The Point, West Guilford, February 16 and 17

 When Cynthia and Irv were kind enough to invite Gila and I to the cottage for a few days, I was delighted and more than happy to accept. Gila, who calls me ‘Keepinbusy’, checked her calendar, busy, everyday of the long weekend. I turned the invitation down, but Cynthia urged me to reconsider and come on my own. As usual, my first response was no. I don’t like driving alone, but I said I’d keep an open mind and let her know the next day.

Just before I was due to call, I got a text from Ben. He had already left and asked me to take care of the cats until Monday. I generally don’t mind letting the cats in and out and feeding them. Ben is a good neighbour. He often shovels the walk for me and I want to be a good neighbour as well. But for some reason, I was annoyed. What if I had plans? He really should have asked before he left. But wait. I do have plans! I’ve been invited to the cottage. I texted back that I could look after the cats on Saturday, but I was gone the rest of the weekend. Ben replied that as long as I also fed them Sunday, they could manage until Ben got back. I have soften driven distances alone. It’s really not a big deal.

I woke up early on Sunday, went next door to feed the cats, threw pjs and a change of underwear into a bag and set off. I knew most of the route since it was not far from the cottage Gila rented last summer and I had driven there and back a number of times, alone. The road was pretty clear and I made good time. It looked like I would arrive in under three hours, but at the last turn, I decided to take the scenic route. I remembered that it was a short distance from highway 118 to the cottage on a fairly straight road. The road I was on was like a roller coaster ride, up one steep hill, down another, around tight turns. I was pretty sure I was wrong. When the paved road became a snow packed trail and I almost drove into lake Kenissis on a boat launch, I finally admitted I had made a mistake, retraced my route and made the right turn at a crossroads. Stopping to read the directions would have been useful as well. Apparently, my memory is not as good as it used to be.

It was a relief to finally arrive and as soon as I walked in the door, I could feel my blood pressure drop and in less than five minutes, I was mellowed out. I had a bite to eat and read and dozed in equal proportion for the rest of the afternoon. Irv and Cynthia took their snowshoes and drove to a hiking path in the area. They encouraged me to join them, but without snowshoes, I wasn’t sure it would be pleasurable for me. There is a lot of snow out there. In reality, I just wanted to mellow and was glad that there weren’t any snowshoes for me.

Irv and Cynthia really enjoyed their hike and told me about coming across a flock of wild turkeys. Cynthia told me that Michigan and Ontario had made an exchange in which Ontario sent Michigan a moose or two (I’m not sure how many) to boost their dwindling herd and Michigan sent wild turkeys. The wild turkeys were flourishing in Haliburton.

A late lunch, more reading/dozing, a few rounds of Boggle and Bananagram and a late dinner rounded out the day.

I woke up before six the next morning and played some solitaire and read more of my book before I actually got up and dressed at about nine. There were no sounds from the upstairs master suite, so I installed myself on the new sofa and did the usual, read and doze.

It was a gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky and a bright warm sun. Irv and Cynthia planned on snowshoeing on the lake. The ice is three feet thick so there is no fear of falling in. They encouraged me to join them. Again without snowshoes I was reluctant, figuring that I would sink knee deep with each step, but I agreed trying by walking on the trail they left. That strategy did not work, but there were dozens of skidoo tracks all over the lake. The machines had compressed the snow enough to provide me with a solid trail.

One part of the lake had been ploughed from one shore almost to the other across the lake and provided a long skating rink. Another part of the lake had huts for ice fishing. After a short while, Cynthia had had enough and we returned to the cottage, but Irv wanted to stay out longer, as did I so I put on Cynthia’s snowshoes and we decided to investigate the ice fishing set up. Staying on the snowmobile tracks made the go a little easier but as I clomped further and further, I started to ache in places that I didn’t know could ache. As I fell behind or stopped for a short rest, Irv would ask if I had had enough. Being persistent, I assured him I wanted to continue. In reality I was ready to turn back after only about ten minutes. As the pace slowed more and the stops were more frequent, Irv kept offering to turn back. I realized that once we got to the hut I would have to get all the way back, but I was still determined.

Just before we reached the huts, we saw the holes that had been augered for fishing. I had worried that if anyone was going to fall into a hole it would be me, but fortunately, the holes were only about six inches in diameter and had iced over again. No one was there but cigarette butts, yellow snow (I’m assuming beer) and a cache of ice cubes (to keep the beer cold?) were evidence that this fishing haven was being used.

I was more than ready to head back. I looked to the other shore pointing out the cottage. Irv told me I was wrong. His cottage was much farther (and I mean farther literally) along the shore. The trip back was even slower than the hike out. At one point I asked Irv if he would bring the cottage to me if I couldn’t go any farther. He offered to drag me back by my feet. I considered it but without snow pants, I would get too wet and too cold. I was actually quite pleased that I had done it. I know it wasn’t a great accomplishment, but it certainly was more than I thought I could do.

The sun was very warm and even before we got near the cottage I had shed my hat and mitts and was more than ready to get rid of my jacket. Back at the cottage I had to shed the layers that I was wearing because I had become so hot with the activity. I need to look into getting my own snowshoes if I go up to the cottage during the winter. It’s a wonderful way to enjoy the outdoors. Despite my dislike of winter, I have to admit that out where the snow is still white, surrounded by the peace of the country is a pleasure.

Too soon, it was time to leave. It was a short visit, but it gave me the opportunity to unwind much more than I can at home. The drive back was much shorter when you make the right turns. I almost left Haliburton with a turkey dinner. As I drove along the highway, a flock of turkeys crossed the road. If I had sped up, I’m sure there would have been enough road kill for a number of turkey dinners, but the thought of picking them up, smelling them for three hours while I drove and cleaning them enough to cook them was enough of a deterrent to make me slow down and wonder: Why did the turkey cross the road?

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Today was a stressful day that forced me to try to rein in my anxieties. I got up earlier this morning so that I could say good bye to Marissa. She was off to dogsit for a client for two weeks. I was hoping to have some one on one time with Dov. My flight was at 6:35 and since there isn't the hellhole of American Customs and I was already checked in, I estimated that a little over an hour gave me more than enough time to catch my flight with time to spare. Dov  called a car service he uses for airport runs. He told me they were reliable and cheaper than a taxi. He asked for a pick up at 4:30. I still wanted to do a little shopping and Dov assured me that we had more than enough time to get down to Chelsea and back. Unfortunately, Kaya had to be walked first. We finally left about a half hour later than I had hoped. Dov still felt that time was not a problem, so we headed to the subway station. Unfortunately we did not know that there were difficulties on the tracks around the Manhattan Bridge. We waited a long time for the train to arrive and then it seemed to creep along the rails. Once at the first station in Manhattan, we had to change train for one additional stop. We should have walked. We waited and waited but our train didn't arrive. We also saw the Brooklyn train wait in the station for quite a white before leaving the station. This did not bode well. It was almost 3:00. With the delays on the bridge, I began to worry that we would get to our destination just in time to return back immediately.

Fortunately, I had my list ready, found the objects I needed all in the same section and was at the checkout in about fifteen  minutes. Dov was amazed at how quickly I was done. His own shopping has barely begun after fifteen minutes. Because of the delays on the other lines, Dov opted for the express train. It was fast, but necessitated going one station farther and a few more blocks walking. It was a beautiful day and already being anxious, I agreed walking was the better choice. Unbelievably we got to the apartment with twenty minutes to spare. Our shopping spree had taken fifteen minutes. The train rides took seventy-five. My suitcase was all ready and a few minutes before my pick up I headed out to wait for the car....and wait....and wait....Dov called the company. It promised to arrive within five minutes. We were now into heavy rush hour traffic. Still there was no car. Dov started to look for a cab. A few minutes earlier we had seen a few. Now none were in sight. By the time the car arrived, we were already twenty minutes behind schedule.

I could feel the anxiety building. I have an aversion to being late. I had managed the shopping fiasco without losing it. I didn't know if I could continue projecting a semblance of of calm self control. I knew I had to let go of the fear I now had of missing the plane. Traffic was stop and go for a good part of the trip, but the driver was very adept at maneuvering around it. I engages him in conversation in order to keep from grinding my teeth or fretting about the time and traffic. I arrived at the Westjet desk at 5:45 to learn that flight was scheduled to depart at 6:20, not 6:35. I was even later than I thought, i didn't even have the time to panic. Without any delay, the attendant  printed out a boarding pass and baggage tags. The flight had already started boarding. The gate was at the other end of the terminal. The attendant grabbed my suitcase, and put it on a cart just headed out to be loaded on the plane. Then I followed him as we rushed to the other end of the terminal. There was a long line for security but he bypassed the line and put me at the front. Of course I beeped going through the metal detector. Security told me that I had two choices, be patted down or go through the X-ray machine. I chose the latter. It was much faster and less invasive. Pearson needs to get one.

Now I had to find my gate. True to Murph's Law, it was the one farthest from security and there were no automated sidewalks. I didn't even bother putting my shoes back on and moved as fast as I could to the gate. No one was in the lounge at the gate and I was the last person to board the plane. Everyone else was already settled in their seats. As I stepped into the plane, the stewardess commented that I had lost my shoes. I didn't put them on until I had collapsed into my seat. Less than five minutes later, the plane began to roll towards the runway for take off, too close for comfort. Between heading directly to the desk for help and being escorted quickly past the crowds, I managed not to lose it. This was my shortest wait ever for a plane to take off. However, it is still not a scenario I want to go through again. 

The flight home was even faster than the flight to New York and we arrived a half hour early, so early that there was still another plane at our gate. Flying on a Tuesday evening in winter is a good idea. The terminal was practically deserted and most of the officers were chatting or twiddling their thumbs. My suitcase was already riding on the carousel when I got there. I have never been able to leave the airport in so little time.

Thank goodness for Gila! Not only did she come to pick me up, but she had also prepared me a food package, chicken and vegetables for dinner and yogurt, cheese and fruit for breakfast. 

I have never honestly doubted Dov's feelings for me, but we have had a very long history of not being on the same page, so although I had been invited enthusiastically, I had some concerns. As I left, Dov admitted it was probably the best time we had spent together and thanked me many times over my generosity and for treating him and Marissa to an amazing weekend. Therapy works!

Monday February 3, 2014

I awoke to a light snowfall. The flakes were almost as small as rain drops and gently covered the streets, the cars, the limbs of the trees with a soft coverlet. The snow continued through the morning transforming the grey roads and the skeletal trees into a dazzling white world. Although the streets were reduced to tracks of clumped dirty slush by the traffic of the city, the snow continued burying the parked cars and dressing the branches with a thick winter coat. Despite my dislike of winter weather, I joined Dov, Marissa and Kaya for a walk in the park.

                                                        
By the time we got outside, a growing lake of slush gathered at the curbs. Crossing the street was akin to an Olympic long jump trying to avoid the continuously expanding water or an obstacle course looking for the safe drier path between the furrows ploughed by the cars and the hills forming between them as the sidewalks were shoveled and cleared. Many pedestrians were attempting to stay dry by clutching umbrellas over their heads. The streets were greying again with the traffic of people and vehicles. Cars passing by quickly sprayed the slush back onto the sidewalk and passersby.

Although the neighbourhood was an ordeal to navigate, Prospect Park remained pristine. Walkers had compacted the snow into distinct paths without slush or puddles. The evergreen bushes were shrouded and bent, green needles poking their way out and branches bowing down to the earth. The mundane mesh like snow fences wore lacy white shawls. Every surface of each tree was iced with layers of snow that fell in clumps on the unsuspecting when the outstretched branches could bear no more snow.

Marissa treated herself to the refreshing snow from the limbs that leaned to the ground. Kaya became animated, springing from one mound to another, scooting to the wooded areas through holes in the fences and burying her snout in the snow. Tiny snowballs compacted on her undercoat through her exploration of the ever deepening snow. When we reached an open field, Dov made snowballs from the heavy snow and threw them for Kaya to retrieve. When she reached the area where the ball had landed, she began digging deeper and deeper into the snow looking for it. Dov fell to the ground to make a snow angel. Kaya leapt on him covering his face with kisses. The vast expanse of virgin snow was hard to resist. First Marissa and then I both added angels to the choir and even Kaya, with some help stretched her legs back and forth in the snow to make wings. The snow was irresistible and soon we indulged in a snowball fight, me missing my target far more often than I was hit.

In the distance, I could see woman, walking alone and sheltering herself with a clear umbrella. After a few steps, she would stop and raise her umbrella higher. She looked like Mary Poppins waiting for the perfect gust of wind to fly her off. As she neared, the reality was not as playful. Every time she raised her umbrella, her other hand maneuvered a camera hanging from her neck and snapped photos of the transformed landscape. The digital beep of each picture echoed across the field.  At that moment, I regretted leaving my camera behind, but realized that I would not have frolicked with an electronic gadget in hand. For the child still inside me, lack of camera was fortuitous. 

We wound our way back to the entrance of the park, Kaya greeting every other dog enthusiastically. Walkers were bundled in scarves and hats, a tobogganer was building a mogul at the foot of his hill and a skier silently cut his way through the fields only leaving his tracks behind. After complaining about winter at every turn, grudgingly I had to admit how much fun I had had.

Unfortunately, the walk back to the apartment was an antidote to the fun. Huge ploughs traveled up and down the streets shoving the furrows left behind by the cars to the curb, transforming the lakes at each crossing into seas. My wonderful boots that have kept my toes cozy failed and once back home, I had to wring out my socks and set my boots on the rad in an attempt to dry them. My long black coat is wonderful for keeping me warm, but the hem had become both snow encrusted and wet as it dragged across and through the slush and snow banks.

Marissa headed downtown for her job and later in the afternoon for her French class. Dov began surfing the net, reading a script and relaxing. We had the Sleep No More event scheduled for eight and originally planned to head out to Chelsea early, do some shopping and meet Marissa for dinner. My boots were still wet and we would have to drag anything purchased along with us so we decided to forgo shopping. Perhaps we can find time for it tomorrow.

We ate at a Japanese restaurant just across from the Empire Diner, a place Dov and I frequented when he had the part of Nick Burns in the play A Thousand Clowns and lived around the corner. The food at the restaurant was tasty but sparse. The first few offers had three of each item, but there were only two cubes of agadachi tofu and after waiting a considerable length of time, a minuscule mound of garlic spinach appeared. Although we had ordered seven dishes, all three of us walked away hungry. Dov suggested trying some large portioned American food after the show.

                                                                 

My boots were only damp when we set out but now my feet were drowning again as it was impossible to cross any street without traversing a body of water. Later in the evening, a snow plough passed by us at a clip clearing the roads but spraying us with debris, ice and slush. We hurried towards 
the store fronts of the wide street to avoid the shower but with the size of the plough and the quantity of muck on the road, it was hard to avoid. This happened after the production and we already so giddy from what we had experienced, that this brought on howls of laughter.

To the production . . .The front of the MacKitterick Hotel is art deco in style. Two security people check ID before you enter. The first venue of the visit is in the bar and they are making sure everyone is of age. As soon as you enter, the music begins, something composed by either the Addams family or the Munsters. The walls are all black but there is enough light here to see where you are going. Coats and bags must be checked. Nothing can be held in your hands but you are encouraged to slip some money or a credit card into a pocket in case you want to imbibe at the bar. Earlier today, I had forgotten my camera. This evening I was better prepared. I had slipped an extra pair of socks and my shoes into my bag so I was able to check my boots and walk around with dry feet. 

At reception, your reservations are checked and you get a 'card' key for the door of your hotel room. And here it begins. This place is creepalicious. There are some low lights in the stairwell but then it goes dark. The first thing I realize is that my night vision is very poor. I began to stumble into walls and blind corners. Marissa actually has to guide me through the passageway to the bar, a room from the thirties, surrounded by red velvet drapery and hosted by attractive young men in tuxedoes. The band is dressed likewise, the vocalist in a period gown and the music is from that era. After a short wait (long enough for a cocktail or beer) the band leader invites the visitors with certain room numbers to enter the main portion of the hotel. As you slip behind the curtains, you are handed a white Carnival mask and are sternly told that no sounds are permitted. A couple beside me is gruffly admonished for whispering to one another.

We enter an elevator and are let out to wander on that first level. The eerie music continues but it is now interspersed with songs from the thirties. The corridors are covered with sepia photographs and murky mirrors. The doors to all the rooms are open and I wander into each one, opening drawers, looking through children's clothing hung by a bed, reading the open book left on the bed. I find a lipstick, a  key, sayings etched into the inside of drawers, a sewing box. It is crowded and dark. I continue to bump into people, furniture and walls. A woman in an old fashioned, blood stained uniform pushes by me. Do I follow? The floors are uneven and covered in a variety of bumpy materials in recognizable in the dark. I' m not sure where to go or what to expect, but as I enter a drawing room, there are crowds around the settee. A young pregnant woman is throwing herself from one sofa to another. She slips to the floor. Zombie like, she makes her way around the room opening a chest of doors. She takes something out and slips behind all the people and scurries out the door. Many follow her. I continue through the maze of rooms.

People in black, wearing black masks silently, with a shake of the head or pointing of arms direct you which way to go. There is no set route and within several minutes there are streams of white masks moving in all directions, some stumbling, some running after a silent character.

Each floor has a different theme. This one is a hotel with guest rooms, all dimly lit, all filled with trinkets, toiletries books suitcases some open some closed. In a hallway I spot the nurse again she is climbing the walls and leaping also in a zombie like state in a macabre dance. Through a wall behind he, I notice crowds again. There are a man and an almost bald woman interacting in a dance like manner with one another, sometimes appearing to make love, sometimes fighting, doing gymnastics over a bathtub. They separate, the woman disrobes and slips on another dress and the gyrations continue until they rush off again followed by the crowds. After winding through the halls you reach a set of stairs and climb to investigate the secrets and surprises on another floor.

On the next floor is a series of offices with desks. I examine the strewn papers. I open drawers. I find a hammer in one, pliers in another. Again characters appear and disappear. The nurse writes a message in chalk up, down and across a corrugated wall. A chemist pours elixirs and serves a customer who dashes off. The chemist reaches over and takes the hand of a guest, unlocks a door and directs her behind it. The stewards motion everyone else to move on. There are rooms with stuffed animals heads, pelts hung on the wall, a desk sporting a preserved fox uncannily resembling Kaya. I find a candy store with open glass canisters of peppermint, gumdrops, fruit drops, licorice. I help myself and go behind the counter to taste other varieties of sweets. There is a small room with a an empty crib, above it fly stuffed, headless mannequins. Other rooms have cases of bones, skulls. Elsewhere there are crates for shipping.

More stairs, a hospital ward. The nurse's desk has some patient charts. Antique surgical instruments are displayed on the walls. This is a psychiatric ward. One patient is an arsonist, another violently abusive. Each bed has anther chart, a bedpan under the bed, taut sheets, books on night tables or left open on the beds. Beside is a room full of tubs for the cold water treatment as seen in the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. In another room is a tub on a pedestal, a woman washing blood from her hands. 

I spot the pregnant girl again in another dress packing a suitcase. She grabs it and moves on to a room with drawers. She takes a blanket out, pretending to swaddle an infant. She drops it and without looking puts baby clothes into a drawer behind her. Like a sleep walker she moves on, dancing with and then resisting a man in a tuxedo. This looks like a lobby with a bank of pay phones. I wander off and find a dining room, the tables all formally set with monogrammed linens and cutlery. The pregnant woman enters, sits and spreads jam on a piece of toast. As she is about to eat, the woman with the bloody hands traipses in with a period jar of milk. She pours the milk for the pregnant woman and forces her to drink. A balletic chase takes place from one table to another, the characters sometimes climbing on the walls. The expectant mother escapes. A man joins the other woman at the table, pouring milk for one another and eating toast with jam.

On another floor there is a deserted nightclub complete with tables and chairs. An elegant woman in a lace trimmed red dress with a train swoops in. She opens a tray on a table to reveal raw meat. She sits, carves it and bites the morsels off the knife. Suddenly she retches and spits out the partially chewed meat to find a ring in her mouth. She takes the hand of a guest, fondles it, puts the ring on her finger and floats to the stage to lip synch the song Is that all there is. I try to leave the nightclub and bump into furniture and walls looking for the curtain slit that is the exit.

Another floor has a padlocked graveyard and further on, the ruins of houses on a street. By now I am totally disoriented. I have no idea of the time or the floor. We seem to be herded into a ballroom. All the characters are seated at a banquet table on a dais. They are toasting each other, miming eating and conversing in slow motion. A man walks over to the side and slowly releases a noose that hangs in front of the man seatedat the middle of the table. He jumps onto the table, fixes the noose around his neck and sits on a chair placed beneath him. All but one of the others run off the dais and disappear behind the crowd. The chair is pulled out from under the man. The lights go out momentarily and when they come on again, the man is swinging limply from the rope. 

The stewards motion everyone to the stairs. At the top is another red curtain with a host welcoming us back. Everyone takes off their masks, buys drinks and enjoys the thirties jazz band once again. I am disoriented but laughing giddily about my journey. The phone rings. Dov and Marissa are waiting for me at the coat check. As you leave, another hosts invites you into yet another room to extend the evening with a bite to eat or dessert. We pass. Outside, dangling our souvenir masks, we cannot stop laughing. All of us loved it. One at a time we describe our experience, each so different that it is hard to believe we were at the same event. We all agree that the missing storyline connecting the venue and the characters is one of the flaws of the production. I found that I started creating my own narrative as I re encountered characters. However, the lighting, the furniture, the artifacts, the background music as well as the period music, the re creation of the thirties made this an extraordinary New York moment. This is supposed to be based on the play Macbeth. I would never have associated what I saw with that play. I would love to have someone to explain it to me.

Our appetizer sized dinner and the two hours trekking from room to room and floor to floor had made us hungry and we set off to find an American style eatery. First choice was the Empire Diner, but it had been transformed from a down at the heels joint to a chic bar. We moved on. Our American food was found at The Chelsea Diner owned and hosted by Greeks. This time we did eat heartily. By now it was close to midnight and none of us looked forward to an hour and a half on the subway and a shlep in wet boots back to the apartment, so we treated ourselves to a taxi cab ride back to Brooklyn. What a day!!!!

Sunday, February 2, 2014

We got a late start this morning and it was more important to stick to a schedule since we had matinee tickets for the play Saint Joan. Dov was still ill, but he was so impressed with the company Bedlam, that he pulled himself together enough to go. 


We made it to the theatre just as the play was about to begin. The stage, if you can call it that, was sparse, a platform, a set of stairs and two doors. At one side, hanging from the ceiling was a period painting that was cleverly used during the first act of the performance. The entire space was used in the production, including the aisles between the rows of seats, the back of the room and even the sides. The picture was raised as a window to call out to the characters in the courtyard. When the scene changed and the window was no longer needed, a character unhooked it from the wires and walked away with it. The ingenuity in the use of space, not furniture or backgrounds created a believable fluid set.

Although there are many characters in the play, the entire script was handled by four very versatile actors. All, but the one playing Joan, undertook multiple roles, sometimes switching before our eyes by putting on a pair of glasses, changing posture and using not only a different accent, but also changing tone, register and demeanor as necessary. Most of the time, imagination was not required to envision the new character. Each of the actors brought his character alive and recognizable even when he showed up later in the production. The actor in the role of Saint Joan was outstanding. She was still young but far removed from being a teenager and yet her energy, her enthusiasm and motions were those of a seventeen year old.

This play was in three acts. During each intermission, the audience was asked to leave the theatre and the space was reorganized with the use of dropsheets and once, a single prop. Because the actors used the entire theatre, you felt like you were part of the action, at times finding an actor sitting beside you while playing his part. You could see objects that were not there because the actor saw that object and it's dimensions informed where and how he moved. This type of performance must be the goal of every serious thespian. Natasha, Pierre and the 1812 Comet was enjoyable entertainment. Saint Joan was impressive theatre.

After the play, we dropped into the co-op to replenish the pantry and purchase the rest of the ingredients today's dinner. It is a store packed with anything organic you can imagine at prices less than Loblaws (except for the eggs) for far inferior quality. The care Dov takes in the food he buys and eats and his daily exercise a lot of it walking Kaya, is impressive. He has bought a machine that distills the tap water and a professional style juicer for making incredible juice blends. Today was a combination of beets, garlic, carrots, spinach, lemons, oranges, grapefruit, apple, ginger root and turmeric root. It may not sound very appetizing, bur although i did so with trepidation, I agreed to taste it and then even asked for more. My children seem to be better in the kitchen than I am and certainly are following a far healthier diet than my own. We are into role reversal; they are setting the example for me to follow.

After the shopping, Dov led the way to the B&H Deli. It is a small place with a few very small tray sized  tables beside the wall and a countertop and swivel stools in front of the grill. This very much reminded me of what United Dairy Bakers used to be before it went upscale to  Lawrence Plaza although downscale in the quality of the food I remember at least thirty years ago. The kids both had a bowl of soup. I ordered the mushroom barley soup flavored with dill. Even better than my own! Dov encouraged me to order the smoked whitefish sandwich. The sandwich, on fresh challah was at least four inches thick. The filling was a blend of whitefish with chives and celery. It was fantastic but too big and I brought half of it home for later on.

I'm glad I don't have to think about navigating. I just follow Dov and Marissa like a mindless sheep. To me it looks like we are traveling in circles, but we get to our destinations both quickly and efficiently, unlike my navigation in Europe. Even when he was a child, Dov excelled at navigation. It's a good skill to have in a city the size of New York.

Before heading out for the theatre, I had shown Marissa how to make roasted vegetable stock for her navy bean soup. She had put the soaked beans and the stock into the crockpot to cook until we returned later in the day. Once home, we sautéed the ingredients we bought in the co-op and added them to the soup. What an appetizing aroma filled the apartment! A fashionably late dinner, vegetable navy bean soup with homemade challah rounded out another day in New York.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Today was a low key day. I was able to totally relax and finally focus on the book I am reading. My plans with Marissa to prepare an oven roasted vegetable stock went down the tubes, but we'll try to fit it in tomorrow. 

We had no plans for the evening as yet and Dov, so concerned that I enjoy my visit, wanted to finalize which play we would try to get rush tickets for. I know he wants to see the Glass Menagerie but had mentioned Natasha, Pierre and the 1812 Comet a number of times. He has a friend in the production who could put tickets away for us. A musical based on War and Peace, it had received good reviews and was more definite than hoping for rush seats elsewhere. So we now had plans.

I have never spent any notable time in Brooklyn, so when it was time for Kaya's walk, I joined Dov and Marissa for a mini tour of the neighbourhood. We headed for Prospect Park a few blocks away. Years ago, I remember walking with my mother or with Lonia and having to keep slowing down so that neither one would be left behind. These days, the shoe is on the other foot. Even at my brisk pace, it was impossible to keep up with the youngsters and they were continually stopping to wait for me. After a while, Marissa walked with me, I think so that I would stop apologizing for my snail's pace. Marissa is a delight. She has a genuine interest in getting to know me and throughout the afternoon encouraged me to tell her stories about my past. I think back to myself at that age and in the same situation. I know I would have exuded an air of resentment, both for having to slow down and for feeling that it was my responsibility to entertain my mother in law for even the shortest length of time. I felt we had little in common and I was always on guard for either her criticism or her domination. Marissa seems to be very open and accepting and I feel comfortable in her company. I am beginning to better understand why Dov loves this girl.

Prospect Park is a sprawling well groomed recreational area. There is water in the form of a lake or river throughout the park. Near the entrance are two busy outdoor skating rinks, one for just skating and another one with a roof for hockey. Bird life abounds. In one area the trees are full of  cardinals. Scattered through the park are gazebos and benches inviting longer pauses. We walk under bridges of all types, the most beautiful being one made of stone. One area of the path is beside the river. It is shaded with a vine covered roof.  I can imagine its beauty in the spring and summer when the boughs are green rather than bare. Situated in the park is a large stately white mansion. It is the Audubon House. Set farther back from most of the walking paths, i would guess that it must be a venue for meetings or parties. Further along was a lovely octagonal wooden deck with benches overlooking the river. Its backdrop was a gurgling waterfall. 

                        
We walked for more than two hours. From time to time you could recognize an urban feature much removed from the park and there were roads patrolled by police cars, but for most of the time you could forget that you were in a big city. We took another route home and I saw many streets lined with more brownstones and even individual houses with yards, driveways and garages. I imagine that one hundred years ago, this was a high class, posh neighbourhood. Today there is much evidence of urban renewal, but the hip hop music and rap blaring from the cars driving by and the people of the street dispel any image of elegance. This is a very different picture of New York for me. I have always imagined it to be an concrete jungle with the exception of Central Park, with the boroughs home to the crowded projects of minorities. Dov has found a wonderful neighbourhood to live in.

                                                     

The long walk exhausted everyone but Kaya. Dov, stuffed up with a nasty cold, lay down for an hour's nap. The plan was to head out to Broadway around five, have dinner and see the play. As the time ticked away, it became obvious that Dov was ill probably too illnfor a night out. I was fine staying in an perhaps ordering in a pizza when Dov woke up. I actually dozed off for a while as well, but roused myself when Marissa suggested that we watch Blue Jasmine together. Cate Blanchet does a remarkable turn as a very disturbed yet believable woman. 

Dov woke up after six, but he really wasn't in any condition to go out, nor had we had any dinner. However he was quite insistent that we go to the theatre nonetheless. He did not know if his friend had already paid for the tickets, he thought it was rude to not use the tickets when they had been set aside for us and was determined to show me a good time.

Until we reached Times Square, I had totally forgotten that it was the Superbowl Weekend. OMG!!! Times Square is always, busy, crowded and noisy but when it is beset by thousands of raucous, belligerent football fans, it becomes a war zone for anyone not into the big game. Police were everywhere, blocking roads, cordoning off crowds to permit a trickle of traffic through, just patrolling the streets to have a presence. The crowds were boisterous and insistent that you knew they were Seahawks fans. If someone shouted out "Sea", "Hawks" thundered from the crowds and like a wave reverberated down the street. Seattle fans were so predominate that there was no evidence of the second team in the game. We ploughed through the crowds, hanging on to a sleeve or a coattail to try to stay together. Away from Broadway and a little further north the crowds were closer to what you would expect on a Saturday night in New York.

The play was not at all what I expected. Probably production would be a better description. The space was set up like a Russian cafe. Everyone was at tables and the stage, if you could call it that, surrounded the tables. Red velour curtains enclosed the entire space and as we waited for the beginning, actors from the production, in character, wandered through the room interacting with the guests. Particularly striking was a somewhat heavyset black drag queen. The makeup was perfect, the costuming was outrageous, fur hat, white furry boots, a leopard print shawl or scarf around the waist as a skirt and a short red military tunic to top it all off. When she/he approached our table, she exclaimed to Marissa. "You are so beautiful. Really beautiful. Except for you, this is an ugly house." I couldn't have agreed more. Marissa has a quiet charm an engaging smile and expressive eyes that enhance her physical presence.

This play followed the storyline and the characters of War and Peace, but there was little of Russia in the musical style and costuming of the ensemble. The main characters looked like they stepped from the pages of Napoleonic Europe, but the ensemble looked like harlequins and whores of a more modern era. The action took place all around us and on the floor of the 'cafe' with gratuitous interaction with the audience. The show was very polished. The voices were excellent, but the lyrics much of the time were chanted dialogue. It was hard to discern any Russian character in the music as it was closer to techno pop than show songs. Despite the flaws, for me, it was enjoyable entertainment. It was neither Dov's nor Marissa's cup of tea and I regretted for them that we had not seen the Glass Menagerie directly across the street.

I made a selfish suggestion to eat out after the play. We had not yet had dinner and I was hungry. Marissa suggested going directly home especially since Dov was ill, but I think in his effort to make sure I was enjoying myself, he took us to a cafe called Uncle Vanya. I was hoping that we could get something quick to eat so we could head back sooner than later, but Russians seem to enjoy long leisurely meals and this was as well. We shared hot cabbage beet borscht, carrot salad, kale caesar salad, all of it delicious. Dov and Marissa enjoyed a vegetarian stuffed pepper and I indulged in a serving of sprats, pickles and slabs of Russian black bread. Unfortunately, by this time, Dov was on his last legs. I think the train back to Brooklyn was the slowest one I have ever been on. It kept stopping because an prerecorded voice informed us of train traffic ahead even though at this hour, any train was at least half an hour away. It forever to get back to Brooklyn. Dov dozed most of the way back.

It was almost two before I collapsed in bed. I had some concerns about this visit, but I think both Dov and I want this to be a memorable visit for the right reasons. He is determined that I have a good time and I am determined to let anything that may escalate into any kind of disagreement go. Marissa is the bonus to all of this. As I have said she has been warm and welcoming and this evening, as we waited in line, rubbed my back, brought my head down on her shoulder in the subway and offered foot rubs for my tired feet. It is wonderful seeing Dov so settled and happy and wonderful to get to know Marissa better.

Brooklyn, January 31, 2014

Brooklyn, January 31, 2014

I will never complain about getting up in time for an eight o'clock aquafit class. Don't let anyone tell you that 4:30 is early morning. It feels like the middle of the night as does the traffic on the highway to the airport. Dark and early is much more appropriate than bright and early.

Despite the clear roads, the airport is amazingly crowded, but with web check in and the machines to print baggage tags, it takes no time to enter the scary world of US Customs. The worst part of any trip has got to be the airport but traveling to the States is doubly so. First there is one room through which a large crowd, toting bags snakes its way around. Slowly . . .very slowly. Suddenly an attendant announces that anyone on a seven o'clock flight needs to by- pass the line to the next room. What is in the next room? Another snaking line! This one ends in a bank of kiosks, where you scan your passport, verify your personal information and destination and are told to look at the camera for a grainy black and white photo.  You now have the official mugshot. Move along to yet  more lines, ending with an interview as to why you seek entry to the Land of the Free.  Permission granted, You now can drop off your luggage. But there is more! Take off your jacket, your belt, your boots, empty your pockets, take out your computer, surrender your carry ons to X-ray examination and walk through the metal detector. The departure gates are finally in sight, but the machinery objects loudly and you have to submit to a further indignity. Spread your arms and legs and wait while a wand announces the studs on your jeans, the fasteners to your bra, your necklace and your knee replacement. You turn to your examiner, smile and say "Thank you for making me feel like a criminal."  Did you know that in order to work for US customs you have to have your funny bone surgically removed? The guard turns to me with a withering glare. I collect my belongings before she changes her mind about letting me through and find a chair to sit  on while I put my boots back on. I arrived at the airport at five. It is now six twenty, only ten minutes to boarding. My journey through the verification that I am no threat to the other passengers or American on the other side of the border has taken longer than the 58 minute flight!

The flight is short and uneventful. I text Dov that I have landed. No reply. I trot to  the luggage carousel where my bag is already waiting for me and head out to find a cab. Again there is no delay. The cab driver stows my bag in the trunk and asks me for a Manhatten destination. I tell him I'm heading for Brooklyn and provide the address. Once on the expressway, the cabbie asks if I have an iPhone. Why? He seldom travels to Brooklyn and isn't sure of the location of Bedford Ave. No, he doesn't have a GPS. My phone now objects and refuses to find the appropriate map. 

I call Dov. No answer. The cabbie hails some pedestrians for directions but he is ignored. The cab passes through graffiti filled walls and abandoned buildings while the cabbie assures me he is headed in the right direction. He just isn't sure about the exact location of the address I have given him. Dov calls back. He is incredulous that the cabbie doesn't know how to get to Bedford Ave. I tell him our location, he finds the map on his computer and directs the cabbie. The neighbourhood changes to a street lined with graceful brownstones. The cabbie comments that this is a Jewish neighbourhood and is very safe. According to him, Jews always live in better areas of the city. I see no synagogues, no kosher butcher shops, only streets inhabited by Hispanics and Blacks walking dogs, waiting for buses, washing their cars to the beat of blaring hip hop music. We finally arrive. This has been one of the stranger cab rides I have ever had.

Marissa is walking the dog and sees me arrive. I get warm hugs and an escort up to the the third floor apartment. There are no elevators in brownstones. Dov greets me fondly at the door and invites me in. It is a beautiful apartment. There is a narrow entranceway that opens into an impressive main room with dark stained burled oak floors laid diagonally, an inlaid perimeter border, oak trim and a beamed ceiling. One end of the room is dominated by a large bay window and a rad cover that provides a ledge to sit on, both in oak. The other end of the room is has oak pocket doors that open to a bedroom with lots of natural light. The rest of the apartment consists of a second bedroom, a small kitchen and bathroom, in all, a very inviting home with lovely wool rugs, lots of photographs and art work everywhere. I am impressed.

                                 




The first thing out of my bag is the quilt. It looks beautiful on the bed and the colours are perfectly coordinated with everything else in the room. I am pleased that Marissa and Dov are pleased with the gift. We engage in some chit chat and tell them how happy I am seeing them together in this warm home. Marissa says she is glad and invites me to visit again in June. With pleasure, any time.

                               

                                  


The love and affection in this room are obvious. Dov is calmer, happier, more settled than I have ever seen him. Marissa is warm and centred and so devoted to Dov. There appears to be mutual respect and consideration between the two of them. 

Later in the day, Marissa and  I had some time to spend together while Dov went to a class. This is the first time I have had an opportunity to get to know her. She seemed to be totally open to me and while making the challah, talking about anything and everything. She exudes a delight in everything she does and there is an openness and an innocence that is totally engaging. She is excited about going through my old stained Second Helpings Cookbook, she is curious about my life and my feelings. It is the perfect way to spend my first evening in New York. I have always been concerned about Dov making his way in the world, but after seeing him together with Marissa I feel that he has matured and has become a responsible adult moving forward with more confidence and purpose than I have seen before.