Weekend Rituals.

Cappucino and NYT at Milk Bar

When I first moved to Prospect Heights, one of my favorite leisure activities was to amble down to the Austrailian-owned cafe on the corner of Prospect and Vanderbilt, and order a cappuccino or latte (pricy!) and a generous half-order of cinnamon toast ($2!). There was always a NY Times to read, and good tunes to listen to; when I particularly liked what I was hearing, I would hold my phone above my head, cocked in the general direction of the speakers, while the Shazam (i.e., the "tell me what song this is!") app collected its' required amount of data. When Molly and I started dating, she was soon folded into this afternoon ritual.

There was something relaxed, yet rarefied, about those early weekends. The short but pleasurable walk past the brownstones we both loved. The sighting of the familiar slate blue awning, wooden "antler" chandelier through the glass, the feeling of having a regular "place." The New York Times was always in the same place, stacked slightly off-kilter on the right counter corner. We would sit with our respective sections in companionable silence, every now and then, exchanging sections with each other, or commenting on the articles.

Then, somewhere along the time, the sense of leisure that characterized our weekend dissipated. Life quickened, or seemed to. A wonderful coffee shop with delectable cookies (baked goods at Milk Bar were always comparatively weak) opened up a minute's walk closer.  Whenever I would get coffee, whether with Molly or alone, I would go to the newer place instead. After all, it also had nice (Brooklyn-esque) decor, good coffee, and good music.

While it may no longer be my number one, it was lovely to re-visit Milk Bar this weekend. I forgot how intimately sized it was by comparison,  how wonderful it was to just sit and read the weekend Times over coffee, the actual "hard" copy in your hands. While I'll continue to go to Hungry Ghost on weekdays, I hope that Molly and I can start to weave this weekend ritual back into our lives.