Extraordinarily Routine
The tone was set as I walked into Leif’s.
It was supposed to be a nice afternoon walk through the neighborhood of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. A few architecture sites. Middle Eastern food. Norwegian heritage. The occasional pub. A nice, sunny afternoon following a day filled with rain.
The door was non-descript. In fact, I didn’t think the bar was actually open. I was greeted on the other side of the door with two tokens for free Black Irish shots. Two! Uilleann pipes. Drums. Irish ceili dancing. Two more shots of Black Irish!
My Sunday stroll in the sun had been hijaked by Paddy’s Day celebrations. Why the area of Bay Ridge celebrated a week after the actual day is a quibble that would go unanswered. There was Black Irish to drink.
After Leif’s, there was a walk up (the other) 5th Avenue. The smell of Middle Eastern spices filled the air. I grabbed something gooey and delicious from a woman in an abaya.
The Paddy’s Day parade continued to roll down 3rd Avenue. Thin Blue Line flags bellowed out from hot rods.
Crowds spilled out of a corner bar called the Salty Dog. Never one to miss a party, I peaked in. Immediately a man named Kenny offered to buy a round of shots. I passed on the first round. I couldn’t miss the second round. I made sure to include him in the next beverage precrural.
The atmosphere was lively and incongruous and completely unexpected. In other words, just another afternoon in Brooklyn.
It’s so easy to take for granted. The entire weekend was relatively routine, but still special. March Madness with Sam and Allie Friday night (at the nexus of the universe no doubt). More basketball with Eric Saturday night. It’s wonderful having them all in my life. The extraordinary has become the routine.
Just another weekend in Brooklyn and I’m thankful for every minute of it.