Happy Canada Day! No one here knows its our national holiday, not even Dov until I reminded him. However lots of people have been wishing me Happy Fourth since the weekend.
I woke up later than i had planned, checked in electronically, repacked, showered and scanned the room to make sure nothing was left behind. I wondered at the start of my visit how so many people could live in this two bedroom apartment. Today I found out. This residence includes the basement consisting of one open area and three more rooms behind the closed doors. With its outdoor space in back, this truly is a very desirable home.
Belongings in hand, I crossed the street. Marissa was moving the car. Dov was up, but really tired. When we got home yesterday he had to walk the dog and then spent considerable time assembling the fan. Bit by bit I have been reading aloud the Holocaust Survivor's memoir that I wrote. I read the final part before packing it up for home and before Marissa left for work. There were also other things Dov had to do so we actually did not set off for Coney Island until about noon. I wasn't sure how much walking I could do at the beach, but given that my feet were still protesting yesterday's activities, less time for strolling seemed like a good thing at this point.
Although the train was local, the ride to the beach was fast. Coney Island is the last stop on the line, but four or five stops earlier it was possible to catch glimpses of the ocean and stretches of sand in between the trees lining the tracks. My reason for going to the beach was strictly nostalgic. It has probably been more than fifty years since i last was here. Once off the train, the whole area had the feel of a cheap carnival, roller coasters, ferris wheels, bungee jumping thrills and shop after shop of beach paraphernalia.
Nothing seemed familiar. That is until we hit the Boardwalk. Suddenly the umbrellas, the crowds, the children digging ditches and building castles, the food stands all awoke a tiny twig of remembrance. I remembered my striped red and blue bathing suit. I remembered looking for intact shells. I remembered carrying bucket after bucket to fill the holes i had dug. Unfortunately, i also remembered the chafing of the sand and the angry sunburn from spending a day on the beach without sunscreen.
It was again so hot in the city that my t-shirt was nothing more than a wet shroud on my body. The breeze from the ocean though was not just refreshing. It was cool and strong enough that I had to hang on to my hat. First stop had to be Nathan's on the Boardwalk. I know I had never eaten there before. My New York family was strictly kosher, but after hearing about it in every reference to Coney Island in American popular culture, a hot dog (with waffle fries and onion rings) was a must. We sat on a bench on the edge of the Boardwalk feeling the wind propelling the mist in the air on our backs. By the way, Nathan's hot dogs are not a disappointment.
The plan was to walk at the water's edge until my feet complained. At first we thought that that would be problematic. Dogs are not allowed on most beaches. Here, however, there was no such restriction. Dov and I took off our shoes and headed to the water. The air may have been cool but the sand was not. It took a number of steps to acclimatize to the heat on the beach. How comforting that walking on the sand was therapeutic. The feel of the warm sand sliding over my toes was a sensuous experience. Although the ground was uneven, I actually walked normally. Balance was finally not an issue. Next time I visit New York in the summer, I will not forget to bring my bathing suit. I would have loved to sit at the water's edge feeling the waves lap my legs. I would have loved standing with my back to the waves and feel them break on my body. I would have loved to linger, taking in more of the sights, sounds and feelings. I am so glad that there will be next times.
Dov was happy that the dog was not banned from the beach, but he was not willing to let her off leash. She seemed afraid of the waves and constantly tried to pull back from the water's edge. But Kaya is a crowd pleaser. As we strolled, lots of children asked if they could pet her and we ended up having a number of conversations with moms and grandmas. Interesting that all the adults complained about being chilled. I thought the wind rendered the weather perfect. What is the ocean without crashing waves and wind?
As we slowly made our way toward Brighton Beach, the demographic of the beach began to change, fewer African Americans, more Russians. Snacks initially were made by Lays or Doritos. Later the treats came in Cyrillic labeled bags. GPS is wonderful and after awhile, Dov determined that we had reached a point where we could easily find a subway station. As we left the beach, a yellow school bus stopped in the circle drive just in front of the sand and let out a group of Orthodox preteens. Beside the skimpy bikinis and miles of exposed flesh, these girls in their stockings, long skirts, long sleeved blouses seemed to come from another planet or another era.
The short walk from the sand to the city was like entering another country. Again, we could feel the searing heat. The buildings had blocked the sea breeze. We were now in Little Odessa. More signs were in Russian than in English. More Russian than English conversation was heard. Russian food was being sold by street vendors. Rather than going directly to the train, we both wanted to see more of this unique area of Brooklyn. The set up was also iconic New York with stores on either side of the road, the elevated tracks and the road beneath the subway. I have seen this scenario in numerous movies and tv shows. I felt like I was part of a film unreeling in front of me. We strolled to the next station to return to the apartment and the heat of the city.
I needed some time to unwind before setting out for the airport and home. Once the travel process begins, I become anxious, edgy and impatient to get going. Today was no exception. Although this has been a fantastic visit, I knew I was driving Dov a little batty with my nerves. I left for the airport a little later than I had planned,, but i knew there was plenty of time and worked hard to relax in the cab to LaGuardia. Josh left on a flight immediately before mine. I was hoping to see him in the waiting area, but by the time I found where it was, the plane was almost entirely loaded.
I think this was the best visit I have ever had with Dov. Both of us have evolved to a point where we are able to be far more tolerant of one another. I know I work hard at minding my own business and not dispensing unasked for advice or recommendations. I have also learned to be present when talking to Dov, not multitasking or surfing the web or playing solitaire. We talk about feelings and ideas rather than filling the space with banal or meaningless words. I love that Dov was able to speak to me freely about things that bothered or concerned him. I am touched at the concern Dov felt about my safe being and comfort. I think we have finally begun to develop an adult relationship.
Thursday 3 July 2014
Monday June 30, 2014
Today was the day I would have liked to go to Coney Island, but as they say, shit happens. With some luck I will make it there before heading out to the airport.
It was another bright, sunny, hot day, maybe too hot for going to the beach without a bathing suit. I was also very tired. A macchiato at dinner was not a good idea. I was awake most of the night. Despite that I got up fairly early and made my way to the kids. They had also had a sleepless night and I guess none of us was in any kind of hurry. Marissa made her way to work. While Dov got ready, I actually took a little nap.
Dov got involved in some private business and I already felt wilted from the heat. What a perfect time to go out to buy a fan. If this heat is indicative of the summer in NY I don't think that apartment will be bearable by mid July. I made my way to Bargain Hunters on Flatbush. There was a huge display of fans at the front of the store. I looked at each one carefully and I decided on a large one with several speeds that oscillated. It could be set up on a stand or with an attachment could be used as a table fan. It's a good thing Flatbush is only two. Locks away. The size of the box made it too awkward to carry so I half carried, half dragged the fan back to the apartment.
Dov was still involved. I thought about making my way to Coney Island on my own, but thought it might upset Dov, so I returned to my own place to sit in front of the fan and read for a while. It was well after one by the time Dov had extricated himself and I thought that since we had Sleep No More booked for that evening, we would be pressed for time to return to Manhattan. But first the dog needed walking.
I joined Dov in the park. There is no such thing as too much time in that particular park. The downside, however, was that I would be walking. Spending more quality time with Dov was more important to me than my feet, so off we went. Dov was very apologetic about the late start. He genuinely was concerned that I have a good time this visit and waiting for him was not what he had in mind. I was touched by his concern and sincerity. There was one more day to get to the beach.
The park again was so inviting. Because the ones are all man made and are not fed by any fresh source, areas were blooming with algae. In places, it was so thick that debris sat on top of it rather than sinking. Even so, time in the park provides an ever changing view of trees, plants, paths, floral displays and other dogs. While walking, we worked out Plan B, the Rubin Museum.
I had never heard about thislace. Dov explained that it was a gallery devoted to the arts of the Himalayas, Tibet, in particular. The added bonus was that it was not too far from the venue of our evening outing. To get there, we got off the subway at Union Square where there was a Farmer's Market. Before looking for the museum, we explored the market. Even though it was already mid afternoon, there were still vendors with maple syrup, organic produce, organic breads, and snacks.
Then we began our trek across 17th St to 8th Ave. What an interesting street! Close to the Square it seemed to have just commercial office buildings, but as we headed west, there we began to see a totally different environment. The first of these shops was Liquidation, a juice bar. Since neither of us had eaten lunch we went in to try it. Delicious and cooling. Did I mention it was hot? Then there were a series shops for alternative shoppers, Angel Time a thrift shop where you had to be solid middle class in order to afford a Restoration Hardware (used) sofa for $1,000. There was also a store that had all manner of nostalgia, from furniture to framed prints and costume jewelry to tzochkes. The doorway on 17th lead through an open alley lined with mirrors, pictures and benches. At the end of the alley spread around the entrance were a variety of tables, a round pedestal table with a marble top, an old school desk with attached chair,coffee tables and chests. Inside was more of the same including arm chairs and sofas and housewares from the fifties and earlier.
Dov and I were attracted to a walnut drop leaf table with mahogany legs. The leafs had rounded edges so the fully extended table was a good sized oval and could probably comfortably seat six people. Although smaller items were not cheap, $68 for a set of four stacking Corning bowls, $85 for a little hat with veil, the furniture was very reasonably priced. A table, especially one that could be tucked away in a corner so that the spacious feel of the apartment was maintained when the table was not in use. We brought Marissa by after dinner and she too liked the table but at the moment, it was not financially possible. The table will be reduced to $220 in two weeks if it has not already sold. I hope that the kids can make this purchase. It is a classic piece that could easily be sold for at least as much as they paid for it.
We finally reached the museum. Because it was open for just one more hour we only paid five dollars each for entry and joined a free tour. I think the guide was an employee of the museum and he was very knowledgeable about the history of the museum and the works inside. A couple by the name of Rubin bought a painting for $1,500. They knew little about its origin but were fascinated by the eastern style and theme. Over the next twenty years, they continued to collect artifacts from the Himalayas, without a plan of what to do with the collection. In the late 90's, the building that houses the collection was for sale. It used to be a Barney's and had a magnificent spiral staircase.
The couple bought the building and began extensive renovations to refurbish the space with the staircase as the focal point. It was a work of love. The spaces are beautiful. Currently on display, was an exhibition about Tibetan medicine. There was also a collection borrowed from the Brooklyn Museum of statuaries pertaining to that area of the world and the Buddhist and Hindu faiths. We did not have enough time there and it is definitely a place I want to return to. Recreated murals, statues, paintings, embroideries from Tibet and the surrounding area are all something I would like to learn more about.
Marissa met us at the museum. First we took her to see the curiosity shop for the want of another name for it. She also liked the table. With a recommendation from the salesperson in the shop we headed for a local Belgian restaurant. We ate in a small outside patio at the back, adjacent to a flatscreen tv showing a FIFA match between Algeria and Germany. It made for exciting background for our dinner.
The menu wasn't very vegetarian friendly, but all the food we ordered was well prepared and had a European flavour. The bonus was that the beer was half price. We were only ten streets and two avenues away from the McClintock Hotel, not a long walk, but given that the performance was three hours of walking up and down stairs in a creepy venue, I should probably have known better. It was a pleasant walk but again not wise given where we were going.
This was our second visit to Sleep No More. The first was more exciting because there were no expectations. I enjoyed the whole production and was more wowed by the choreography and sets, but I was toast by the end of the evening. I was almost knocked over several times by people who were eager to follow the players and it seemed that each time there was a 'performance' to see, all the tall people stood in front of me. By the end of the evening i was stopping wherever i could sit down for a bit. I definitely do not have any interest in seeing this production a third time. Home by subway was a long long long trip and all three of us were exhausted by the time we reached Brooklyn. In retrospect, I should have hailed a cab.
Let's try for Coney Island tomorrow. I've asked Dov to be ready to leave by 9:30. I am prepared though, that it will be much later.
It was another bright, sunny, hot day, maybe too hot for going to the beach without a bathing suit. I was also very tired. A macchiato at dinner was not a good idea. I was awake most of the night. Despite that I got up fairly early and made my way to the kids. They had also had a sleepless night and I guess none of us was in any kind of hurry. Marissa made her way to work. While Dov got ready, I actually took a little nap.
Dov got involved in some private business and I already felt wilted from the heat. What a perfect time to go out to buy a fan. If this heat is indicative of the summer in NY I don't think that apartment will be bearable by mid July. I made my way to Bargain Hunters on Flatbush. There was a huge display of fans at the front of the store. I looked at each one carefully and I decided on a large one with several speeds that oscillated. It could be set up on a stand or with an attachment could be used as a table fan. It's a good thing Flatbush is only two. Locks away. The size of the box made it too awkward to carry so I half carried, half dragged the fan back to the apartment.
Dov was still involved. I thought about making my way to Coney Island on my own, but thought it might upset Dov, so I returned to my own place to sit in front of the fan and read for a while. It was well after one by the time Dov had extricated himself and I thought that since we had Sleep No More booked for that evening, we would be pressed for time to return to Manhattan. But first the dog needed walking.
I joined Dov in the park. There is no such thing as too much time in that particular park. The downside, however, was that I would be walking. Spending more quality time with Dov was more important to me than my feet, so off we went. Dov was very apologetic about the late start. He genuinely was concerned that I have a good time this visit and waiting for him was not what he had in mind. I was touched by his concern and sincerity. There was one more day to get to the beach.
The park again was so inviting. Because the ones are all man made and are not fed by any fresh source, areas were blooming with algae. In places, it was so thick that debris sat on top of it rather than sinking. Even so, time in the park provides an ever changing view of trees, plants, paths, floral displays and other dogs. While walking, we worked out Plan B, the Rubin Museum.
I had never heard about thislace. Dov explained that it was a gallery devoted to the arts of the Himalayas, Tibet, in particular. The added bonus was that it was not too far from the venue of our evening outing. To get there, we got off the subway at Union Square where there was a Farmer's Market. Before looking for the museum, we explored the market. Even though it was already mid afternoon, there were still vendors with maple syrup, organic produce, organic breads, and snacks.
Then we began our trek across 17th St to 8th Ave. What an interesting street! Close to the Square it seemed to have just commercial office buildings, but as we headed west, there we began to see a totally different environment. The first of these shops was Liquidation, a juice bar. Since neither of us had eaten lunch we went in to try it. Delicious and cooling. Did I mention it was hot? Then there were a series shops for alternative shoppers, Angel Time a thrift shop where you had to be solid middle class in order to afford a Restoration Hardware (used) sofa for $1,000. There was also a store that had all manner of nostalgia, from furniture to framed prints and costume jewelry to tzochkes. The doorway on 17th lead through an open alley lined with mirrors, pictures and benches. At the end of the alley spread around the entrance were a variety of tables, a round pedestal table with a marble top, an old school desk with attached chair,coffee tables and chests. Inside was more of the same including arm chairs and sofas and housewares from the fifties and earlier.
Dov and I were attracted to a walnut drop leaf table with mahogany legs. The leafs had rounded edges so the fully extended table was a good sized oval and could probably comfortably seat six people. Although smaller items were not cheap, $68 for a set of four stacking Corning bowls, $85 for a little hat with veil, the furniture was very reasonably priced. A table, especially one that could be tucked away in a corner so that the spacious feel of the apartment was maintained when the table was not in use. We brought Marissa by after dinner and she too liked the table but at the moment, it was not financially possible. The table will be reduced to $220 in two weeks if it has not already sold. I hope that the kids can make this purchase. It is a classic piece that could easily be sold for at least as much as they paid for it.
We finally reached the museum. Because it was open for just one more hour we only paid five dollars each for entry and joined a free tour. I think the guide was an employee of the museum and he was very knowledgeable about the history of the museum and the works inside. A couple by the name of Rubin bought a painting for $1,500. They knew little about its origin but were fascinated by the eastern style and theme. Over the next twenty years, they continued to collect artifacts from the Himalayas, without a plan of what to do with the collection. In the late 90's, the building that houses the collection was for sale. It used to be a Barney's and had a magnificent spiral staircase.
The couple bought the building and began extensive renovations to refurbish the space with the staircase as the focal point. It was a work of love. The spaces are beautiful. Currently on display, was an exhibition about Tibetan medicine. There was also a collection borrowed from the Brooklyn Museum of statuaries pertaining to that area of the world and the Buddhist and Hindu faiths. We did not have enough time there and it is definitely a place I want to return to. Recreated murals, statues, paintings, embroideries from Tibet and the surrounding area are all something I would like to learn more about.
Marissa met us at the museum. First we took her to see the curiosity shop for the want of another name for it. She also liked the table. With a recommendation from the salesperson in the shop we headed for a local Belgian restaurant. We ate in a small outside patio at the back, adjacent to a flatscreen tv showing a FIFA match between Algeria and Germany. It made for exciting background for our dinner.
The menu wasn't very vegetarian friendly, but all the food we ordered was well prepared and had a European flavour. The bonus was that the beer was half price. We were only ten streets and two avenues away from the McClintock Hotel, not a long walk, but given that the performance was three hours of walking up and down stairs in a creepy venue, I should probably have known better. It was a pleasant walk but again not wise given where we were going.
This was our second visit to Sleep No More. The first was more exciting because there were no expectations. I enjoyed the whole production and was more wowed by the choreography and sets, but I was toast by the end of the evening. I was almost knocked over several times by people who were eager to follow the players and it seemed that each time there was a 'performance' to see, all the tall people stood in front of me. By the end of the evening i was stopping wherever i could sit down for a bit. I definitely do not have any interest in seeing this production a third time. Home by subway was a long long long trip and all three of us were exhausted by the time we reached Brooklyn. In retrospect, I should have hailed a cab.
Let's try for Coney Island tomorrow. I've asked Dov to be ready to leave by 9:30. I am prepared though, that it will be much later.
Sunday evening June 29, 2014
I awoke early today, but for a change I was able to fall back asleep again until after eight. The Handler family had plans to have breakfast together this morning. We had already bought the bagels yesterday. We needed eggs and fruit to round out the meal.
After a quick shower, I headed out in search of a place to buy fruit. Flatbush, the main street in this area was swarming with police and barriers were being set up at the corners of each of the east west streets. There was to be a street fair and preparations for it were underway. The constant sounds that I was hearing during my search for a good fruit stand were sirens. At first I thought it the police cars traveling through the area had their sirens on, but I realized this was not the case when one drove by me. There were no lights and there was no sound other than the engine.
After walking several blocks, I realized where the sound was coming from. In order to accommodate sidewalk sales, all parked cars had to be removed. I'm sure notices regarding the prohibition of parking had been posted. However, the east side of the street was fully parked and a small fleet of NYPD tow trucks were systematically hooking up and towing away all the offending vehicles. And the sounds I heard? The car alarms being set off during the process.
It was already past nine and only a few vendors were setting up canopies under which to display their wares. On the sidewalks were all manner of containers full of the merchandise for the day. Some were in plastic containers, but others were in open bins and plastic bags and were easily identified.. One group of people had dozens of woven baskets, many stacked inside of each other. Beautiful colourful designs were woven the into bodies of the baskets. Another group had American flags, beach umbrellas, flotation tubes and other beach paraphernalia waiting to be organized. There were racks of clothing, food vans creating outdoor cafe areas and children's riding toys in yet other areas. And there were police officers everywhere, turning drivers away from the area, ticketing cars, drinking coffee and chatting with those busily setting up.
I was loathe to go into a supermarket, but the fruit at the first few stands I passed all looked like high end store rejects. With persistence, I finally was able to pick out a pineapple, not too over ripe, a melon that didn't look like it had been used as a basketball and some organic strawberries and blueberries. I arrived at the apartment just as Dov was leaving to buy the eggs. I joined him and went to the supermarket across the street from his place. I could have saved myself a lot of walking had I known that this store had a wide variety of certified organic produce and groceries. But then again, I would have missed the show of chaotic preparations for the fair. If you are observant, there are all variety of frees shows waiting to be watched.
I loved that it was important enough to everyone to get together one more time during our visit. What the food was really didn't matter, but the bonus was that everything worked out perfectly. The bagels had been heated in the oven and everyone agreed that they were the best bagels they had had. Instead of omelets, Dov prepared egg salad that was not prepared in the usual way. Instead of mayonnaise, Dov used olive oil and a gourmet mustard. Instead of green onions or chives, there were succulent scallions bought at the farmers market. The coffee was strong and delicious. The fruit salad provided the sweetness. It was all easy to serve and comfortable to eat without a table to sit at. No one was in a hurry to leave and the atmosphere was warm and friendly. Unfortunately, the apartment was also warm. We were in for another, hot and sunny summer day.
When the Handlers left, they were on their way to Brighton Beach and Little Odessa. Arthur was looking forward to a glimpse of Russia in North America and a restaurant named My Mother- in-law's Food. The kids walked their company to the subway on the way to the park with the dog and I returned to my room to sit in front of the fan have a rest. I had walked more than enough the day before and I don't think there were any new corners of Prospect Park for me to discover.
After Kaya had had enough exercise, the kids cleaned up the remnants of breakfast and we set out for the Brooklyn Museum. Dov and Marissa went by bike. I made use of my unlimited seven day metro pass and met up in front of the museum. On the street in front of us, there was a Chabadnik, looking for Jewish men to lay tefillen. It was difficult to explain what this was to Marissa, so Dov approached the man to go through the ceremony while we watched. He was there because it was Rosh Chodesh. After the Chabadnik helped Dov with both the tefillen and the prayers, he asked this man if he knew the Chicago Chabad rabbi. What a small world! The rabbi was in New York and had visited with this Chabadnik earlier in the day.
Now we focused on the Museum. It is a beautiful large white classical building that had been modernized with a glass atrium and a series of metal steps and platforms around the front. It is well set back from the street and traffic and rises behind a plaza meant for people to enjoy, benches under shade trees and another tiered seating area with grass steps between the tiers. The glass entrance is naturally illuminated and has a display of Rodin statues to greet the visitors. And here is the bonus, there was an Ai Wei Wei exhibit!
The exhibit had only some of the pieces that were in the Toronto exhibition, but there were many more photographs taken in Beijing and in New York, more documentaries produced by the artist and several more recent installations that emphasized the confluence of visual arts, social justice and the protection of human rights. Especially moving was a serpent built out of the backpacks of some of the children who died when the school collapsed after an earthquake and the reconstruction of the belongings of a fellow dissident who was kidnapped from her home and deposited along with the packed and unpacked personal items on the side of the road, miles from any city.
This museum also had a Judy Chicago exhibit with pieces spanning her entire career, beautifully detailed plaster slabs from some ruler's abandoned palace in ancient Mesopotamia and recreations of nineteenth century homes complete with furnishings and accessories. I definitely will be returning to this museum to see more of its treasures. Although the building was far from empty, there were many fewer visitors than you see in the Manhattan venues. Seeing the works without crowds pressing around you and the constant crescendo of voices allowed us to better appreciate what we were seeing. It was difficult to leave and we were among the last of the visitors to leave.
It was well after six and all of us were hungry. Dov offered to cook dinner for us at home, but I insisted on going out. I would like to make this visit a bit of a holiday for the kids as well. Eating out and shows are rarely part of their usual routine. There were a number of restaurants just a block from the Museum. Dov led us to Corvo's. The food was both different and delicious, spinach gnocchi, farro salad, a pasta with swiss chard mushroom and a lemony sauce, beets with a dollop of sour cream, deep fried chick peas and another Leafy sald with an unusual but tasty piquant dressing. The back of the building housed a garden area, roofed, but not enclosed that was both bright and airy. We were allowed to linger and all three of us ate laughed relaxed and enjoyed one another's company.
I managed to find my way back by subway without getting lost, my feet were not screaming at me, and we spent a low key evening getting to know learn more about each other before I returned to my room for the evening.
Tomorrow, I'd like to make my way to Coney Island. I was only nine or ten the last time I was there. My memories of the beach are not pleasant, as no one thought about the effects of sun on a fair skinned child and I usually left the beach lobster red and sand chafed. I am curious about the beach today.
After a quick shower, I headed out in search of a place to buy fruit. Flatbush, the main street in this area was swarming with police and barriers were being set up at the corners of each of the east west streets. There was to be a street fair and preparations for it were underway. The constant sounds that I was hearing during my search for a good fruit stand were sirens. At first I thought it the police cars traveling through the area had their sirens on, but I realized this was not the case when one drove by me. There were no lights and there was no sound other than the engine.
After walking several blocks, I realized where the sound was coming from. In order to accommodate sidewalk sales, all parked cars had to be removed. I'm sure notices regarding the prohibition of parking had been posted. However, the east side of the street was fully parked and a small fleet of NYPD tow trucks were systematically hooking up and towing away all the offending vehicles. And the sounds I heard? The car alarms being set off during the process.
It was already past nine and only a few vendors were setting up canopies under which to display their wares. On the sidewalks were all manner of containers full of the merchandise for the day. Some were in plastic containers, but others were in open bins and plastic bags and were easily identified.. One group of people had dozens of woven baskets, many stacked inside of each other. Beautiful colourful designs were woven the into bodies of the baskets. Another group had American flags, beach umbrellas, flotation tubes and other beach paraphernalia waiting to be organized. There were racks of clothing, food vans creating outdoor cafe areas and children's riding toys in yet other areas. And there were police officers everywhere, turning drivers away from the area, ticketing cars, drinking coffee and chatting with those busily setting up.
I was loathe to go into a supermarket, but the fruit at the first few stands I passed all looked like high end store rejects. With persistence, I finally was able to pick out a pineapple, not too over ripe, a melon that didn't look like it had been used as a basketball and some organic strawberries and blueberries. I arrived at the apartment just as Dov was leaving to buy the eggs. I joined him and went to the supermarket across the street from his place. I could have saved myself a lot of walking had I known that this store had a wide variety of certified organic produce and groceries. But then again, I would have missed the show of chaotic preparations for the fair. If you are observant, there are all variety of frees shows waiting to be watched.
I loved that it was important enough to everyone to get together one more time during our visit. What the food was really didn't matter, but the bonus was that everything worked out perfectly. The bagels had been heated in the oven and everyone agreed that they were the best bagels they had had. Instead of omelets, Dov prepared egg salad that was not prepared in the usual way. Instead of mayonnaise, Dov used olive oil and a gourmet mustard. Instead of green onions or chives, there were succulent scallions bought at the farmers market. The coffee was strong and delicious. The fruit salad provided the sweetness. It was all easy to serve and comfortable to eat without a table to sit at. No one was in a hurry to leave and the atmosphere was warm and friendly. Unfortunately, the apartment was also warm. We were in for another, hot and sunny summer day.
When the Handlers left, they were on their way to Brighton Beach and Little Odessa. Arthur was looking forward to a glimpse of Russia in North America and a restaurant named My Mother- in-law's Food. The kids walked their company to the subway on the way to the park with the dog and I returned to my room to sit in front of the fan have a rest. I had walked more than enough the day before and I don't think there were any new corners of Prospect Park for me to discover.
After Kaya had had enough exercise, the kids cleaned up the remnants of breakfast and we set out for the Brooklyn Museum. Dov and Marissa went by bike. I made use of my unlimited seven day metro pass and met up in front of the museum. On the street in front of us, there was a Chabadnik, looking for Jewish men to lay tefillen. It was difficult to explain what this was to Marissa, so Dov approached the man to go through the ceremony while we watched. He was there because it was Rosh Chodesh. After the Chabadnik helped Dov with both the tefillen and the prayers, he asked this man if he knew the Chicago Chabad rabbi. What a small world! The rabbi was in New York and had visited with this Chabadnik earlier in the day.
Now we focused on the Museum. It is a beautiful large white classical building that had been modernized with a glass atrium and a series of metal steps and platforms around the front. It is well set back from the street and traffic and rises behind a plaza meant for people to enjoy, benches under shade trees and another tiered seating area with grass steps between the tiers. The glass entrance is naturally illuminated and has a display of Rodin statues to greet the visitors. And here is the bonus, there was an Ai Wei Wei exhibit!
The exhibit had only some of the pieces that were in the Toronto exhibition, but there were many more photographs taken in Beijing and in New York, more documentaries produced by the artist and several more recent installations that emphasized the confluence of visual arts, social justice and the protection of human rights. Especially moving was a serpent built out of the backpacks of some of the children who died when the school collapsed after an earthquake and the reconstruction of the belongings of a fellow dissident who was kidnapped from her home and deposited along with the packed and unpacked personal items on the side of the road, miles from any city.
This museum also had a Judy Chicago exhibit with pieces spanning her entire career, beautifully detailed plaster slabs from some ruler's abandoned palace in ancient Mesopotamia and recreations of nineteenth century homes complete with furnishings and accessories. I definitely will be returning to this museum to see more of its treasures. Although the building was far from empty, there were many fewer visitors than you see in the Manhattan venues. Seeing the works without crowds pressing around you and the constant crescendo of voices allowed us to better appreciate what we were seeing. It was difficult to leave and we were among the last of the visitors to leave.
It was well after six and all of us were hungry. Dov offered to cook dinner for us at home, but I insisted on going out. I would like to make this visit a bit of a holiday for the kids as well. Eating out and shows are rarely part of their usual routine. There were a number of restaurants just a block from the Museum. Dov led us to Corvo's. The food was both different and delicious, spinach gnocchi, farro salad, a pasta with swiss chard mushroom and a lemony sauce, beets with a dollop of sour cream, deep fried chick peas and another Leafy sald with an unusual but tasty piquant dressing. The back of the building housed a garden area, roofed, but not enclosed that was both bright and airy. We were allowed to linger and all three of us ate laughed relaxed and enjoyed one another's company.
I managed to find my way back by subway without getting lost, my feet were not screaming at me, and we spent a low key evening getting to know learn more about each other before I returned to my room for the evening.
Tomorrow, I'd like to make my way to Coney Island. I was only nine or ten the last time I was there. My memories of the beach are not pleasant, as no one thought about the effects of sun on a fair skinned child and I usually left the beach lobster red and sand chafed. I am curious about the beach today.
Sunday June 29, 2014
I need new feet about half the age of the ones I am currently using. Oh the things you assume when you are young!
We had a very lazy start to the day on Saturday. We had freshly juiced vegetables with ginger for breakfast and then no one felt any urgency to do anything. Dov and I talked in a way we never have before touching many of the issues and ideas that were raised in the meditation class on Thursday evening. Trying to improve the skill set we already have is akin to a dog chasing its tail. When you think you have reached a new level of self understanding, you realize that you have moved to another box and you are still functioning as before. The scenery has changed, not the end results. I also talked about my own evolution, its frustrations and how to continue moving forward. I was impressed as well as touched to learn how well my son actually knows me and how much he cares.
Kaya had still not been out for her walk, so we headed out for Prospect Park once again. I thought that I already had seen most of the park, but I was very wrong. Dov had been talking about the best bagel/deli shop in the area. He had invited the Handler crew for breakfast Sunday morning so we skirted the south west(?) side of the park. I must admit that I am directionally challenged here and I have been following, nothing more. We skirted the long meadow and the sports fields from the opposite side and passes many family and/ or organization picnic/ barbeques. Whoever had the balloon concession was making out like a bandit.
The bagel shop was just a block from one of the park entrances and it was everything I had hoped and even more. At he entrance were cases of salads, finger foods, and the requisite lox and cream cheese (seven varieties). Along the back were bins and bins overflowing with hot, fat bagels, plain, poppy seed, sesame seed, pumpernickel, everything, egg, cheese, blueberry. We bought a bagful for the next day's breakfast but also ordered sandwiches for our lunch. I love smoked whitefish spread and cose that on a poppy seed bagel. The kids made their own different choices. The toppings were placed on both halves of the bagel and the the filling was also mounded on each half and oozed from all sides when unwrapped. The next door building had been merged with the bakery and provided a very cool area to eat. Since the weather again was picture postcard perfect, we headed back to the park to eat. We relaxed, ate and power napped under the shade of a tree before we set out once again. This time we continued along the north east park periphery. (I think) More families, more picnics and more balloons. We also passed by the music venue where a keyboardist was practicing and warming up his voice. Thank goodness this entire route was on a shaded path. I found walking in the sun tortuous. My shirt was drenched, my hair was wet and the sweat running into my eyes was making them sting.
Our trek ended at a farmers' market at Grand Army Plaza, downtown Brooklyn. By this time the farmers were starting to pack up, but the kids were still able to make some purchases before starting back home. I waited on a bench in the shade and after taking a load off my feet, I realized that I could not possibly walk home. I offered to take the subway back on my own if someone would point me in the right direction to a station. In the end, we took a taxi back. After three hours of wandering, my feet were forever thankful to the cab that picked us up.
I was keen to go to a small theatre that showed old and independent films as well as retrospectives of either directors or actors. Unfortunately, I was not interested in the fifties Italian crime films on tap, but as luck would have it, Ida, which I had seen with Gila just the day before my trip, was having a very limited run. I insisted that that was the film to see. It was just as powerful and moving the second time around. Dov had focused on the technical aspects of the movie and stated that the production was perfect and had more effect on him than the actual story. I do not regret the second viewing as I was able to discern nuances, details and foreshadowing that had not been as evident as the first time. It was closing on eleven but we had still not had dinner. We headed to a macrobiotic vegetarian japanese restaurant to discuss the film further while we waited for our food
Dov had ridden his bike into Manhattan and Marissa's bike was still inthe west village from the night before. I was fine finding my own way to Brooklyn, so the kids walked me to the appropriate station. The journey required one train transfer and poor Dov was so concerned that I not get lost that he came running down to the platform to make sure that I knew where to catch the next train. Here too I sometimes feel that there has been some role reversal, with me now as the child and my son, half. Y age acting like a concerned parent.
The ride home was totally uneventful and I made it home before the kids, calling them when I got there safely. Although we did not do many things, it was a very full day and my feet thanked me profusely when they had the opportunity to rest for a number of hours without interruption.
We had a very lazy start to the day on Saturday. We had freshly juiced vegetables with ginger for breakfast and then no one felt any urgency to do anything. Dov and I talked in a way we never have before touching many of the issues and ideas that were raised in the meditation class on Thursday evening. Trying to improve the skill set we already have is akin to a dog chasing its tail. When you think you have reached a new level of self understanding, you realize that you have moved to another box and you are still functioning as before. The scenery has changed, not the end results. I also talked about my own evolution, its frustrations and how to continue moving forward. I was impressed as well as touched to learn how well my son actually knows me and how much he cares.
Kaya had still not been out for her walk, so we headed out for Prospect Park once again. I thought that I already had seen most of the park, but I was very wrong. Dov had been talking about the best bagel/deli shop in the area. He had invited the Handler crew for breakfast Sunday morning so we skirted the south west(?) side of the park. I must admit that I am directionally challenged here and I have been following, nothing more. We skirted the long meadow and the sports fields from the opposite side and passes many family and/ or organization picnic/ barbeques. Whoever had the balloon concession was making out like a bandit.
The bagel shop was just a block from one of the park entrances and it was everything I had hoped and even more. At he entrance were cases of salads, finger foods, and the requisite lox and cream cheese (seven varieties). Along the back were bins and bins overflowing with hot, fat bagels, plain, poppy seed, sesame seed, pumpernickel, everything, egg, cheese, blueberry. We bought a bagful for the next day's breakfast but also ordered sandwiches for our lunch. I love smoked whitefish spread and cose that on a poppy seed bagel. The kids made their own different choices. The toppings were placed on both halves of the bagel and the the filling was also mounded on each half and oozed from all sides when unwrapped. The next door building had been merged with the bakery and provided a very cool area to eat. Since the weather again was picture postcard perfect, we headed back to the park to eat. We relaxed, ate and power napped under the shade of a tree before we set out once again. This time we continued along the north east park periphery. (I think) More families, more picnics and more balloons. We also passed by the music venue where a keyboardist was practicing and warming up his voice. Thank goodness this entire route was on a shaded path. I found walking in the sun tortuous. My shirt was drenched, my hair was wet and the sweat running into my eyes was making them sting.
Our trek ended at a farmers' market at Grand Army Plaza, downtown Brooklyn. By this time the farmers were starting to pack up, but the kids were still able to make some purchases before starting back home. I waited on a bench in the shade and after taking a load off my feet, I realized that I could not possibly walk home. I offered to take the subway back on my own if someone would point me in the right direction to a station. In the end, we took a taxi back. After three hours of wandering, my feet were forever thankful to the cab that picked us up.
I was keen to go to a small theatre that showed old and independent films as well as retrospectives of either directors or actors. Unfortunately, I was not interested in the fifties Italian crime films on tap, but as luck would have it, Ida, which I had seen with Gila just the day before my trip, was having a very limited run. I insisted that that was the film to see. It was just as powerful and moving the second time around. Dov had focused on the technical aspects of the movie and stated that the production was perfect and had more effect on him than the actual story. I do not regret the second viewing as I was able to discern nuances, details and foreshadowing that had not been as evident as the first time. It was closing on eleven but we had still not had dinner. We headed to a macrobiotic vegetarian japanese restaurant to discuss the film further while we waited for our food
Dov had ridden his bike into Manhattan and Marissa's bike was still inthe west village from the night before. I was fine finding my own way to Brooklyn, so the kids walked me to the appropriate station. The journey required one train transfer and poor Dov was so concerned that I not get lost that he came running down to the platform to make sure that I knew where to catch the next train. Here too I sometimes feel that there has been some role reversal, with me now as the child and my son, half. Y age acting like a concerned parent.
The ride home was totally uneventful and I made it home before the kids, calling them when I got there safely. Although we did not do many things, it was a very full day and my feet thanked me profusely when they had the opportunity to rest for a number of hours without interruption.
Saturday June 28, 2014
As usual, I woke up very early, too early to cross the street and start hanging out with my son. I headed out in search of coffee. Two blocks away, I found a Dunkin Donut. This chain is as ubiquitous as Tim Horton's but unfortunately, not as good. At least it
gave me the kick start I needed to get going for the day.
At about 10, I felt the hour was decent enough to knock on the kids' door. Everyone was up and I was feed a wonderful buckwheat pancake breakfast, with bananas, walnuts and maple syrup. We completed and confirmed our dinner plans before Marissa set off to work and we were left to walk the dog.
Everyone has heard about Central Park and probably thinks that it is iconic for New York. That may be true, but unfortunately Prospect Park, an absolute gem is barely known. I don't know how it compares in size but certainly surpasses its Manhattan in beauty and diversity. The winter ice rinks at the entrance of the park have now been transformed into an enormous splash pad and roller rink. The ponds, covered in ice and snow in January now sported lily pads, expanses of green algae and psychedelic swirls of colour wherever the water itself was visible. The paths are beautifully maintained and are overhung with branches in every shade of green imaginable, the lushness celebrating life and mature. Chipmunks scamper across the trails and the air is filled with melodic chirping rather than the raucous clanging and grinding heard on the city streets. Except for the few city towers visible at one edge of the park, it is hard to believe that there is demanding, noisy and frantic city surrounding this haven.
We did a circuit of the park, hitting every hidden little treasure it had to offer. A lengthy bower along the side of a pond, wher a bride and groom were having their pictures taken, arched stone bridges, a tunnel emitting the echoing cries of a single saxophone, the small octagonal deck protruding into the water, the zoo, the old and now empty pools central to a series of quiet clearings surrounded with benches beneath the shade of the trees, the long meadow, the gelateria, the corner of a pond designed for dogs, the barbeque picnic areas, the playing fields and the climbing equipment, the variety of bridges, the gazebo and the groups of people some with dogs and others without enjoying a spectacular summer morning. I think the only thing we missed were the botanical gardens, where no dogs were permitted. Hopefully there will still be time to see them before I leave.
By this time it was already after three and Willie had arrived and was ready to meet us. On the walk back, I cooled down with an iced coffee from the gelateria. The plain coffee with just a touch of milk and ice was very refreshing, but my t-shirt was dripping wet and beads of sweat were pouring from my face like rain. I had to change before I was fit to see anyone. We had dinner reservations in Greenwich Village at seven, but headed out for Manhattan in the late afternoon to wander, window shop and take in the sights sounds and smells of this incredible city. We made our way through Soho with its chi chi shops, then on to Noho, where every second store was an Italian eatery. Free shows abounded everywhere, the fashion sense ( or sometimes nonsense) parading the streets, the window displays, the characters hawking their wares and today, a display of deftness in parking.
Sitting in the shade we noticed a driver coming back to his car. It is wedged in between two compact cars. The car in front has left maybe six inches of manoeuverability. The car behind is touching the bumper. Undaunted, the man gets into his car. He inches forward, turning the wheel. Now he has two inches for backing up, the wheel still turning. Forward, back, forward, back, angling the front of the car toward the open road imperceptibly at first, but slightly more pronounced with each change of direction. In the meantime, a little crowd had formed and a feeble little cheer was heard as the car was freed and the people dissipated.
We end up in Washington Square Park, with the arch we recognize from every Hollywood movie filmed in New York. Another opportunity to observe the parade passing through, children splashing in the fountain, groups of tourists snapping selfies, children on skateboards and scooters weaving in and out of the crowds, other children scampering like monkeys around and through a jungle gym set up in a green carpeted pit, a woman with two canes walking two daschunds on leash, joggers running with their dogs, all with the iconic Arch backdrop under a sparkling blue sky.
We were now close to La Laterna di Vittorio, the restaurant chosen for our dinner. Apparently it is an historic building, billed as the first Italian restaurant in New York. There might have been one or two tables out in front, I don't really recall, but the restaurant itself was claustrophobic with its dark panelling, candle lighting and tables pressed close to one another. Another world opened when we reached the garden room, covered with a glass roof and air conditioned. Tree like plants were scattered throughout the space each one topped with an oversized kaleidoscope lamp shades. The ivied plastered walls, tiled floors and wrought iron tables and chairs almost let you imagine that you were in Italy. The illusion was supported by the Italian wait staff. The food was varied, well prepared and reasonably priced (even the wine) with an emphasis on thin crusted pizza. With nine of us, the group was too large and the room was too large for meaningful conversations. Nevertheless, the group was pleasant and convivial and I felt like the queen bee, surrounded by two of my sons and their partners, my brother and his wife and my niece and her husband. There were no complaints, no barbs, no tension, just an extended family enjoying dinner together.
We passed on dessert at the restaurant and headed out for gelato (ice cream for Arthur). A google search pointed our techies to nearby Grom, an Italian gelateria chain Josh and Christine had discovered on their trip to Italy. There IS always room for gelato, especially in flavours like tiramisu, crema, espresso chocolate and caramela salta. By this time, the other Handlers were rapidly fading. They had been up since 4:00 am driving in from Toronto. For the rest of us, the evening was still young. Dov suggested Fat Cat, a bar/ game hall featuring blues musicians as well. We stayed for a while, even Josh, until the noise was too much for me to handle.
New York is hopping on a Saturday night. The subway trains were packed, but, thankful air conditioned. Walking back to apartment, well after eleven, I noticed that just about every barber, beauty salon and nail salon was still open.my son enlightened me. This neighbourhood has no bars! To hang out, these people congregate at the local hair/nail place, watch the big flatscreen tv, gossip and in the meantime get a make over. And the bonus is that there are no drunks to disturb the peace.
I went directly to my place, turned on the fan and konked out. What a full day!
gave me the kick start I needed to get going for the day.
At about 10, I felt the hour was decent enough to knock on the kids' door. Everyone was up and I was feed a wonderful buckwheat pancake breakfast, with bananas, walnuts and maple syrup. We completed and confirmed our dinner plans before Marissa set off to work and we were left to walk the dog.
Everyone has heard about Central Park and probably thinks that it is iconic for New York. That may be true, but unfortunately Prospect Park, an absolute gem is barely known. I don't know how it compares in size but certainly surpasses its Manhattan in beauty and diversity. The winter ice rinks at the entrance of the park have now been transformed into an enormous splash pad and roller rink. The ponds, covered in ice and snow in January now sported lily pads, expanses of green algae and psychedelic swirls of colour wherever the water itself was visible. The paths are beautifully maintained and are overhung with branches in every shade of green imaginable, the lushness celebrating life and mature. Chipmunks scamper across the trails and the air is filled with melodic chirping rather than the raucous clanging and grinding heard on the city streets. Except for the few city towers visible at one edge of the park, it is hard to believe that there is demanding, noisy and frantic city surrounding this haven.
We did a circuit of the park, hitting every hidden little treasure it had to offer. A lengthy bower along the side of a pond, wher a bride and groom were having their pictures taken, arched stone bridges, a tunnel emitting the echoing cries of a single saxophone, the small octagonal deck protruding into the water, the zoo, the old and now empty pools central to a series of quiet clearings surrounded with benches beneath the shade of the trees, the long meadow, the gelateria, the corner of a pond designed for dogs, the barbeque picnic areas, the playing fields and the climbing equipment, the variety of bridges, the gazebo and the groups of people some with dogs and others without enjoying a spectacular summer morning. I think the only thing we missed were the botanical gardens, where no dogs were permitted. Hopefully there will still be time to see them before I leave.
By this time it was already after three and Willie had arrived and was ready to meet us. On the walk back, I cooled down with an iced coffee from the gelateria. The plain coffee with just a touch of milk and ice was very refreshing, but my t-shirt was dripping wet and beads of sweat were pouring from my face like rain. I had to change before I was fit to see anyone. We had dinner reservations in Greenwich Village at seven, but headed out for Manhattan in the late afternoon to wander, window shop and take in the sights sounds and smells of this incredible city. We made our way through Soho with its chi chi shops, then on to Noho, where every second store was an Italian eatery. Free shows abounded everywhere, the fashion sense ( or sometimes nonsense) parading the streets, the window displays, the characters hawking their wares and today, a display of deftness in parking.
Sitting in the shade we noticed a driver coming back to his car. It is wedged in between two compact cars. The car in front has left maybe six inches of manoeuverability. The car behind is touching the bumper. Undaunted, the man gets into his car. He inches forward, turning the wheel. Now he has two inches for backing up, the wheel still turning. Forward, back, forward, back, angling the front of the car toward the open road imperceptibly at first, but slightly more pronounced with each change of direction. In the meantime, a little crowd had formed and a feeble little cheer was heard as the car was freed and the people dissipated.
We end up in Washington Square Park, with the arch we recognize from every Hollywood movie filmed in New York. Another opportunity to observe the parade passing through, children splashing in the fountain, groups of tourists snapping selfies, children on skateboards and scooters weaving in and out of the crowds, other children scampering like monkeys around and through a jungle gym set up in a green carpeted pit, a woman with two canes walking two daschunds on leash, joggers running with their dogs, all with the iconic Arch backdrop under a sparkling blue sky.
We were now close to La Laterna di Vittorio, the restaurant chosen for our dinner. Apparently it is an historic building, billed as the first Italian restaurant in New York. There might have been one or two tables out in front, I don't really recall, but the restaurant itself was claustrophobic with its dark panelling, candle lighting and tables pressed close to one another. Another world opened when we reached the garden room, covered with a glass roof and air conditioned. Tree like plants were scattered throughout the space each one topped with an oversized kaleidoscope lamp shades. The ivied plastered walls, tiled floors and wrought iron tables and chairs almost let you imagine that you were in Italy. The illusion was supported by the Italian wait staff. The food was varied, well prepared and reasonably priced (even the wine) with an emphasis on thin crusted pizza. With nine of us, the group was too large and the room was too large for meaningful conversations. Nevertheless, the group was pleasant and convivial and I felt like the queen bee, surrounded by two of my sons and their partners, my brother and his wife and my niece and her husband. There were no complaints, no barbs, no tension, just an extended family enjoying dinner together.
We passed on dessert at the restaurant and headed out for gelato (ice cream for Arthur). A google search pointed our techies to nearby Grom, an Italian gelateria chain Josh and Christine had discovered on their trip to Italy. There IS always room for gelato, especially in flavours like tiramisu, crema, espresso chocolate and caramela salta. By this time, the other Handlers were rapidly fading. They had been up since 4:00 am driving in from Toronto. For the rest of us, the evening was still young. Dov suggested Fat Cat, a bar/ game hall featuring blues musicians as well. We stayed for a while, even Josh, until the noise was too much for me to handle.
New York is hopping on a Saturday night. The subway trains were packed, but, thankful air conditioned. Walking back to apartment, well after eleven, I noticed that just about every barber, beauty salon and nail salon was still open.my son enlightened me. This neighbourhood has no bars! To hang out, these people congregate at the local hair/nail place, watch the big flatscreen tv, gossip and in the meantime get a make over. And the bonus is that there are no drunks to disturb the peace.
I went directly to my place, turned on the fan and konked out. What a full day!
Brooklyn, Friday June 27
Yesterday was a day of anxiety for me. I always feel on edge when I am about to go on a trip. There is anticipation, but also nerves as my brain goes through all the worst case scenarios incessantly. Everything always seems to work out so I need to learn how to stop torturing myself. I was up early, made sure the garbage was put out, laid out my meds, had muffins and tea and sat on the porch knitting while I waited for Gila to drive me to the airport.
My record for giving the wrong directions is intact. I misinterpreted the airplane sign and instructed Gila to drive by the airport turn off. I don't know why she still listens to me! As we sat is a parking lot waiting for the GPS to set us on the right course, I got a text message from Air Canada. My flight had been cancelled and I was rebooked on a flight one hour later. The message was annoying, but as I already had added being late getting to the airport as one of my anxieties, there was now some relief that I had more time. For what? To wait and recycle through my anxieties of course.
Terminal 1 is overwhelming. As I usually fly Westjet, I have become used to the inefficiencies of Terminal 3. This terminal was like culture shock for me. Huge numbers and letters hanging everywhere, long lineups snaking around and through mazes, carts full of baggage, children whining, people rushing in every direction. My boarding pass was no longer valid and not seeing anyone to ask about where to go, I joined what seemed the shortest line, emphasis on seemed. When I finally reached the counter, I was told to join yet another line. Fortunately, at this point, an Air Canada employee started to cull single passengers out of the line and brought us around the corner where the attendants had nothing to do. Why was my flight cancelled? Too many planes arriving at LaGuardia at the same time.
The flight was packed. Many of the people on my flight were on this plane as well. Boarding started at departure time and I was certain that we would be later still, but I was amazed at how fast the plane was filled. We even arrived five minutes early. The deboarding was just as efficient. Seated at the back of the plane, I thought it would take at least half an hour to get into the terminal, but within a few minutes, I was outside at the passenger pick up spot.
I think you have to be crazy to drive a car in New York. The traffic around the airport was dizzying and the highway just beyond was bumper to bumper creep and crawl.
My ride arrived, but he was totally stressed out. The car had been overheating and he was not sure if he could drive it into Brooklyn. Our first stop was a gas station. There was no oil in the car. We both hoped that oil would make the car happier, but we were wrong. After just a few minutes on the expressway, the car was redlining it again. We pulled off at the first exit to try a non highway method of getting to the apartment. In the meantime, the car was turned off at every red light in the hopes that we could reach our destination without blowing up the engine.
Our new route was through Williamsburg, one of the orthodox enclaves in the city. It was getting late and I hadn't had anything to eat since that early morning muffin. I suggested parking to let the car cool down and taking a walk. I was curious about this part of the city. It was hot, in the thirties before the humidex was considered. My shirt was sopping wet and sweat was streaming down my face and yet everyone we passed was totally clothed from head to foot. There is a uniform or dress code. Working men were dressed in summer short sleeves and slacks, but the Chasidim looked like they had just stepped out of seventeenth century Poland, wide brimmed black hats, long payes, most of them bearded, a black shiny belted coat, black stockings at least as high as the coat and black shoes. The women for the most part were very young, barely out of their teens, pushing strollers with a little clutch of children following close beside or behind. They were all immaculately dressed in dark pleated skirts, long sleeved blouses buttoned right up to the neck, stockings and shoes. The ensemble was topped with a hat that reminded me of Waldo's hat in Where's Waldo. The colours varied, but the style did not. Children had their own uniforms. The boys' heads under the kipot were almost shaven, but long curly payes hung beside their ears. No shorts, but short sleeves were allowed. The children all came in multiples. Each boy was dressed identically to his brothers. The girls in each family were also identically dressed in long sleeved dresses, tights, and black patent leather shoes. the crowning touch was a big bright bow tied in their hair. As I perspires endlessly, I wondered if these people had built in cooling systems in their clothing.
The park was gated and locked. We tried to get in to sit in the shade to have a bite to eat, but we couldn't find an open gate, although the park was full od children and mothers. Perhaps the proper attire, would have been the open sesame for the gates.
Yiddish was everywhere, in the signs, in the music in shops and on the horsey rides and on the lips of everyone in the street. I suddenly lost my facility in English and began babbling in Yiddish too. The shops were more like bodegas and the entire area looked like Kensington when it was home to the post war Jewish migration.We found a bagel shop. I ordered for both of us, in Yiddish of course, and wandered off to find a bench.
As I said, we couldn't gain entry to the park, but we found a bench and watched the parade stroll by. No one seemed to rush. The dog, quiet and well behaved lay at our feet taking in the sights as well. This dog is anything but intimidating. She does not bark. She does not jump on anyone. She is laid back and calm and yet each child was terrified at the sight of the dog. He or she would give the dog a wide berth clinging to the accompanying adult. More than once I heard a frightened little voice say ' ich hob moireh' (I am afraid) I found that sad.
By now, we hoped that the car had cooled down enough to get to the apartment but that was not to be. We continued to turn off the engine at red lights and pulled over several times as well waiting for the gauge the leave the red zone. After three hours, we finally made it close to the apartment, found a parking spot and with relief walked the few blocks to the apartment. I had missed the check in time for my room by hours and my host was not going to be back for another few hours.
Rather than waiting in the apartment, I was invited to join a 'meditation' class run by a drama coach. It was in the Soho area of Manhattan. I really missed the thread of the session at first because I was so dazzled by the living space. This was a huge open loft, with exposed brick walls and beamed wooden ceilings.The owner was a plastic surgeon/ sculptor. His work was on display everywhere you looked. The furnishings were eclectic, a brass chandelier hanging in the centre of the living room, comfortable overstuffed and cushioned sofas and leather chairs set in a conversational circle, a glass walled room with an old refinished piano, an open kitchen finished with the warmth of brick and oak. Beyond, in a more conventional set up were the bathroom and bedrooms. I would have loved to take pictures, but as a guest, I felt it was inappropriate. I was also more than willing to spend the rest of my visit in that space or better yet spend the rest of my life in that space. It's comforting to have new fantasies.
The session itself was existential and the shortest way to try to explain the direction of the flow is to imagine a dog chasing its tail. Is the thinker the same as the thought?The thought is a wave but when you focus on it, it becomes a particle that you can't see. You get the drift. Why is there a need to be driven, goal oriented? Why not just be? If you put a name to enlightenment it is no longer enlightenment. I thought that I would get impatient with the session, but it really held my interest probably because of the moderator. He was very skillful at making you turn the lens on yourself. There was a very safe warm energy to it all.
When the session ended, I was eager to meet my host and get settled into my room. I am directly across the street from my son. I don't know how big the apartment is but in the morning, one person after another came into the living room where I was sitting to introduce himself. Final count, excluding me was four plus two dogs. Ther is also a concrete backyard the size of a postage stamp. The host is very proud of it as this is a special feature in New York. I found it sad that three square yards of concrete is a special amenity. I know that dinner was being prepared but by that time, I was just too tired to eat and it was too late to get stimulated.
There were so many points at which I could have lost it, the cancelled flight, the heat and humidity, the malfunctioning car, the wait to get to my room, the meditative session that seemed to go in circles. I don't really understand why I stayed so calm (for me), but rather than questioning it, I am hoping that this is a new pattern.
My record for giving the wrong directions is intact. I misinterpreted the airplane sign and instructed Gila to drive by the airport turn off. I don't know why she still listens to me! As we sat is a parking lot waiting for the GPS to set us on the right course, I got a text message from Air Canada. My flight had been cancelled and I was rebooked on a flight one hour later. The message was annoying, but as I already had added being late getting to the airport as one of my anxieties, there was now some relief that I had more time. For what? To wait and recycle through my anxieties of course.
Terminal 1 is overwhelming. As I usually fly Westjet, I have become used to the inefficiencies of Terminal 3. This terminal was like culture shock for me. Huge numbers and letters hanging everywhere, long lineups snaking around and through mazes, carts full of baggage, children whining, people rushing in every direction. My boarding pass was no longer valid and not seeing anyone to ask about where to go, I joined what seemed the shortest line, emphasis on seemed. When I finally reached the counter, I was told to join yet another line. Fortunately, at this point, an Air Canada employee started to cull single passengers out of the line and brought us around the corner where the attendants had nothing to do. Why was my flight cancelled? Too many planes arriving at LaGuardia at the same time.
The flight was packed. Many of the people on my flight were on this plane as well. Boarding started at departure time and I was certain that we would be later still, but I was amazed at how fast the plane was filled. We even arrived five minutes early. The deboarding was just as efficient. Seated at the back of the plane, I thought it would take at least half an hour to get into the terminal, but within a few minutes, I was outside at the passenger pick up spot.
I think you have to be crazy to drive a car in New York. The traffic around the airport was dizzying and the highway just beyond was bumper to bumper creep and crawl.
My ride arrived, but he was totally stressed out. The car had been overheating and he was not sure if he could drive it into Brooklyn. Our first stop was a gas station. There was no oil in the car. We both hoped that oil would make the car happier, but we were wrong. After just a few minutes on the expressway, the car was redlining it again. We pulled off at the first exit to try a non highway method of getting to the apartment. In the meantime, the car was turned off at every red light in the hopes that we could reach our destination without blowing up the engine.
Our new route was through Williamsburg, one of the orthodox enclaves in the city. It was getting late and I hadn't had anything to eat since that early morning muffin. I suggested parking to let the car cool down and taking a walk. I was curious about this part of the city. It was hot, in the thirties before the humidex was considered. My shirt was sopping wet and sweat was streaming down my face and yet everyone we passed was totally clothed from head to foot. There is a uniform or dress code. Working men were dressed in summer short sleeves and slacks, but the Chasidim looked like they had just stepped out of seventeenth century Poland, wide brimmed black hats, long payes, most of them bearded, a black shiny belted coat, black stockings at least as high as the coat and black shoes. The women for the most part were very young, barely out of their teens, pushing strollers with a little clutch of children following close beside or behind. They were all immaculately dressed in dark pleated skirts, long sleeved blouses buttoned right up to the neck, stockings and shoes. The ensemble was topped with a hat that reminded me of Waldo's hat in Where's Waldo. The colours varied, but the style did not. Children had their own uniforms. The boys' heads under the kipot were almost shaven, but long curly payes hung beside their ears. No shorts, but short sleeves were allowed. The children all came in multiples. Each boy was dressed identically to his brothers. The girls in each family were also identically dressed in long sleeved dresses, tights, and black patent leather shoes. the crowning touch was a big bright bow tied in their hair. As I perspires endlessly, I wondered if these people had built in cooling systems in their clothing.
The park was gated and locked. We tried to get in to sit in the shade to have a bite to eat, but we couldn't find an open gate, although the park was full od children and mothers. Perhaps the proper attire, would have been the open sesame for the gates.
Yiddish was everywhere, in the signs, in the music in shops and on the horsey rides and on the lips of everyone in the street. I suddenly lost my facility in English and began babbling in Yiddish too. The shops were more like bodegas and the entire area looked like Kensington when it was home to the post war Jewish migration.We found a bagel shop. I ordered for both of us, in Yiddish of course, and wandered off to find a bench.
As I said, we couldn't gain entry to the park, but we found a bench and watched the parade stroll by. No one seemed to rush. The dog, quiet and well behaved lay at our feet taking in the sights as well. This dog is anything but intimidating. She does not bark. She does not jump on anyone. She is laid back and calm and yet each child was terrified at the sight of the dog. He or she would give the dog a wide berth clinging to the accompanying adult. More than once I heard a frightened little voice say ' ich hob moireh' (I am afraid) I found that sad.
By now, we hoped that the car had cooled down enough to get to the apartment but that was not to be. We continued to turn off the engine at red lights and pulled over several times as well waiting for the gauge the leave the red zone. After three hours, we finally made it close to the apartment, found a parking spot and with relief walked the few blocks to the apartment. I had missed the check in time for my room by hours and my host was not going to be back for another few hours.
Rather than waiting in the apartment, I was invited to join a 'meditation' class run by a drama coach. It was in the Soho area of Manhattan. I really missed the thread of the session at first because I was so dazzled by the living space. This was a huge open loft, with exposed brick walls and beamed wooden ceilings.The owner was a plastic surgeon/ sculptor. His work was on display everywhere you looked. The furnishings were eclectic, a brass chandelier hanging in the centre of the living room, comfortable overstuffed and cushioned sofas and leather chairs set in a conversational circle, a glass walled room with an old refinished piano, an open kitchen finished with the warmth of brick and oak. Beyond, in a more conventional set up were the bathroom and bedrooms. I would have loved to take pictures, but as a guest, I felt it was inappropriate. I was also more than willing to spend the rest of my visit in that space or better yet spend the rest of my life in that space. It's comforting to have new fantasies.
The session itself was existential and the shortest way to try to explain the direction of the flow is to imagine a dog chasing its tail. Is the thinker the same as the thought?The thought is a wave but when you focus on it, it becomes a particle that you can't see. You get the drift. Why is there a need to be driven, goal oriented? Why not just be? If you put a name to enlightenment it is no longer enlightenment. I thought that I would get impatient with the session, but it really held my interest probably because of the moderator. He was very skillful at making you turn the lens on yourself. There was a very safe warm energy to it all.
When the session ended, I was eager to meet my host and get settled into my room. I am directly across the street from my son. I don't know how big the apartment is but in the morning, one person after another came into the living room where I was sitting to introduce himself. Final count, excluding me was four plus two dogs. Ther is also a concrete backyard the size of a postage stamp. The host is very proud of it as this is a special feature in New York. I found it sad that three square yards of concrete is a special amenity. I know that dinner was being prepared but by that time, I was just too tired to eat and it was too late to get stimulated.
There were so many points at which I could have lost it, the cancelled flight, the heat and humidity, the malfunctioning car, the wait to get to my room, the meditative session that seemed to go in circles. I don't really understand why I stayed so calm (for me), but rather than questioning it, I am hoping that this is a new pattern.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)