Today, I met my friends for a post street fair meal at Matsui and walked home along York. At 75th Street, I detoured to the path by the FDR, the spot commemorated in the picture of Burt above.
Memories stretch in all directions. I have lots of these heading every which way but this one is right in our closest neighborhood.
The FDR was closed for a bicycle run and we went to the walkway just west of the road to watch. The race occurred some three years ago on an early Spring day. Burt was tickled to be watching the bikes go by.
We would have had as much fun, and even the same quality of fun had he been well. But he wasn’t.
That singular fact made this both sad and beautiful, and that much more precious.
this is our life 