February

“Her name was Bette” he said, she was the love of my life.”

I am sitting in the back seat of my now-familiar checkered cab, listening to the driver regale me with stories of his late wife. Old standards are emanating from a static-filled radio station on the dashboard. Somehow the vehicle seems to be driving itself towards my destination while the driver describes his “girl” in misty-eyed detail yet with hands firmly on the wheel. From his poignant reminiscence, it’s obvious that Bette was the toast of New York City back in her day. My imagination runs wild with visions of a more glamorous , romantic time in my home town.

I am enamored by this street-wise, yet gentle soul’s devotion to this woman – after all it, seems that the soundtrack to my generation is a more cynical, steady diet of love-gone-wrong lyrics from the likes of Taylor Swift. Why does pure, authentic love seem so elusive these days? I am reminded of a quote I once heard that resonates with me at this time of year:

“Love is like a virus. It can happen to anybody at any time”

Perhaps I should hold off on that flu shot after all. I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic!

I’m heading down to Chinatown on this frosty, early February evening, to celebrate the Chinese New Year with friends and some Dim Sum.  This year is the Year of the Monkey – a time for courage, taking risks and showing true devotion to even the wildest of schemes. Maybe I should just start with a fortune cookie and take it from there…