We sought a shady bench close to the Manhattan end of the Williamsburg Bridge and the one we found was on Bialystoker Avenue, who has ever heard of that, O. and I ate our peanut and sunflower butter sandwiches while K. ate warm mayonnaise. I love her; I don’t understand her. The peach was amazing, nectarines got them same report, then O. and I played a phone game while K. took a nap, cooler in the shade.


K. and I each had a sandwich, I took more than my share of avocado, K. had all the tomato, we split a peach. My favorite part was discussing what would make me pull out of the marathon, how far I’ll push my body in this first crack at training. Wow I could talk about that for a thousand years.

The peaches are perfect now, so perfect K. put them in the fridge. I ate one cut up because they’re easier to eat when they’re cut up, she’s right about that, and a PB&J. Honestly I was mostly full from the popcorn I got to reward me and O. for surviving the Atlantic Terminal Target on a Sunday afternoon. Add a sandwich, and it’s lunch.

I can tell I’m back at work when I’m eating basically a kids lunch and reading an article on the internet at my desk. I had no idea libraries were such a small part of the scholarly book market. I wonder if that’s true.

Now this is what I call the fall semester, scarfing down a PB&J and yogurt after the meeting and two hours at the reference desk, before the next meeting.

I was in super-efficient mode today, finished my assessments of the assessment reports, did the laundry, taught a group of surly rising freshmen the differences between magazines and journal articles (one is entertaining, and the other would put you to sleep), ate a sandwich in two bites, a peach on the way to the train to pick up O. for a bus ride.

I ate my packed sandwich and a peach on a boat dock extending out into a turquoise glacial lake, staring at the continental divide. True story.