Lilium "Eurydice" again.
And this one has opened, too, "Silk Road". Not the sort of lily I would usually go for, but it has been included as a bonus bulb in my order for the last two years running and I planted them. Six feet tall, flowers the size of my hand, richly scented. The sort of lily that would steal the silver. Or one's husband.
See what I mean? Rude.
Then it was off to work on the subway, which was fun today. A small pale brown boy was deep in conversation with a dark white man, side by side, and I thought they might be father and son, or Big Brother Little Brother, talking about a sport's story in the paper, and the man was explaining to the boy what an agent was. The boy was rivetted and reading along, asking questions. Two stations later a big guy wearing construction boots, sitting across from them, reached over, tapped the boy on the shouder and said in a kind way, We gotta go. Your stop? said the paper-guy, Yeah, said the small boy, smiling, Seeya! Take care, Buddy, said the guy. They gave each other a low five, initiated by the small boy, and parted ways, the boy trotting after his dad onto the York Street platform. Then a tanned lady in her late 60's or early 70's got on with her scooter. She was wearing knee pads.
I stopped to buy paint and a portfolio at Blick and looked with interest at 40 Bond Street, a design project we/I were/was (whatever) not awarded, and noted with satisfaction that the backbone of the garden concerned seems to consist of arborvitae. Ick. So I think we were deemed too expensive rather than not good enough. Which is ironic, given that address. But who knows.
At work I designed almost both sides of a townhouse renovation in Chelsea - two medium-sized terraces in full sun. I was given a reprieve - the presentation would have been tomorrow and it would have been a nailbiting finish. It's been put off till Monday. Phew. But: next week I meet four new clients, with four potential new projects, two referrals from previous designs I've done...The two weeks after that two big plantings happen: the one around the corner in Brooklyn, in-ground, and one very much above ground on the Upper West Side. I need three more days in each week.
So I took myself to Prune for lunch, something I have not done in a very long while. No, the menu has still not changed. Julie, the very sweet waitress sent over a tuna tartare with a small triangle of warm toast (no toast is not always warm!), as a present, and I had the Caesar and glass of Greek white which was warm and not wonderful. Otherwise it was very good to sit there quietly with my New Yorker and the white-bearded man with a big tummy who is a fixture there at his corner table. He ate something with the superlative French fries. Maybe the burger. Maybe the tuna club. Julie asked who cut my hair and I gave her Izumi's number.
And back to work.
Back at home new people have moved into the top floor of the brownstone across the way. It's so funny: their flatscreen TV is in exactly the same place as the last one, and their couch is in the same place, too. It's a little scary.