Here I go and I don’t know why
Tonight, after dinner, AJ and I walked to the park. Manhattan was glowing pink with the evening sun and AJ and I found the clearing between the trees by the bandshell and started throwing our frisbee.
For some reason, although I’m right-handed, I have always thrown frisbees with my left hand. And in fact, I’m pretty useless at throwing them with my right. I’m not sure why. Is the action of throwing a frisbee more right-brained than the action of throwing a baseball?
Frisbee is AJ’s and my game. He plays real sports with his dad, but frisbee is exercise with a hefty dose of silliness. We mark ourselves for volleys, for accuracy, and for style. And by style, I mean the most spectacular falls imaginable. AJ always wins for style, even when I deduct points for his uncanny knack for launching the frisbee into the dirt.
On the other side of the clearing is a circle of women doing exercises on yoga mats. It looks like a fun class. If I didn’t have a frisbee and 12-year-old with me, I might stop to inquire. On the paved area near the bandshell, a father is coaching his daughters in softball. Two Buddhist monks in saffron robes join the parade of joggers and bikers on the road. We hear music and AJ asks hopefully if it’s the ice cream truck, but no, it’s the dashiki-wearing flutist who walked by our house the other evening like a Pied Piper of invisible rats.
I like living by the park.
We went home when it got too dark to see the frisbee until it was looming right in front of you. Maybe we’ll do it again tomorrow.
* * * * *
Baseball season has begun. We’ve been spending a lot of time at the ball field. Most of the games are played in the park where we played frisbee, which is nice, because it’s an easy walk with a cup of coffee. Last weekend, Cranky and big girl J came to watch. J made a lot of friends. She picked up sticks and handed me two and kept two for herself.
“What should we do with them?” I said. We tried banging them together. We tried digging a hole with them. Then I put mine on my head.
“They could be horns.” She laughed and put hers on her head too. “Like beetles!” I’d been thinking like a bull, but beetles were fine by me. We played beetles.
“Hello Miss Beetle, how are you today?”
“I am very good thank you. And how are you?”
Beetles are very polite.
In between episodes of the Beetle and Beetle show, AJ pitched three innings and hit a triple. A good time was had by all.
* * * * *
The weather was beautiful last weekend and we did some tromping around our neighborhood. On Saturday, we visited Green-Wood Cemetery. Sunday we hiked to the Botanic Garden to see if the cherry lawn was blooming. It was not, but the weeping cherries that surround the Japanese garden were. I have pictures. I may get around to posting them, but they never seem to be on the computer I’m typing on.
* * * * *
Right now, the sun is shining and the windows are wide open. In a brownstone across the street, a boy is leaning into the screen of a window on the third floor singing loudly to any who will listen, “I like New York City! I like New York City! Yes I do!”
[Still to come: a recap of AJ’s rock band concert, nearly two weeks ago now. I am hopeless.]