Flemington

Today we went to Flemington for some outlet action. A sad, declining outlet town, lots of vacant space, nothing like Woodbury Commons or the one at the end of the LIE. Predictably, Graham falls asleep in the back seat as we pull in and I sit in the cold car with him as he sleeps, reading old issues of the Economist that were stuffed into the pocket of the backseat. Review of a book about the Steve Ovett-Sebastian Coe rivalry. That was good stuff. Those pale Brits were fast, good role models for us back in the early 80s. And they hated each other.

Natalie and Mary have lunch in and bring me sandwich from little restaurant with chintzy curtains, slow moving Santa and Ms. Claus, and other porcelain figures. Also a hard working fireplace. When Mary takes a turn I go inside and find that, old ladylike as the place may be, I like the it. Further indication that I'm turning into an old lady. I eat a piece of Natalie's leftover pizza that turns out, by Mary's account, to have fallen on the floor. Still was OK.