Lazy Sunday

Why is it that one always drinks too much the night before an early brunch? At least I had the wherewithal to take the Advil before going to bed (and certainly more than the wherewithal not to live in East Rutherford in the first place! Which is to say, Go Giants?!). But I dragged myself and my boots through a ridiculously perfect morning to Old Devil Moon in time to meet The Artist and The Actor. Either I really had had too much to drink, or they left out the salt, but the food was less than stellar.

We lingered over our coffee anyway, and then set off for one of the nearby community gardens, to meet actors and beekeepers. You heard me. There are hives in New York City, honey, 20 feet off the ground in a nameless garden. It was a gorgeous day, and there's something particularly surreal about watching people don bee suits, climb a ladder to a roof to another ladder to a platform, and pour sugar water into a tray, because the bees didn't make enough honey to get themselves through the winter. There's something vaguely Pennsylvania Dutch about it all, and hardly a thing to remind you that you're in the city. And there's nothing like watching artists do research, to the sounds of doughnut-eating children at play, while their parents negotiate the minefields of finite shared outdoor space.

I'd recently read this article in the New Yorker, so I was more informed than anticipated, but as it turned out, there wasn't much to see from the ground. (The bee suits didn't include pants, and I'd worn a skirt with the aforementioned boots.) We spent the rest of the afternoon telling bee stories, lingering in the gardens, decorated for Halloween, and drinking coffee. A delightful day.