I wrote a piece this morning, then met Maccers at the Dahesh Museum of Art, which has a very nice restaurant. Afterward we strolled up to 59E59 and saw Amy Irving in A Safe Harbor for Elizabeth Bishop. At play’s end we walked over to Tibor de Nagy to ogle a exhibition of paintings by Jane Freilicher (about which you can read more in the right-hand column).
I’d planned to spend the rest of the afternoon at the gym, but I didn’t feel like staying indoors, so even though I wasn’t wearing a coat, I walked all the way home at a spectacularly brisk clip. The southeast corner of Central Park was a symphony of pale greens and tans, so I entered the park and headed for Seventy-Second Street, exiting at the Dakota. It was the first time I’d taken so long a walk through the park since Ms. in the wings paid me a visit
back in November. By the time I finally charged up the stairs to my apartment, I’d worked up a sweat and felt like a couple of million bucks.
I also felt amazingly grateful, which is something I haven’t been feeling nearly enough of late, preoccupied as I’ve been with thoughts of mortality. Needless to say, the fact that I took a long walk on a pretty day doesn’t mean I’m not going to die sooner or later, but the Distinguished Thing seems far, far away as I write these words at the end of a perfect afternoon.
Life is good. Please, Sir, may I have some more?