Last night, there was the walk in Central Park in the rain, the man playing the bagpipes, and Anne Hathaway in the flesh, speaking in her gentlest voice and addressing the huddled audience to let them know she shared their disappointment that she would not be performing that night.
This morning, perusing the Wall Street Journal, self learns that there are exhibits of Giacometti, Cézanne, Delacroix, Lichtenstein, all within a few blocks of Mercer and Houston, where self is headed this morning. Somewhere is a dog named Heloise, making her silent presence felt throughout the apartment. Early this morning, self is almost sure Heloise crawled into bed next to her. When she awoke, at 10 a.m. (She’d fallen asleep at 3 or thereabouts) her right arm enclosed a hollow on the bed, which felt warm.
Her friend was already at yoga class. Children’s voices floated over from the next building, probably a school. The children recited in unison, and now and then a male voice, loud, would interrupt, give instruction. At one point, a whole chorus of dogs set to barking, and Heloise barked, too: bark, bark, bark. There is a whole world up here, on the 12th floor.
Friend showed self how to make coffee. The grounds were from a place called The Sensuous Bean. Self also had a scrumptious strawberry scone to go with the coffee. Her friend told her the scone came from a bakery on 73rd and Amsterdam.
How wonderful to live up so high, to be so removed from the busy, busy world below.
29 Cornelia Street in the West Village
6 p.m. All are welcome.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.