The beautiful weather continues, which is making it increasingly difficult to find the time to spend at the computer surfing the blogroll or working on my paper.
When we picked up the kids from my folks house, I said something banal like “nice day, dad.” And Dad said, “nice day to get some work done.” He’s finishing touches on his magnum opus, a book for Yale University Press that is getting unbelievable peer reviews. He’s so charged up about the book that he won’t move from his Dell.
Now, I get that urgency to get work done. Partly it’s nerves and partly satisfaction with a nice sentence that keeps you glued to the office chair for far too long, but I also have a thing about waste. And you just can’t waste a nice day with your husband home and the two kids in pleasant spirits. I decided to go into the city and work from 4:00 until 10:00.
An old buddy was in town with her family, so we met up with them at the Central Park Zoo. The kids played on the granite cliffs that erupt out the gardens in the park. Millions of other people lounging on blankets in the sun and tossing a Frisbee.
Later, we ran into another friend. Bumping into people in the city is surprisingly common considering that there are 8 million people charging about, but I suppose any friend of mine would also think that Central Park is fine place to go on a perfect day.
Today, the mellow mood continues. I will have some links or political commentary later, but right now, it’s impossible. I’ve been at the gym and the playground this morning. We went to the local farm for fresh corn and spinach. And later ate ham and cheese on rolls.
It’s healthy to get away from the computer for a while. It’s a nice day to blow off work.
Apt. 11d 
I feel your pain. The weather is lovely here, which is making it very difficult for me to turn my pretty little head to examining the development of Ukrainian national identity. I must finish this before the end of the week though.
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Can you imagine, even 70 years ago for most Americans this was the season of maximal manual labor — harvests, putting up food for the winter, the whole nine. Anyone else re-read the Little House series recently, with its jaw-dropping descriptions of non-stop farm labor? I for one am VERY GLAD I was born now, and not then.
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