Four dozen, five dozen, six dozen tomatoes from our “horse trough” vegetable garden.
Caprese salad and wine in the garden with two of our dearest friends in the world.
Butterflied chicken with rosemary that does not stick to the grill. Victory!
A swallowtail butterfly as big as my hand that pauses on our butterfly bush.
Finding homes for most of our perennial plants.
Thin-crust, coal-fired pizza at Grimaldi’s, at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Meeting a college friend and her family for pizza and still feeling that we can just talk, after not seeing each other for 20 years.
Finding out there’s a Grimaldi’s in Reno, Nevada, only three and a half hours from San Francisco.
Young people playing soccer at dusk in Brooklyn Bridge Park, the Statue of Liberty in the distance, the lights of lower Manhattan across the East River, the double swoop of the Brooklyn Bridge behind. BBP is sublime.
Sliding under clean, soft sheets.
Sleeping well, for once.
Riding a friend’s Brompton folding bike past Brooklyn brownstones on a summer morning, the pleasure of good engineering, solidly made.
Finding a no-iron, Lyra miracle skirt that I adore; contemplating wearing it out to dinner during our cross-country drive.
The fact that there’s STILL no humidity in New York City. The weather gods must not be paying attention, but we’ll take it.