To life

Recently one of my closest friends had a baby shower. All of her friends and family gathered together to join in the celebration of a true miracle.

Maybe it’s the time of year, what with the stores all filling up with mother and fathers day cards and gifts that the true meaning of being a parent gets overshadowed.

But not this day, and certainly not with this baby. Inside the pretty little restaurant, hundreds of blue balloons with silver ribbons fill the air. Mountains of baby presents wrapped in pretty paper are piled up behind the guest of honor’s seat.

An adorable little girl dressed in a frilly pink and white dress places my gift on the top of the huge pile.

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Going pale green

My new car is on the Internet list of “Things White People Like.” I’m not ashamed.

I was at Manhattan Toyota, having just brokered the deal on a spanking clean white hatchback, when I found myself sharing an elevator with a total stranger. A familiar awkwardness was lifted by the stranger’s question. “Here to pick up a car?”

I nodded yes.

“Whadya get?” stranger asked.

“I’m a 55-year-old white woman. What do you think I got? A Prius, of course.”

The stranger giggled weakly and the doors opened. “Where do you live?” he taunted.

“Tribeca,” I said, “where else?”

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