...today, this morning, started as rainy. I biked up to 54th and Park Avenue, for breakfast with my friend Eric Goldberg. We try to meet each Friday. He gets a coffee, I get a tea, we each get a muffin. The woman who sells newspapers standing on the corner tells me about her week. Last Saturday she went to Philadelphia by bus for $10. Bus companies run special prices sometimes. They don't advertise, she told me. She calls the bus company. She goes there to shop, to save money.

Eric and I spoke about money today. He's a real estate lawyer. Real estate has been sort of down for the past few years, sort of a crisis. I think the country's noticed. I've been an author since September 11. Which is its own challenge. Not without emotional and artistic reward, mind you. And gifts of the soul--the people who email to me, come to my readings.

I told Eric my own fears - paying the bills as I get older in New York. There's an honesty and trust in our friendship.

I walked across the street to buy some birthday cards afterwards, promising the newspaper lady I'd buy one when I got back. I have three friends who have April 1 birthdays. My Dad is one of them.

When I got back to where my bike was locked, where the lady sells newspaper, paid and put away my El Diario (for Morgan to practice Spanish) a man walked by with a coffee in his hand, heading towards this cab...

"Let me buy you a coffee," he said, smiling. "You work hard."

"No, no, you don't have to buy me a coffee," I answered. Shy. Awkward.

"Money doesn't matter," he looked at me, smiling more. His eyes were black.

I looked more closely. He was my age. Heavier set. A slight gray beard. A joyous voice.

"We are born to love, that makes us human." He kept smiling. "People with a lot of money, people trying to protect their money, that makes people do bad things to other people. Let me buy you a coffee."

"I can't have a coffee, I'm getting on my bike. Can I take your picture?" I asked.

"We come into this world naked, and we go out naked. Remember that," he said.

"Can I take your picture?"

"If you let me buy you a muffin."

"Okay," I answered, and watched him walk to the breakfast cart catty-corner to the woman selling newspaper. The skeptic in me kept watching. The man did reach into his pocket, took out his wallet, handed over money for a muffin and walked back to me. He gave me his gift, got into his cab, and this is him...

"Money means nothing," he smiled.

We shook hands. We shook hands again. "Remember, we come into this life naked, we go out naked. Love is the only thing that matters, that makes us happy. That's why we're human." And we shook hands again.

Do angels have to have wings?

I biked down to Grand Central Station, to Posman Books. I wanted to find poetry by Kevin Boyle. I looked up as I walked into the rotunda. Of course I looked up. This is what I saw...

A photograph doesn't due justice to the sense of heaven in that sky. Of heaven, yes. And angels.

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& a story, & a question:

when I decided to write What Else But Home, I sold a house I'd built and invested with a friend in Palm Springs, California. He'd moved there for the sun, and to renovate houses. We agreed that he'd buy and renovate a house with the money I'd provide, and we'd split the profit--if there was profit.

He demolished the interior, then died. Suddenly He was 49 years old.

He was a good man, and after his death I learned that a lot of things had gone wrong. I called on a friend to help, a contractor far from Palm Springs, but who had some time and I trusted. He did help, and more things went wrong. A broker I'd come to trust in Palm Springs, a fantastic man named Dan Thompson, suggested a local contractor he'd worked with and trusted. I hired that man, whom I believe tried at first to do a good job, then went bad as the economy hardened. He stole a great deal of money. And Dan says from a few people. That man cut corners. He did half jobs and most poorly. The first rains this year flooded the house--in the desert? Because the driveway the contractor poured sloped towards the back door! The bathroom in the master bedroom was connected only to a box in the rear yard--the sewerage pipe hadn't been connected to the street! On and on.

And, when driveway work first started, a Verizon phone line was apparently cut. Verizon sent a penalty letter, demanding approximately $3500. I'd already paid the contractor for the driveway work. He said, as I pressed, that he'd take care of the Verizon fine. And then he told me it was solved. I didn't receive any more letters.

Only months later, did Dan and I realize that the contractor had turned dishonest.

I was recently contacted by a nice lawyer in California. Mark Pollick. He sent this letter:

I called Mr. Pollick yesterday, and explained my understanding of things. We discussed What Else But Home. I told him the story of trying to finish the Palm Springs house. I told him that the last contractor had always told me that the Verizon line wasn't where it was supposed to be--that's why it was cut. Mr. Pollick told me it didn't matter. I offered to pay 50% of the bill, figuring that I'd already paid the whole price once, to the contractor. Mr. Pollick said Verizon wouldn't accept that offer. I offered to pay 60% of the bill - certain that Verizon's cost couldn't be more than 50%. Mr. Pollick said Verizon wanted 85% of the bill, but he'd call me back after seeing what might be done. He did call today. He told me Verizon would accept $2500, which is roughly 75% of the bill. He's a nice man.

I don't know what's right - 50% seems fair to me, which means I'll be paying 150% of the cost, and Verizon will get its expenses paid, guessing that they are half of what Verizon billed.

What do you think? Write to me, let me know. Please.

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