A New Hope

It's the last hour of the day. I'm cuddled in bed with my daughter who's watching Star Wars Episode IV on the portable DVD player for the third time since yesterday. As I type, she's telling me how Han and Luke put on Stormtrooper uniforms and went under cover in order to save Leia. I'm pretending to listen. Star Wars bores me to death. I was happily enjoying a pinkalicious motherhood worrying more about how we would get the fragile dollhouse to our new home than learning the difference between a wookie and a droid.

She shouldn't even be up at this hour. Of course I know that. I also know that I shouldn't have told the nanny she could have all our furniture and that it was fine if she took it all before we left. So with five more days to go, we're left with a blow-up mattress on loan from a neighbor and an old smelly couch the nanny doesn't want. The almost-empty apartment feels a lot roomier than it did these past six years. I'm tempted to swear off ever setting foot into a furniture store. The kid likes it too, finding the obstacle-free terrain an excellent practice speedway to test the new scooter. She definitely has the best outlook on life. It doesn't even bother her when the biggest Star Wars fanatic of the gang tells her dad she's smarter than this one because ours doesn't believe that Star Wars is real. When I ask her if the comments bother her, she simply says, "No, her dad just agrees to make her happy. He knows it's not real." Nevertheless, we're watching Princess Leia get rescued for the third time. "I don't know who you are or where you came from. From now on, you do as I tell you. OK?"

Despite the squeeky droid chatter coming from the bed, I'm in awe of the calm that surrounds me. Today was my last day at work. The last swipe at security, the last lunch at the cafeteria (I think I still have three dollars and two cents left on my i.d. card), the last paycheck. They shut off my cell phone service. I turned in my Treo. One last hug, one last kiss, one last elevator ride and I didn't even look back. I meant to get a few pictures today, maybe even a few shots of Times Square and the building. It didn't happen. I'm not surprised, having lived the last two weeks in a hamster wheel. Overscheduling has become as habitual as brushing my teeth over the years; a tightly-knit calendar was essential for a successful balancing act. My TO DO LIST demands that I pencil in "Take photos at work!!" with an empty checkmark box next to it. It's my own damn fault that I didn't. Words will have to suffice: It was an extremely windy yet sunny Spring day in New York. The tourists in Times Square were fooled into jean jackets by the temperature forecasts and froze their butts off, while the natives bundled up in cashmere scarves having listened to the wind advisory. I got a haircut during lunch and picked up my boots from the shoe repair guys on 39th street. At work, we toasted my departure with VC and chocolate-covered strawberries. I left shortly after 6 pm and didn't look back.