Periodically, something happens that strikes me deep in my soul that answers the nagging question of why I put up with the sometimes frustrating convolutions of being a renter in New York. Sometimes it's being at a dive bar on New Years Eve when we can walk home (as opposed to drive) after great conversation with young artists of the next generation. Somtimes it's as simple as stopping on a warm summer evening at the garden and having an impromptu beer and conversation with the neighbors. Other times it's being able to borrow an egg from next door while still in pajamas, and asking for the egg through the wall without having to pick up the phone.
Last night, we had a few friends over for some socializing. Some of those friends brought wine and giant cookies. And others brought a man who plays the ukelele. The ukelele is an instrument of great interest to me. Like the banjo, it can be quite folksy and in the wrong hands an utter disaster. While everybody can play something on the guitar, very few people can master the uke or banjo. And I am in utter awe when I meet someone who can.
So what an absolute delight when this man played two songs for us, one old standard and one original satire about bankers being vampires. And even further, there were at least 5 people who have at some point sung pseudo-professionally, so the accompaniment was harmonious and fun.
It is moments like that, when I'm surround by art and music and people with passion that I know that I have made the right choice of living here.