As we did most Sundays, Stephen and I walked to the Morris-Jumel Mansion. Thanks to a period of sustained maintenance, the grounds are crossing back into the realm of the pleasantly ruinous from a previous state of utter dilapidation. Not far away, on 159th and Edgecombe, we discovered a new catering operation called "Company on Edgecombe" that offers a different "dinner box" each night for walk-in customers. For $15, you get a main dish and a choice of two sides, and the food tastes like it was made in your kitchen from farmers-market ingredients (and by a gourmet chef). They change the menu every day and post it on [a social-media site]. Also recommended for dessert are the carrot cakes, which have perfect cream-cheese frosting that's not too heavy or too sweet. Thus ends my career as a food critic. Dinner boxes procured, we walked down Sylvan Terrace. We ate in the garden, which we recently spruced up for the fall. The firethorn (Pyracantha) berries have turned orange, which is my favorite color in nature. The shadows grow longer as the sun passes in a lower arc. Pretty soon it will be dark all of the time. "Summer can't be over yet." -- Dante and Zephyr "Wake me up when winter's over." -- Zephyr Elektra found the perfect spot to hide as she waited for flying snakes. I walked to my old job for the last time. Park Avenue was a "traffic nightmare" as a result of important political leaders giving speeches in the vicinity. I was happy to be literally above the fray. Actually I had one more day at work, and the weather was perfect. I would not miss working on a "cubicle farm," however. At lunch, I walked south on Park Avenue to my gym. This walk is lovely, too, especially in the spring when the magnolias are in bloom. (I mean, it is Park Avenue.) For almost a decade I've been running on a treadmill on the second floor above the drugstore, which looks out over a boring corner at Park Avenue and 34th Street. Still, watching any street corner is more interesting than watching a television monitor or a basement wall, which is what you get in many gyms around the city. I don't think I ever had to wait for a treadmill, either. Sometimes I wish that I could always run through a forest or a park, but it's not always feasible in the city. I also like listening to music, which is something I never do when I run outside. Lately I've been playing early records by The Cannanes, who make me wonder why I didn't move to Australia when I had the chance. (Actually, I never had the chance.) There's something magical (to me, anyway, and especially as I'm slogging away on the treadmill, which here begins to have metaphorical implications) about the way the band's ability to take scenes from daily life and transform them into songs that, over time, seem to age with me, reflecting both the muted exuberance and undercurrent of melancholy I have come to expect from the passage of time. "Delirious indecision," is a line that I think sums it up pretty neatly. (From "Drug-Induced Delirium" on the self-titled album, which is one of my favorites, although I like them all in different ways.)I'm slower than I used to be, of course. Locker rooms are another kind of cubicle farm I won't miss, although I'll probably be finding a new one soon.I walked back to the office, enjoying the sight of Park Avenue crossing over Grand Central, which by the way is something I see all the time on television shows set in Manhattan. It was mildly exciting at first, but after a while, the thrill wears off, and you are content to have a place to call home.