Yesterday’s post-surgery first was walking three blocks to deliver a loaf of homemade bread to my boss’ house – and walking back.
This box full of cat blankets readies itself for the ejector seat flight to Georg’s house, though chances are excellent it will go by the postal system, which loves me back.
Today’s first was 12 minutes on the stationary bike, which would be a big surprise to the nurse at the hospital who told patients not to do that. Those other patients were not me. I’m fairly sure about that.
On a clear day, you can see goddamn Coney Island.
The tourists are gone, which means tourists like us arrived at Sandy Hook this weekend. I’ve been waiting for this weekend since it turned cold last winter. Pete and I drove down to the park, rode like Jehu to this snack bar/rest stop/unprotected beach and sat on the roof for small snacks and lots of fluids. I was actually as happy as I have ever been in my entire life. If someone calls you on the phone and says, “For $10,000, Jed, do cream cheese, dried cherries and fresh basil make a good sandwich?” Well then. You say yes.