A Wistful Season
Spring involves so many traditions it’s hard to list them. Even after all these years they still have an effect on me. When the Masters comes around I get excited, some might say very excited. The calendar is blocked off —I don’t entertain any idea of entertaining. I can’t imagine watching the Masters with any friend who’s not sufficiently obsessed, and even then they have to approach the matter the same way I do. I don't have to get into the specifics of my Masters equation, I’ve written about that many times. But it involves varying parts Riesling, Verne Lundquist, the Dave Loggins piano theme and the wall of green).
There’s the baseball opener (optimism high, usually unfounded). There’s the beginning of the fishing season (optimism even higher, definitely unfounded). I like to see the students who graduate from NYU wandering around Washington Square, proud parents from all over the world trailing behind them. I even anticipate the return of the ice cream truck and might destroy a soft serve on a corner when I know nobody’s around.