I haven’t reported back about the Medic because we haven’t gotten together yet. First her mother, then the storm delayed our meeting. Boy, it's been a long time since anybody's mother was involved with one of my dates. But now we’re set for tomorrow night.
Today, I had a late lunch, or perhaps an early dinner, with the Italian (which shouldn’t be her nom-de-blog since she’s been here for nearly 25 years; she identifies as a New Yorker, and so do I.) I like her. She has a fig tree and a persimmon tree in her backyard; how could I not like her?
Afterwards, she drew me into the Community Bookstore on Court. I’d never been there before; it’s an old-school used bookstore with reasonable prices, but it looks like hell from the outside and is often closed. The guy must own the building. Mildew, ramshackle piles, impassable aisles, nutty owner. A part of the disappearing Brooklyn.
Another piece of the old Brooklyn: a piece of a glass bottle I picked up in Dead Horse Bay that said Excelsior on it. It broke in the tub the other day and I missed a shard. My foot found it this evening.
The word is out that there’s an immature male blue grosbeak in Prospect Park. Citybirder.blogspot.com has some pics; it’s not yet in the full blue plumage, which would be quite impressive. They are rare for these parts; I’ve never seen one before.
I watched a DVD of the Jeremy Brett version of the Sign of Four. Toby, the real hero of the story, was played by a border collie. Naturally. I think he's a bloodhound in the A.C. Doyle story, but let's be real: border collies are the smartest, best looking dogs on the planet.