.Saturday, February 23, 2002

the beginning of a new series...called 'C level'...what Chalow sees down there where she is

they paint weird things on the street!

most creative house in Tarrytown?
(in the continuing neighborhood series)

"I don't think becoming a grown-up means losing your sense of playfulness. What it does mean, I believe, is the willingness to make choices, take chances, commit yourself to one way of life over another."
Joseph Epstein, an essay 'Grow Up, Why Dontcha' in a collection Narcissus Leaves the Pool

We park just west of Windsor and Expo and walk to Mozart's, ambling along, making our usual comments on the houses for sale and not, the landscaping. Evening jasmine is blooming yellow in the sun, some fruit tree sports bright blossoms, bulbs have come up into bright harbingers of spring. It's a wonderful, cool, bright, cool day.

Sitting at Mozart's, sipping coffee, we discuss the possibilities for the day. Movies, wine tastings, etc. We will do none of it. I have a bagel with sesame seeds, onion and poppyseeds. And cream cheese.

When we get back from walkies, Dad is still gardening, having been joined by the neighbor Suzanne whose vegie garden it is.

FFP goes off to get some plants for the bed in the front and I'm happily working on the journal. Mom calls. Wants to know when Dad is coming home. I explain that he has someone to garden with. She wants to know if we could go to Dilliard's at the mall to get cosmetics for her. I agree. Sure.

Dad beats me there by the time I get off. He's eating some steamed vegies. So I have some, too, with some cheese on top.

Traffic is heavy, but the trip is fairly painless. There is a handicapped spot near the door near the cosmetics department. I look around while someone helps her find her face cream and foundation and lipstick. I always get a little nervous in the cosmetics department. All those made-up women in smocks waiting to reverse my forty years of refusal to make-up my face.

I deposit my mother at her house and return to ours. FFP is doing a phone interview of someone for his West Side Stories column. When he's done, we both decide to shower and do something. It's late but lunch seems in order. Of course, I did have vegies.

We consider going to Granite Cafe but it isn't open on Saturdays during the day. From somewhere comes the idea of Katz's. And there we are, downtown, sitting in the window, reading. I have a vegie Reuben (avocado instead of pastrami). FFP has a cab that I sip some of. He has borscht and pot roast. At the end of the meal, I spill a full glass of water. No harm done, though. I've been clumsy lately.

There are images of WTC all over Katz's...a cardboard skyline in the window, posters for sale. I always forget how really small the place is and how it always seems a little grimy like, being open all the time, they never have time for a good cleaning.

Home again, I work on my journal, watch some tube. FFP dutifully puts together a record of stock sales for the taxes. We have almost all the statements ready to go to the CPA. He has done all this stuff for me for so long now. I used to write checks, personal and businnes, balance check books, etc. Now he and the bookkeeper do everything. I was watching my mother write a check at the store today, thinking I don't remember when I last wrote a check. FFP does it for me to make it easier to keep up with.

I'm a little sore from the tennis. Shame. I take a little more Advil.

TV. Reading. I read a lot of papers or at least move them from the 'to read' pile to the 'recycle' pile. I finish my Joseph Epstein book and don't start another although there are probably hundreds of half-finished books for me around.

A wasted day? Maybe. But not boring. I'm never bored in fact. I may despair, ache, doze or scream. But I'm never bored.

JUST TYPING
Nothing to do.
Bored?
Never.
Hundreds of possibilities.