11/27/24

    When I finally stepped out of the apartment  around 2 pm it was startlingly beautiful outside—crystal clear skies and a cool temperature fit for a late November day. I wore my Dior trench coat and a navy wool sweater tied tightly around my neck. No bag, just my wallet, my Autoboy and a small tin of Bag Balm in the pockets of the coat. Swathed in my lapels, I started walking along the paths of the park heading downtown. I had intended for a leisurely stroll to the model boat pond near 75th street but quickly veered off around 89th street.

    I didn't expected to run into the Thanksgiving Day parade floats and with them an intensifying crowd, as I continued walking down from 89th to 88th and so on. By 77th I found no reason not to join the flow of people as I was already playing hooky from work and had nothing better to do anyway. I followed the masses down the eastern side of the street and having been cut off by parade workers, funneled back into the park. Down and out through 72nd and over to Columbus avenue where the entrance to the balloon viewing began I ended up corralled with a large clump of people the width of the street. Seeing as I was already in the midst of it backing out didn’t seem that appealing. The slow but steady movement of the crowd was promising so undeterred I continued on.

    Behind me, two older women were making entertaining little quips about not knowing where we were going and being nosy in the conversations of the families around us, though so was I. The mood of my immediate surroundings was jovial. Even the numerous children around me were old enough to not have been bothered by the tediousness of waiting around; rambunctiously laughing and playing or patiently waiting hand in hand with their parents. Many sat atop the shoulders of their fathers; one such father in front of me utilized their child’s vantage point to get insight into their position in line. All the while I watched as the sun began to dip behind the taller buildings of the Upper West Side. A breeze swept through the crowd and brought with it a calm hush.

    Remarkably, I had endured about an hour of sluggish crawling toward a security check point. Bursting forth with anticipation only to end up in a snaking barricaded street that herded us back up toward 77th, back down to 72nd, and back up again to the balloon viewing which took place on either side of the Natural History Museum. I had been under the impression, having never watched the parade in person nor on TV, that there would be more to it. I took a few photos with my point-and-shoot, gave a little
cheer at the appearance of Snoopy and laughed at how the loudspeakers blasted Weezer’s Island In The Sun rather than, say, a lovely Christmas classic. When the excitement waned I found an easy exit back onto Columbus Avenue and continued about my day pleased with my completed side quest.

    I had woken up hungover but not sickly and was now in desperate need of a Coke-Cola, or maybe to go back home and sleep the rest of the day but M and I had made vague dinner plans for when she was off of work so in the meantime I jumped on the crosstown bus to catch the 6 train headed downtown.

4:56 pm

    I got off at 51st and Lexington and walked over to Rockefeller where Holiday cheer had filled the air and numerous tourists were still gathering in the shops despite how dark it had gotten. Since H and I scrapped our plans to watch the tree lighting at Le Rock I had completely forgotten about the tree at all. But as I passed it on my way to McNally’s it was quite beautiful: perfectly shaped and fluffy, tendrils of pine hanging in all the right places and ever so slightly twinkling from what must be the lights strung around it, ready to be lit up. I made a mental note to research whose job it was to seek out the tree each year.

    There’s something so magical about a bookstore during the holiday season. It’s warm inside. I loosened the sweater around my neck and sauntered around the maze of shelves, picking up books here and there, reading the first page then putting them down again. In the philosophy section I heard an audible groan followed by “You don’t like philosophy? That’s philosophy itself!” Truly magical. When I asked the clerk about a few books I was looking for he gave me the negative for all in increasingly sorry tones and I let him know it’s no big deal in a shoulder-patting sort of tone. M called me to confirm our dinner plans. I deposited the book I had been carrying around but didn’t actually want, back onto the table of Staff Picks. On the train empty handed I made my way to the West Village.

    Commerce’s quiet, empty street was picture perfect and M, sat at the end of the bar, chatting with the bartender, was the same. I greeted the usual suspects and had a seat. What better place to have a dinner before Thanksgiving? The Shaker style room warms my heart. The half-roast chicken and hot rolls and carrots we ordered made for a classically rustic meal. M and I joked around. I told her of my adventures for the day and in an unusual turn of events she had three drinks and I had none. We shared our plans for tomorrow with the bartender and the manager and the person sitting beside us. I felt the holiday spirit. If only it would just snow then it would have been perfect.

9:05 pm
    As I walked home I noticed a beautiful woman come out of the deli with a cup of coffee. I felt I would have a good nights sleep.
 
Playlist
Song Of A Sinner - Top Drawer

Ai Oboeteimasuka - Mari Iijima

Lonely Wine - Roy Orbison

Fred Neil - The Dolphins

A Day in the Park - Ryuichi Sakamoto

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