Hello dearest. Back up in aerie after a couple of hours in the city. I got back around 3:30, not really in the mood to go out again, and of course too early for wine. I was feeling figuratively up in the air, this uncertain feeling - what should I do? I feel too unsettled to read here for some reason. In times past I've put on their cable TV and caught up on silly reality TV programs such as Real Housewives, but somehow, probably because I have access to the computer here plus great radio, it holds no interest for me. So I was feeling myself bumming out ever so slightly, feeling a little lonely and stuck up here, not filling my time quite as well as usual. And so I set to do a little housekeeping. I washed a few dishes, refilled the cat's water bowls. Clipped ends of string beans, steamed and ran them under cold water. Washed lettuce, peeled a carrot, and made salad along with tomato & cucumber to go with cold salmon at dinner. Sliced a lemon. Scooped litter box. Put dirty clothes in one bag. Bustled and tidied and kept my hands busy - and do you know, it had a palpable centering effect - I feel so much better, organized, content. Just that little bit. Of course while I was going through these modest motions I fantasized about if you were here. Dinner might be more elaborate, or we'd go out. Or perhaps it would be just the same, quiet and modest and cool and relaxing, and amiable conversation and even more amiable else. It was funny standing in the kitchen listening to backyard noises, the old neighborhood regulars in their lawn chairs. I recognize Maryanne's emphysematic cackle. You should hear her and her crowd sing happy birthday. It's like out of a movie it's so off key, raspy, exaggeratedly slow and loud. You might be bemused to hear it, but it wouldn't mean much of course - it's just that when I hear those familiar sounds now - well, I heard them so many times over the years it makes me laugh. I'm glad a few things in this neighborhood haven't changed. So much turnover, a fresh crop of spankin'-new young population keeps turning over, the oldtimers one by one die off, and then there's a stalwart crew that looks a bit older but they keep hangin' on. They own their brownstones and probably could have cashed out big-time a few years ago - but no, they're still here, hosing off the sidewalks, moving their cars on alternate side of the street days, pulling out garbage pails and pulling them back in, yelling greetings at one another down the street, etc., etc.

I don't miss it - but it's fun to revisit.

I was bracing myself this morning for a very hot day, but while it is sunny and hot, it's not humid and so it's perfectly fine. I don't feel a need for the air conditioner (though it's there if/when I do need it). Wore a different pair of shoes today, the brown maryjanes I wore at WinterWalk - very comfortable (during that parade up & down Warren too) and my feet don't hurt from my excursion today. Which is a relief on more than one level - oh good, it's the shoes, not that I'm turning into a cripple.

Darling, I wish you were here, or I there. I wonder what you're doing for the Fourth. Anything to mark the holiday? Do the troops get the day off, or is it like Manhattan retail - everyone reports to work - whaddya think Freedom's all about? I hope you all are well-supplied with meat to grill, that someone remembered to bring coals and matches, and that there's plenty of "champagne, wine and beer available." I love you. I suppose if you were here perhaps we'd stroll up to the promenade to watch the fireworks later. Or, for that matter, climb up on the roof of this very building. Only I have a hard time with that narrow ladder. I can get up it just fine but find it nearly impossible to hoist myself back down. Then again, if I had sufficient motivation to get back down, in the form of you know what from you know who, I might myself become quite the performance acrobat. "Happy Fourth," as they wish customers stepping into Williams-Sonoma on Seventh. Kisses darling, as they don't. XOXOXOXO