Daily Blague

The holiday weekend was delightful. Almost everybody left town, and the weather was mostly glorious. That's really all I need for a great break. The city quiets down almost to a hush. There are no bottlenecks at the corner of Second and 87th (I think that I've mentioned the symphony of horns that these produce). There are no guys calling out to one another across 86th Street. There are no trucks barreling up First Avenue or down Second. (How I pray for tolls to be imposed on all the bridges. Then drivers would take the Triboro instead of playing Interstate Highway in Manhattan for the free crossing on the Queensborough Bridge.) And there are no kids shrieking on their rooftop playground next to Holy Trinity. I don't mind the kids at all, really; often I reflect that while the screams are sempeternal, I've been listening for so many years that some of those pre-schoolers are already out of college and perhaps even parents themselves.

We walked to the East River on Sunday afternoon. We meant to take a somewhat longer walk, but Kathleen decided to go to six o'clock Mass, so we turned around and walked back along 87th Street to St Joseph's, one of Kathleen's three churches and the closest one to home. We did spend about ten minutes gazing at the rushing tide (not apparent in this overview) and watching the antics of three jet skiers. They bucked the tide, heading north and into Hell's Gate, then thought better of that and went to play on the other side of Roosevelt Island. Then they reappeared. By now, a luridly orange cigarette boat was inching toward the Sound, giving a very good impression of a vessel in distress. But no. The motor roared - and I do mean "roared" - and the boat was soon out of sight.