My husband and I just took a cab home from the Lower East Side in light but chilly rain. We married each other (Quaker style) two years ago today at a restaurant in Philadelphia. Tonight, we treated ourselves to the tasting menu at WD-50. Trying to describe the sensory experience, I came up with this comparison:

Eating Wylie Dufresne's culinary concoctions is equal to seeing Ennio Morricone at Radio City Music Hall.

Sensory magnificence.

I was listening to my new CDs while cleaning the house, washing the dishes: Devendra Banhart's Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon and Classic Mountain Songs From Smithsonian Folkways.

For a moment, I couldn't tell which was which.

We were strolling on the small trails through Prospect Park on Christmas afternoon.

We heard it before we saw it - the slap-echo of rock 'n' roll Christmas songs piped through loudspeakers, bouncing off ice and rink railings, mixed with the scraping of skates, a lot of laughter, a few squeals and screams.

The winter afternoon sun was low and bright. My hands were cold. We saw a rainbow kite lodged in a tree. I couldn't even tell you which Stevie Wonder Christmas song was playing. Everything sounded wonderful.