One Last City Day

The buyers' inspection was today, so in the morning we all loaded ourselves into the car and headed into the city for one last visit. It was our first time there since February (me and the girls) and March (Andrew), and we were glad to see so much normalcy--lots of traffic on the streets, people walking, sidewalk seating outside restaurants, shops open. We'd assumed parking would be easy; we were wrong. But we found a spot on Columbus and ate bagels on a bench outside the Natural History Museum. Then Andrew took Farrah into the park and the girls and I went into Flying Tiger for some notebooks and other things. Then we drove to the Muji near Bryant Park and bought, in all, 22 notebooks. (The Muji five-packs are my favorite, and we stocked up.) 

We thought about having lunch in Bryant Park, but we couldn't find a place to park, so we just headed home. We drove past shuttered theaters. We talked about what we'd see when Broadway reopens. We decided, when we visit, we'll stay at the Conrad and see The Cursed Child. I really can't wait to make that happen.

It was strange being back, going to a few of our favorite places, without having been there in the darkest moments of the spring. Alighting and departing with a wave, visitors separated from the new reality of a city that doesn't belong to us anymore. 

Lots of emotions, close to the surface. We leave the day after tomorrow.

Back home, we walked into town for a late lunch at Coda and sat at an outdoor table--our first time eating at a restaurant since March. It was blazingly hot and very windy; the canopys covering the tables rose up at one point and nearly toppled into the street. The walk home was extremely hot, and the girls and I got into the pool when we got back. I'll miss our little pool. We have to drain it tomorrow. 

L&G played with the neighbor kids for a little while today, but they're starting to feel like they want to stay home, in our house, for these remaining hours. I can't really pin down how they're feeling; when I ask, they make a joke, though I know they have to be sad and nervous just like Andrew and I are. And excited. Of course that, too. 

I think tomorrow will be strange and melancholy. I wish we could skip it and skip the departure and just blink and be in our new house, without having to go through the separation. This is the worst. And it's so strange and upsetting that we'll leave with the girls on Saturday with our house looking more or less intact--they'll be saying goodbye forever to a home that still looks like their home. Andrew and I return in two weeks when the movers finally come. So I think it'll be very confusing and sad on Saturday, and it'll be hard to really grasp that all of these things are going to meet us in Pittsburgh; just not yet. Intellectually, we all know we're not leaving anything behind, but it's going to feel like we are. It's a move without any moving--a disjunct that's going to be so weird and unsettling. 

Tonight Lucia remarked that she doesn't want to move into an empty house, and that she doesn't want to sleep in an empty room, so we decided the girls can sleep together in each other's rooms, on cots borrowed from my parents, for the week we're at the house before the moving van arrives. 

Farrah did not like the city today, BTW. It was the first time we'd taken her in. There were too many people and dogs and noises; it was hot; we kept separating to go into stores and she couldn't herd us all together. Greta walked away to throw something into a trash can and Farrah began barking and whining like crazy. She's a suburban doodle through and through.