Today is Saturday, November 4, 2023. Today was a page out of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst when I lost my senses and had Elliot drive to Bayonne, New Jersey, to visit Zander and Nalah at 1:30. This is the young couple of my best friend in Cherry Hill who recently had a baby girl at the end of April. We’ve been trying to visit them since the girl’s birth about seven months ago, and in my mind, this event was scheduled at 1:30 today. But it wasn’t, as we sorely discovered when we got to the young couple’s new housing complex around 1:20 and were eventually apprised of my scheduling mistake. I eventually spoke to Zander on the phone, since I didn’t have the couples’ apartment number with me, and he sounded flabbergasted that we were there – a whole week early. Oops!

What was especially ironic about my gross mistake was that I canceled getting together with Zander’s father “Harold,” who was coming into Manhattan from New Jersey to see the new art exhibit featuring the works of Monet and Degas at the Met. When he initially asked me, I originally indicated that I was free to do this with either Elliot or just me. I realized otherwise on Thursday when I had my appointment for my flu vaccine at 2:30. I was texting Harold’s wife inside the store when I erroneously remembered our commitment to her son and daughter-in-law. At that time, I bowed out of seeing them at the museum, saying we had a previous engagement with, of all people, her son. What irony, you would say.

Just like the fictional character of Alexander, who realizes that his day might not have been so terrible after all, I was able to salvage the latter part of the day after returning to Manhattan with Elliot who dropped me off on 79th Street and Broadway. I contacted both Harold and Rachel who were still in the museum and told them the crazy news about having the wrong date where we were supposed to have lunch at their son’s apartment in Bayonne. By the way, we did spend a little time with Zander and his wife, plus new baby, “Naomi,” and their Aussiedoodle, Cupcake. We were shown the apartment and I gave the couple two returned cards and a gift I bought Zander at the Akihabara district which we visited on our recent trip to Japan. I also eventually learned what their apartment number is, so I am now armed with that knowledge when we return next week.

When we got back to Manhattan sometime after 3, I think, I got out of the car, and walked to my favorite bookstore on Broadway and 80th Street called Westsider Rare & Used Books Inc. and spent a nice 15 minutes browsing inside. (Elliot had decided to drive home and leave me on the Upper West Side.) I even sprung for a new book which I didn’t need: the late Madeline Albright’s Fascism: A Warning, written in 2018 when the wanna-be autocrat was still serving as president. I would declare it’s a prescient book since the situation is not getting any better in this country, as this Orange Turd is the frontrunner among his repugnican colleagues in the 2024 presidential race. And we have a Christian right-wing extremist as House speaker by the name of MAGA Mike.

After my purchase, I walked across the street to Zabar’s Cafe at the corner of 80th Street where I had a cinnamon raisin bagel and coffee. In the middle of my noshing, I heard from Rachel who said she and her husband were finishing up their museum visit and were walking to my location. Oh, I thought they wanted me to come to 5th Avenue, which I was willing to do, but I was happy with them coming to me since the subway was on 72nd Street and Broadway, which was nearer to where I was.

Since Harold and Rachel are vegans, I was tasked with finding appropriate restaurants in the vicinity, but I couldn’t find any worth going to. So I concentrated on finding an Italian restaurant called Serafina, which I believed was located on 77th Street and Broadway. When I called the place on my cell phone, the person who answered said the restaurant was on 56th Street. After I replied this was too far downtown, the woman on the other end did give me the number of the location on 77th Street. However, when I called, I was told I had the wrong number. I probably didn’t hear the number correctly; I should have asked the woman to just connect me with their other location, but I didn’t.

As I was waiting for my friends, a man standing outside Zabar’s Cafe came up to me and began talking. I might have mentioned how filthy New York was and that I was in Japan recently and this stranger stated that he had been there himself. Eventually I was able to ask him if he knew whether Serafina was on 77th Street or not, and he said it was.

So when my friends did approach me within a few minutes, I thanked this kindly stranger for the information on the restaurant and hugged and kissed Harold and Rachel. I mentioned the restaurant was supposedly located on 77th Street, so we began walking in that direction. We were able to finally locate the Italian eatery with little ado, even though we discovered we were on the wrong side of the street and had to cross to the other side.

Now we were able to have dinner in peace. When we walked inside to ask for a table, we were ushered to an outside but enclosed area and that’s where we broke bread. For dinner, we shared an ai funghi pizza and an eggplant parmigiana. At the end of our meal, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I was being treated because of my imminent birthday. (Sheesh, if I had known this at the start of our dinner, I would have ordered lobster instead! Just joking, Harold!)

From there, we made our way to the subway and we got on a 2 train, where I alighted at 42nd Street. I said goodbye to Harold and Rachel who took the train to 34th Street. I roamed through the labyrinthian (still not as long as any train station in Tokyo) station to get the F train back to Queens.

The train I boarded was not an F but an E that was running on the F line. The car I entered was quite crowded. Still, nothing like Tokyo, I thought. Even though not every train we entered in Tokyo was dense with passengers also.

So in a way, I didn’t have such a bad day after all. I was able to salvage the afternoon and still meet my New Jersey friends after their museumgoing. When we had breakfast at Beechwood Cafe in Jersey City, we were able to park very close to the bistro. And we were able to be ushered to a table without having to wait at all. The traffic through Manhattan and to the Holland Tunnel was not overly packed, so that was auspicious. These were not bad things. If I were still meeting Harold and Rachel, I would have still been required to get up somewhat earlier than usual. If this were so, I would have been riding the subway sometime close to 11 if I had intended to meet them at the Met. I’m not sure if Elliot would have gone with me at this point.

So I will end by saying goodbye to Daylight Saving Time. Yes, we are still required to “fall back” at 2 a.m. Sunday. Ugh! I thought our do-nothing Congress eliminated this madness from our calendar and I realize it hasn’t. So it’s still on the books. I hate it, I hate it; did I say I hate it? It is a little easier to accept now that I’m retired, but it is still a drag. And there are only two states in the Union that don’t follow this silly routine: Arizona and Hawaii. So for those who can’t understand why we follow this meaningless ritual, you can thank Congress for not eliminating it.

So don’t forget to move your clocks back an hour when you go asleep or when you wake up tomorrow morning. At least we supposedly gain an hour this time. It’s the second time we fiddle with time that we lose an hour’s worth of sleep. This I definitely don’t look forward to.

Noticed I didn’t bring up politics here today? I just didn’t want to because of what happened to us today and, second, it’s Saturday. Let’s just take a break from the usual depressing news, if you don’t mind.

Have a good Sunday.

Stay safe and be well.