We’re in the midst the second New Year of the year: September.  School season.  Routines re-established.  Leaves letting go.  Temperatures turning down. 

September is transition month; I remind myself of that every year.  By October, we will have gotten used Will being at college, and we will have settled into Liam’s routines as a high school sophomore.  The newness of the always disjointed month of September will wear off by the time the autumn leaves hit their prime colors.

Last Friday, I had my annual check up with my oncologist at Massachusetts General Hospital (MGH).  All went fine.  I strategized the day making time for a quick visit with Will before my appointment; he’s going to college in Boston.  Then after my appointment I had a couple hours until I met friends for dinner and a play. 

On the 9th floor of the Yawkey building, floor to ceiling windows line the hallway on one side while doors to the doctors’ offices are on the other.  I sat on a chair facing the windows to take in the view of the skyline.  A little part of me considers this my personal space.  Over the years, I’ve dedicated a lot of time and money here, so I could sip on the view for a bit.

Like in a hidden picture puzzle, I first looked for the gold dome of the state building.  That’s the only recognizable building I can find.  This mini-search reminds me of the cow bells that used to hang on the crossbeams in the “shop” on the farm.  As a little girl, I would gaze at the menagerie of rusting metal hanging up there and once I spotted the cow bell, Dad would hoist me up high enough so that I could poke the bell with a yardstick and make it ring.  There is no similarity between a gold-plated dome and a cow bell other than excitement of seeking, yet that childhood memory taps my shoulder every time I’m on this floor overlooking Boston.

My gaze followed left to right at the horizon taking in the tallest buildings in the distance.  I remembered seeing this skyline for the first time in 2005 when we had just moved to Massachusetts; then I thought how tiny Boston was in comparison to Chicago’s skyline.  Pulling my vision to the horizontal mid-section of this vista, I made the distinction between trees planted in the ground versus those growing on rooftops.  My first visit to a rooftop garden was at MGH in 2009: the healing garden. This isn’t just a cement roof with a few bushes rooted in planters.  Despite being on the 8th floor, the 6,300 square-foot space feels like a true garden with luscious grass, stone paths, planted trees, a water fountain, and sculptures.  The garden is a surreal kind of escape from the adjacent cancer treatment floors.

Movement in my left hand peripheral caught my eye.  Below me on the street was a bustling woman in a black dress covered in large yellow polka dots.  The details of her person were swallowed in the cadence of the fabric as she walked across the street and disappeared between the buildings.  The intense design of that fabric made me want to see her closet!  Were all of her clothes of this ilk?  Or was this the one piece of her wardrobe that dared the status quo—perhaps she wore black shirts and khaki pants most days? 

Days later, I’m still wondering about her closet… and thinking about how many combinations I have of black and khaki.