I'm too crazed with packing to write a comprehensive post for the week. Who knew it would take so long for one little person to uproot herself, her cat, and four years worth of belongings? It's been going like: one for me, one for storage at Jon's parent's house, one for the trash can. One for... I haven't lived anywhere this long other than my childhood home, and the problem is that so many of my possessions evoke memories, many of them dusty. Me being me, I take a moment to pay tribute to each, until the cat jumps full throttle into an empty box and I realize I'm still in my obstacle course of a studio.
Yesterday, Jon and I joined a friend of his who regularly volunteers in the gardens of Riverside Park, to rake, weed, and bag around 138th St. The trees blocked the rain, and the rain kept us from getting too hot and made the weeds give more easily. As a reward for our efforts, we came home with a bag full of Riverside Park grown, straight-from-the-ground lettuce and a young garlic bulb. With it we made an in-the-process-of-moving feast of chopped salad with feta, peppers, tomatoes, and garbanzos.
Next Friday's the last day the root beer-flavored custard will be on the calendar at Shake Shack. Go forward, I urge you, and taste the genius, creamy fizz.
Next week: A patriotic slice