It didn't snow today, as had been predicted, so I walked over to Russ and Daughters for a smoked fish fix. Friday is music class, Music for Aardvarks. We went several blocks toward the West Side to a building filled with rehearsals halls, each with a piano and mirror (for ballet). Marjorie has written about this activity in The Forward recently, and she describes it best. There was Laura, ready to lead the class, looking very unlike someone who could introduce infants and toddlers to music--young, tatooed, gravel-voiced, a stand-in for Courtney Love. But she turned out to be a very gifted natural. She loves the kids, and they love her. She doesn't talk down to them. She opens with a "Hello" song, including every single child, about 20 of them, by name. It was an astounding feat. She has boxes of rhythm instruments which she spills out onto the floor. The kids pile into the center of the circle and choose their blocks or sticks or maracas. Perhaps Josie was missing her parents more than we realized, for she was not the Tony Soprano of the group that we have seen before, but had to be coaxed to come out and take toys. She had a wonderful time, though, crying "More! More!" when it was over.

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Back on Lafayette Street, we discovered that she could walk...really walk. She walked alone, not even holding hands, for two blocks. She seemed to love the freedom and autonomy. It is startling for people who pass by this tiny thing who staggers forward toward them crying, "Hello! Hello!"

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We spent a pleasant afternoon and prepared supper. I say "we," but you know I mean "Carol." Of course she outdid herself with hummus and pistachios, lots of Jonathan's good wine (excellent Portuguese red, Routas rosé from Provence, and a good Italian white), two small chickens, a nice salad, some brussels sprouts that Neal brought that kept us up farting all night, potato pancakes, tofu with peanut sauce. For dessert, Bananas Foster using Tofutti.

Our guests were Andy and Neal (who was greeted by Josie with the usual squeals of delight: "Neeeeel! Neeeeeel!"), who brought the latest issue of Gastronomica, a very highbrow magazine devoted to writing about food and wine, containing Andy's article on Polish Vodka tasters and the correspondence of their ratings with their views about Jews.

And Lesley and Mary, who are friends who belong to the same order. Mary Boys coteaches with Carol at JTS and Union Theological Seminary, and Lesley was in town for several weeks, as it happened, staying directly across the street from Jonathan & Marjorie's apartment at Mary House, a shelter run by the Catholic Worker, the organization founded by Dorothy Day. Ordinarily, Lesley is the administrator of a program for Inuit children in Winnepeg. So what does she do when she gets time off? She serves as a scullery maid at this barebones shelter for the poor designed by Charles Dickens.

We had a lovely dinner, by the end of which we were pooped. I forgot that we never went out or entertained during the first two years of Marjorie's life. Carol had more energy than I, everyone (but me, as usual) helped with the cleanup, and we all slept through the night, thank God.