Waking up in Brooklyn at 7:37, 7 minutes after the alarm was programmed to go off, I threw my laptop in a laptop bag astride a banana, put the laptop bag inside a travel bag, and traveled the baggage over to the superground subway.  I was not surprised to find a train filled with Chinamen.  Who else is awake, alert, and in relative motion at 8am on a Sunday (station time)?

At 8:47 on the dot, as always, the Hudson Line train pulled out of the station in Grand Central.  The girl in front of me feigned ignorance when the conductor informed her that he did not accept credit cards.  Discrete, as is the way of the MetroNorth breed, he said, “I’ll be back for you later”, and walked down the car, never to return.

At 9:32, I was crossing the Croton River, lauding the few gasping suburban men jogging along the side path of the highway that is usually the reserve of latin americans illegally crossing town borders.  It was starting to get hot.  The Mexicans presumably had the day off.

At 10:10, I had deposited my bags inside Mystic Pointe. and was backing my parents’ car out of the driveway.  At 11:00, I pulled into the parking lot in front of the police station in Stamford, Connecticut, where I spotted Sean sitting in the shade of an oak tree.  I hadn’t been sure whether Sean would be white or black, male or female.  He turned out to be a thin blond white guy, about 6 foot, unemployed since December, with a wry demeanor, eager to get out of Stamford.  I immediately pegged him as a Republican based solely on the tucked in polo shirt and his lack of affectation.  Sean said he had hedged his burgeoning career on a storied Connecticut Congressman who had finally lost his seat last year.  I had been correct.  We drove around in his car for a half an hour, chit-chatting.

By 1pm, I had watered the plants in Mystic Pointe, and was again crossing the Croton River en route to Zeytinia, where I bought a Turkish börek spinach roll of the type normally found only in deep Brooklyn, red cabbage salad (which turned out to include raisins), and brussel sprouts from the salad bar.  It was only a half day earlier that I had been discussing the festering health risk posed by salad bars with guests at Jared & Ilona’s wedding.  After lunch I dozed on the leather couch near the window.

Arousing no later than 2pm, I caught the final half set of Venus Williams’ edging out of the cute funny-looking Carla Suarez Navarro in a rerun from Saturday’s match on t.v. Navarro was great to watch, although she ultimately failed.  Williams, like her post-match interview, was dull, but victorious.  Then came the second half of the USA vs. Brasil soccer match.  USA fared far better than I would have expected, although by the last 20 minutes, they had lost morale, which perpetuated their clockwise downward spiral, whereas the feisty Brasilians were finally coming into their own, feeding on their success with a counter-clockwise alternate-hemispheric forward feedback loop.

To cap off an exciting day, at 7:25, I drove around the old neighborhood, remarking at how short Elmore Avenue is despite its having felt much longer as a kid.  Children were playing outside of the Burn’s old house.  The anti-Semite vibe looked to have been eliminated from the premises, but one can never be sure.  A shiny American car was parked at the top corner of Darby Ave, where there have always been classic American cars.  There were no fences separating properties, and the lawns were cut short, but not heavily manicured.  Healthy white high school girls were jogging the loop.

Finally, at 7:45, I ordered a small pie at Capriccio’s with pepper and onions in person, and passed the prerequisite 15 minutes at the New Croton Dam.  There I encountered a picnic full of Hassids.  A chubby black girl was lying on a blanket directly between a picnic table and the gravel parking lot a mere one foot away.  Clearly not acclimated to suburban life.  The pizza was ready.  I tipped the young girl manning the cash register.  I wondered if she would share with the Mexican who made the pizza.  Anything is possible these days.

The New Croton Dam