I have had all sorts of things I wanted to say on this blog since I rebooted it, but I have been to busy and too intimidated by WordPress and too lazy. But this needs to be said. My next door neighbor died yesterday. He was the sort of man you want to have in your neighborhood — the sort who knows everyone, who has a smile for everyone, who is genuinely interested in what’s going on with his neighbors and in sharing his own life with you in turn. He had a broad smile, and good taste in wine, and an enviable retirement, spent half in his Brooklyn home and half in Brazil. When I told him I wanted his life, he told me that I could have it once I’d worked as hard for 35 years as he had. I didn’t tell him this at the time, but I think that’s a fair deal, and I’ve only got 20-odd more years to go. He came home every spring to spend the warm months sitting on his stoop, usually with my landlord until old age caught up with him, and I can’t even begin to tell you how glad it made me every year the first time I turned the corner and I saw him there. It meant that spring had truly come. This year, he came home a little early, because he’d gotten sick, but he reassured me that he was getting better even though he looked gaunt and tired. His funeral is Friday. Spring next year will not be as warm.