My body yearns for the peace and serenity of California's
hills and lush green landscapes, the coddling of my friends, the beauty of
Sonoma County. I'm so tense my arms ache, my knees hurt, I fell down a
flight of stairs, I've stubbed my toe, I've banged my head. Finally when I
couldn't take it anymore I took myself to a chiropractor, who suggested, "It doesn't sound to me like you're in your body."
Funny you should say that!
Over and Under
As I stepped off the bus two mannequins greeted me, taking me by surprise. One was, well, the usual mannequin size, and the other, was ROBUST! “Intimacy Lingerie” was showing off, in their window display, a new line of sexy undies, and what a pleasure it was! By mid-February I was tired of seeing or actually not seeing, who and what was under all the woolen scarves, stuffed down coats and fur lined hats.
The full sized mannequin – we’re finally getting our recognition!
Reduce Carbon Footprint or $$$
My poor brother who is a superintendent of a five story residential building in Manhattan, works his butt off to reduce our carbon footprint! Here in NYC we don't recycle necessarily out of the goodness of our hears, but for fear of getting another high cost fine from the Dept. of Sanitation. Out in front of his building there are four major sized garbage bins, two for garbage, one for plastic and glass, one for paper, newspapers and pizza boxes. The tenants in the building seem to eat enough pizza to fill up a bin within hours, so the super has had to assign a second bin just for boxes. All the bins are clearly marked, and above the bins a sign indicates what to put where. There's even a large sign in the building hallway visible as you come down the stairs to empty your garbage. I often wonder what the literacy rate in his building is as I watch my brother take out the bottles from the bin marked boxes, and take out the boxes from the bin marked plastics. Why does he work so darn hard? Why does it matter what is put where? Because the Dept. fo Sanitation evilly waits behind darkened windowed vehicles to jump out and hand the super a $200 fine if something is not in the right recycle bin!
One day I saw a guy going through the bins. It's commonplace, they're usually collecting bottles to bring to the recycle station and make a few bucks, but this fellow wasn't collecting bottles. I thought he might be one of the local derelicts looking for food, so I asked him, "Are you hungry?" Annoyed, he quickly turned to me and said, "NO! I'm from the Dept. of Sanitation, checking your recycle bins." This building can proudly say they've made their contribution to the coffers of the city and have received only a mere three fines this year. So I've suggested to my brother, that, for the tenants of his building, he conduct monthly seminars or guided tours of the garbage and recycle bins, and call it, "Reduce our carbon footprint, or you'll get a carbon foot up your..."!
One day I saw a guy going through the bins. It's commonplace, they're usually collecting bottles to bring to the recycle station and make a few bucks, but this fellow wasn't collecting bottles. I thought he might be one of the local derelicts looking for food, so I asked him, "Are you hungry?" Annoyed, he quickly turned to me and said, "NO! I'm from the Dept. of Sanitation, checking your recycle bins." This building can proudly say they've made their contribution to the coffers of the city and have received only a mere three fines this year. So I've suggested to my brother, that, for the tenants of his building, he conduct monthly seminars or guided tours of the garbage and recycle bins, and call it, "Reduce our carbon footprint, or you'll get a carbon foot up your..."!
World AIDS Day 12/1/10
The sound of music permeates New York City streets. Honking horns, people shouting to one another, fire truck sirens blasting, police car loud speakers calling out commands, music blasting from open windowed cars, car alarms going off, high pitched ambulance sirens, high heels clicking on the concrete pavement and up and down the staris, truck motors running while making deliveries, car motors staling at the traffic light, beeping trucks backing up. The sound of music permeates the city!
Today my mother's sister died, unexpectedly. Mom can't cry. I can. We were very close. It's scary, there were four of them and now only two remain. After the shock of the news - an image of bowling pins, there were four, only two left standing and one of them is my mother. They didn't prepare us for this in school.
Today my mother's sister died, unexpectedly. Mom can't cry. I can. We were very close. It's scary, there were four of them and now only two remain. After the shock of the news - an image of bowling pins, there were four, only two left standing and one of them is my mother. They didn't prepare us for this in school.
Non-Thanksgiving Day 11/25/10
The first words out of my mother's mouth when she awoke on Thanksgiving morning were, "I don't feel well." Those are not what we wanted to hear especially on a day of gathering and feasting. Nor are they words I wanted to hear as I turned over in bed hoping for another few hours of sleep. The neighbor's new puppy had been crying all night and in this apartment building it sounded as though the dog was in our bedroom!
Mom settled back into bed after taking a remedy hoping to recuperate. At about noon there was a gentle knock at the door. "Do you have a roasting pan? We need one for the turkey." It was my sister-in-law who was preparing the bird. "Just a few more hours to Thanksgiving dinner and you don't have a pan?! I thought those things take the whole day to roast." This morning was reminding me of one of those calamitous weddings where just about everything goes wrong!
Mom is pre-diabetic which means she's okay as long as she stays away from sweets and too many carbs, which is not what she had done recently. On an outing with my sister, unbeknownst to me, Mom had bought her favorite, "spearmint leaves" candy, and then when she and I went shopping for Thanksgiving appetizers, she added a box of chocolate covered cherries to the cart, her absolute most favorite candy. I protested, pleaded with her, cajoled her, expressing my concerns, especially so close to Thanksgiving as she reached into the box for a chocolate. "Please don't have one now, they'll be so many desserts for dinner." But she insisted and promised to have "only one from time to time." I learned shortly after, that "from time to time" meant one every evening and a few spearmint leaves in between (those leaves ARE fabulous, made with orange flavor as well!).
At home, we unloaded the shopping bags of groceries and as I placed the cans of sweet potatoes in the cupboard I spied a half empty bag of spearmint leaves. Oh oh! It did make me laugh though, remembering how she's loved them since I was a little girl, and that was a while back! Comprised mostly of corn syrup, sugar - 28g per 3 pieces, with yellow and blue color! Yum!
And so our Thanksgiving dinner didn't include Mom this year. Instead it was held upstairs, at my brother's, while Mom was below, ill, in bed, fast asleep.
Mom settled back into bed after taking a remedy hoping to recuperate. At about noon there was a gentle knock at the door. "Do you have a roasting pan? We need one for the turkey." It was my sister-in-law who was preparing the bird. "Just a few more hours to Thanksgiving dinner and you don't have a pan?! I thought those things take the whole day to roast." This morning was reminding me of one of those calamitous weddings where just about everything goes wrong!
Mom is pre-diabetic which means she's okay as long as she stays away from sweets and too many carbs, which is not what she had done recently. On an outing with my sister, unbeknownst to me, Mom had bought her favorite, "spearmint leaves" candy, and then when she and I went shopping for Thanksgiving appetizers, she added a box of chocolate covered cherries to the cart, her absolute most favorite candy. I protested, pleaded with her, cajoled her, expressing my concerns, especially so close to Thanksgiving as she reached into the box for a chocolate. "Please don't have one now, they'll be so many desserts for dinner." But she insisted and promised to have "only one from time to time." I learned shortly after, that "from time to time" meant one every evening and a few spearmint leaves in between (those leaves ARE fabulous, made with orange flavor as well!).
At home, we unloaded the shopping bags of groceries and as I placed the cans of sweet potatoes in the cupboard I spied a half empty bag of spearmint leaves. Oh oh! It did make me laugh though, remembering how she's loved them since I was a little girl, and that was a while back! Comprised mostly of corn syrup, sugar - 28g per 3 pieces, with yellow and blue color! Yum!
And so our Thanksgiving dinner didn't include Mom this year. Instead it was held upstairs, at my brother's, while Mom was below, ill, in bed, fast asleep.
Starship Enterprise - PALEESE Beam me up!
Little by little, baby steps actually, I'm accepting being here in NYC while I walk through the crowded streets in disbelief. It's not the NY I grew up in, it's like going to an unfamiliar country and having to start completely afresh. With that comes all the comparisons of how it used to be. It is soooo very crowded nowadays that it shocks me at times. I don't remember the NY of my youth as being so congested and teeming with people. And so many foreign languages and different ethnicities! India has come to NY and so has North Africa and the Mid-East. Despite the street signs that read, "$215 fine for honking" it has no effect on breaking old habits brought to NY from the homeland.
Oftentimes I don't know how to relate especially when I can barely understand their accent, intriguing and confusing. I see myself aboard the Starship Enterprise landing again on another planet and newly being introduced to its inhabitants. They are different looking and hopefully friendly, it'll take time to get to know them once I can get passed the language barrier.
I find it fascinating and yet uncomfortable. I'm so embarrassed when I have to ask, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand, would you mind repeating what you've just said," and then have to ask again. I lived in France for quite a number of years arriving without speaking a word of French. Finally, when I began to get a grasp of the language, the French seemed to have no interest in grasping me and found a clever way of not having to deal with my poor pronunciation and broken French, they simply ignored me! A painful process.
Oftentimes I don't know how to relate especially when I can barely understand their accent, intriguing and confusing. I see myself aboard the Starship Enterprise landing again on another planet and newly being introduced to its inhabitants. They are different looking and hopefully friendly, it'll take time to get to know them once I can get passed the language barrier.
I find it fascinating and yet uncomfortable. I'm so embarrassed when I have to ask, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand, would you mind repeating what you've just said," and then have to ask again. I lived in France for quite a number of years arriving without speaking a word of French. Finally, when I began to get a grasp of the language, the French seemed to have no interest in grasping me and found a clever way of not having to deal with my poor pronunciation and broken French, they simply ignored me! A painful process.
My Experience of Being a Mother
I had 60 years to fulfill on my dreams and now it's time to put my attention on another, my mother. I've never been a mother but I'm getting a sense of what it must be like. My mother comes first, as would a child, and my day is filled with household chores, cooking, cleaning, running errands, fixing what's broken, organizing, keeping the peace and mainly being available. It's not that Mom can't do anything for herself, she can, in fact she's mighty feisty, it's her arthritis, challenging her at times.
Getting her to eat is another chore. She's been eating less despite I'm a pretty good cook. Like a mother I'm having to learn how to get her to eat, but in the process I'm learning that coaxing is not the direction to take. During the week I had made broiled chicken with Italian spices, a leek and potato soup, sauteed brown rice and vegetables, once her favorite. I noticed her teeth were no longer doing their job. Ah! A clue. I've been needing to play detective to find out why Mother's not eating as much as she used to.
Did you know that as we get older oftentimes our ability to digest is diminished and the desire to eat is lessened, taste buds change and the ability to swallow can be inhibited by a narrowing throat!? So it's actually okay that she's not eating those enormous three meals a day that we've been trained to eat both at home and at restaurants. Some elders don't have the best teeth to chew. Steaks, chicken and healthy salads we've been brainwashed to eat become uncomfortable events. But those same nutrients can be had in delicious vegetable and fruit juices, smoothies and soups, which I've been making a lot more of for Mom and myself.
Last night I made Coq au Vin which had the opposite effect than what I intended. Mom couldn't stand the odor of the red wine and wouldn't even consider tasting it.
Today I'm making a mouth-watering lentil soup made with Indian spices that fill the kitchen with pleasing aromas. That's another thing I've learned, when Mom has no appetite and no desire to eat, the aromas of delicious (it's got to be delicious!) smelling food, awaken her interest, the salivating begins, and the infiltrating aromas, being the catalyst, often result in, "Okay, okay, I'll have a taste" and then, "Okay, I'll have some." Whew!!
Getting her to eat is another chore. She's been eating less despite I'm a pretty good cook. Like a mother I'm having to learn how to get her to eat, but in the process I'm learning that coaxing is not the direction to take. During the week I had made broiled chicken with Italian spices, a leek and potato soup, sauteed brown rice and vegetables, once her favorite. I noticed her teeth were no longer doing their job. Ah! A clue. I've been needing to play detective to find out why Mother's not eating as much as she used to.
Did you know that as we get older oftentimes our ability to digest is diminished and the desire to eat is lessened, taste buds change and the ability to swallow can be inhibited by a narrowing throat!? So it's actually okay that she's not eating those enormous three meals a day that we've been trained to eat both at home and at restaurants. Some elders don't have the best teeth to chew. Steaks, chicken and healthy salads we've been brainwashed to eat become uncomfortable events. But those same nutrients can be had in delicious vegetable and fruit juices, smoothies and soups, which I've been making a lot more of for Mom and myself.
Last night I made Coq au Vin which had the opposite effect than what I intended. Mom couldn't stand the odor of the red wine and wouldn't even consider tasting it.
Today I'm making a mouth-watering lentil soup made with Indian spices that fill the kitchen with pleasing aromas. That's another thing I've learned, when Mom has no appetite and no desire to eat, the aromas of delicious (it's got to be delicious!) smelling food, awaken her interest, the salivating begins, and the infiltrating aromas, being the catalyst, often result in, "Okay, okay, I'll have a taste" and then, "Okay, I'll have some." Whew!!
HAPPINESS??
On Wednesday evenings I attend a seminar, "Creating Happiness, the Sheer Joy of Being Alive." This week we explored the possibility that circumstances do not determine our happiness. Are you kidding?! I need to explore that one a little more, I'm not yet clear on the concept!
At times it feels like I'm forlorn being here in concrete city and living with my overpowering, always complaining, rarely happy mother, and so I think about being unhappy A LOT. Most of my internal conversations are about how miserable I am. It's true, there are many moments of unhappiness but if you listened in on my thinking, you'd think I was deeply despondent and ALWAYS unhappy. Frankly there are many moments in the day when I could actually answer "great" when asked, "How are ya?" Even, elated, or just plain "okay" and not at all as miserable as I tell myself I am. For example, when I'm with my brother, like when we take a jaunt to to pick up Mom's meds in Chinatown, the intriguing dried herbs and unfamiliar foods, the colorful packaging and aromas emminating from all the restaurants, the bakeries of exotic pastries. I'm in a little village thousands of miles away from NYC when I'm in Chinatown. And then there are my frequent walks in this city of diverse architecture. I love walking with my sister, she's uplifting, playing on my words and we have a good time laughing at the littlest of things.
I've come to realize that why I'm so miserable is I'm mouring the good life I had in Sonoma County, the peacefulness, the beauty, the quality of relationships and I'm mourning the loss of my husband who died several years ago. And I spend a lot of time thinking about how unhappy I am! And though I say I don't want to be here in NY, and I can't imagine loving my NY life, when I'm out for a walk, no matter the weather, I feel great, and when I'm with my sister or brother, there is so much love present, that in those moments, I can actually see, maybe this thing we strive for called "happiness" is just a moment to moment thing, and I'm actually in touch with the sheer joy of being alive!
At times it feels like I'm forlorn being here in concrete city and living with my overpowering, always complaining, rarely happy mother, and so I think about being unhappy A LOT. Most of my internal conversations are about how miserable I am. It's true, there are many moments of unhappiness but if you listened in on my thinking, you'd think I was deeply despondent and ALWAYS unhappy. Frankly there are many moments in the day when I could actually answer "great" when asked, "How are ya?" Even, elated, or just plain "okay" and not at all as miserable as I tell myself I am. For example, when I'm with my brother, like when we take a jaunt to to pick up Mom's meds in Chinatown, the intriguing dried herbs and unfamiliar foods, the colorful packaging and aromas emminating from all the restaurants, the bakeries of exotic pastries. I'm in a little village thousands of miles away from NYC when I'm in Chinatown. And then there are my frequent walks in this city of diverse architecture. I love walking with my sister, she's uplifting, playing on my words and we have a good time laughing at the littlest of things.
I've come to realize that why I'm so miserable is I'm mouring the good life I had in Sonoma County, the peacefulness, the beauty, the quality of relationships and I'm mourning the loss of my husband who died several years ago. And I spend a lot of time thinking about how unhappy I am! And though I say I don't want to be here in NY, and I can't imagine loving my NY life, when I'm out for a walk, no matter the weather, I feel great, and when I'm with my sister or brother, there is so much love present, that in those moments, I can actually see, maybe this thing we strive for called "happiness" is just a moment to moment thing, and I'm actually in touch with the sheer joy of being alive!
My Sister the Baker
We've just celebrated my sister's birthday. She's an avid baker and lately she's been taking cake decorating classes. Last night the family gathered to celebrate her talent and especially to taste her latest creation, an awesomely designed and scrumptiously delicious and moist carrot cake. The profuse acknowledgment was her best birthday gift.
So you can see my struggle. There is no way, between her and my gourmet cook of a brother and our restaurant exploratory excursions that I'm able to stay on my California style healthy organic regime! I did have a hot of wheat grass this morning in hope of making up for my sins.
And if anyone from FA is reading this...
So you can see my struggle. There is no way, between her and my gourmet cook of a brother and our restaurant exploratory excursions that I'm able to stay on my California style healthy organic regime! I did have a hot of wheat grass this morning in hope of making up for my sins.
And if anyone from FA is reading this...
NY Marathon 11/7/10
To take my attention off the leaded water we're drinking, I've been organizing Mom's closets and drawers seasonally, packing away warmer weather items exchanging them for colder weather clothing, but Mother Earth has been playing a mischievous game. The down jacket and fur lined gloves that were needed last week, are hanging under the cardigan sweater I wore this morning for a walk about town. The lace up winter boots got put back into the bottom of the closet while the open toe sandals came out for a brief afternoon. I pity the runners in today's New York Marathon, preparing for their 26 mile run, "Oh dear, oh dear, what to wear, what to wear!"
I read 43,000 of us will be running today, Sunday, in the New York Marathon and a million of us are expected to be gawking, rooting and wondering if we could do it. 26 miles to test our body and train our mind! The challenges we take on, we are an awesome lot, aren't we?!
The cheering, along with the sun, drew me out of the house. Thousands already lined the streets, waving banners and homemade signs, written in so many different languages, supporting those who dare. It's still early in the morning so there are no runners yet, but one by one here comes a marathoner in a wheelchair type bicycle and the cheers grow louder. It moves me to see this enthusiasm, the support and the courage! It's when our very best is displayed, we really do care about one another.
I read 43,000 of us will be running today, Sunday, in the New York Marathon and a million of us are expected to be gawking, rooting and wondering if we could do it. 26 miles to test our body and train our mind! The challenges we take on, we are an awesome lot, aren't we?!
The cheering, along with the sun, drew me out of the house. Thousands already lined the streets, waving banners and homemade signs, written in so many different languages, supporting those who dare. It's still early in the morning so there are no runners yet, but one by one here comes a marathoner in a wheelchair type bicycle and the cheers grow louder. It moves me to see this enthusiasm, the support and the courage! It's when our very best is displayed, we really do care about one another.
HALLOWEEN 10/30/10
Mom's flower box has disappeared! Kept on her outside windowsill, mainly for privacy, were a dozen two foot tall silk gladiolas planted in a long plastic flower box. Someone in broad daylight, probably in need of a Halloween costume, helped themselves to the flower box. Even the Gorilla glue that held the box in place, didn't stop them. They graciously left us the gladiolas!
This area has a population which is "one of the densest in the nation." The southern part of the precinct has a large commercial area and the famous avenues of Madison, Lexington and Third, well known for their designer and elegant stores. There are also a number of embassies, foreign missions, consulates, ambassadors, dignitaries, and diplomats that reside and/or own real estate within this area....hmmm....Do you think...is it possible... one of them needed a Halloween costume?!
This area has a population which is "one of the densest in the nation." The southern part of the precinct has a large commercial area and the famous avenues of Madison, Lexington and Third, well known for their designer and elegant stores. There are also a number of embassies, foreign missions, consulates, ambassadors, dignitaries, and diplomats that reside and/or own real estate within this area....hmmm....Do you think...is it possible... one of them needed a Halloween costume?!
NY NY What a Wonderful Town!
Spent an amazing afternoon recently in the pouring rain, with my brother, in Chinatown, eating forbidden foods, sniffing exotic herbs, and purchasing a supply of my mother's herbal remedies for one third the price I pay uptown. My brother is an amateur gourmet cook/healer and loves Chinatown for the roast pork and duck that hang appetizingly in the windows. He spends hours in conversation with the shopkeepers of the herb shops who've been handing our remedies for over 30 years. By then we were hungry and stopped at his favorite Vietnamese restaurant; he placed an order to take home and I had Jasmine tea while he lapped up "Vietnamese coffee," a rich dark espresso coffee poured over condensed milk.
A couple of weeks ago when the weather began to turn nippy, my sister and I took a long walk downtown mainly to see if I could get my suede leather cowboy hat, too abused to wear anymore, reshaped. J.J.Hat Service, around since 1911, mostly catering to men, is a specialty shop that cleans and reshapes hats (at no cost!!), as a service to keep us wearing hats, Entering the shop took me back to the 1950s, especially when one of the salesmen greeted us wearing a Fedora. Living up to their motto, "Timeless Hats, Classic Service, they only needed a half hour, a perfect opportunity to go in search of a hot bowl of soup.
Just around the corner is Korea town, specialty shops for Korean products and a variety of Korean restaurants. That's where my brother and I feast when I want fish soup, hot steaming broth, with tofu, greens and the head of a fish peeking out from its nourishing waters. Deelicious!
Our walk led us to a buffet Korean restaurant, and our curiosity drew us in to see what foods we would find in a Korean buffet. I love our walks, they're usually, exploratory, educational, fun excursions. What caught my eye were the predominantly Asian clientele and the rather small quantities of foods they were putting on their trays. My sister and I looked at each other as though to say, "If we were to eat so litte, we'd die!" (No we wouldn't die, maybe we'd be healthier - and not always have to be on a diet!)
A hot bowl of soup with lots of noodles later, my hat looked practically new!
FYI: J.J. Hat Service, 310 Fifth Avenue, NY 10001 1-800-622-1911
A couple of weeks ago when the weather began to turn nippy, my sister and I took a long walk downtown mainly to see if I could get my suede leather cowboy hat, too abused to wear anymore, reshaped. J.J.Hat Service, around since 1911, mostly catering to men, is a specialty shop that cleans and reshapes hats (at no cost!!), as a service to keep us wearing hats, Entering the shop took me back to the 1950s, especially when one of the salesmen greeted us wearing a Fedora. Living up to their motto, "Timeless Hats, Classic Service, they only needed a half hour, a perfect opportunity to go in search of a hot bowl of soup.
Just around the corner is Korea town, specialty shops for Korean products and a variety of Korean restaurants. That's where my brother and I feast when I want fish soup, hot steaming broth, with tofu, greens and the head of a fish peeking out from its nourishing waters. Deelicious!
Our walk led us to a buffet Korean restaurant, and our curiosity drew us in to see what foods we would find in a Korean buffet. I love our walks, they're usually, exploratory, educational, fun excursions. What caught my eye were the predominantly Asian clientele and the rather small quantities of foods they were putting on their trays. My sister and I looked at each other as though to say, "If we were to eat so litte, we'd die!" (No we wouldn't die, maybe we'd be healthier - and not always have to be on a diet!)
A hot bowl of soup with lots of noodles later, my hat looked practically new!
FYI: J.J. Hat Service, 310 Fifth Avenue, NY 10001 1-800-622-1911
Yum! Lead in NYC Water 11/07/10
The news today announced, "Lead in New York City drinking water! We recommend you let the water run for 30 seconds before using it." Ah, that's what makes it taste so good! And is "30 seconds" really going to make a difference?
Mom lets the water run for about five minutes before using it, so what's another 30 seconds!?
I had to give up my concern about the world running out of water and the possibility of "water wars" in order to live here with her.
Mom lets the water run for about five minutes before using it, so what's another 30 seconds!?
I had to give up my concern about the world running out of water and the possibility of "water wars" in order to live here with her.
Albert the Tailor
...and just a few doors down from Mario and Marcel is Albert, the tailor on the block, who never closes his shop, at least that's how it seems. I pass by many times throughout the day and night and there he is leaning over a garment. He does the best work in town and when he first opened 30 years ago Mom could afford him. But now, his talent and popularity have diminished their relationship to a casual, "Would you sew this button on for me?" or an occasional hem for Mom's slacks. On my many visits to New York before moving here, I often made sure to stop in to see him, bringing something to clean or mend just so I could give him an update of my life, he was interested. A very busy store and a busy man but he always took a minute to warmly welcome me back. And now that I'm living in the neighborhood and I too can't afford him, I still stop in to say hello, and during the holidays brought him some freshly baked cake. Though I really know him little he's one of the people who makes this city feel like my hometown.
And so the shock of moving to NY is lessened by the entertaining, heart-warming characters that inhabit this hood. And did I mention the crazy redhead who yells at the dogs as they lift their legs to urinate on her brownstone stoop? She's my Mom, also an entertaining, heart-warming character!
And so the shock of moving to NY is lessened by the entertaining, heart-warming characters that inhabit this hood. And did I mention the crazy redhead who yells at the dogs as they lift their legs to urinate on her brownstone stoop? She's my Mom, also an entertaining, heart-warming character!
The Shoemaker and the Jeweler
Other characters in the neighborhood are, our very own Mario the shoemaker and his partner Marcel the jeweler.
Mario runs the shoe repair store and despite his tiny space Marcel was able to cut out a small corner of Mario's shop to have his own jewelry repair business. Both men have accents from far away places that make you feel, when you step into their shop, as though you've just stepped into a small village 5000 miles away. Mario knows how to work with leather and does excellent repairs. He doesn't say much unless he wants to know something about you, and then comes the barrage of questions, or he has something to sell you, something he repaired and the customer never claimed. Often times they're designer shoes or boots, or handbags that the owner forgot or replaced with a more current model. As for Marcel, people really like him, he's a craftsman, can repair just about anything gold, silver, or platinum. His thick accent doesn't get in the way of having long conversations with his interesting clients. Sometimes I wonder, when does he get his work done. He charges little to those living on a limited income and a little bit more to others. Both men, distinctly different, but equally endearing, bring a comforting quality of small town and community to this ever growing metropolis.
Mario runs the shoe repair store and despite his tiny space Marcel was able to cut out a small corner of Mario's shop to have his own jewelry repair business. Both men have accents from far away places that make you feel, when you step into their shop, as though you've just stepped into a small village 5000 miles away. Mario knows how to work with leather and does excellent repairs. He doesn't say much unless he wants to know something about you, and then comes the barrage of questions, or he has something to sell you, something he repaired and the customer never claimed. Often times they're designer shoes or boots, or handbags that the owner forgot or replaced with a more current model. As for Marcel, people really like him, he's a craftsman, can repair just about anything gold, silver, or platinum. His thick accent doesn't get in the way of having long conversations with his interesting clients. Sometimes I wonder, when does he get his work done. He charges little to those living on a limited income and a little bit more to others. Both men, distinctly different, but equally endearing, bring a comforting quality of small town and community to this ever growing metropolis.
Eeny, meeny, miney Joe
...here's another fellow I want you to know. He hangs out on his building's stoop from early morning until nightfall, our very own ambassador, greeting everyone in the neighborhood and starting our days off with a refreshing attitude, no matter the weather. And if you need someone to run an errand, he's right there, just buzz him on his cell phone, as Mom does when she's in need of a pack of cigarettes and no one in the family will buy her one. Joe is a gentle soul and makes me feel more at ease in this city, safe guarding his post, chatting with all the neighbors - he knows everyone (and possibly everything going on), he's just one of the neighborhood guys you can count on, making this metropolis into a small town.
Iron Chef
Another endearing character in the neighborhood that gives this massive city a sense of small town and community is our very own Iron Chef.
A caterer who recently befriended my mother works for one of the finest hotels in the city. A knock on her door and an out stretched hand holds a plate of elegant hors d'oeuvres, or freshly baked croissants, some days it's a plate of Norwegian smoked salmon, or a box of petite fours. "Why cook" she exclaimed this morning "...when you have your very own personal chef?" as she accepted a plate of luscious looking crepes? To supplement the meal Mom's son-in-law brings fruits when he drops off the Daily News and Post every evening. Months ago, when Spring first came to NY, the warm weather brought out the fruit carts that line the avenues, sometimes within feet of a supermarket. The fruit beautifully displayed is much less expensive than the neighborhood stores. Passing a local cart everyday, my brother-in-law got to know one of the vendors, and one day charitably offered to mind the stand as the fellow ran off to handle a body's necessity. It became a daily habit and now he minds two neighborhood fruit stands remunerated with bags of fruit and vegetables, endowing Mom with the makings of healthy salads, and dazzling fruit bowls. It has saved her hundreds of dollars and saved me many a trip to the grocery store! Last night I made an apple compote for dessert, and tomorrow morning we'll have a strawberry and banana smoothie for breakfast, if not, the luscious looking crepe left over from this morning!
A caterer who recently befriended my mother works for one of the finest hotels in the city. A knock on her door and an out stretched hand holds a plate of elegant hors d'oeuvres, or freshly baked croissants, some days it's a plate of Norwegian smoked salmon, or a box of petite fours. "Why cook" she exclaimed this morning "...when you have your very own personal chef?" as she accepted a plate of luscious looking crepes? To supplement the meal Mom's son-in-law brings fruits when he drops off the Daily News and Post every evening. Months ago, when Spring first came to NY, the warm weather brought out the fruit carts that line the avenues, sometimes within feet of a supermarket. The fruit beautifully displayed is much less expensive than the neighborhood stores. Passing a local cart everyday, my brother-in-law got to know one of the vendors, and one day charitably offered to mind the stand as the fellow ran off to handle a body's necessity. It became a daily habit and now he minds two neighborhood fruit stands remunerated with bags of fruit and vegetables, endowing Mom with the makings of healthy salads, and dazzling fruit bowls. It has saved her hundreds of dollars and saved me many a trip to the grocery store! Last night I made an apple compote for dessert, and tomorrow morning we'll have a strawberry and banana smoothie for breakfast, if not, the luscious looking crepe left over from this morning!
Robin Hood
There are endearing characters in the neighborhood that give this massive city a sense of small town and community. May I introduce you to Robin Hood.
A large white truck completely covered with graffiti and parked in front of my Mother's building annoyed a lot of people in the neighborhood. If it weren't for the driver's generosity, they would have called the police to remove his truck. Filled to the brim and overflowing with everything that had ever been discarded in the neighborhood, it was a warehouse on wheels. You need a microwave, a TV, a VCR, some utensils, china, designer clothes? The truck's owner, who we shall call Robin Hood, diligently fishes everything out of recycle bags left on the curbside for the sanitation trucks that come twice a week. Just let him know what you need, and most of the time he has it, and if he doesn't, wait a week and someone who no longer needs whatever it is, will leave it on the curbside. I have seen some of the most elegant furniture and household goods sitting on the streets waiting for the sanitation pickup. Mom's often upset with Robin Hood and wishes he wouldn't park his vehicle in front of the building she maintains, whose tenants pay $2,000 a month for rent. At the same time, she's grateful for the microwave he brought her when hers went on the blink, and the light weight shopping cart he gave her that makes her grocery shopping so much easier. And her grandson whose apartment was recently broken into, was grateful for the black leather jacket and the DVR that replaced those that had been taken. During an intense summer heat, two seniors in the neighborhood where thrilled when they were surprised with gifts of air conditioners they otherwise couldn't afford. Robin Hood, we thank you for your wisdom, recycling what wasn't obsolete.
A large white truck completely covered with graffiti and parked in front of my Mother's building annoyed a lot of people in the neighborhood. If it weren't for the driver's generosity, they would have called the police to remove his truck. Filled to the brim and overflowing with everything that had ever been discarded in the neighborhood, it was a warehouse on wheels. You need a microwave, a TV, a VCR, some utensils, china, designer clothes? The truck's owner, who we shall call Robin Hood, diligently fishes everything out of recycle bags left on the curbside for the sanitation trucks that come twice a week. Just let him know what you need, and most of the time he has it, and if he doesn't, wait a week and someone who no longer needs whatever it is, will leave it on the curbside. I have seen some of the most elegant furniture and household goods sitting on the streets waiting for the sanitation pickup. Mom's often upset with Robin Hood and wishes he wouldn't park his vehicle in front of the building she maintains, whose tenants pay $2,000 a month for rent. At the same time, she's grateful for the microwave he brought her when hers went on the blink, and the light weight shopping cart he gave her that makes her grocery shopping so much easier. And her grandson whose apartment was recently broken into, was grateful for the black leather jacket and the DVR that replaced those that had been taken. During an intense summer heat, two seniors in the neighborhood where thrilled when they were surprised with gifts of air conditioners they otherwise couldn't afford. Robin Hood, we thank you for your wisdom, recycling what wasn't obsolete.
Bagel Shops and NY Parks
I'm beginning to get over the shock of moving to NY, thanks to the bagel shop down the street. It makes the best smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches on bagels from heaven. Garlic, onion, plain, everything, pumpernickel, worth lining up for in the early morning, as the locals do. You think bagels are delicious, try a bialy! "Bialy, (n) a flat, round, baked roll with small pieces of baked onion on top." (and throughout!) (World English Dictionary 1999).
And then there's the neighborhood park where the children and their parents are the best theater in town, providing you can find a bench that the pigeons haven't used as their toilet.
Oh, the neighborhood park! Better than t.v. watching: The children in the sand pile, fighting over their pales and shovels and sand castles, and their parents yelling at them to calm down; and the kids on the swings, either screaming from sheer pleasure or fear as their parents swing them higher, and then a little higher, and higher still while talking on their cell phones; and then there are the kids who swing so high it's the parents who are screaming!
As we sit there judging and criticizing, and amusingly entertained, my mother is moved to recount stories of my childhood, "What an adorable child you were" kind of stories, immediately followed by the kind of mischief I got into and the many times she almost had a heart attack. Just outside the park, an ice cream truck is heading in our direction, my mother's attention is diverted. Her eyes have been following its movement for a while. "Do you have a dollar on you?" she asks, just in time to save me from another no longer entertaining saga of my youth.
And then there's the neighborhood park where the children and their parents are the best theater in town, providing you can find a bench that the pigeons haven't used as their toilet.
Oh, the neighborhood park! Better than t.v. watching: The children in the sand pile, fighting over their pales and shovels and sand castles, and their parents yelling at them to calm down; and the kids on the swings, either screaming from sheer pleasure or fear as their parents swing them higher, and then a little higher, and higher still while talking on their cell phones; and then there are the kids who swing so high it's the parents who are screaming!
As we sit there judging and criticizing, and amusingly entertained, my mother is moved to recount stories of my childhood, "What an adorable child you were" kind of stories, immediately followed by the kind of mischief I got into and the many times she almost had a heart attack. Just outside the park, an ice cream truck is heading in our direction, my mother's attention is diverted. Her eyes have been following its movement for a while. "Do you have a dollar on you?" she asks, just in time to save me from another no longer entertaining saga of my youth.
Working toward Sainthood
Apart from discovering the challenges of becoming a Saint, I'm going bananas! My mother's apartment is like...Grand Central Station! People coming and going constantly, each wanting something. This evening I had just finished making a wonderfully healthy multi-vegetable salad when my sister walked in with an enormous apple cake. She's barely recuperated from a serious illness and having found new strength and vigor, is awakening to her passion for baking. At the moment she's experimenting with low-fat cakes, given fat was the cause of her illness, and now she needs our taste buds to critique her master piece. Then my brother walked in, "I need the measurements for the kitchen shelf I'm making for you;" and a moment later a tenant knocked on the door, "My outdoor buzzer isn't working, could you call an electrician?" interrupted by "Hurry, turn on the t.v. 'Master Chef' is starting." In this family we're either a food addict, a chef or a baker and the Food Network programs are an essential part of the day, hours on end, no matter what else is going on.
The level of noise and commotion people are used to here overwhelms me. So I hide in the living room while life continues in the kitchen. Nothing like the life I lived in Sonoma County where you could hear the leaves in the garden move! Frustration, patience, challenge me daily. I've put on some pounds, have several new gray hairs, and wait each night for the return of sanity, when the t.v. is off, Mom's in bed and I can sit on the coach, reminiscing, recalling a time that once was, and envisioning a future that I intend, where one day I'll be able to say enthusiastically, "I love my New York life!" Right now, I'm hard pressed to imagine what that would look like!
The level of noise and commotion people are used to here overwhelms me. So I hide in the living room while life continues in the kitchen. Nothing like the life I lived in Sonoma County where you could hear the leaves in the garden move! Frustration, patience, challenge me daily. I've put on some pounds, have several new gray hairs, and wait each night for the return of sanity, when the t.v. is off, Mom's in bed and I can sit on the coach, reminiscing, recalling a time that once was, and envisioning a future that I intend, where one day I'll be able to say enthusiastically, "I love my New York life!" Right now, I'm hard pressed to imagine what that would look like!
Creating Happiness, the Sheer Joy of Being Alive
I'm not going to tell you about the mother/daughter upsets, or what it's been like unexpectedly having my 28 year old nephew stay with us (temporarily!!) in this tiny railroad apartment. But I will tell you, finally, how "I love my NY life" is beginning to show up! I'm having the best time with my sister, our relationship is nurturing and filled with laughter, AND I found a great dentist just up the street from Mom's apartment, the root canal was a breeze (an unanticipated event)! AND the yoga teacher at the local senior center class is exceptional, I'm actually enjoying yoga, (also unforeseen!), AND my group in the "Creating Happiness, the Sheer Joy of Being Alive" seminar is wise, mature and fun. I delight in being human again, reminding me I'm not just my mother's frustrated daughter, I'm a woman with a life time of experiences to fulfill on!
Love Rearing Its Head
I'm not going to tell you about the mother/daughter upsets, or what it's been like unexpectedly having my 28 year old nephew stay with us (temporarily!!) in this tiny railroad apartment. BUT I will tell you how, finally, "I love my NY life" is beginning to rear its head, hallelujah! I'm having the best time with my sister, our relationship is nurturing and filled with laughter. AND I found a great dentist just up the street from Mom's apartment, the root canal was a breeze (an unanticipated event)! AND the yoga teacher at the local senior center class is exceptional, I'm actually enjoying yoga, (also unforeseen!). AND my group in the "Creating Happiness, the Sheer Joy of Being Alive" seminar is wise, mature and fun and I delight in being human again, reminding me I'm not just my mother's frustrated daughter, I'm a woman with life experiences to fulfill on.
Moving Back Home (oh, oh!)
I've had few challenges in my recent life like this one. Being optimistic and subtly upbeat is my nature. What I'm discovering here in my mother's home is everything but an atmosphere that would allow for that.
Before coming to NY my mother and I talked about my "moving back home" and how helpful it could be to both her and my sister. My sister's been my mother's companion and errand boy for a number of years and now wants to shift gears. So I headed to New York City. It was hard leaving the California I love, so to make sure this wasn't about sacrifice and that it would be a valuable experience, I invented a context for the move, "I love my New York life." It would keep me focused on the good, while supporting Mom, a feisty, witty and defiant woman who I've known to be challenging. I was willing to be her butler, housekeeper, cook, and companion, as long as I too was nurtured and had a refuge, a haven, an apartment to return to at the end of the day!
Mom has forgotten that I came to NY to be helpful. There are ways her responsibilities could be done more easily, even more pleasurably, but it's her way or the highway. What I often hear is, "I don't need your help!" I'm her 12 year old daughter again, being told what to do, being interrupted when I attempt to speak, and hearing, "No!" so often that my spirit is broken and those brief moments of, "I love my NY life" are quickly squashed. And I haven't yet found my haven where I can regenerate and start afresh the next day.
I've heard it said, "When you commit to something, everything in the way of realizing that commitment will rear its ugly head." A lot has been rearing its ugly head recently! Thank goodness for the context for my NY experience, it keeps me sane and asking, "How can I love my NY life despite the circumstances?"
Before coming to NY my mother and I talked about my "moving back home" and how helpful it could be to both her and my sister. My sister's been my mother's companion and errand boy for a number of years and now wants to shift gears. So I headed to New York City. It was hard leaving the California I love, so to make sure this wasn't about sacrifice and that it would be a valuable experience, I invented a context for the move, "I love my New York life." It would keep me focused on the good, while supporting Mom, a feisty, witty and defiant woman who I've known to be challenging. I was willing to be her butler, housekeeper, cook, and companion, as long as I too was nurtured and had a refuge, a haven, an apartment to return to at the end of the day!
Mom has forgotten that I came to NY to be helpful. There are ways her responsibilities could be done more easily, even more pleasurably, but it's her way or the highway. What I often hear is, "I don't need your help!" I'm her 12 year old daughter again, being told what to do, being interrupted when I attempt to speak, and hearing, "No!" so often that my spirit is broken and those brief moments of, "I love my NY life" are quickly squashed. And I haven't yet found my haven where I can regenerate and start afresh the next day.
I've heard it said, "When you commit to something, everything in the way of realizing that commitment will rear its ugly head." A lot has been rearing its ugly head recently! Thank goodness for the context for my NY experience, it keeps me sane and asking, "How can I love my NY life despite the circumstances?"
New York - A Paradox!
A beeuutiful woman, tall, thin, dressed to the nines in an above the knees royal blue skin tight dress shimmering in the sun, walking with ease in her six inch heels, passed me on the street this morning. As she approached I envied her figure, and as she passed, I thought, "Well, he could have at least shaved off his goatee!"
I've taken to carrying my tape recorder with me, too many unique moments and overhearings to not share with you. Here are only a few:
"Where do you work?" "Over by the fucking church."
"I've only got a fucking half hour for lunch."
I took a walk down Park Avenue at lunch time today. It's a beautiful walk, especially around the upper 40's, the modern skyscrapers that house the Fortune 500 companies are intriguing. On a sunny day, when the sun is reflecting off the glass and steel it's mind boggling. What's even more mind boggling, at around noon when employees are sitting outside on the building walls (no chairs are provided for them!), having lunch, in between bites and mouth fulls, you can easily overhear conversations that would turn your grandmother's face red. The most common words I heard, or at the least the one's that caught my attention, especially when said by a guy smartly dressed, or a woman in furs and heels, were "fuck" and "shit." If that makes you feel uncomfortable, guess how I feet coming from a sparsley populated community and protected from personal conversations by driving everywhere!
The conversations and vocabulary heard on Park Avenue were no different from what's heard on Eighth Avenue, or the lower eastside, Spanish Harlem, on Madison Avenue or in the Bronx or out in Queens. When I left New York over 40 years ago, you'd be shocked to hear the words used today on the streets, unless you were in certain neighborhoods or at home having a fight. Well, things have changed! And if you don't like it, "You can kiss my fucking arse!"
(If you find that uncomfortable, stay away from NYC!)
I've taken to carrying my tape recorder with me, too many unique moments and overhearings to not share with you. Here are only a few:
"Where do you work?" "Over by the fucking church."
"I've only got a fucking half hour for lunch."
I took a walk down Park Avenue at lunch time today. It's a beautiful walk, especially around the upper 40's, the modern skyscrapers that house the Fortune 500 companies are intriguing. On a sunny day, when the sun is reflecting off the glass and steel it's mind boggling. What's even more mind boggling, at around noon when employees are sitting outside on the building walls (no chairs are provided for them!), having lunch, in between bites and mouth fulls, you can easily overhear conversations that would turn your grandmother's face red. The most common words I heard, or at the least the one's that caught my attention, especially when said by a guy smartly dressed, or a woman in furs and heels, were "fuck" and "shit." If that makes you feel uncomfortable, guess how I feet coming from a sparsley populated community and protected from personal conversations by driving everywhere!
The conversations and vocabulary heard on Park Avenue were no different from what's heard on Eighth Avenue, or the lower eastside, Spanish Harlem, on Madison Avenue or in the Bronx or out in Queens. When I left New York over 40 years ago, you'd be shocked to hear the words used today on the streets, unless you were in certain neighborhoods or at home having a fight. Well, things have changed! And if you don't like it, "You can kiss my fucking arse!"
(If you find that uncomfortable, stay away from NYC!)
The Black Sheep Returns 9/13/10
Moving back to New York to be with family is turning out to be an incredible journey, one that was not predictable. I came here to support my mother's well-being and help her in her job as superintendent of a five-story building. Little did I know what was in store and it looks nothing like I had expected. I thought my days would be filled with grocery shopping, cooking, washing dishes, vacuuming, doing laundry, organizing, scheduling repairs, running errands, jumping through hoops, and...IT IS, and it's the "and" I want to talk about.
In the midst of this daily exercise program I'm learning how to BE with my family. For a number of years I've kept myself at a distance of 3,000 miles, coming home on occasion. "Coming home" can be challenging and family dynamics a bitch, but something has been shifting since, yours truly, the black sheep of the family, has returned to New York and her flock.
Within days of moving back, a light began to shed on how I've been being with my family. As though watching a movie, I saw myself. I saw how I always have something to say about how they live their lives. I saw how I've been silently judging and criticizing, believing that if only they would listen to me, their lives would alter for the better. After all, I've been a seeker for over 40 years, on a quest for a better life and have learned a thing or two! I made suggestions, gave unsolicited advice, coached where no coaching was requested, and nothing seemed to change. I always ended my phone calls and visits with, "I love you," with a touch of sadness, feeling hopeless at not being able to contribute and lessen their struggles.
Within days of being here, I saw my arrogance, my expectations, my standards, that were not theirs. And I saw their magnificence, their own personal wisdom, and how much I loved them. No wonder I had become the "black sheep" of the family, no wonder the many upsets each time I came to "help," no wonder, on my visits they couldn't wait for me to leave. And I didn't even notice their lack of enthusiasm when I mentioned, "It's time to move back to New York."
I don't recognize myself lately, nor do they. The love that has always been there is now available to me as I let go of being the one who knows how things should be, as I let go of being the teacher, the rescuer. As a result, my sister, who thought I was a "pain in the ass," can't praise me enough. Today she remarked, "No matter how I've bitched about you in the past, I've always known you'd be there for us, you've always been very supportive of the family." Words that warmed the cockles of my heart. And my mother, who responds to my suggestions with, "Don't tell me what to do, I raised you, you didn't raise me!" seems so much more peaceful. When we crawl into bed at the end of the day, she's been saying, "I don't hug you enough." My brother, who I wouldn't dare tell what to do, has been having conversations with me about alternative health practices, and coaches me in the benefits of Chinese medicine while we test his scrumptious, newly concocted pea soup.
No, it's not Sonoma County and the green, strikingly rich surroundings I've grown to love and call home, and it's not being with the community of people I've grown to cherish and am so at ease with. Instead, it's NYC, and a precious time to learn acceptance, chuckling at my judgments, and discovering how to love and be loved by my family.
In the midst of this daily exercise program I'm learning how to BE with my family. For a number of years I've kept myself at a distance of 3,000 miles, coming home on occasion. "Coming home" can be challenging and family dynamics a bitch, but something has been shifting since, yours truly, the black sheep of the family, has returned to New York and her flock.
Within days of moving back, a light began to shed on how I've been being with my family. As though watching a movie, I saw myself. I saw how I always have something to say about how they live their lives. I saw how I've been silently judging and criticizing, believing that if only they would listen to me, their lives would alter for the better. After all, I've been a seeker for over 40 years, on a quest for a better life and have learned a thing or two! I made suggestions, gave unsolicited advice, coached where no coaching was requested, and nothing seemed to change. I always ended my phone calls and visits with, "I love you," with a touch of sadness, feeling hopeless at not being able to contribute and lessen their struggles.
Within days of being here, I saw my arrogance, my expectations, my standards, that were not theirs. And I saw their magnificence, their own personal wisdom, and how much I loved them. No wonder I had become the "black sheep" of the family, no wonder the many upsets each time I came to "help," no wonder, on my visits they couldn't wait for me to leave. And I didn't even notice their lack of enthusiasm when I mentioned, "It's time to move back to New York."
I don't recognize myself lately, nor do they. The love that has always been there is now available to me as I let go of being the one who knows how things should be, as I let go of being the teacher, the rescuer. As a result, my sister, who thought I was a "pain in the ass," can't praise me enough. Today she remarked, "No matter how I've bitched about you in the past, I've always known you'd be there for us, you've always been very supportive of the family." Words that warmed the cockles of my heart. And my mother, who responds to my suggestions with, "Don't tell me what to do, I raised you, you didn't raise me!" seems so much more peaceful. When we crawl into bed at the end of the day, she's been saying, "I don't hug you enough." My brother, who I wouldn't dare tell what to do, has been having conversations with me about alternative health practices, and coaches me in the benefits of Chinese medicine while we test his scrumptious, newly concocted pea soup.
No, it's not Sonoma County and the green, strikingly rich surroundings I've grown to love and call home, and it's not being with the community of people I've grown to cherish and am so at ease with. Instead, it's NYC, and a precious time to learn acceptance, chuckling at my judgments, and discovering how to love and be loved by my family.
New York's Theater
When walking through the streets of New York, be sure to look up, either someone will be dangling out a window or you'll discover a fascinating piece of architecture (gargoyles, period architecture and window cleaners so high it'll leave you in awe!).
New York is a piece of theater you don't have to get tickets for. Just watch and listen and unless you like audience participation, don't volunteer.
In this windy, cold weather today heavy traffic was effectively being managed by a man in a yellow costume, a traffic officer gesticulating so wildly, we can assume he must have had six cups of caffeinated coffee before going on duty. Attempting to put a little alacrity into cars sluggishly moving east, he chanted loudly above the din of the motors and blasting car radios, "Let's get moving, move it on along, move it on down!" I could hear a song coming on. Along came a fellow on bicycle, as though he had just exited stage right, shouting and echoing what the traffic officer had just said, while inserting the most foul language, "You mother f.... let's get moving, get your asses in gear, move it on down!" He himself could barely move, hidden behind his decorated bicycle piled high with interesting junk, his long full beard and the artifacts he transported easily weighed in at about 300 lbs. while his barely covered butt exposed to the cold air, gave some drivers reason to move it on down with alacrity.
Theater was in full bloom today. Just down a few blocks I had the pleasure of seeing another traffic officer, more interesting than the last and more beautiful than many Hollywood stars! Her goddess figure accentuated by her officer's uniform, dark chocolate skin, an intoxicating smile, her shinny black hair slightly hidden by the luxurious fur hat covering her ears. Her body moved gracefully while her white gloved hands directed traffic. For a moment I thought she was dancing, and when the light changed I realized if I were in one of the cars I'd be too mesmerized to move. I WAS too mesmerized to move, and stopped to watch. Unable to remove the smile from my face, I noticed another pedestrian pulling out his iPhone to video the dance of the maiden, and a car stopped, the driver begged for a ticket.
New York is a piece of theater you don't have to get tickets for. Just watch and listen and unless you like audience participation, don't volunteer.
In this windy, cold weather today heavy traffic was effectively being managed by a man in a yellow costume, a traffic officer gesticulating so wildly, we can assume he must have had six cups of caffeinated coffee before going on duty. Attempting to put a little alacrity into cars sluggishly moving east, he chanted loudly above the din of the motors and blasting car radios, "Let's get moving, move it on along, move it on down!" I could hear a song coming on. Along came a fellow on bicycle, as though he had just exited stage right, shouting and echoing what the traffic officer had just said, while inserting the most foul language, "You mother f.... let's get moving, get your asses in gear, move it on down!" He himself could barely move, hidden behind his decorated bicycle piled high with interesting junk, his long full beard and the artifacts he transported easily weighed in at about 300 lbs. while his barely covered butt exposed to the cold air, gave some drivers reason to move it on down with alacrity.
Theater was in full bloom today. Just down a few blocks I had the pleasure of seeing another traffic officer, more interesting than the last and more beautiful than many Hollywood stars! Her goddess figure accentuated by her officer's uniform, dark chocolate skin, an intoxicating smile, her shinny black hair slightly hidden by the luxurious fur hat covering her ears. Her body moved gracefully while her white gloved hands directed traffic. For a moment I thought she was dancing, and when the light changed I realized if I were in one of the cars I'd be too mesmerized to move. I WAS too mesmerized to move, and stopped to watch. Unable to remove the smile from my face, I noticed another pedestrian pulling out his iPhone to video the dance of the maiden, and a car stopped, the driver begged for a ticket.
Sleepwalking! 9/6/10
Sitting on the gorgeous living room couch hidden under a protective cover, preparing lunch for Mom in her small airless kitchen, stretching the fitted sheets across the double bed that barely fits into her bedroom, has me wonder if I ever lived anywhere else.
As a child growing up in New York City I dreamed of living in a place where green hills nourished my desire for space and beauty, and friendly, smartly clad folks comfortable with themselves and their lives, populated my community. It was dreaming big then and escaping from all that I felt held me prisoner.
Now, back in New York, caring for my mother, having lived that luscious dream but for a brief 40 years, I am awakening from the reverie that made life delicious, and find myself agitated and longing, wandering in a semi-awake state, desperately trying to dream again.
"Relaxing, huh?" said my sister as she caught me dozing on the bench in the park under the bridge. Yes, it was relaxing, despite the din from the cars overhead, crossing the Queensborough Bridge. 180,000 cars cross daily, yet I dozed off. A "din" I could more easily tolerate than the loud cell phone conversations outside the ground floor living room window, more easily tolerate than the hubbub from the never ending t.v. programs in the kitchen, more easily tolerate than the complaints of Mom's irritated voice when something has upset her. That din, under the bridge, lolled me to sleep.
As a child growing up in New York City I dreamed of living in a place where green hills nourished my desire for space and beauty, and friendly, smartly clad folks comfortable with themselves and their lives, populated my community. It was dreaming big then and escaping from all that I felt held me prisoner.
Now, back in New York, caring for my mother, having lived that luscious dream but for a brief 40 years, I am awakening from the reverie that made life delicious, and find myself agitated and longing, wandering in a semi-awake state, desperately trying to dream again.
"Relaxing, huh?" said my sister as she caught me dozing on the bench in the park under the bridge. Yes, it was relaxing, despite the din from the cars overhead, crossing the Queensborough Bridge. 180,000 cars cross daily, yet I dozed off. A "din" I could more easily tolerate than the loud cell phone conversations outside the ground floor living room window, more easily tolerate than the hubbub from the never ending t.v. programs in the kitchen, more easily tolerate than the complaints of Mom's irritated voice when something has upset her. That din, under the bridge, lolled me to sleep.
Wheeling and Dealing 8/31/10
My sister, mother and I went to the movie, Eat, Pray, Love. Mom liked the "Eat" part, I liked the "Pray" part and my sister liked the "Love" part, and none of us liked the whole movie, (though I thoroughly enjoyed the book!). But what I really got a kick out of was a fun moment I created with the $1 popcorn coupon received when paying for my ticket. Popcorn isn't something any of us eat so what was I to do with the coupon? Ah ha! On the way up to our seats I stopped at the candy counter where a pre-movie line had formed and within minutes I was wheeling and dealing and sold my $1 popcorn coupon to a fellow who was just about to pay $5 for a bag. He was delighted having made $4.00, and I made a buck! In the interim my sister, on another line, had bought my mother a $4.00 bottle of club soda!
Mean Greens 8/30/10
Dinner was just about ready when I noticed there was no salad. Mom needed her vegetables. I dashed out the door and hopped over to the local supermarket a few blocks away, picked up a head of Romaine lettuce for Mom and a box of mixed greens for me. Yesterday the box of greens was $2.99, today $3.99 at the same store! What causes these sudden leaps? Heading for the cashier I had three lines to choose from, like driving, I chose the lane that seemed to be moving faster. But just before I got to the cashier all hell erupted and the cashier called for the manager. The customer before me had short-changed the new cashier. She and the manager ran after him while I waited and waited, watching the two other lanes move full speed ahead. Expecting kindness I made a request of a customer with a full cart on an adjacent line, "While the thief is being apprehended, could I step ahead of you and pay for my two, yes, only two items? My mother's waiting at home for dinner."
The customer, appearing as hungry as my mother waiting at home, glared at me. I waited saying nothing, hoping, waiting for her to get in touch with her compassion. She finally did, and within minutes I was home with a handful of greens and warmly welcomed by Mom, "What the hell took you so long?"
The customer, appearing as hungry as my mother waiting at home, glared at me. I waited saying nothing, hoping, waiting for her to get in touch with her compassion. She finally did, and within minutes I was home with a handful of greens and warmly welcomed by Mom, "What the hell took you so long?"
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