It’s been a busy week. I’ve been getting full use of my unlimited
monthly Metrocard. I love looking at my
calendar and seeing it full. But then
when the time comes to actually do whatever is scheduled, I often wish I had no
plans.
Like today for example. It’s snowing.
More a wet snow than the white fluffy kind. But still, I love being inside looking out my
window at the still-pristine white dusting on the city streets.
Meredith and I have tickets
for SNOW GEESE, a new play set in 1917 with Mary- Louise Parker. I hate period pieces. And last night at Book Club someone there saw
this play and was bored. I don’t want to go.
Neither does Meredith. We’ve
changed the date three times and the play ends this weekend.
It doesn’t help that Ben
Brantley of the NY Times says of it,
“The
Snow Geese,” a fable of a family that isn’t
as
rich as it thinks it is, is unlikely to stir any emotion
other
than bewilderment as to how this lifeless play wound
up
on Broadway.
I give the tickets to
two grateful friends who later reward me with a bottle of beaujolais wine.
I spend the day happily
inside, doing nothing beyond reading The
Husband’s Secret, the perfect book for a snowy day.
And by late night, it is
still snowing, and still the snow is white.
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