As is usual in Brooklyn, I stayed up late and slept late, and now here I sit in this familiar, crowded, overwhelming, vastly untidy apartment, waiting for the kettle come to a boil, listening to 4th Avenue rush-hour traffic, which from down a side street and through closed windows, sounds vaguely like ocean waves.

Last night's show was wonderful. The play was good, the direction was good, the actors were good, and the crowd was happy . . . there is nothing like watching your kid hit it out of the park, and he did. We tramped in with our big family contingent, including Stephen and his niece Molly, and Jeannie and Bob were there too, and Margo, and then Paul's friends, and Nick's friends . . . a fat circle of affection. The evening was a community celebration, and such a deep pleasure to me to watch this outpouring.

So now here we are at the next day. Tom and I will meet up with the kids for breakfast, and then I think we're going up to the Cloisters, a place that most of us love but where a couple of us have never been. Tom's parents prefer a quiet day, so we'll meet them tonight for dinner. It is a family vacation; it is Tom's birthday and Hannah's birthday; it is a celebration for Paul. I'm so glad I managed to pull this thing off.