Sunday session

Good morning dearest. A beautiful mild morning. It's ten a.m. My walk at the conservation area is behind me already. I was the only person I encountered - except for a man clambering up a tree. An odd sight. He was pretty high up, saw that I saw him, said hi, and I said hi back. It did look like a good climbing tree - many strong branches. He walked up it almost as if it was a staircase.

Perfectly harmless I'm sure, yet unsettling, a little. It reminded me of the summer before 9/11 - and of course we didn't know it was the summer before 9/11 - when I had a strong, recurring sense of unease. There were strange occurrences in NY Harbor that summer - my memory's hazy now but as I recall, a small plane buzzing the Statue of Liberty (or maybe someone had parachuted onto it?) and another day, a man clambered up the span of the Brooklyn Bridge. And always jets flying along Manhattan too low, too close to the metropolis. I used to walk to work across the bridge very often and one morning - I think D was with me - I just froze in my tracks and said that things didn't feel right. It was just a brief moment of stopping on the bridge and acknowledging my anxiety - and that was it. I resumed the walk and went to work.

Anyway. I'm actually sitting at a little table outside a café on Warren Street. The street is just waking up. The waitress has poured me a refill of coffee. A good-looking man has just left the restaurant. He's wearing a ball cap and has roughly your lean, lanky build - I wish he were you and I confess that as a result I am looking down the street at him longingly. Ah, he's on the next block already. Madness.

I've had the luxury of the car to myself this weekend. Our neighbors went to the city for the weekend. D dropped them off at the train station with their car and will pick them back up at some point. In exchange he has the use of their car - hence my spritely jaunt over state lines yesterday, and the freedom to go where and when I please today, though I will stay closer to home. Can I tell you just how airy I am? I've forgotten how to pump gas. D always takes care of it. I would be quite clueless if I were to run out. In my own defense, I used to know how, when I lived in California nearly 30 years ago. I quickly forget how to work most things mechanical unless I'm working them all the time. If I had to learn I'm sure I could pick it up again.

A baby girl, all smiles, has just ambled by with her parents. She's wearing cute spangled shoes that sound like a rubber duckie with each step. "Squeaky baby," I say, and Papa replies, "She needs an oil change."

Sitting here reminds me of my California days, lingering in the dappled shade of the courtyard at the Mimosa Café in Oakland. Wish you were with me, darling. Do you like California omelets?