Well a cool breeze has blown in from somewhere, probably Heaven. The heat was unbearable, the close, wet heat New York gets so it feels like you are in a pot on a stove, doing a slow simmer. As I was in my creative frenzy, I mostly stayed inside and huddled by the computer, seeking not just air-conditioned comfort, but inspiration. Got some, and the break in the weather at the same time.
Mimi has kept me from being in complete seclusion, as she has her needs, as we all do, and will prance around no matter what the temperature, and loves the park in any season, considering it her front yard. In a way, I have come to consider it mine, too, and appreciate the shadings of light on the lake, cool to the eye no matter what the temperature. Besides, I have come to the conclusion that Life, too, has its seasons, so I will make the best of this one, and stay in New York.
The correctness of that decision was demonstrated to me last night when I had an evening most tourists imagine is the way New Yorkers live all the time. My new friend Howard from Time Magazine took me to the opening of an exhibition at the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art-- you remember the Rubins from your trek through the Himalayas(see Danny Kaye: "Loved him, hated her.") Coincidentally, if you believe in coincidences, my classmate Evie Rich, fighter for good causes runs their foundation, which is devoted to good works besides having given New York the museum, in an airy locale that used to be Barney's, with a winding staircase up to the sixth floor, and one wall that feels like a sacred space, so maybe Barney's should have stayed there and would have had less trouble, The exhibition was of Female Buddhas, which we all have an obligation to become, though most of us are still in a struggle to sit quietly, and art of the Footprints of the Buddha, some of it depicted in embroidered silk, some in stone, which Howard noted was the Asian spiritual version of Grauman's Chinese.
Then we walked to the village in a very gentle rain, light enough not to annoy, to a spare, peaceful restaurant on Barrow Street, Annisa, where the decor is Zen, but the food is craftily indulgent. The footsteps of the Buddha would have plumped up considerably. I had zucchini blossoms stuffed with feta cheese and "the surprise of currants," as Howard previewed for me, being a fan of the place, and a friend of the owners, two women, which Annisa means in Arabic, I think it was.
Home to Mimi, who enjoyed the remains of my excellent main course, and then to bed to watch South Park, where the army of Satan was waging a battle with the army of Angels as below the citizens of South Park battled over whether to take a dying little boy off life support, and people were protesting although he was brain dead. If he was allowed to die, he was going to join the angels, which really infuriated Satan,who when asked by his stooge what he was going to do, said "What we always do. Use the Republicans." I wonder how long South Park will stay on the air.
Today's autopsy report on Terry Schiavo I hope will send Bill Frist into his tornado cellar, if he has one. All that energy and anger and I would assume money, wasted. All that pain. Not what she was feeling, as it was evidenced she was feeling nothing, but the pain that was inflicted on the country. Do you remember what a great place this was?
At the end of the day a heavy rain, and today, Friday, another shimmering Spring-like morning, with all the ducks-- mallards and egrets, more like-- in a row. Sitting by the lake, one read The New York Times front page with a growing sense of a growing sense, as the country disapproves the way the administration is going.
Well, Good Morning, Citizens!!