At least one of my tomato plants is suffering from blossom-end rot this year, a sign I think of our unusual rollercoaster summer. The plants just don't know how to deal with drinking water when the temperature is moving in so many different directions.
I am home from vacation. I sat outside drinking sangria and watching the heat lightning and inside cozily ordering another glass of wine while outside it poured. I watched the guards in MOMA watching the people, and the guard by a Felix Gonzalez-Torres piece try hard to convince people in several languages to pick up and eat the candy. (Fun fact: Felix Gonzalez-Torres is one of my very favorite artists.) I was surprised by a spooky Hopper painting in a corner by an elevator, and I walked through Little Italy in a rainstorm, shoes and shins and the hem of my dress soaked but still without needing a sweater. I met a wild-haired Frenchman who I can only assume was an early birthday present from the universe (dear universe: thanks for that), and I looked and looked and looked at dinosaurs. I finally, finally went to the Cloisters, and I went with someone I have known for approximately 27 years. I did a lot of eating, a lot of watching, and a lot of laughing. These are all my favorite things.
Now it's time for the rest of the summer, and as long as the creek doesn't rise it might still be salvageable.