I had a magical weekend with my wife. [View all]

On Friday night, I convinced my wife that we should take some of the cash we've been sitting on, and pay off the house, just for the psychological benefit of owning it in these unstable times. So we went to the bank, and paid off the house. Now I don't have to worry that the money in the bank will become worthless in hyperinflation driven by the Orange Pedophile's appalling ignorance, venality, corruption and incompetence.

But for this weekend, none of that mattered.

After paying off the house, we drove a few hundred meters back into town, found a great parking space, paid for six hours of time and walked down past the book store to get breakfast crepes. They were delicious.

As we were in town, and I agreed to see the science fiction movie she wanted to see, Project Hail Mary, a special effects movie that is an hour too long and probably shouldn't have the word "science" in the type, since the "science" is uniformly bad, but was fun anyway, because I was with my girlfriend of nearly 42 years - OK, my "wife" but "girlfriend" still applies - and well, if I'm with her, it's wonderful if the movie is silly or if it's good.

It turns out she procured, for the following day, four free tickets for the Whitney Museum this afternoon, hoping my son and his girlfriend would come with us, but they were at the first birthday party for his girlfriend's niece, so we went just the two of us, a date. She's that way, my girlfriend/wife, she just finds something wonderful to do, pulls it out of her hat and says, "Let's go."

Hell, we should celebrate, paying off the house. Over the years, with some financial reverses owing to my dreaminess, we thought we'd never get there, but we did with plenty of money to spare. We're surprisingly lucky little shits. It feels good, owning the house outright.

My wife ordered a reduced parking space near the Whitney through "Spot Hero," and we got in early through the Holland Tunnel about two hours before our tickets were valid at 1 PM. She said, "let's get brunch somewhere." We went walking in New York City downtown, and I forgot the magic of New Yorkers walking on the streets; too often when I'm there, it's business, and downtown, near the village, well, just seeing the people, their airs of sophistication, an aura of youth even among the elderly, yes, magic is the word.

We came upon this restaurant, Pastis with a line out the door, and this super efficient hostess working a touch screen, who told us she could sit us in a few minutes if we'd agree to leave our table by 12:30. So we agreed. The waiter came up in neat denim, jacket, jeans and all; a kind of elegance about him - it turns out he was from Australia or New Zealand or both. I ordered a gruyere cheese omelet with herbs, my wife ordered pancakes. The food came out carried by efficient servers; I watched the crew, the amazing bar tenders, the servers, and, of course, the guests. The omelet was small and came with four golden potatoes, both wonderfully seasoned, super delicious. The pancakes were thick and rich, real maple syrup, dusted with powdered sugar. My wife shared a few with me. The clientele were pure New York, like something out of a Woody Allen movie in the 1970s, when Woody Allen wasn't repeating himself endlessly to the point of being tiresome and living the role he played in, well, Manhattan.

After brunch we still had a little time to kill, and went up for a short walk on the High Line Park, agreeing to take pictures of another couple, strangers, if they'd agree to take pictures of us. They struck me as lovely people.

New York.

And then the Whitney. I hadn't been there in years, and we decided to go to the top and work our way down, past the Hoppers, the Neals, all this magnificent art.

My hips and my back were killing me, but it was worth it, and my wife and I wandered, at times apart, but connecting to sit and talk on a bench. Every pain was worth it. (Earlier this week I learned that my health turned out to not be as bad as I was led to believe; I won't need heart surgery for now, so a little back pain and hip pain in the midst of great art, well it was worth it.)

You know what? It was wonderful to hear all the different languages being spoken, some of which I couldn't identify; there were people from all over the world, and notes that the Whitney was celebrating the diversity of the America not quite dead.

We worked out way down, stopping by the windows open to the Hudson, New Jersey across it, alive, still rich, a soccer game on the fields below.

And the art, the art, I felt like I feel when I go to a Mass Spectrometry conference, going in thinking like I know something about the subject and walking out thinking I know nothing at all; that was how I felt about the art.

This was an outpost of the America I so loved, undead, alive again. American the beautiful, people beautiful.

On the third floor, we waited on line for a brief concert by an ad hoc jazz band spun out of the Lincoln Center Jazz, who played New Orleans music in a fun way, wearing these wild construction paper hats that were themselves works of art, telling us in little lectures between tunes about the culture of New Orleans, built on diversity. Magnificent! The small children, pre-Kindergarten kids, dancing with the music, next to an old thin woman also dancing in the groove. Magnificent! Magnificent! I had to weep a little. The America I so loved, undead, it's still here.

And when we got down to the ground floor, while my wife perused the art store, I checked the news on my phone.

Fascism was killed in Hungary, the Hungarians celebrating in the streets!

How could it possibly been a better weekend than this? It couldn't have been.

Having spent much of the last weeks thinking my time was up, I teared up. My life, which perhaps I don't deserve, has been so worth living, and if sinking into nothingness comes, as inevitable as that may be, was unimportant in these very precious moments, as I am here still, and my heart is exploding with the richness of being.

And to top it all off, I'm in love.

I know how lucky I am, and even if it is unjust that it cannot be so for everyone, I cannot escape the joy of being, such as it is now, this day, this evening.

Magic, such as magic might be. It is great to be alive.