Time hop

I sat on our blanket on Saturday afternoon, twirling the parasol from my gift bag, which also included a wooden fan and season 4 on Boardwalk Empire on DVD, sipping on a delicious cocktail of St. Germain, gin, lime and mint, drinking in the lazy afternoon of costumes and follies. It was a beautiful sunny day, just hot enough to give me an almost-sunburn but not so hot as to make the day spent outside unbearable, especially when wearing a jazz era costume, complete with headpiece and lots of pearls. My partner-in-crime R, her Scot H, my dearest K and I were at the bi-annual Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor’s Island, a full afternoon surrounded by jazz music, vintage accessories, delicious food and more.


Aside from some minor fights over the parasol and a hot debate with strangers about whether they’d stolen our blankets, it was a relaxing and enjoyable day, both uneventful and filled with activities. There aren’t too many stories to tell, as most of the day was spent enjoying each other’s company, a steady stream of drinks, music and food keeping our conversation company. At one point we all went up to the big dance floor and laughed for an entire song, trying to match our steps and figure out who was taking the lead, before stepping back to watch a follies show that truly felt like a time warp, surrounded by thousands of people dressed up for the occasion. There’s much to be said about an escape from the city on the weekends, a chance to explore the varied offerings available within a quick ferry ride. It’s so easy to ignore the call to wake up early and make a day of something outside of drunk brunch or a walk through Central Park, but mid-afternoon, watching a burlesque tap performance on a set straight out of Boardwalk Empire (except literally, it was), I’m very, very glad we did.

The day rapidly descended into debauchery after getting back to the city that evening, because apparently my solution to 5 hours of downtime before going out is “whiskey.” Currently my entire jazz-age ensemble is in the growing pile of things I’ve left at R and H’s apartment, joining my headphones, sunglasses, swimsuit, cover-up and a pair of shoes. Sadly, my bejeweled headpiece never made it home, struck down somewhere between Sixth Ward and a long ride home. Exhausted from a long day and a late night, I spent the entire Sunday laying on my couch, first unable and then unwilling to move, in dire need to a full day to rest and recover from life in general in the past few weeks.  A simple weekend in some ways, and enormously complicated in others, it was, in its own way, perfect. And a little bit of perfect was exactly what I needed.


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