Best friends invited themselves for dinner. Since it will perhaps be the last friends' supper on our Harlem terrace I asked our Lovely Upstairs Neighbor and The Diplomat's Son to join us. We ate knotweed and field garlic flower pickles, ginger ale ham and herby poatoes, drank Champagne, exchanged war stories and caught the unmistakeable odor of dead rat inbetween gusts of lily perfume. It seemed appropriate.
This morning I picked a handful of Alpine strawberries. They were my breakfast.
Then I gathered some Trionfo Violetto beans from the beanscreen, and began making a bamboo teepee for some climbers currently attached to the railings around the skylight. I snipped the cardinal vine clear and detached the Roguchi clematis, unplanting their room-mate rose in the process and giving it a new pot. Now, hopefully, the climbers can move with us. If we move to a space with sun. We just don't know, yet.