These early summer days

Last Saturday, two of our friends got married in Central Park, in what they called a Wedding Carnival. The groom dressed as a carnival barker and a kazoo band played in the bride as she walked to where he stood beside Bethesda Fountain. They said the first part of their vows at the fountain, and all the words they spoke were from the lyrics of rock songs. Next, they walked north to the Boathouse where some eighty guests got into row boats while the rest of the guests gathered on the boat bridge to cheer and sing, as the bride and groom said the second part of their vows on the water.

After that, the whole wedding party walked to the Carousel, where the actual "I dos" were said, followed by a picnic in Sheep's Meadow. My daughter, who works in special events planning, another friend, who wants to be a wedding planner, and the bride's daughter, consulted with the bride and groom for months, and pulled in volunteers to help run the day. The bride is the mother of one of "the six," my daughter's group of lifers whom I've written about here before. The whole thing went off without a hitch, which is quite a feat, given that the decision was made not to secure permits for use of four heavily trafficked park locations, and a kazoo band was involved. I applaud the bride and groom's imagination and gusto. Here's a picture of the six, relishing their togetherness as always.

There's been a heat wave in the city these last few days, with temperatures climbing into the nineties and the humidity pressing in. We did not take this into account when we made plans for a family brunch outdoors on Sunday. I was completely overwhelmed by our proximity to the live band, and the heat, but I had fun anyway, as I always do with this crew. Only my son was absent. He's away at camp, certifying lifeguards before the campers arrive. He might be no nonsense in the way he runs his certification course ("If my name is on their certificate," he says, "then they better know what they're doing"), but after hours he's having a blast with his camp circle, the kids he grew up with when he was a camper himself, who are now his closest friends, many of whom return to that lake in the woods every summer, because the memories. Anyway, we missed him at brunch, where mimosas were included. I think we will have to do regular gatherings like this, now that all my babies have flown and have set up house with their significant others. I love seeing them all together. I love that they enjoy one another's company.

Then, yesterday, I had lunch in the neighborhood with my friend, who is a wonderful painter and ceramic artist, and whose website is now live. I've posted images of her work before, and some of you asked how you could view more pieces and perhaps purchase them. Now you can. The photo of her was taken under the elevated train tracks, with the rails casting interesting shadows on the wall. My friend consented to having her picture taken against the pattern of light, despite the fact that she hates being photographed and doesn't realize how beautiful she is. The image below is of some of her figurative pieces, displayed in front of one of her large oil-painted canvasses.

After our lunch I treated myself to a pedicure at the swanky new salon that's opened up right on my block, and in the midst of my self-pampering another friend called and said she was having an anxious day and could we meet and talk—which we did. Later in the evening, the man and I went to see the movie Wonder Woman, which I enjoyed, even though I am usually bored stiff in action flicks. I think my daughter's review was spot on: "It was a great, and very feminist, but corny, too."

So you see, I've been getting out more. Today, however, I need to buckle down and get back into the routine of writing 1,000 words a day. It's another scorcher outside, so perhaps I will stay in my cool house and work at the table by the big window, looking out at the trees. I might not even get out of my sleep clothes, because if I dress for the day, the world outside my door will call to me, with errands and blue sky and such. Instead, I'm going to heed the advice of Denise, who blogs at Margaritaville: "If you park your ass in a chair and get ready to write, the muse will know where to find you."