I'm going backward in time, but that is the only way to do it, now. Dr. Brad's son, Gabriel, had left me on my own devices again, and I made it to The Palace at 6 PM just before a violent thunderstorm.
And, who did I see at the top of the side staircase? Yes, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish, cackling like a magpie. After a week of being at the "home", she had managed to bribe a guard with her magnificent properties and come out again; she was, of course, with a margarita in her hand. What a joy it was. The storm was just approaching and Mamie had nothing but scorn about the crowd. "There's no Latinos here", she exclaimed as if her life-support system had been sold to the Chinese. I pointed out that there were more than enough to "go around", at least for a stormy afternoon, and she just snorted and went about her business.
The ferocious storm lasted almost three hours sending everyone into each others' arms; nature, here, has a way of doing that in summer. We like summer.