I knew I was back when I heard the “Mom, give it a break! What do you want?” ringtone in action on a Manhattan street yesterday.
Yesterday afternoon, A and I drove out to his storage complex in NJ, where he has several units chockablock with stuff, as well as two outdoor parking spaces. Makes me look positively monkish in comparison. We shifted over to his truck so that we could transport the enormous toolbox he uses to store material next to his boat. The boat is still in Conn., but it’ll be in the Hudson soon. After we attached the box, chained to the dock to keep the pirates at bay, we toasted the Nereids with some excellent whisky, our legs dangling over the river as we sat in the shade of the Palisades. Tree swallows zipped around us, a mocking bird rang through its changes. Across the water, the wooded hump of Inwood Hill caught the last of the sun. Dinner in Closter, after passing many, many SUV-homes, grotesquely large monstrosities, in the nearly-empty Peking Duck House; we closed the place out at 10 pm, which, A. noted, is like 2 am in the city. Coming back, we listened to early Springsteen the way he should be listened to, moving fast on Jersey highways in the night. A great day.