Did what I've been doing the past few years on New Year's Day: got up early and took a long walk. First to the river, then down along it, across lower Manhattan, to and through Chinatown, up the Bowery, back across town. Including the Chinatown tea-and-coconut-rice-ball stop (at Taipan, the bakery in THE SHANGHAI MOON), whole thing took about four hours. Boy, was it cold! But bright and breezy, wild waves on the water. At first my nose was freezing, and later, my toes. Early, by the river, I was pretty much alone, except for a couple of dogwalkers and a pair of seriously dedicated joggers. I mean, New Year's Day, 17 degrees, into the wind? By the time I got to Battery Park City, a few more people were out; by Columbus Park, folks were doing their tai chi, playing Chinese chess, strolling. Back in the Village, the sidewalks flowed with slightly sluggish pedestrians looking for some new year's caffeine.

I do this walk just to take the pulse of the city at the start of the new year. It doesn't mean anything, but it makes me feel re-aligned, in rhythm to start again. Came home really really cold, had some green tea from a dwindling stash I bought in Dunhuang, China -- oh, is this stuff good, and oh, will I never see it again because it was a local specialty and I have no idea what it's even called -- and settled down, all wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, to work.