Another Country -- novel research

Last weekend, I ate abundant food from Zabar's in New York City on a bench with beccawrites – honey crusted salmon and tiny pickles and olives, babka and two cheeses with crisps of bread that sustained me when I almost missed my bus home and had to hop over fake velvet ropes at Port Authority and pound on closed doors and wave the driver back to the curb, and so arrived aboard for the four hour trip, dishelleved, hungry, without water, and needing to pee. But Peter Pan buses have bathrooms, a tight fit for me, but okay.

And, I did, I still had that cheese from Zabar's -- which I, in my ignorance, had not heard of before -- where we also witnessed lobster tails, champagne ham, and received free samples of jalapeno polish sausage, smoked salmon, and yet another cheese. I ate it on the bus, wrote a letter, and watched the leaves get brighter as we got closer to home.

beccawrites is delicious, smart and fun, and she looked like a mighty force hurrying across Penn Station to meet me under the big sign, where other women named Susan had been greeted, hugged and also (one from Florida) fruitlessly sought for as I waited.

Then I met Paul at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, and his face was so beautiful, lit up – he was coming off a morning of great writing, when he had been expecting complicated technical problems, but it all came together – made a container, he said – so it was inspiring just to be around him – plus, he's a sweetie. To go to the bathroom at the cathedral, one has to go through the beautiful sanctuary with its unexpected niches and odd sweetness, then outside the building to these weird trailers, and there were these pedals to push with your feet – right for water, left to flush, but did they mean stage right? – I had to study the directions – it was like going to another country.