Rothko's Rolodex

For some reason, Trader Joe’s puts me in a mood. It’s not about Trader Joe’s. This time, it’s not background music. I haven’t even left the car. I turned off the engine and it’s already too warm in here for me. I never liked hot weather, and heat in general, and with everything worldwide getting hotter all the time I am not thrilled. I also get depressed in sunlight. Here in the parking lot, I’m not in direct sun so at least there is that.

New York and summer. I haven’t been there all summer. I remember so many summers, hot like blazes, all the sweat and makeup liquifying. heat blaring in the subway stations, on the street, the air blurry. I left New York 33 years ago this summer. It was a very hot day and we stopped for iced coffees to go at a deli en route to the airport. Dew collected on the plastic cup and I thought how this was my last New York iced coffee. I did not want to go where we were going. Here I am, in the parking lot, 2025 and I am still here. Hopefully not for long. Philly beckons. This house better goddamn sell so we can get there. There are practical reasons why I especially need the Northeast now. Apart from the fact that I have always disliked Inspidiego AKA This Dump of a Town. San Diego is more than a pretty blue ocean.

Closer to half a century than to now, I was in New York on another hot summer. I wasn’t sick yet but there it stood, way out on a Giacometti mountain range, my diagnosis. It changed everything.

I was happy that summer.