After I picked Katie up at Logan Airport last Saturday, we had a day at home and then went to "the old country" for her birthday celebration a month early because she is in between jobs. Monday was travel day, Tuesday Shakespeare in the Park, and Wednesday, dinner with (cousins) Jeanne and Amanda and "Waitress" the second time around because we had both seen it in Boston.
Before I went down I had called our friend, now 99, and asked her how our other friend, the fascinating Martha Coigney, was doing, and was upset to hear that she had died a few months earlier . My mother had called her Martha-Who-Has-A-Tony because she had indeed won one for her work with the International Theater Institute. We had stayed with both of them in their fabulous apartments overlooking Central Park but had lost touch over the years. I felt horrible but it's just too hard to keep up with everyone.
I cheered up with a trip to Little Italy via subway for dinner, a stroll, a gelato and cannoli.
The next day, we got up at what my father used to like to call the crack of dawn to wait on the Shakespeare line, one of our favorite things to do. (I still hang on to my New Yorkism – on line – instead of the proper "in line" so I thought I would throw it in there.)
|In the Shakespeare Line|
The person at the Delacorte Theatre box office said our only choice was to go early to the standby line unless we could zoom in on the tickets in the photo and show proof that we knew the number of the missing seat. My investment in my iPhone 6 with the good camera paid off because we could indeed see the number, and the night was saved.
I thought I might go for a little run, but we did so much walking that it never happened. We were also going to go see the bench that we had dedicated to our parents near the flower garden that my mother loved. I don't know where the time went but we skipped it in favor of spending more time on the next visit.
Wednesday's performance of "Waitress" was early, at 7:30, so we had dinner early too, at a good Italian place on Restaurant Row.
Over at the Brooks Atkinson Theater, the smell of baking pies wafted through the air, a nice touch with "waitresses" selling the pies in little mason jars. For a sampling of reviews, click here.
The show was sweet, just like the pies, and we drove home listening to Sara Bareilles singing the songs. Back at home, I went up the hill to Breezy Acres and got a pie made with fresh local strawberries.
The mason jar and the whole pie each cost the same amount: $10. But we were paying for atmosphere at the theater, so it was worth it.