovered the loveliest neighborhood in Queens. Forrest Hill Gardens looks like the kind of enchanted place where a princess would grow up. Row upon row of magestic Tudor style houses look out onto the street through cut glass paned windows. A crystal chandelier gleaming with rainbows catches my eye from someone’s living room. The neighborhood reminds me of Cambridge, England. Its so beautiful and quaint and different from everything I’ve ever known in California that it catches me by surprise and almost makes me want to cry. Here is my fantasy of the East Coast – tall, regal brick buildings, brownstones, old graceful houses surrounded by oaks and maples, their bare branches scratching at the exposed blue sky. Everything looks classy and old.

Who lives here? I imagine cultured, worldly women and men reclining in tastefully decorated, book-lined living rooms. It’s the kind of place that an Anthropology Professor from Columbia might live, or a Literature Professor at NYU. The neighborhood breathes success and old worldly cool, reminiscent of my naïve West Coast fantasies about the blue blooded, Ivy League chic of The East.

I wonder do the people in these beautiful houses ever feel trapped? Ever feel that their life has grown stale, empty? Do they possibly ever feel as lonely and insignificant as me? I’m like a little country mouse, scuttling along in a place where I could never belong.

But the birds are chirping and the first few flowers of spring are struggling to show their delicate heads despite the harsh, battering of the winter. Maybe there is a place where I will feel welcome somewhere in the world.

In a matter of minutes I am back on the teeming streets of New York, a million strangers’ careworn faces greeting me.