Friday, 7 p.m. – Jeff refuses to eat cabbage or beans again and claims I might be trying to feed him spoiled food. [Disclaimer: We are not as poor as this makes us sound.] So instead we go to a pub around the corner that serves pizza, except it turns out it isn’t greasy pub pizza, it is more like The Wedge, except I doubted the menu’s claim that they use “only local produce” since their special involved asperagus. But it was good. The pumpkin beer was good. As was the other beer the waitress brought me by mistake.
Friday, 9 p.m. – Walked home arm-in-arm. All three blocks.
Friday, 10 p.m. – I’ve discovered Breaking Bad and it is amazing.
Saturday, 12 p.m. – I eat the cabbage. I don’t die.
Saturday, 1 p.m. – Farmers’ Market at Grand Army Plaza. I’m chatting with my new little farmer friend about animal fat when she has to stop to help another customer. I look over her shoulder and see none other than Ted Mosby! I’m such a bad fan I don’t even know his real name, but How I Met Your Mother is one of just a few shows that Jeff and I really watch. It is the new Friends, people – no one talks about this enough. But Ted was RIGHT there with a small film crew and he looked right at me.
Saturday, 4 p.m. – I came home from errands to find the house clean! Or almost clean. There was a tense moment when Ellie mistakenly sat on Jeff’s laptop, and apparently Jeff hadn’t eaten since breakfast (the beans, man! the beans were still good!), so a small hissy ensued. But then all was well. Plants were watered. Laundry was finished. Order.
Saturday, later: More Breaking Bad. Very good stuff.
Sunday, 11 a.m. – The schnauzer and I go on a little morning walk, but I had This American Life on my iPod and the day was perfectly crisp, so we just kept walking and walking all the way to the park, where people had balloons and picnics and there were squirles. Ellie would like me to mention the squirrels again. Squirrels.
Sunday, 12 p.m. – Cafes and people. Brownstones with gas lamps and mums on their stoops. Crisp fall air. And I’m so full of wanting something that is all around me and also too separate, and I can’t decide if I’m very, very happy or more than a little sad.
Sunday, 1 p.m. – Back at home, a great life talk evolves. Also, we are out of peanut butter.
Sunday, 2 p.m. – The life talk evolves its way right down to a German cafe next to the peanut butter shop (aka grocery, but we have priorities). There is spaetzle and sauerkraut and good coffee and sour cherry tort.
Sunday, 10 p.m. – Lots of reading. I know this isn’t exactly a literary discovery, but For Whom the Bell Tolls is an awfully fine book.