Last Monday I had a perfect day. It started out looking grim: five engagements, each threatening the integrity of the next.
1. A 9:00 appointment with a hand surgeon—who said he could indeed perform a rare procedure to declaw my right pinkie, which is curling into itself from a genetic disorder called Dupuytren’s contracture.
2. An 11:00 yoga class across town. I NEED this yoga class.
3. A 1:00 dental appointment and cleaning downtown.
4. A stint on the breast-cancer help line from 2 to 5 in midtown.
5. Home for dinner with friends, who arrived at 7.
This day was way too tightly planned. Public transportation could not possibly support it. But here’s the thing: it worked. There is nothing more fulfilling than completing this particular form of Manhattan marathon.