I am apparently trying to walk every street in Brooklyn this weekend. After I recovered from yesterday morning’s walk, I ventured out again in the afternoon to check out a couple of schools we’re looking at. On the way there, I passed this:
I’m thinking Christmas shopping will be easy this year. The shop, which is a real shop, is also a front and fundraiser for the local incarnation of Dave Eggers’ 826 Foundation. Which makes me like it even more.
This morning I went with Cranky and Toddler J to the playground, which was supremely entertaining. Toddler J was beside herself with excitement to be there. At that hour of the morning (early), the playground was almost entirely populated with kids J’s age, all of whom were fascinated with one another, but were a little clueless about how to play with others.
Afterwards I said goodbye to Cranky and Baby J and headed into Windsor Terrace on a reconnaissance mission. A friend of ours has described Windsor Terrace as “The most Chicago neighborhood in Brooklyn.” I can kind of see what she means.
Brownstones disappear here and are replaced by buildings of brick and siding, many with big front porches.
There are a lot of three-flats and garages.
In the afternoon, I had a quick visit with an old friend, who came for some Toddler J time of her own, before heading uptown for a concert. Thanks to weekend subway closures, I had to switch from the F to the 6 at Broadway-Lafayette, which involves exiting the station, crossing the street, and going back down into the Bleecker Street station. There was only one problem with that plan: I couldn’t find Bleecker street. Soho confuses me. Take away the numbered streets and I have no idea where I am. So I ended up wandering around at top speed, because I thought I was going to be late. As I was tearing down one street, I hear someone calling my name. I turn around and see my boss’s boss sprinting out of a restaurant with a baby. He introduced me to the baby, who took one look at me and started to bawl. I am hoping I am not blacklisted for that. On the plus side, I got directions to the Spring Street station. How strange, I thought, that in a city this large where I’m moving this fast that I can still run into someone I know. I looked up and noticed the street sign. And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street!
More memories of children’s books haunted me as I got off the subway and search for the church on East 88th Street. Sadly, there was no Lyle, Lyle Crocodile in sight. It was hard to be too disappointed by the time I got to the church, though:
The concert was lovely too. It’s rare for me to hear a program where I don’t know any of the composers.
The audience was largely Russian and was fascinating to me. I studied Russian for a few years in college, so I did my best to eavesdrop. Mostly I just caught words here and there. Pozhalusta. Spasibo. Shhhh (some things are universal). The woman in front of me had the biggest diamond ring I’d ever seen, a big square of flash taking up most of the real estate between her first and second knuckle. I was already hypnotised when the music began, and then even more so.
Afterwards, I met up with my friend and stopped by her apartment in Cobble Hill before heading out for some dinner at a nearby Italian place. And I made it home in plenty of time for my nightly phone call home, where I got my own personal sports highlights from my own personal baseball player.
How was your weekend?