Nice cool, overcast day; didn’t start raining until I got back to the apartment. I met Peg on the steps of the Public Library, after taking someone’s picture in front of one of the lions. Tourists really love those lions. We walked over to Lexington Avenue to a street fair. I used to go to these street fairs often when I lived here, but after a while, they all seemed to have the same vendors. That’s still true. This one seemed to have even less variety. There were several places offering back massages, many vendors of "pashmina" scarves for $5, jewelry for $2, food, rugs, lots of handbags. The only new interesting things, jackets, coats and scarves of cashmere, hand embroidered in Kashmir, India. These were beautiful, for very high prices, cashmere or not. The only certain thing was the sweatshop labor that undoubtedly went into them.

The commercial Mozzarepa vendors were missing. I guess its time has come and gone. We finally found one stand that was selling what was probably a more authentic, but not as delicious version. We bought one, and split it. I guess my street fair days are finished. The Mozzarepa was always my big motivator.

The fair ended at 57th Street, and we walked over toward Central Park and people-watched from a bench across from the Plaza. Mostly we talked. I guess that’s what I’ve been doing since I got here–just catching up with old friends.

Beautiful day, today. The rain last night washed the air, the sun shone, the air was cool. I walked up (literally, it’s a hill) 96th Street to the Gourmet Garage. Heard lots of their ads on NPR over the years and always wanted to see if they were better than most of the New York food purveyors. Some time, when I have nothing else to write about, I’ll do a post about New York grocery stores. Anyhow, I probably won’t walk up the hill again.

I stopped there on my way to meet Howard and Sybille at the Museum of the City of New York. Sybille is one of only a few friends from my working days. We spent four hours there, looking at exhibits, catching up, discussing the exhibits, talking. I wouldn’t have believed I could spend so much time there.

One of my favorite things is the Stettheimer dollhouse. Stettheimer was an artist, with pictures at the Met, who ran a salon for artists in New York City. Some of the artwork in the dollhouse was created by artists who came to her salon. How romantic is that.

We spent most of our time in an exhibit about the Forward, a Yiddish newspaper begun in 1897 in New York. Filled with photographs, posters and blown up copies of articles, the exhibit details how the paper shaped the lives of Eastern European Jewish Immigrants and helped them become integrated into American society. The story was new to Sybille, and I was able to do some translating and add a little bit to the story.

We walked back toward the apartment afterward, and had dinner at Renee’s favorite Italian restaurant, Delizia. Sybille and I had a lovely risotto with pieces of steak and some nuts. Howard had chicken with mushrooms, looked almost like a Marsala. Very good, solid Italian; no "pink sauce."

Sybille and I never run out of things to talk about. We had lunch together almost every day while I was working. Never ran out of conversation then, either.

It began in the subway; not that anything really happened. There was a beautiful couple seated across from me. Both African looking, the woman had high cheekbones and a wonderfully sculpted face. I wish I had the nerve to whip out the camera and take pictures of all the interesting people I see. She was nicely dressed, but I don’t remember the clothes. It was her face that held me, framed with long colorful beaded earrings. The young man with her was very black, nicely dressed, with a pleasant face. The extraordinary part was the watch he had on, seemingly diamonds with a heavy gold band. I can usually tell real from fake; this was so unusual I don’t know. And I could not hear their speech to know where they had come from.

Then a woman came into the car and began speaking in a loud voice. "I don’t sing, and I don’t dance, but I am HIV positive and I need your help to get something to eat. Anything at all, dollar bills or change." She was not begging, just stating the facts; I really admired her feistyness. I contributed to her, but I was one of only a few. I guess people want begging and groveling.

I was on my way to Tribeca to visit Julia. I got off the subway at Canal Street and walked into Chinatown looking for the dragon fruit. It was gone from most of the stands that were selling it on Wednesday. I had to walk quite a way before I found a few pieces. Haven’t tasted the dragon fruit yet, but the fresh figs are delicious.

I walked west on Walker Street, passing two fascinating fabric shops where I managed to resist buying anything. I may have another chance next week. I just don’t know what I would make with a wonderful piece of fabric, to say nothing of all the pieces I already own.

I worked on Julia’s computer, restoring some data,  getting it cleaned up and recommending she get a new one. I don’t think anything is going to help this one.

We had lunch together at a new place called Turks and Frogs; lovely Turkish appetizers that we shared: red lentil pate, thick yogurt with walnuts, smoked eggplant salad and a kind of warm pastry stuffed with feta cheese. Great place! I remained at her office until the first rainstorm passed then started walking to the subway to go up to midtown for my dinner date. Does it sound like I’m always eating? Naw, I just like talking about food.

I thought there was a subway entrance on the south side of Canal Street, but when I got all the way to Church and hadn’t found it I knew I had gone too far. I stopped on the corner, probably looking lost, which I was, and a young Asian woman approached me. I asked where to  find the A train. She had a different agenda and held out a small packet of white powder in a plastic bag. Chinese medicine? She must have been desperate for a customer; I’ve never been approached like this before. Another man standing at the corner gave me the directions I needed. Everyone is an entrepreneur in New York.

Mike and Lois were coming from New Jersey to meet me. They hadn’t arrived at the restaurant when I got there so I walked around for awhile. Traffic was horrible. I was sure they would be late, but I went into the restaurant when I saw another storm approaching.

Sometimes I like Italian food if it is very good. One of the dishes described on the menu had "pink sauce" on it. Somehow, that left me very skeptical, but it wasn’t my party.

The food did not exceed my expectations; the glass of wine helped. After dinner we went to the Actor’s Temple, a synagogue founded by Mike’s grandfather. There were no actors present among the very small congregation, or perhaps I should say one bad actor. One man, who claimed he was a rabbi, started harassing the real rabbi, and making a loud nuisance of himself. Not a good way to begin Shabat, but an fitting end to this day.

So much to remember. I feel like I should have been writing this as I walked around. There was an article in a recent New Yorker about some guy at MIT who was recording every detail of his life. I got the feeling he didn’t have too much life since he was spending so much time recording.

I keep thinking about how different New York and Pittsburgh are. I’ve gotten in the habit of greeting strangers as I pass them on the street. Pittsburghers do that. So as I pass each person I want to greet them, but mostly they don’t make eye contact. Of course, there are so many people here you could spend all of your time saying hello. I have noticed, though, that people women my age will smile and sometimes say hello. We elders have to stick together.

I began the day in Chinatown to meet Shirley Sun. I got there early and wandered around Canal Street. The fish are beautiful and so are the fruit and vegetables. There was a new one today: dragon fruit. Shirley says it’s really called fire dragon fruit and she doesn’t like it. She also translated longans as dragon’s eyes and said we would never buy them if the name was translated. I wanted to buy a dragon fruit, but I can never buy anything when I am with her because she insists on paying. I’ll try to get back to Chinatown and get the dragon fruit and some wonderful looking raw figs that were for sale. I would do all my food shopping there if I lived nearby.

I met Shirley at the Confucius statue in Chatham Square, our usual meeting place. Our destination 27 Seafood Restaurant was too crowded so we went down the block to 88 Palace, neither of which have many western patrons. We had chrysanthemum tea, taro puffs, har gao and shrimp chung fun and lots of conversation. Her English keeps getting worse since I am the only one she knows who can’t speak Chinese with her. I didn’t say anything about trying to learn Mandarin; I could only remember two words while I was with her.

I left Shirley on the subway and went up to the Met to meet Jean. Again, I was early so I spent the time back at the Japanese art galleries studying the things I rushed through yesterday. In order to preserve them many of the objects are shown with very low light levels, making it difficult for me to see. Thinking about the things I want to look at in Japan, I wonder if I will have similar trouble. I would really like good, large size photographs, particularly of the folding screens, rakuchu rakugai zu, that inspired my trip.

Jean and I went to the Petrie Court, the expensive Met cafe, for tea. It turned out to be not too expensive and very pleasant and quiet, unlike the other Met watering holes. We each had a pot of sencha, a green tea, and split a wonderful lemon curd cheesecake, all with lots of conversation.

I met Jean at the Empire Quilters Guild, shortly after I moved to the east coast. We became friends almost immediately, she attributing it to our both being from the midwest. We have a lot of other things in common, also, both being more appreciators than creators at this time in our lives.

We sat and talked until closing. As we left the museum there was a big crowd gathered on the steps. Three African-American young men were talking to them and doing a performance of amazing acrobatics, one of them doing somersaults, or flips with his hands never touching the ground. Besides the incredible physical things they had a line of patter that was wonderful. The crowd kept growing until the entire area in front of the museum was filled with people, and they succeeded in collecting a lot of money, keeping everyone engaged, before they finished the act. You can see a similar performance here. I don’t know who they were but I can’t imagine they won’t do wonderful things in their lives.

After all that I had dinner with old friends, Phyllis and Tommy, with more great conversation.

I met Jane and Mary at the Met this morning. That’s the best of all possible worlds; friends to share my greatest interests. We spent time looking at paintings collected by the Clark brothers. Great art and a prime example of the foolishness of sibling rivalry.

We also spent lots of time talking, catching up on everything going on in our lives. I haven’t seen Jane for a long time; Mary visited me in Pittsburgh in spring. Mary and Jane are both fiber artists. Jane brought a fabric book she recently completed and I brought my two finished books to show her.

After lunch we went to the Japanese galleries. They have different prints on display than the last time I was there in April. I have to go back, alone, and really study them. I like looking at art with friends; it’s fun to compare ideas. But when I get serious about something, I want to be alone.

Mary and I went on to the Cooper-Hewitt. Jane had to leave us. We spent another hour or so, looking around then sitting in the garden and talking. I tried to pace myself today and did not get nearly so tired.