I live beside a small city park, 16 floors up. And about three weeks ago, after a year of living in this unit (coming to four years now in the same building) I finally cleaned up the balcony and set up a multi-purpose corner: for reading, writing, meditating. This morning it was for eating pasta and drinking coffee.
I've been walking around the neighborhood hunting for new pockets of neighborhood bliss—a nice restaurant, a quiet coffee shop with a wonderful ambiance, a new deli with foodie finds, a day spa, or some kooky little school and office supplies store (who doesn't love Little Town? Plastic envelopes! Generic receipts! Carbon paper! Dragon paste!).
And I've made some new and not-so-new discoveries. There's Upper East on Tordesillas St, a hop-skip from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, the cutest restaurant on the block with weird operating hours. If I catch it open, will take photos and you'll see why. Then there's the FedEx along San Agustin St in a somewhat rundown building that screams Who Knew There Was a FedEx Here?! (this matters to people like me, who rarely mail out parcels but highly appreciate the idea of being near a place that can do it in the unlikely event that I may need to do it).
But the best discovery is the one that's been sitting under my nose this whole time. My amazing balcony. I haven't really hung out much in it so am making up for lost time. The only time I extracted my ass from the balcony chair was for about two hours towards the end of the day when I walked to Greenbelt, shopped at Watson's, then headed back.
I go to sleep now a happy girl from having had a nice Sunday beside the park, 16 floors up.