Tomorrow's bus to NYC leaves Portland at 6:30 a.m. So today I'll be swamped with laundry, grass mowing, house chores, desk chores, packing, all in preparation for half a week spent tromping through Inwood, Astoria, and Crown Heights in search of Paul's first apartment. I know it seems funny to ask your mom to come along on such a jaunt, but P's future roommate is in Ireland till the end of the summer, and P specially requested my company, such as it is. So I will do my best to be helpful, though I know almost nothing about city neighborhoods or how to deal with city realtors.

But guess what we're doing first? We're venturing into enemy territory tomorrow night! Paul bought us tickets to the Yankees-Red Sox game in the Bronx. So we'll be spending our evening at Yankee Stadium, perched in the galleries high above home plate, surrounded by disgruntled Yankee fans as we discreetly cheer on our boys. I've never been to a big-league park other than Fenway, which is always expensive and often sold out. But judging from the scads of empty seats I saw on TV yesterday, the flailing Yanks are having a hard time filling theirs, which is maybe why Paul managed to get tickets so cheaply.

Because I'll be leaving the house before daybreak, you won't be hearing from me at the usual time tomorrow, though I may post from the bus later in the morning, if the spirit moves me and the so-called WiFi is working.

In the meantime, wish us luck. Paul's bubbling with nerves and excitement about making this big move; also terrified that no one will rent to him because he doesn't have a job yet; and I'm feeling a bit flotsam-like in his flood . . . not a bad thing but already tiring. I will have to shore myself up with sidewalk lemonade and horchatas.