A day of multifarious urban-domestic goodness today: a delicious brunch of Brooklyn bagels and lox, plus the frittata and peach galette ("peach what?" our fellow diners asked; my beloved Brooklynite and I explained the concept of the galette repeatedly; it never took) that we cooked upon first awakening. A stroll home through Prospect Park, drowsing through an afternoon of escalating heat until we finally reached home and proceeded to crash out, one at a time, over the next two hours. A late-afternoon journey out to the Prospect Park Carousel. A further journey to the Botanic Garden to watch the S train's comings and goings. And then the day's one off moment, when (in my own excitement to see the S train again) I stumbled onto a 6" platform and, in my falling, managed both to dip my camera briefly and shallowly in a tank of water and also to stub my big toe badly, leaving me limping all over the place as my beloved Brooklynite and I went in pursuit of a tasty last-night-in-New-York dinner (which we found at the delicious Chat 'n Chew near Union Square). Hooray that I don't have to make connecting flights tomorrow. Hooray for Aleve and bags of ice. Hooray for friends who know the perilous wonders of torturing oneself by reading lists of symptoms on WebMD.
Hooray for quiet reading after dinner. Sunday evenings have always been my favorite times with my Brooklynite friends (other than celebrating the shabbas). We are all together. We are all doing our own things. And we are all together. It's not always an easy combination to get right. We get it right in spades. I will read until my friends go to sleep, and then I will read until I go to sleep. And then I will awake to the sounds of their small son at his windowsill post, singing the trains out of the station one by one, and after too short a time he will sing a train that will be entering the station for me to board and begin my journey homeward.