Continuing the New Phase: Commuting   I'm adjusting quite well to the new phase in our lives, which now involves commuting. On the ship I went down to the hospital ward to see Bev several times a day. After the QM2, Beverly went right to Roosevelt Hospital in Manhattan, then to the nursing home in Queens, including two visits to Flushing Hospital in Queens. I visited every day, by subway or car to Roosevelt, and by car to Queens. I calculate I made 71 visits over 71 days, up to where I left to go to Eden Bay.

I've always maintained that taking care of Bev added only a little to my day. I still maintain that, and would be willing to continue that way, but I do have to admit that getting that time back does make things easier. Right away the first day alone on the ship I could get up, shower, shave, and dress and be out to a quick breakfast in time for an early lecture.

When Bev was at Roosevelt Hospital, I, who am a rail and subway freak, had to accustom myself again on how to use the subway. I didn't realize that the fare had gone up to $2, since we hadn't been able to use the subway for several years, and would drive instead. I knew how to use the magnetic MetroCard that was introduced a few years ago, but I had to learn how to buy multiple discounted fares on the card from a machine.

And then there's restaurants. We frequently would dine out, often with others, but most usually it was the two of us. Now I'm solo. When one seats oneself at a table, waitstaff should be diplomatic and ask "Are you ready to order?" I didn't appreciate it when one cheerleader type said "Are you waiting for someone or are you alone?"

At one place I was asked if I wanted to eat at the bar, and I've now done that a couple of times. After that, I read in the Times that that's really in now. There are some restaurants that encourage both singles and couples to dine at the bar, and discourage those who just want a drink, since they can accommodate more diners that way. I just like it for the social possibilities. I had a nice conversation in German with one woman tending bar who was here from Germany getting her Master's.

Birthday   It is common knowledge in my family that I started World War II. I was born shortly after midnight on September 1, 1939, and next day the papers were filled with the news that Germany had invaded Poland. When Bev and I were studying in Mainz in 1961-2, we had to register with local authorities. Official forms would always ask where one was on September 1, 1939, since so many population changes occurred after the war. Bev always laughed and said I should write that I was busy being born on that date. On the radio the morning of my birthday it was announced that it was 65 years since WWII started. Yup. Been there, done it.

Alfama is the Portuguese restaurant in Greenwich Village to which we've taken friends and family over time. It was the place where we went one Wednesday evening about a year ago for the fado singing, and where Bev's hand got kissed by one of the male singers, and he gave her a CD.

I didn't know what I was going to do for my birthday, solo, but the night before I got an e-mail from Alfama that fado was starting again for the season the next night. Perfect.

I had a great meal, and enjoyed the music. Fado is Portuguese folk singing, often to guitar music, and one female singer. I chatted with a nearby couple who had chanced on Alfama on fado night to celebrate their first anniversary. They were taking pictures, so I offered to take a picture of the both of them. I told them our anniversary would have fallen on my birthday except for the fact that I insisted I wouldn't celebrate two things on the same day for the rest of my life, so the wedding had been moved a week earlier.

Miguel, he owner, came by, and we chatted about how the Republican Convention had ruined business the whole week. There were only a handful of people in the room, even on fado night. He gets lots of people coming down to Greenwich Village from the Upper East and West Sides, and people either had left town or weren't about to travel through the midtown area. I had commented how much easier parking was than usual. If way down in Greenwich Village business was so bad, you could imagine how bad it was near Madison Square Garden. I saw a picture of Seventh Avenue near Carnegie Hall. The TV commentator said you could roll a bowling ball down the street and not hit a car, and it seemed to be true. Our building had issued us with ID cards, just in case we needed to identify ourselves (nothing happened). It'll be nice when it's all over.

Anyway, Miguel was nice enough to treat me on seconds for the glass of port I was drinking. Then he had the musicians play Happy Birthday, and he, Rodrigo the waiter, and the singer came over and sang the Portuguese words. I didn't understand a word, and they seemed more complex than the English version. At the end, I stood, and first shook, then kissed the singer's hand, just for the Continental experience. For a language person, it was a charming completion to a solo birthday.