Every day, I hope, will produce new heroes, battling the lunacy. Bishop Marian Budde: what a magnificent, brave woman, speaking of mercy and compassion to the foul creature glowering in front of her. Brava!

And I am off, tomorrow, to that benighted (online dictionary: in a state of pitiful or contemptible intellectual or moral ignorance) land. I always think of New York, however, as not the U.S. but as somewhere else — fiercely Democratic, its own place. But no, the creature rules there. The excitement: I am flying in to Newark Airport. Last time, I was pulled over and sent to the suspicious immigrant room, because I was travelling with a Canadian passport that said I was born in New York. Imagine, the nerve! If you’re American, even as a dual citizen, you must use that passport. This time, I’ve the same passport and a piece of paper that says I AM NO LONGER AN AMERICAN CITIZEN. Hooray!

Speaking of passports, a few days ago I went to the shelf where I keep all my important papers. But the passport was not there. I looked and looked, panic rising — not there. It’s always there, but it was not. I remembered I had to bring it downstairs when I was booking flights, as they require the number. What if I’d put it on a pile of paper to go back upstairs and it got lost in the shuffle? I’d never find it, and I was travelling in four days! I looked through many piles of paper, and even downloaded how to get an emergency passport, anticipating chaos and tension. The emergency page asked for the number of the old passport, but, I thought, it’s lost, how can I give you the number? And then I saw in my papers that to be safe, I’d xeroxed that page.

And then I saw that I’d xeroxed that page, and lifted the lid of my printer, and there it was, the little blue book.

No matter how organized you think you are, life can always throw a little scare your way, just for fun.

I need to get up at 5.30 a.m. for the very early flight, booked on Porter points, that lands at 9.15. The train in to Penn Station, then I walk over to the hotel on W.44, where I’ve booked their smallest room with a Black Friday price. Usually I stay at Cousin Ted’s, but his spare room is full because his husband Henry is celebrating his 70th birthday, so Henry’s family are in my room. Phooey.

The plan is to go to the Met to catch the exhibition about the art of Siena, and then to rest before the big event, to be held at the lovely old Century Club on 43rd at 5th. Cocktails at 7, dinner at 8. When will I next have a chance to do something like this? Maybe never. And I can walk there and back. I have long johns for under my pants, because although it’s warmer, it’s not warm.

Saturday morning, bagels at Ted and Henry’s on East 77th with Henry’s family, and then the 6 train all the way downtown to Spring Street for lunch with cousin Patti and her daughter, who lives on the Lower East Side and works in the film business. Family. From there, to the Morgan Library. I’d seen there was an exhibition about Kafka so resolved to go to that lovely place, even before I received word from an acquaintance that my great-grandfather is featured! In 1911, a Yiddish theatre troupe performing Jacob Gordin’s plays arrived in Prague, where Kafka went to see them. He was especially taken with Gordin’s work. There’s a passage in my book about that event and my pride that Kafka was a fan.

“…his plays were the most popular and dramatically innovative…” Agreed!

That night to the theatre to see a play called English, about an English class. It won the Pulitzer.

Sunday will probably go to MOMA, maybe try to get to Central Park, the expansive green sanity at the heart of the frantic metropolis, until it’s time to walk back to Penn Station and get the train to the plane. Two days is about right. I love New York, my birthplace where most of my remaining family lives. But I also dislike New York, its sunless concrete canyons, its overwhelming hustle and consumption – “a concentration camp built by the inmates,” as Dinner with André put it. Maybe another blessing of the trip will be, I’ll be too busy to watch or listen to the news. I’ll celebrate what I can and shut out the rest.

Luckily Carol my upstairs tenant is here on Tiggy and mail duty. When I get back, there’s only a week and a bit to get ready for Mexico. Never a dull moment. Onward!