This past weekend, I was a bit under the weather . . . went to the corner grocery store to get juice, etc. Ran into my upstairs neighbor. He took one look at me, kissed my cheek, and said, "For supper, I will make chicken soup, and I will bring it to you" (he's from venezuela, and has a wonderful way with the english language). And he did. Two hours later, a gentle knock on the door and there he was . . . with a huge bowl of hot, homemade chicken soup. Such a rich broth and tender chicken and potatoes and scallions and just a bit of celery. I was well within five minutes.
Wednesday, after drinking way too much with colleagues, i randomly called my upstairs neighbor. he immediately ushered me to his apartment and fed me more of his now famous homemade soup. I love him. This guy was my stand in landlord when I first moved in (our landlord was gone to spain for the summer). Again, he took one look at me (Not only had I been driving cross country for four days from lubbock, I had just driven through a rainstorm so thick that I couldn't see any of the cars all around me when crossing the verrazono bridge . . . this from a girl who has driven on strictly rural roads her entire life), and decided that he and his son were going to empty my car, take my stuff up one flight of stairs AND go into the basement to find the a/c that was rumored to be left by my friend who used to live here, like 2 1/2 years ago, and install it for me.
So, tonight, I feed him for a change. I have nothing to say about it except that I'm so glad that my energy and general good cheer has returned so that I can start returning some of the unconditional support that I have gotten since I've moved here. Honestly, I love my neighbors.
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