It’s MONDAY, April 20, 2020 in case you’re wondering What Day It Is. You’re not losing it, and if you are, you’re losing it with everybody else. Everyone I know asks themselves at some point during the day: What day is this?
Yesterday was a good one weather-wise. A little warmer, with temps in the low 60s. Sunny. People were out, back and forth to the park. Dogs, little kids on scooters, prams, older couples, young couples, girls, boys, bicyclists, walkers and runners. Not too many though. Not a crowd; but an ample number, keeping their practical distances moving along. And mainly masked.
I never left the house except to walk the dogs. I do keep my terrace door open so I’m aware of any kind of activity that this natural-born reporter can take in, maybe even follow up on and report to you.
That said, there’s very little activity other than the occasional walker(s) getting exercise. They’re achieving two objectives — both healthy: getting out of the house for awhile, steering clear of crowds, and getting some good exercise.
Yesterday was otherwise quiet except for the 7 p.m. shout-out for the hospital workers. When you first hear it — maybe a lone voice shouting in the distance, followed by a couple more and then more — you know it’s 7 p.m. Paige Peterson who is out in Belvedere, California said it’s at 8 p.m. out there.
Iris Love died this past week. This fairly recent photograph of her by Jill Krementz really captures her ebullient and gentle personality. That smiling face was always welcome to the eye. Iris liked people, and was curious, always.
She would have been 88 this coming August. She was not famous to the world, although very well known in professional circles as an archeologist. She was also very well known in New York and European social circles. Born into them, she got around and was naturally curious, and liked people.
She was a would-be heiress – her mother was a Guggenheim. Although it was said that she inherited only a very small family trust, she was left little by her mother – which evidently was intended since Mother did not approve of her daughter’s lifestyle. She herself lived on Park Avenue in a very grand triplex apartment originally built for Willie K. Vanderbilt Jr., where she enjoyed the company of much younger men.
Nevertheless Iris had her own brand of fatal charm. She had a warm and friendly personality, loved conversation, was always easy to laugh, yet thoughtful and kind. For a number of years, besides her archeological digs all over the world as well as her raising prized dachshunds, she was the companion of our dear departed Liz Smith. She and I were “social” friends – dinner partners, friends of friends who included both of us. So we had many conversations. Her company was always a pleasure.
Denis Ferrara who knew her well for many years, and with affection, writes about her more distinctly, and that adds to the pleasure of Iris’ friendship.