9/11

It's been six years. And each year as it approaches I wonder if this will be the year that I don't feel the tears welling up in my eyes the night before.

I was so happy that it was raining and gray out this time around because it was so spectacularly sunny and beautiful in 2001.

I'm lucky to have an office with an expansive window facing the mammoth Riverside Church - a beautiful landmark along Riverside Drive by West 120th. They rang the bells to commemorate when each building collapsed (around 10 am). I was so thankful to them for not forgetting or putting it behind them like so many New Yorkers have (because they must).

In the morning I was listening to WNYC discuss 9/11 - what small events were planned, coupled with a few brief interviews. My son Ben kept on shutting off the radio - which was really odd. Then I asked why and he said "mom, I don't want to hear about 9/11 anymore, it's in my life everyday." So we turned off the radio for good.

9/11 had a terrible impact on Ben. He was almost 4 and stood on the roof with us as the second plane crashed and the first tower fell and chaos began. He watched his parents freaking out and started crying and hitting the television when it showed the second tower crumbling - and sensed his parents confusion and fear. For months afterwards he crashed his planes into his building blocks and drew pictures of the towers falling. It was very hard on him.

He must have overheard some of our conversations with concerned parents and friends about whether to get out of the city (we refused to), what the hell the white dust was covering our windows, the terror of the anthrax scare that killed someone on the subway and the neighborhood plastered with pictures and flyers of lost loved ones, having to wear surgical masks for two weeks because the air was unbreathable and having to show an I.D. to get to our homes below 14th street. And all of the firemen and emergency workers driving up and down the empty avenues digging up the dead in the debris. Now they are dying and begging the government to recognize their illnesses. A fine thank you.

I know I'm going on and on. It's gone. But the scar is permanent.

Coney Island Cyclone(s)

So, where were you on Labor Day? I'll tell you where I was.

First I was here watching the Brooklyn Cyclones beat the Staten Island Yankees.

I MORTIFIED my son by bringing carrot and celery sticks with us...can't help it...it's the Alice Waters in me! He chomped on them discreetly but was almost certain that someone in the park would find me out and make a citizen's arrest. He literally forced me to cover the veggies with my hands for fear of being discovered.



Then I was here with Ben as we watching Brian practicing his own brand of therapy:

I love watching my husband on the Cyclone. He's so liberated and thrilled to be there. I love watching everyone on the Cyclone. I guess it's my brand of porn. I love watching people being absolutely thrilled and out of control.

Brian insisted that I have to join him on this plunging colossus for his birthday. I used to LOVE rollercoasters but after a wicked bad middle ear infection followed by a severe case of vertigo, I put rollercoaster rides right up there with pelvic exams. Looks like I'll be saddling up for both this fall!

Yeehaa!

Glad to hear the Coney Island will be open for the next few years...at least that's what I understand from the news.

The 2007 Howl Festival

One of the last relics of the East Village that somehow managed to survive gentrification.

But where is Wigstock 2007 to go with it?!!

It's like a eating a cupcake without the frosting.

No....it's like a eating a cupcake without your six inch heels, false eye lashes, sequined miniskirt and Dusty Springfield wig on.

Lady Bunny....say it ain't so!

For more info on the HOWL Festival click:

HOWL

The Cake that Dare Not Speak Its Name

My birthday is on August 28th. My brother Mike's birthday is on August 11th.

We are definitely two people who NEVER treat our birthdays as "just any other day".
For his 40th birthday this year, he and his boyfriend traveled through Guatemala, Belize and part of Peru (cut short by a bit of an earthquake that killed several hundred people).

My brother travels all over the world all the time for work. For fun he likes to travel through developing countries, especially the ones prone to terrorist alerts and natural disasters. He spent most of this last vacation traveling through jungles, climbing Mayan ruins and meeting assorted mountain mystics. He saw huge snakes, tons of monkeys and slept in the jungle at night with all of the loud jungle sounds blasting through his hut window.

Me? Well I went to Cape Cod and tried to channel Edna Saint Vincent Millay between swimming, biking and eating ice cream cones.

The point is that my brother returned and asked that I bake him a birthday cake - since we were both away on the sacred date.

He wanted a coconut cake. AND IT HAD TO BE MOIST. And bits of fresh pineapple in the cake would be nice because he enjoyed eating that in Guatemala....when he wasn't stepping on frogs the size of chickens in the rain forest.

So I baked him a cake last night - angel food. And made the coconut frosting to go with it.
I was tired and feeling sad about not being super excited to move somewhere that is not here.
I felt my best vibes were not going through that cake.

When it was done I showed it to my husband and announced that it sucked. It was not as picture perfect as I wanted it to be. Sometimes when I'm bummed out by something I cook, I immediately chuck it.

The cake was on the fence. It could go either way. Brian knew it and demanded that the cake be allowed to live out its natural life.

This afternoon on my way home from work I bought some individual coconut cakes from Black Hound (a FABULOUS bakery on 1st Ave between 10th and 11th). I presented Mike with the three perfect mini cakes and my snowball explosion cake as evidence that I did indeed try to fulfill his wish. He and his boyfriend cast the gourmet cakes to the side and dove into my coconut cake. They loved it.

But boys love coconut cake no matter what. A fact I've noted throughout my life.

OK I admit it....

It's my birthday.

And there's a lunar eclipse that is blowing everyone's socks off today.

Something about this day brings me back to eight year old Ellen every time.

Makes me smile.

Which is why I never work on my birthday.

It's against the law for eight year olds to work.

Unless it's at a lemonade stand.

Sweet Summer

Our three weeks in Truro will come to a close tomorrow morning.

Today's forecast was overcast - - which always translates to warm and sunny. Spent the morning at Longnook Beach. After lunch, we had a quick glimpse of the Red Sox game and a trip to the beloved Wellfleet library before heading out to the bay.

Saki joined us as we stayed on the beach until sunset.

The end of my sacred vacations up here always bring on a sudden sense of grief - - that feeling before losing or letting go of someone/thing precious. My senses become so acute - wanting desperately to absorb the salty sea air. the firey sunset, the beautiful water and all of the sounds of summer.

I spent the late afternoon sitting on the shore reading poetry. Brian and Ben swam and played in the water as the sun was hitting the horizon. It was an exquisite farewell for us.

A Gentle Reminder

Last week over 500 Iraqi Yezidis were murdered in a refugee camp area by savage terrorist efforts.

500 people.

Out of respect for these lives, please take a moment to read this article.

And pray for peace.

By the Sea

Away until the end of August with very little internet access (to my surprise). Probably a good thing.

Need to keep my head periodically dunked in cold salt water between reading, writing and bike riding.

Smile.

Stay well until I get back.

Crazy Hot

Is it just that my life is so crazy right now that I'm noticing the abundance of mentally ill homeless wandering the East Village and Tompkins Square Park?

Many of them are dehydrated and disheveled. Right here in the financial center of the world.

Go Fetch

Day Five in Captivity

We are winding down our dog sitting bender for my in-laws in Annapolis.

Seven months ago, they were encouraged by my step mother-in- law's grandchildren to take on a puppy born at a farm in rural MO - near the farms of my in-laws and relatives through marriage.

Long story short. This dog is huge, stupid and totally out of control. It appears to be part pit bull, part lab, part crystal meth addict.

It chews everything in sight and is constantly threatening our dog Saki, trying to snap at us and bite our feet.

This dog is not east coast material. It needs to be shipped to Branson, Missouri.

I've also come to believe that in a past life the state of Maryland was the color beige.

Dusk in the City

I love this time of day.

I just took my very stubborn dog Saki for a walk. We went down to Two Boots to return and rent a video. I must have chatted with six people on my trip- didn't know any of them - just friendly chatter. Saki is white, fluffy and plump - a real ice breaker in this neighborhood.

The weather is perfect with a light drizzle that comes and goes. Perfect weather to walk in at dusk. Tompkins Square Park is filled with beautiful blooming flowers of all kinds. Come and check it out if you're nearby. It was so peaceful and green in park.

God gave me a perfect evening and this time around I had my eyes open to see it.

Mamani

I don't usually notice when yet another small eatery opens up on Avenue A but I have to confess to really liking one that opened up very close by.

The place is called Mamani and it's located between 9th and 10th on Avenue A.

The menu is authentic Persian homestyle cooking and your usual take out American fare. They have an extensive menu with something for just about everyone, including kids, vegetarians, people looking for ethnic cuisine or just a quick sandwich, burger, falafel, etc. They also make their own pita bread.

It's a family owned and family run. Check it out if you have a chance.

Take a Tip From Eleanor

Last night my son slept at my parent's house. It was nice to goof off with my husband all night and to sleep as long as we could the next day.

In the morning, we decided to go up to the Whitney to see the show on the Summer of Love/Art of the Psychedelic Era. It was great. Great show. Works challenging traditional perceptions and cultural mores of the time abounded. The messages came wrapped in naked bodies amidst wild flowers, psychedelic music, and installations involving electronic light shows of all kinds. Beautiful colors everywhere.

I liked it. But I wonder how I would have fared during that time, especially the invitation to unearth yourself, to remove the obstacles that prevented you from enlightenment, a weightless voyage into your mind and your soul via hallucinogenic drugs.

It's all I can do to keep my two feet on the ground.

The way my mind works, dropping acid would be redundant - and extremely dangerous. My many drug using friends would become absolutely Mormon when someone tried to insist that I smoke or swallow something. Before I could politely decline - they intervened faster than an AA sponsor - even when they were stoned - which always impressed and amazed me.

There weren't many female artists represented at the exhibit...if any...another sign of those times.

Come to think of it - I would have definitely burned my bra. I would do it now if I had a match.

But this is not the point of my post. I've been thinking about Eleanor Roosevelt lately - and her encouraging words to do those things we think we cannot do - those things that scare us and challenge us to the core.

That said. I took a ride on my husband's Yamaha all the way uptown. I normally avoid riding on the back of Brian's bike. I'm afraid of what might happen. My son has been riding on it for years - daily - to school and back.

So I hopped on and tried to act very nonchalant about it. Brian was really happy because he loves riding. I kept my eyes closed for the first ten blocks up First Avenue then I started looking around and thought "Fuck it - just enjoy yourself. Who cares? If I go, I go."

We went up to 76th and Madison (to the Whitney) then returned on Park Avenue where we rode through the winding Grand Central passage. It was awesome to experience New York this way - especially the architecture. The towering buildings blow your mind along with the rows of beautiful brownstones and boutiques and grungy places too.

It was cool. And it made me feel good. A little more fearless. A little more alive.

Thank God!!!

My niece came out of her bone biopsy this morning. They removed a significant section of her tibia for analysis. The surgeon said that although the bone has a lesion, all tests this morning were coming up benign. The previous diagnosis was something called a false positive (hopefully I'm stating that correctly).

Folks, my family doesn't have this kind of luck.

I'm not sure what all of this means exactly but it sounds like she will be okay. Whatever this tumor is about (and its damage to the bone) seems to be a serious issue that will have to involve further surgery and monitoring - but it's benign.

My Irish Catholic side makes me far too cautious about good luck to shout for joy.

But I'm shouting on the inside.

Thank you for keeping her in your thoughts and prayers.

Don't thank me. Thank the Colonel.

I spent five minutes in utter confusion talking to my son the other night. He kept on asking his dad to make Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Fried Chicken is treated as a religious ritual in our house. The recipe Brian uses is from his beloved late Grandma Mae of Southern Illinois. Its sacred value comes in just below breastfeeding a newborn.

There are no buckets o'chicken in this house.

I finally realized that Ben thinks the proper term for homemade fried chicken IS Kentucky Fried Chicken. I haven't corrected him yet...I could use the laugh these days.

Jesus. Maybe he thinks I'm Betty Crocker?

Thoughts on the Hamptons...

I hate the Hamptons and do everything in my power to avoid going there. Unfortunately, a trip out at least twice a summer is unavoidable due to lovable, well meaning friends who beckon us with open ended offers and puppy dog eyes.

We visit but never sleep there.

I love the ocean. Brian's love of the ocean probably rivals his love for me (truth be told, I probably come in a close fourth behind Ben, the ocean and music...but before the Red Sox - I hope).

So instead of going bike riding on some remote bike trail upstate this morning, I will be joining my comrades on the Long Island Expressway followed by the Montauk Highway to spend what is left of the day sitting by chlorine water.

Did you know that people in the Hamptons don't usually swim in the ocean? I find it extraordinary. It feels like I'm going to a souped up New York suburb but everyone has a bathing suit on.

I'm much more the Edna St. Vincent Millay type. Stick me in a shack high above Longnook Beach on the Cape with some books and my bike. Then go away and let me melt into the landscape for three weeks.

The Miracle of Womanhood, Part II

I wound down the first day of my period by telling my family in no uncertain terms that "EVERYTHING HAS TO CHANGE!" and that I'm a bit sick "OF BEING TAKEN FOR GRANTED" and then put my beloved husband on "RED ALERT".

No one seemed too surprised when I stormed out the house at 9 p.m. to go "DO SOMETHING FOR MYSELF FOR A CHANGE!"

God then took me by the hand and sat me down at the Sunshine Theater on Houston Street where I saw the film Paris Je T'aime.

It was beautifully done. Please go see it. You'll feel much better.

The Miracle of Womanhood

I'm going to be 45 years old in a month.

Should I be getting sentimental over that the fact that I'm still a fucking bitch the first day of my period?

Which, I think you may have guessed by now, is today.

I LOVE A PARADE! AND SO DOES JESUS, BUDDHA, MOSES AND ALLAH!

I was able to stand at 9th Street and 5th Avenue to take in a bit of NYC's Pride March - Unity in Equality 2007. It couldn't have been a more beautiful day. The Grand Marshals were a female rabbi of the country's largest jewish gay congregation and a male bishop affiliated to the christian organization Dignity. Religous groups played a prominent role, including St. Luke in the Fields - my episcopal church!

Earlier in the day at about 8 a.m., I rode my bike west on 9th street and crossed 5th Avenue en route to Pier 40 and my son's little league game. It was still very quiet downtown, with few cars and even fewer people. There was a freshly painted lavender line going down the center of 5th Avenue. Guard rails were not yet in place. I thought about how wonderful it must be to see the beginning of the parade coming from uptown with all its colors, music, costumes and people. I must be getting old because I almost started to cry.

I rode a bit further west where 9th street turns into Christopher Street. The guard rails were all in place. Older gay/straight people were already unfolding their beach chairs positioning themselves in orchestra seats in preparation for the parade three hours later. The Stonewall Bar was quiet, a place I walk by every morning.

It was nice to be alone and to have this time to soak in the specialness of this great day. My heart was filled with emotions that took me back to 1982. At that time, I lived in Cambridge with my best friend Joe. I had a longtime girlfriend and he had lots of boyfriends. We went to Beacon Street to watch a bit of the gay pride march - we'd never seen one before and felt curious about it. Neither one of us was at all political about our identities at that point in time.

In 1982 - the Boston Gay Pride March (if it was even called that back then) wasn't so much a feel good event as a march for equal rights to exist event. Many of the spectators looked on in curiousity or disgust. I stood on the sidewalk taking in this convergence of courage, disgust, celebration, fear, humor and beauty.

Joe and I were there solely as spectators....until someone standing behind me said "look at these freaks passing by - they're disgusting." I looked over at Joe - he looked sad - very sad. That's all it took to get my shanty Irish blood up to a boiling point. I took a deep breath and grabbed his arm. He said "Where are we going?" I looked straight ahead and said "Out there where we belong."

We just plunged in! Both of us 20 years old and totally terrified that we'd be burned at the stake somewhere on this march to an unknown destination. I remember that by pure luck we fell in line behind a bunch of women holding a banner that read "Nice Jewish Girls For Gays!"

That day changed my life. And I finally understood down to my very bones that the personal is political. A few years later, I helped lead a rally into the Boston State House in support of the Gay Rights Bill (it took several years to pass). A conservative legislator came out of his office shouting insults - I led a chant and pointed at him saying "the whole world is watching!" Hundreds of voices came together and repeated these words.

The Boston Herald and Boston Globe were there taking pictures. And although I led the chant, I was edited out of each photo. My friends and I always thought it was because I looked like a nice Irish girl with a gold cross prominently placed across my sweater. An image that wouldn't have played well in Boston.

Wow. That was 25 years ago. How wonderful to see all these religous groups head up the parade in loving celebration and support of equal opportunity for human dignity.

What would Jesus do? He'd march or maybe dance on a float that had a lot of multicolored balloons on it.

Key Food on Avenue A Rocks

It's funny where you experience enlightenment. God doesn't have preferences.

Last night Brian and I were walking Saki together. Ben was sleeping over at a relative's house, leaving us in a rare and temporary state of childlessness.

Brian wanted to get ice cream and suggested ducking into Key Food instead of spending more money at a bodega or yuppie ice cream shop.

I ducked into the Key Food on Avenue A and looked around at the shabby decor and its half baked attempt at marketing new food products with uneven pyramids and a confused cornucopia of fading fruits and vegetables.

The wonderful array of Key Food customers glided by me - a distilled group reduced by the likes of Whole Foods on Houston Street and Associated on 14th Street.

Everyone had their own thing going on - all walks of life - it was the end of a working day and people looked at bit tired and run down. This hodge podge loserville - people so far out of the box that they don't even know where the box is....it just filled me with such bliss and peace. These are my people -- the neighborhood I grew up in that informs me to the core. A place to be whoever you want....because anything goes. A brief peak at what use to be the norm here.

This feeling of love and appreciation just flooded me. A feeling I'd taken for granted for many years.

The teenager at the cash register rang my ice cream up and with a very somber face looked up at me and said, "Two for one."

She needed to repeat it three times for me to understand that you get one quart of Breyers ice cream free with each one purchased. I was so psyched that she started laughing. I just didn't see it coming!

My husband is a thrifty WASP -- and you should have seen the look of righteousness on his face when I delivered the goods.

Rack-a-rama

I've been holding back on this issue for some time now, but after three solid hours shopping in Soho with my beloved Icelandic niece....the question must be posed

Hey New York City!

Could you girls please get your titties out of my face!!??

Everyone's boobs are hanging out everywhere I go - uptown, downtown, like never before.
Everybody and their mother is wearing spaghetti straps, strapless or plunging V necks with a friggin' push up - push out bra - or just letting their jugs of any size fall out of their dresses and tops.

I don't find it offensive but I do feel that if you shove your boobies in my face I have every right to stare at them - something I usually don't do.

What is the protocol here folks?!

Neither More Nor Less - Bob Arihood

I followed my blog friend Michael's (One Foot in Front of the Other - see link on the right) advice and checked out the blog Neither More Nor Less (also linked on the right).

The blog just blew my mind. It made we want to cry at some points. He had pictures of a mass at Mary Help the Christians Catholic Church - where my uncle was a priest for years. He showed pictures of a torn up St. Brigid's Church engaged in a battle with developers to somehow gain landmark status in its final hours.

He even knows who Hotdog is!!! How in the world does he know her!? Of course he knows the Mosaic Man - but Hotdog - that is just a whole other level of knowingness.

There was a guy who basically lived on our stoop for years. We called him "Married with Food Stamps". Every time one of us gals would walk out of the building, he'd come out of his haze, compliment us and say "Marry me...I have food stamps!!"

This guy even knows that Bernard Goetz has been active in animal rescue at Tompkin's Square Park.

I'm surprised he doesn't take pictures of all the Yemen guys who work at the bodega near my building on A. They are such a big part of the world here - and I love them!

It's been a very long time since I've felt sad about leaving my bought out neighborhood - - but he got me there.

Stay out of my kitchen

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my son Ben's diet. He's nine but is tall, solid and looks a year older than he is.

He also has a little tummy but I figure that has to do with the onset of adolescence and some parts of his body growing faster than others.

What bugs me in the last year or so is the shift in his food tastes. I've been too careless about his relationship to sugar - and now I think it's a problem. We don't drink soda or have sweets in the house - - but sugar has a way of sneaking its way into the ingredients of just about everything you buy outside of organic fruits, vegetables and meats.

We eat breakfast and dinner together as a family and I make everyone's lunch. I think it's important to eat together and to put love and care into the food your family eats. It keeps us feeling close and on the same wave length with each other.

Avoiding the sugar infused products of the food industry isn't easy - but I have to take it on. I truly believe American food culture and the industry/advertising behind it is killing us.

Hi!

This is a petty observation but I've just got to flame about it.

The world is divided into two types of people; the people who say "hi" first and the people who don't.

I've spent my life always saying hi to someone the minute I recognize them. I can't help it.

Today I bumped into a dad at my son's baseball game. I don't know him well but he seems like a nice person. Every time we cross pathes I ALWAYS say hello first and then he immediately responds. I can tell he's just waiting for me to acknowledge him. Because this behavior confuses me, I try to keep our exchanges pleasant and brief.

Being a "hi" first person isn't always as easy at it looks. Maybe it's wiser to be more reserved - then you're not vulnerable. Unfortunately, that's not a world I can live in. It would make me too depressed to start screening people at this point in my life.

So I guess I'll just keep saying it.

Hi!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes......

as David Bowie would kind of say.

My husband just got offered a faculty position at a school about 90 minutes away from NYC - in Connecticut.

For one day we were scared and argued a bit.

Even though this decision dictates a host of significant changes in our lives, somehow, after the initial fear passed, I was glad that something came along that forced our hand.

My biggest fear/problem is feeling stagnant. It drives me mad. I'm not afraid of change most of the time - as long as it's creative or thoughtfully approached.

Stay tuned.

Memorial Day Weekend

I had a pretty nice weekend and started this post ready to give you the play by play of all we did.

My son stands in front of me as I write, watching his Ken Burn's Baseball documentary for the thousandth time while swinging his bat at an invisible pitch - smacking it out of the park.

And it's hitting me like a wave right now that some mother's precious son or daughter is not standing in front of them today. Because they are dead...casualities of war. Maybe it was last month, last year, in Korea, Vietman, the Pacific, the Battle of the Bulge or friendly fire in the desert. The breathless moment when their world came to an end can be buried but memory is a harsh wind capable of unearthing whatever comes in its path.

I'm humbled by their grief. My stories can wait for another day.

Cool It!

I am in desperate need to get my air conditioner jammed into my window...and fast. I just can't stand the urban heat and NOISE emanating from the sidewalks of my beloved Avenue.

On Wednesday I am going to look at spaces to live in Jackson Heights. Frankly, I have no idea what I'm doing but I must start somewhere. My 450 square foot apartment is beginning to feel like a coffin...a cluttered coffin with a west highland terrier jumping in and out of it.

We will also need to look north of the city where there might be some worn down cottage with our name on it.

My Kingdom for an installed air conditioner! Any takers!?

Day of Mommyness

My special day of Mommyness began with a painfully early morning little league game, followed by a very relaxing picnic at the Hudson River Park.

It was a beautiful day in New York. The city blocks west of Hudson Street were surprisingly peaceful and I somehow managed to be acutely aware of the rare tranquility I found myself in.

I actually recall thinking "Oh my God. I'm living in the moment - how did this happen?"

My very wise and caring husband made sure to give me two swell books I've been wanting. One is the new biography of Alice Waters and life at Chez Panisse and the other is Julia Child's reflections on her years in France.

My gifts were presented to me in an ultra pink canvas Strand Bookstore bag coupled with a perfect mom's day card. You see, my husband appreciates that at my core I am a super girly girl. This recognition helps when I spend most of my time being a super bossy boss of lots of people and projects and money and blah, blah, blah.

Sometimes I just want to drive off in my Barbie camper....with my new pink book bag.

Pumpin' Up the Volume

The buildings next door just got purchased by a real estate company that is notorious for pushing people out of their apartments.

Ugh. This news is depressing. I guess this is the final stage of gentrification. The real estate scum bags driving old people, immigrants and regular working people out of their homes.

Manhattan has become a Disneyland for the uber wealthy of Wall Street and the world. The emerging art/counter culture communities are a thing of the past. I guess we're Los Angeles.

Please join me in a moment of silence...

Today is National Coconut Cream Pie Day.

Up in Smoke

It's a beautiful sunny Saturday in New York City. We completed our rounds of baseball and bike riding with lots of time left over to enjoy the day.

There seems to be a rally to change the marijuana laws going on across the street at Tompkins Square Park. There is a respectable crowd in attendance - far from menacing. So why are there about seventy cops in and around the park?

I'm definitly in support of the legalization of marijuana for medical use. If you have ever been face to face with someone in the throes of chemo or AIDS medication - there is no way you could deny the comfort of cutting through the extreme and endless nausea they deal with.

When I was pregnant with Ben, I suffered from severe morning sickness for my entire term. Now there is a name for it - Hyperemesis Gravidarum - back then they basically told me to suck it up. I wonder how many men could throw up at least four times a day while holding down a full time job and a commute that includes a crosstown bus and a twenty minute subway ride while their tummies are expanding into solid basketballs?

One day I was walking towards Avenue A and someone in front of me must have been discreetly smoking a joint. I somehow inhaled the second hand smoke and for a shining moment - I wasn't sick. I almost started to cry because it was such a relief.
Of course marijuana is no remedy for morning sickness - but I fully support its use for those poor souls dealing with chemo or AIDS medications.

Sadly, no acupuncturist or shiatsu practitioner would go near me for fear of liability issues.

Does my son appreciate any of this struggle? No way! I'm only as good as the last meal I cooked!

None of Your Bee's Wax

Colony Collapse Disorder....apparently a whole lot of bees are dropping dead in the United States. If there aren't any bees to pollinate fruit and vegetable plants we are screwed. Much to the surprise of many New Yorkers, we cannot live on diet coke and survive.

Some possible reasons for bees dropping dead - genetic engineering of plants, pesticides, other weird stuff that sucks.

The United States seems to be going to hell in a handbasket.

And speaking of baseball

We all woke up at the horrific hour of 7 am today (on a Saturday - mama mia!) so that Brian and Ben could go to baseball practice by 8. Ben is playing in the Greenwich Village League this year so he can play with his friends from school. Until now he's always played in the East Village.

At Opening Day for Ben's team last week, I couldn't help noticing how few non- white kids were there. Maybe I'm not being fair - but it appeared that way.

Today after practice we headed back east and rode our bikes along the East River Park. It was a beautiful day today and the breeze off the East River felt good (if that's possible). The park is a long series of playing fields along the river with a broad walkway adjacent to the FDR Drive.

It was Opening Day for OLS (Our Lady of Sorrows Baseball League). There must have been over two hundred boys running around in their adorable little baseball uniforms.

The baseball fields are broken up by several small small soccer fields where guys of just about every nationality were going at it. How interesting it is to see soccer being played really well.

I love my neighborhood and wish it could stay this diverse - but it's not likely.

So where do we go from here?

My Weekend in a Nutshell

The Red Sox and playing the Yankees ALL weekend. My son and husband are already positioned in front of the television.

While I was making dinner, Ben declared "Mom - I'm eating in the living room because I'm not missing one minute of this game."

Eating in the living room is a big no-no in my book.

And yet I am powerless in this situation. No point fighting the inevitable.

Horrible

I am horrified by the news of the shooting spree down at Virginia Tech. 33 dead. Jesus Christ. How is it possible that it happened in two parts? In the morning then two hours later? I guess we'll learn more as it happens.

I can only imagine the nightmare the parents of those dead kids are living in right now. It's all too much.

I'm not letting Ben out of his room until he's thirty. If you're not safe in the Virginia countryside then where are you safe?

Boston Cream Pie Cupcakes

For reasons that I cannot explain, I am obsessed with the idea of making Boston Cream Pie Cupcakes. Just look at the picture! If that isn't proof of God - what is?

East Village Church Bells

It's the evening before Easter and church bells are ringing all over the East Village...at least those churches that have not yet been converted into apartments.

If you stand in the courtyard of my building facing north, you see the back of a Russian Orthodox church. Half of the wall is made up of ornate stained glass panels with a bell tower on top. During evening mass (which is rare), you can stand in my courtyard and look up at the brilliant stained glass brought to life by warm lights behind it.

Those bells are ringing right now.

Down the street, at Most Holy Redeemer Church I can hear their bells ringing. My parents were married there 55 years ago. Both churches keep their doors locked unless mass is being celebrated.

My son was baptised by my uncle, a Salesian priest, at Mary Help the Christians Church on 12th Street - just a few blocks away. The inside of that church is beautiful. Figures of saints are encased high above your head in a semi circle around the church that ends on either side of the alter. I've heard that church will be closing soon.

These celebrations are coming to an end in this neighborhood.

East Village Church Bells

It's the evening before Easter and church bells are ringing all over the East Village...at least those churches that have not yet been converted into apartments.

If you stand in the courtyard of my building facing north, you see the back of a Russian Orthodox church. Half of the wall is made up of ornate stained glass panels with a bell tower on top. During evening mass (which is rare), you can stand in my courtyard and look up at the brilliant stained glass brought to life by warm lights behind it.

Those bells are ringing right now.

Down the street, at Most Holy Redeemer Church I can hear their bells ringing. My parents were married there 55 years ago. Both churches keep their doors locked unless mass is being celebrated.

My son was baptised by my uncle, a Salesian priest, at Mary Help the Christians Church on 12th Street - just a few blocks away. The inside of that church is beautiful. Figures of saints are encased high above your head in a semi circle around the church that ends on either side of the alter. I've heard that church will be closing soon.

These celebrations are coming to an end in this neighborhood.

My 4 Year Old Nephew, Spider Man

Brian: Tommy, stand away from the TV. You don't want to get exposed to too much radiation.

Tommy: Don't worry Uncle Brian. I have radioactive blood.

Nails R' Us

Yesterday Ben and I walked up to 14th street to buy some baseball cards. It was a beautiful and unusually warm March afternoon. As we walked down Avenue A, I noted the grand opening of yet another nail salon.

How many nail salons can this neighborhood support? There must be one on every block. As a matter of fact, I live next store to one. At that particular nail salon, the nail drying machines are lined up along a bar counter at the front window. Women sit on stools and stare out at the pedestrians walking by. I can't tell you how disturbing this image is. Everyday I walk by this window and look over at the row of women - each of them daydreaming with a remote and forlorn look in their eyes. I've never seen them actually speak to each other - which I find odd. Where is Diane Arbus when you need her?!

I wish they would take their manicure money and

1. buy a book
2. buy a cd of great music
3. buy a movie ticket
4. buy a museum ticket
5. make any of the above purchases and give it to someone who can't afford them

Perhaps my reaction to nail painting is over the top. It just seems like yet another huge waste of time and money targeting women.

Beautiful Boy

About a month ago, a doctor suggested I send Ben to see a specialist about a blemish on his mid-back that seemed to be hard with the hint of something larger under it. We went to the specialist who then directed us to a surgeon. The surgeon confirmed that Ben either had a cyst or a tumor and that it needed to be removed and tested.

Until this point, Ben had never been to a hospital or emergency room other than the day he was born. He has never taken prescription drugs. He's almost nine. It never occurred to me how lucky we were.

I was with Ben during the surgical procedure - - we squeezed hands as the surgeon inserted a huge needle about three or four inches into his back (at an angle). The pain was intense followed by the anesthetic that burned until it numbed the area. I clenched his hand and stared into his eyes the whole time. He didn't cry or scream - - he sucked it up just like I have in those situations and braved it out. I saw a side of him I'd never known before. Perhaps it was new to him too. It was a trait we both share. I'm not sure what I think about that.

The biopsy report finally came through on Friday afternoon indicating no malignancy.
There are no words to describe the relief and thankfulness my husband and I feel right now. I am very aware that not all parents receive such news (as I witnessed during my first visit to the surgeon).

Of course Ben has no idea of what this week was all about. He's just indignant that the stitches across his back are preventing him from engaging in gym, recess kickball and BASEBALL. In his mind, this whole situation is an exercise in adult ineptitude. "Of course nothing is wrong with me Mommy! I could have told you without getting my back split open for crying out loud!"

Saturday in the Park

Isn't this a cool photo? It was taken by Michael - you can see his work on One Foot in Front of the Other (check out my link list). His photos of the East Village are phenomenal! This shot is one of the many skateboarders who rule the blacktop area of Tompkins Square Park on weekend afternoons.

I spent three hours in the park yesterday quite unexpectedly. Ben's playdate managed to segue from one friend to a series of new ones. At one point an Egyptian dad was leading a pack of 7 and 8 year olds in a pick up game of soccer. It was a pleasure to watch someone so nimble and graceful with the ball.

I got to spend time with other moms who have lived here for years and who, like me, were living in very tight living quarters. It just felt so nice to be around friendly neighborhood moms. It's been a while since that's happened.

Ben couldn't have had a nicer day. And there was nowhere else I rather be. It felt good - like it was still home.

Erin Go Blaaaaahhhh.

I'm sitting here watching Visions of Ireland on WLIW Public TV. Just me and thousands of 80 year old Irish American's in the greater metro area.

Today is day four of the worst tummy virus I've had in ages. It's left me weak, depressed and extremely cranky.

Work is non stop and home life has its own worries lately.

I just want to cry.

Sleep is the New Sex

Sadly - this fact is true for many parents of children under 12.

A few weeks ago the NYTimes had an article on the "family bed" syndrome. It was such a relief for me to learn that Brian and I are not the only parents on the planet dealing with musical beds at night.

Sometimes I put Ben to bed after a long day at work. We cuddle together, I sing him a song and he falls asleep...um...we fall asleep. Then at about 2am, I open my eyes and focus in on a fleet of WWI model airplanes. I drag myself into my bedroom where my husband (and dog) are fast asleep on our bed.

OUR BED....what does that even mean anymore!!! One day, Ben laughingly corrected me as he climbed beneath the covers and said "Mommy, it isn't YOUR bed, it's the FAMILY bed!"

The mere thought of going to sleep at 10:30 and experiencing eight solid hours of sleep ....well, it's just beyond the Holy Grail.

Nobody's Perfect

Sometimes I like to look things up in Wikipedia. Don't ask why. You can't trust it as a source.

But there's something about it, particularly the tone of the language and all of the ridiculous links that make me feel like I'm posing the question to the person next to me - - not really looking it up.

Sometimes I laugh at the editorial undertones - especially what is omitted - love that part the best. There's something about half-knowledge that seems very American to me. I'm sure Benjamin Franklin would have agreed.

Baseball, apple pie and Wikipedia.

Tabla for Two

Brian and I celebrated our seventeenth anniversary (gulp) on Saturday, February 10th. It turned out to be one of the best ever. We made reservations earlier in the week for Tabla - a Danny Meyer's restaurant overlooking Madison Park (24th and Madison).

The ambiance was warm and inviting. The food was fabulous. Each dish I had was superb (try the tabla crab cake then move on to the tapioca crusted shrimp and scallops with braised fennel in a coconut curry - mama mia!). We had a split of champagne to start off the meal. Is there anything nicer to drink than champagne? Not for me folks! Dessert was great - I had a cranberry concoction with a little scoop of rosemary sorbet - and naturally Happy Anniversary was beautifully written across the top of the plate.

We asked for the check and the waitperson replied "M__ would like to wish you both a very happy anniversary with his compliments". My brother had called ahead and paid for the whole thing! He didn't want me to know beforehand because he knew I'd end up ordering a glass of water and piece of toast - if I knew he was paying.

That was pretty darn nice. And of course I immediately burst into tears of appreciation - leaving my waiterperson a bit speechless and Brian rolling his eyes at my corny bad-ass self.

We then returned home and got very silly for the rest of the evening...as my perpetually pregnant Italian Catholic mother would say.

Freak of Nature

After school yesterday, I took Ben to Tompkins Square Park so he could play with his friend before starting his homework.

It was Arctic out. My friend Claude and I did all we could to keep our circulation going while our sons frolicked about the playground as if the first day of spring had arrived.

Now I realize they were in constant motion so their bodies were heating up a bit but what I noticed more is that they were laughing and totally delighted to be playing with each other. Joy, not temperature, was the dominating factor here.

It's been a while since I've been so lost in a happy time that I didn't realize that I was freezing to death. That's life at it's best.

Ennio Morricone

Last night my husband and sister went to see Ennio Morricone, the extraordinary Italian soundtrack composer, perform at Radio City Music Hall. Despite a career that spands over 40 years, last night was Morricone's debut performance in the United States.

How cool for them to be seeing this musical legend during such an historical event!

Ennio Morricone has a singular gift for combining contemporary and classical musical forms into truly unforgettable soundtracks. Even in the spaghetti westerns he worked on, you can hear fine threads of Italian influence in the music.

I LOVE the song Providenza (which I'm sure I'm spelling wrong!). And if you've ever had the pleasure of seeing The Mission (Jeremy Irons/Robert DeNiro), Once Upon a Time in American or Cinema Paradiso (which I also LOVED) and found yourself bursting into tears like I did periodically through each film - - well you can thank Ennio Morricone for ripping your heart out of your chest - kissing it - and returning it safely back where it belongs.

My husband is a musician who writes and performs music beautifully. I'm so happy he had a chance to fuel his soul last night. My sister Elizabeth - - who loves all things Italian and studies the language and culture -- was super nice to invite him as her guest.

Temperature v. The Real Feel

Yesterday I rushed to pick up my son from his after school art class. It was dusk and the wind was wickedly cold. The chill didn't bother me because with ear muffs on, I can face down just about any winter weather.

I stood at the corner of 1st Avenue waiting for the light to change. The weirdest thought entered my mind. I get more comfort from my earmuffs than I ever have from my mother. An odd comparison but I'm not sure how wrong it is.

Maybe I should get her some nice earmuffs.

Thanks...but no thanks

The other day I was thinking about a screening device that I used during my single years. We all have certain tests that people need to pass to move up the relationship ladder and certainly this test was one of them...at least for me. Oddly enough, it has to do with the British Invasion.

This is my British rock hierarchy:

1. The Beatles
2. The Kinks/The Who
3. The Rolling Stones

If someone liked the Rolling Stones more than the Beatles, it was clear that the relationship would not be going much further in my book - of course I never actually articulated that thought to my date- but it was a clear undisputed fact and a deal breaker.

I could never really have meaningful intimacy with someone who didn't understand the nuances that make the music of The Who and The Kinks so great. If I had to explain I was merely wasting time that could be spent with someone else.

My husband passed that test with flying colors on our second date, among many other quizes, exams and experiments!

Russian Turkish Baths

I am super cranky and depressed lately. Too much work and too much to worry about. They are raising tuition at my son's school and if I don't get financial aid this year - well - this will have to be the last year. $26,000 is getting a bit surreal in my book. I've spent over $115,000 in post tax dollars in the last five years. Jesus, think of all the subtle cosmetic surgery I could have had by now!

As it is, I can barely afford to spend $25 at the Russian and Turkish Baths around the corner from my house. I remember the first time my brother took me there. I was intimidated at the thought of wearing a towel or skimpy robe among strangers (men and women)...my fears were quickly dispelled. If your looking to meet Leonardo DiCaprio - he might be here - but he'll probably be sitting next to a big old Russian man who is sitting next to a big old Ukrainian woman who is sitting next to a model who is sitting next to the Polish guy who runs the video store who is sitting next to some cute gay guy who is sitting next to me.

One of the saunas is hotter than hell - a darkish colored room with a big furnace thing in it. You can sit on different level stairs - although sitting on the top stair would be like sitting on the surface of the sun (a quote from another visitor). They have large plastic buckets and a faucet so you can periodically pour freezing water over your smoldering head. Don't dare go in without a bottle of water! There is also a hot steam room, pool and regular type sauna room. You can also have a variety of old fashioned massages and scrubs if you so desire. I haven't taken that leap of faith yet. Back on the entrance floor you can help yourself to some traditional eastern European fare - at some table set up front. If John the Baptist lived today - he would probably work there. It's a great place to clear your mind. I especially like how people sit on the front stoop and smoke cigarettes with their robes on.

I better stop by soon.

College Town

Last night we went to visit friends in Hoboken and took the Path home at around midnight. We got off at the West 9th Street stop and proceeded to search for a cab in vain.

It was drizzling out and I didn't have high hopes - but Ben was with us so we didn't give up. Why was I surprised to see the streets filled with college students everywhere? Both the East and West Village - wall to wall kiddies.

Are there more students? How can there be? Do they just look different so you can spot them? Maybe. Or are they venturing farther off from their dorms because it's safer? That's part of it. But it seems the demographics have changed. These kids are rich kids - with no trace of a counter culture among the group. Very well dressed young people going out to spend a good deal of money.

I know this cultural shift is old news. Just humor me while I try to catch up. Sigh.

I'm Contacting Human Rights Watch

....if the god dam car alarm outside my window doesn't stop in the next two minutes. I'm realizing that I haven't really had a good night's sleep in ages....seriously....ages.

I wish I could think of a quiet place to live around NY where the people are nice and creative (that might be too much to ask).

Soho = Hell on Earth

Granted I never go there. Never went there. Didn't have the desire and certainly didn't have a reason to. It's a HUGE mall.

Only this mall is one floor with two narrow sidewalks. At one point Ben saw the huge Scholastic Store and exclaimed with some urgency "Mom, look! We can go in there for a while." - like we were seeking shelter from the shadow of a soon to be cresting tsunami. A tsunami of shopping people.

So why was I there? Well, I took Ben to the Museum of Cartoons and Comics. It's on the 4th floor at 594 Broadway. The whole musuem is basically a large room with a permanent collection on one side and an exhibit on the other. It was okay. Not well curated. Lots of illustrations and flat screens with cartoons from across the decades playing. It's a small space so it's hard to distinguish who is saying what from what t.v.

Of course that didn't stop Ben from sitting in front of an episode of teenage mutant ninja turtles and falling into a trance state. He mentioned how much he enjoyed watching "vintage cartoons" like that.

For the record. I totally missed the whole Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles era. Yet another cultural void I share with my son.

I think I want to move to Concord, Massachusetts and become a Transcendentalist.

Happy New Year Y'All!

The holidays are finally over. No casualities! Just nice visits.

Christmas in North Carolina grows on you after a while. Even though we break it up with a day or two in Annapolis, the drive is still a long one with a little boy and chunky dog coming along for the ride. It amazes me each year how Ben never complains or freaks out. By the time we get to Sanford, North Carolina I'm ready to file for divorce. Brian says that exit is my official breaking point.

We brought back huge boxes filled with Brian's childhood train set and all the toy cars and trucks he kept so well taken care of. He pulled them out of his mom's attic and sorted through them for hours. When he looked up, he didn't even have to say it....

We're skipping the condo and coop world and looking for a house. Gulp.

On one level it feels good to finally have clarity on the situation. On the other hand it means a very different neighborhood....at least it might mean that. But then - what neighborhood am I talking about?

On New Year's Eve, we walked home from a friends house down Avenue A. A really super french/dutch couple with wonderful kids around Ben's age. There was such a great mix of people - I don't want to lose that. As we walked home someone shouted out of a fancy SUV "Happy New Year Everyone, and I hope 2007 is a wonderful and productive year for each and every one of you!!!"

Granted - that's a lot nicer than saying "Bite my ass in 2007" - - but to have someone shout out an internal memo salutation on my street well....it's a bit heartbreaking and sadly funny.

This place is changing. I'm changing too - though I loathe to admit it. But Jesus Christ - I'll never change that much!

Merry Christmas Eve

When I was a young girl in the East Village, my family celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve. That's the Sicilian tradition.

My Sicilian grandmother set up a nativity scene that could rival a Who Concert. She placed a 6 by 5 foot piece of plywood on the table in the parlor (yes...I said parlor). She covered it in a few yards of green felt. The edges of the platform were lined with Christmas lights. They were those huge 1960's christmas lights not the small cutesy fire proof types we have now. The lights went along the edges and then climbed up one side of the manger, over the roof around the front and back down the other side. To this day I always imagine Jesus in a manger with big multi color lights around him keeping him warm.

I also believed that Jesus was Italian. And God was Italian too.

My grandmother had lots of straw all over the inside of the manger. There must have been scores of shepards, angels, lambs, ox, donkeys, three wise kings (like 4 sets of those), a few saints that were the same size of the rest of the crowd slipped in for good measure. There were even a few back up Marys and Josephs blended into the crowd.

I used to take the straw and put some all over the board to feed the extra animals. And of course we had a train track running around the platform as a nod from the captains of industry to the baby Jesus. Looking back, I guess that this is the type of reception that my grandmother thought Jesus should have had - tons of well wishers, animals and angels cheering him into the world.

There were so many figures that I had Catholic guilt about the ones that didn't have a good view of the baby Jesus from where they were standing.

As I got older, I began to wonder where all these hundreds of people went the day AFTER Jesus was born. Did they just go back to work and kind of forget all about him while they got lost in their day to day routines?

I miss the smell of tinsel melting on a 1960's christmas light on that sacred space.

I can feel my grandmother's spirit with me tonight. A holy night for the two of us.

Happy Christmas Everyone. Peace on Earth. Love, EVI

Sleep Debt

I remember reading that you can't really write off the sleep you've missed. That the lack of sleep builds up somehow in your body and results in sleep debt.

Last night I went to sleep at nine and woke up at seven the next day. I swear I could do that for the next month. I'm afraid to find out what my sleep debt is. Some frightful figure I suppose...probably somewhere around 200 hours in the last six months.

Uneven

After dinner the other night, Ben had something weighing on his mind. He told me that he felt funny about some of the kids in his class because he wasn't "even with them" -- that he was "lower" than them.

Ben is in third grade and almost nine years old. He has no feelings of inadequacy about money or class because we don't. There are wealthy and not so wealthy kids in Ben's class who are obsessed with money because their parents are. That world has never touched Ben because he's so loved and satisfied with his family and his life. I'm happy to add that no one in his class has ever said hurtful things to him in that regard.

But last week they went to the Tenement Museum and I suppose some children were aghast at the thought of living in such a small space. Our apartment isn't much more than 450 square feet - but it's provided Ben with 1 million square feet of happiness.

He said he thought it wasn't fair that some kids live in big big houses and other kids didn't. I explained to him that life is inherently "uneven". Some kids live in big houses, some live in small houses - - some kids don't have a home.

Just like some kids (like Ben) are super smart and great at drawing, while it take other kids in his class a little longer to grasp new concepts. Some kids in his class are healthy or great athletes, while some feel they are far too short, too slow or have long term medical problems. Some kids don't have a mommy and daddy in the same house living together, some do.

All kids have something they feel "uneven" about because everyone comes to the table with a unique story of who they are. Our job is to make everyone feel okay about who they are.

Then he got teary eyed and said "but mommy when you live in New York no one likes you when you love the Red Sox like me and daddy do."

He got me there........

The Party's Over

I may be getting a promotion at work. The thought of it unhinges me a bit. These two years away from the executive management mode helped me realize how miserable I was attempting to juggle motherhood with management.

The revised adage is true...you can have it all, just not all at the same time. Picking Ben up from school once a week is such a wonderful gift. Being able to volunteer at his school has been corny and fun. I remember when I barely knew any of the parents because I was busy running in and out the door so fast.

But Ben's $25,000 tuition is crushing us. His education means everything to me. So you do what you have to do.

Being a working mom is all about setting boundaries....and staunchly defending them.

Thanksgiving Day Unscathed!!

Well folks. It happened. We had a great Thanksgiving Dinner with my relatives (my parents and half my siblings). The turkey was perfect and all the side dishes were out of sight. Lots of bright beautiful colors on my plate.
Even the wine was lovely. At some point I'll have to figure out what led to this comet like occurence. But right now I just want to enjoy it.
Ben is not partial towards Thanksgiving fare. His plate consisted of turkey, stringbeans and a piece of Italian bread I brought out from the kitchen. No stuffing, no mash potatoes, no cranberry anything, no brussel sprouts, no gravy, no pies of ANY kind. One day he'll change his mind. Brian had a nice time too - which makes me very happy. I wouldn't say that the only way to his heart is through his stomach - but it certainly is among the express routes!

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Fly Boy

Brian is on the west coast presenting at a conference. Ben and I are flying solo for four days.

Appropriately enough, it's been raining since Brian left. Ben misses him terribly and carries his dad's baseball mitt around with him as soon as he gets home. He sleeps with it wrapped up in his blanky.

This evening, after dinner, we walked Saki around Tompkins Square Park. We ended up on the black top where there's a baseball diamond painted on the ground along with painted bases. Ben is obsessed with baseball and the Red Sox. He expects that his future will include a few years in the major leagues before he starts his train company.

Ben is tall and big for his age. He's a slow runner and frequently trips over his feet. He plays kickball at recess where he's usually the last one chosen and the last one to up to kick.

As the rain came down he asked that I watch him run around the bases as fast as he could. He was doing everything he could to go fast. Without realizing it, he lifted his arms up like Superman in the hopes of picking up speed.

So I stood there with my dog. Watching my son running bases in the pouring rain with his arms outstretched. Each stumbling step was filled with hope and determination. Just a few minutes more and he'd take flight.

Ben. My greatest teacher and my greatest blessing.

Thank you Jesus!

I stayed up until midnight watching the campaign results on Tuesday. By then it appeared that the Democrats had won the House. It looks like they've won the Senate too. Unbelievable.

I've been so busy with my impossible daily routine that I didn't see this extraordinary news as even a possibility. What a relief to be pulling back from the edge of insanity.

Randy Balmer is an evangelical Christian and noted scholar who teaches at Barnard and Columbia. His most recent book, "Thy Kingdom Come: How the Religous Right Distorts the Faith and Threatens America" has received great reviews and is very thoughtfully written. He has a bumper sticker on his door. I pass it everyday en route to my office.

"When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in a flag and a carrying a cross."
-- Sinclair Lewis

VOTE!!!!!!

Please VOTE!

VOTE like your life depended on it.

Because it does!!

And vote for cool people who don't want to make the earth explode or control women's bodies, or take away our civil rights or shed blood for oil.

Party On!

Yesterday was the last day of the Muslim holiday Ramadan. I'm pretty sure yesterday marked the last day of month long fasting and praying. In the morning I heard the call to prayer outside my window. The sun was rising and Muslim men were coming into the Tompkins Square Park to celebrate/pray. On the black top, long rolls of brown paper were unfurled in rows. Men would find a space and kneel down to pray aloud. There were about ten rows formed before I got on the bus to go to work. I've only seen this gathering at the park a few times since I've lived here. It's really a beautiful ritual. They were pointed east towards Mecca. It made me feel proud to be in a country and a city where people could worship and express themselves freely - let's keep it that way.

Remembrance of Things Past

CBGB's closed at the beginning of the week. Sad. Very sad.

My husband Brian estimated that he and his band - the Cavedogs played at least 50 gigs there. As a partner of a rock musician, I put in my own time at a zillion CMJ showcases in the 80's and early 90's. It was hard to get too excited about venturing inside the club after Ben was born - unless it was an early accoustic show. But I guess I always thought it would be there. Like the Statue of Liberty.

After all of Brian's touring he would make me laugh with his countdown of the worst men's rooms he'd encountered as a rock musician. CBGB's did have a solid place in the top ten. I smiled to see that the NYTimes included a shot of the club's graffitti filled, poster plastered, sinklesss bathroom. When I showed it to Brian he said "Are you kidding me? That's the women's room - - a virtual lap of luxury! For starters the men's room never had an actual toilet seat."

He liked CBGB's and was grateful for the exposure it gave his band (which was eventually signed to Capitol Records) and other emerging musicians just like him. You could be a beginner there.

Here is an exerpt from a recent web interview with Patti Smith. She played the last show at CBGB's on Sunday night.

Rolling Stone: Did you ever feel threatened (in CBGB's neighborhood or in the club during the 70's)?

Patti Smith: I never felt threatened. I feel more threatened now. I feel confined by the intense commercialism. The stores, the shopping, these people all night long in their limos, acting like they own our little streets. New York to me was the worker city, the artist city. It was a place to get your shit together. Now it's a place people come to with their shit together. They have a lot of money, and they want condos. They want high life. They come to film here and have fashion shows. You try to walk on your street, and they act like they own it.

Cities should be edgy. They are edgy parts of America. They are not suburbia. They are supposed to be a melting pot of struggles, a collective force of ideas and energy. I watched horrified recently -- NYU students coming in with truckloads of fancy stuff. Magic Chef stoves and boxes with new computers. I mean, these are not struggling college kids. Get a hot plate. Drink some Nescafé.....

You said it Patti. What they don't get is that what makes this city great is what they're destroying.

News flash: money isn't enough. it can't eclipse the art. smart people know that.

Once upon a time in America....

Last week my son Ben and his third grade class went to Ellis Island. It was his first trip there. I wish I was with him. There's so much we could have talked about before the ferry arrived on the other side.

He saw a movie about the immigrant experience and found the name of his maternal Italian great grandmother. I'm pretty sure my Irish great grandfather is listed there as well. You can also find his name in the index of Gangs of New York...a dubious achievement that explains a lot about my family's character.

Ben's gene pool combines almost every country in Europe with a stop in the Ukraine and Cypress. He is a true American mutt and I must say that the results are extraordinary.

Ben complained that on the ferry ride home his class was not allowed to sit up on the top deck with the rowdy public school kids. He was furious and said "Mom, it was hot and smelly down in the lower deck. All because we went to Ellis Island doesn't mean they have to send us back to Manhattan in steerage class!"

I went back to Ohio....

and my city was gone. Well. At least my part of the city.

A few nights ago I took a cab from the East Village across town. We cut across 13th street. I couldn't believe all the buildings that have been torn down and replaced with new construction. The new structures are at least 15 stories high. Probably more, but I'm not used to counting that high in my neighborhood.
First you see your community get fucked up by drugs and violence. Then finally it climbs out of that hell hole to be destroyed by the greedy real estate developers.

Seriously, will anything be left of the East Village in a few years from now? The artists are pretty much gone. The drag queens are pretty much gone. Regular people are being replaced with rich people each day. Now the buildings are gone. Maybe they'll leave a little piece of land where they can hire people to do East Village reenactments - like Colonial Williamsburg.

Sick Day

I'm feeling ugh today. Very ugh. 24 hour bug. Probably because I've been working/writing until midnight for the last two weeks.
You know how it is. All those balls in the air. Motherhood, a job, chairing the Halloween party at my son's school, serving as a trustee there and writing squeezed in somewhere in the cracks. My writing mentor just reassigned me to a group with three other people....who are PUBLISHED. The screws are turning. My apartment looks like we're moving. Must be wishful thinking on my part.

Bella Luna

Early Friday morning the new moon arrives.

New moons are the perfect time for beginnings. And this new moon has lots of power packed into it.

So start something.

It's not about doing it perfectly. It's just about doing it. Even if you trip, stumble and make a mess.

You won't be sorry.

Apology

Big Apple -

I'm sorry I said fuck you.

You've been through a lot. Today reminds me of all we went through and how it made me realize in stark terms - how much I love you and that there is NO PLACE like you in the world. When other people ran out of town - we stayed - even though we were scared of what might happen - because we weren't going to abandon you.

Five years later and it still really hurts. God bless all of those souls and their families.

Fuck the Big Apple

When you go away from this place for three weeks, away to a place with no cell phone use, no long distance access and non stop media in your face, it changes you. If only temporarily.

I got back on Sunday. Still relaxed. Still peaceful.

Now I'm surrounded by urban overdrive. I am in complete contradiction to my environment. It feels like being stoned but without the paranoa. I walk down the street, but really I'm floating. Everything around me is going way way too fast to even consider engaging in.

This can't last. Can it?

Is this how it feels to live in Ohio?

It saddens me to realize the level of anxiety, stress and fear that I usually function on from day to day.

Needless Suffering.

Maybe I need to pack up.

Big Mama's Birthday

Yes folks, the rumors are true. Mommy is 44 years old today.

Woke up to a light rain falling on our summer cottage. I was in a cozy bed under warm quilts. Just me, my husband, my son and my dog. It was a tight fit but everyone wanted to get into the act of falling asleep with mom on Ellen-eve.

We all had a lovely breakfast and headed out to Provincetown where I finally got a chance to weave in and out of art galleries. If only I had the money to buy art...until then we'll just have to make it at home.

We ate at the Lobster Pot (see above pic). This restaurant is the height of culinary achievement in Benjamin's eyes. It is a very reliable place to eat (even Gourmet recommends it!) and it's customary to go there at least once during your stay out here. What makes us laugh is how very adament Ben is about us patronizing the place. Mama mia - the boy still eats off the kiddie menu!

Afterwards Ben and Brian presented me with my VERY OWN Boston Red Sox baseball cap. I also got a great book on meditiation written by Pema Chodron, the well known female Tibetan Buddist monk. I also gave myself the gift of joining up with my writing mentor/editor again after a long break filled with self doubt.

We went for a walk on a deserted bay beach with Saki, happy to be the only people in sight for miles. Afterwards we went home for a dinner made by yours truly. Clam chowder, a cold lobster salad and a nice white wine followed by an excellent Carvel ice cream cake! I made Ben a "crabby patty" a la Sponge Bob Square Pants. Basically, a crab cake topped with chopped pickle, tomato, mustard, ketchup and lettuce on a toasted sesame seed bun. According to Ben - it's the closest we'll ever get to cracking the secret recipe.

Brian just finished drilling us with Trivial Pursuit questions. Ben knew all the history answers. I knew all the ridiculous answers.

As I blew out the candles, I felt so grateful to be living in a safe environment with a healthy family, a job, a cool dog and a lot of laughter. People in Israel never have that sense of safety we take for granted every day, nor do people in Iraq, Gaza or Afghanistan...or parts of this country where people fight violence and poverty everytime they step out the door with their children.

In some small way, I know that what I do for a living helps move things forward - if only just a bit. My father always says that education is the great equalizer. I couldn't agree more.

Now help me blow out those candles and make a wish!

Close Encounters of the WASP Kind

So I'm standing at the deli counter at a grocery store in Provincetown silently waiting my turn.
The woman before me places her order. She is blond, ivory white, in a crisp summer outfit.
And then she spoke....

"Yes, could you please give me a half pound of the chicken breast or the turkey breast please. What's most important is that it should be extremely dry. That's how we like it. Which would you suggest to be the driest of the white meats?"

My jaw dropped. Having been raised by an Italian mother that request is tantamount to saying "please direct me to your most burned piece of toast, the more charred the better."

I knew that voice. She was the replica of my mother in law only forty years younger.

Do you know how much time I spent in therapy discussing the "food issues" around WASP family gatherings during the holidays? I'll never forget when my mother in law put a three pound roasted chicken down on the table to feed five people. My husband could have eaten the whole thing! At first I thought she was angry at us but then I came to understand that what she hated was the need to eat food. I took my wonderful therapist's advice -eat before you get there and there won't be any more tears of confusion or hunger.

Of course if I wanted a martini, they would gladly hand me a Methuselah sized bottle of gin and send me on my way - - no questions asked.

Go figure.

Summertime

I'm having such a wonderful vacation.

This is the first time since childhood that I've ever gone to the cape for three straight weeks. Every morning I go for a walk at around 6.45 am. It's a magical hour. Very few cars, just the fisherman types driving by in their trucks and a few high powered bike riders.

During this walk I thank God for all that I have and for this beautiful world we live in. I ask for guidance on how to be an instrument for good and how I can somehow alleviate suffering in other people's lives.

If there was a class for remedial praying - I would be in it, including remedial praying summer school. Most of the time God must be reacting to my prayers by thinking "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the hell is she actually trying to say?"

Katrina

I heard that there will be a documentary on HBO in the next week or so made by Spike Lee titled The Day the Levees Broke. Wish I could catch that one but I'm far from the land of cable consciousness here in my sleepy sea village.

Maybe I still haven't gotten over reading Gone With the Wind but the more I think about it the more that the Federal response to Katrina seems like a mutation of the Reconstruction. It seems like people in New Orleans should be seething in anger at this country. That place is still a friggin hell hole. Is it because most of that city was poor and black?

And why hasn't the press stayed on it?

By the Sea

We spent four hours at Longnook Beach today. It's a wild beach. Huge dunes and untamed waves. Everywhere you turned there were seals, blue fish, minnows - - and they had no intention of leaving because of a few freckled nude and semi nude humans.

Ben asked us what animal we would be if we couldn't be human. We were mulling that one over when he said "there's no way I'd ever be a butterfly". I asked why and he said "because butterflies don't ever know their mommies". He has no idea what those words meant to me.

Brian spends most of his time in the ocean. Swimming out too far, weaving through the waves with the slickness of a seal. He is so happy in the water. Out there all by himself. He stays out so long that I finally got him to wear a thermal swim shirt and shorts. It's pretty clear that he's just visiting us here on dry land. His heart is lost somewhere in the Atlantic.

Unraveling

I'm up on the far end of the Cape with Ben and Brian.

Three weeks of ocean, bay, woods, cooking, hiking, reading, swimming, writing, biking, sleeping, music and I forget what else...

I'm slowly forgetting where I live and what I do for a living.

Red Alert

Liquid bombs.

What will people think of next? How do governments keep ahead of all these terrorist schemes? It's just too much.

What is motivating these rageful acts? Is it because thousands of people have died in Iraq and now one thousand in Lebanon - - and no one intervened? Is the message to these people that some lives are worth more than others? That a dead Lebanese child or Iraqi child means less than an American or an Israeli? And why are some of these Muslim sects determined to kill each other?

Why does Iran want to "wipe Israel off the face of the earth"? If I lived in Israel with my son -- how would I want my government to react to that statement with Hezbollah a stone's throw away from my door?

I wish I understood the history of the middleast better - so I could understand what motivates these actions - where the rage comes from and the desperation.

Branson, Missouri

I have a very sketchy idea of what Branson, MO is all about. But I'll tell you one thing. This country needs tons more with lots of variations on the theme!

First of all, it keeps entertainers employed long after they fall out of fashion. It helps me to sleep better knowing that Tony Orlando, Joey Heatherton and the entire cast of Hee Haw have gigs and health benefits.

I also like the idea that the performances are all hours of the DAY and EVENING. I wouldn't mind going to see Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Chrissy Hines or anybody else for that matter at 2pm instead of 11pm. Who gives a rat's ass as long as the music is good.

If only there could be a P.S.122 or spiegeltent in every state.

Someday.

Below the Mason Dixon Line

Recently I chatted with a few colleagues at work trying to identify what we would consider American Icons.

Both friends quickly suggested that the novel Gone With the Wind was surely among the top ten. I'd seen the movie but never read the book.

Well...I'm reading it now. Perhaps it isn't at the pinnacle of American Literature but I have to say that I find it a complex and fascinating story. As a matter of fact - - someone should remake Gone With the Wind - - with a screenplay that more fully honors the novel.

Since I'm on a role I also rented Cold Mountain. It's a great movie - - a painful movie, but I'm glad I saw it.

Rhett Butler was right. Almost all wars are about money and greed. It's a rich man's war and a poor man's fight. Just like Iraq. Nothing's changed.

Shock and Awe

Sorry folks. It's difficult to post when violence in the middle east continues to escalate out of control.

Bodies continue to pile up in Iraq. Isn't the number over 2500 troops and over 100,000 civilians? Now Lebanon is decimated with children dying at a faster rate than the Hezbollah militants. People in Israel live in constant fear as well.

Some members of the press suggest that the latest military activity in Lebanon is based on the "clean break" strategy developed several years ago by US neocons and Israeli conservatives. I googled "clean break" cheney and came up with a long list of supporting documents and commentary. I'm not in a position to know if this strategy is in fact being used as a blue print or not...but there are similarities and it scares me.

How long before someone makes a statement here?

You Found a WHAT WHERE?

Could someone please explain how a four foot yellow snake entered into the lobby of our front building?

I'm pretty sure that's a first in the seventy five years my family has lived here.

Granted, there is a courtyard with small gardens between the two buildings but it isn't a nature conservancy by any stretch of the imagination.

Possible causes:

1. Someone East Village drug addict just realized their pet snake is missing.

2. It's an initial sign of the impending Rapture that George W. Bush is looking forward to.

3. A scare tactic made by a maniacal real estate developer in an effort to get his hands on skyrocketing property - currently inhabited by actors, writers, social workers, artists, musicians, other nice people and pets.

Look, I'm a New Yorker. Other than household pets, my version of urban wildlife is rats, mice, roaches, waterbugs, flys and pigeons.

Snakes are not in my portfolio.

Yikes

This Israeli war against Lebanon is scaring the heck out of me.

It is terrifying to hear stories of terrified children and adults on both sides - hiding, running out of supplies, full of fear.

And as a New Yorker, I fear what actions could be taken here to make a point.

This Blood's For You

That was the name of the song the Christian rock singer belted out this evening in Tompkins Square Park. He had a PA system with taped background music which was sometimes enhanced by two or three actual musicians also on the stage.

About twenty people were watching - mostly fellow Christians from the fellowship headquarters near by. There weren't any cops around like there are during skin head jamborees or other impromptu performances in the park.

Why do I feel like I'm living in chapter three of The Handmaid's Tale (Margaret Atwood).

In all fairness, it is a free country and no one was trying to hit me with a baseball bat. They just don't believe that I should have control over my own body and that committed gay couples shouldn't have the right to marry and enjoy the priveleges that come with a family life.

I wonder how people would have reacted to a Muslim musical outreach? and how many police would be there?

WAY TO GO ITALIA!!!!!!!

Italy Wins The World Cup!
They are victorious and ten times better looking than the French!!!
WAY TO GO BABY!!!!!

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

How does it feel? To be without a home. Like a complete unknown. Like a rolling stone.

My son is staying with my parents for three days. After a while, frantically juggling your kid and work ceases to be cute to anyone involved. Million dollar day camp starts Monday.

At about 3pm, Brian emailed me with the realization that we had FREE TIME TO HANG OUT.
We got together and went to have dinner across the park on Avenue B. My brother told me to check out Mercadito between East 11th and East 12th. Very nice.

One problem. Where the hell was I? Avenue B looks like Brooklyn Heights. The buildings are all cleaned up. All the store fronts are swanky boutiques and cafes. Everyone at our very nice restaurant was swanky. At closer look I realized that my neighborhood is filling up with ridiculous gift stores...like the store around the corner on East 10th street with the unlimited number of flavored olive oils. Wasn't it just yesterday when no one cooked in my neighborhood and the alleged corner grocery store was neither a grocery or a store in the legal sense?

One block down Avenue B in another cleaned up building was the Tompkins Square Gospel Fellowship. I think they are related to an imported Christian youth group that recently decided to hanker down in our neighborhood this summer. These teenagers are instructed to approach children playing in the park like my eight year old son and invite him to particpate in Christian basketball camp. Blatantly approaching children without parents near them is not cool.

Hmm...what would Jesus do...I think Jesus would say "Hey guys, I understand that your heart is in the right place but the next time you go up to children under 13 without their parents present I will rip you a new asshole."

Even the Hare Krishnas, the Mormons, Jews for Jesus, and friggin Scientologists haven't pulled that stunt yet (although they will take your blood pressure in Times Square). Leave conversion issues to parents and direct solicitation of children in city parks to pedaphiles.

And leave Tompkins Square Park to children, dog runs, plants, performance art, homeless people, skate board dudes, people hanging out and drag queen festivals.

I'm losing my fucking mind

Not only did I forget my new email password.

I forgot my email name and how to even get to the email site.

They only give you two options

- check the box if you forgot your email name

- check the box if you forgot your email password

what I need is

- check the box if you can't remember a fucking thing about setting this email up

Is it July yet?

I've attempted to post several times recently but feel totally uninspired.

I'm just not a June person. Never was. Too many transitions.

We also go out to San Francisco each year in June to visit my brother in law and his partner in San Rafael. Right now both are battling severe (perhaps terminal) liver problems brought about by years of dealing with HIV. Their bravery and endurance levels are beyond extraordinary.

David and Harry (and their three Bassett hounds) seemed geniunely happy to welcome us into their home. They put so much energy into their hospitality that for a brief time I'd forget they were ill. When you enter their world you become accustomed to their periodic naps, their otherwise fit bodies holding up bellies filled with fluid, and their daily morning medical treatments (injections, medications). It's the in between moments that you focus on -- as they do.

It also occured to me just how much illness my son has grown up around. He is not a stranger to seeing what loved ones look like after repeated rounds of chemo or HIV related illnesses. Ben is not afraid of these things. It just comes with the package of loving people. But I do think he is afraid of losing them. And I do not have an answer for that because I am too.

Something about Northern California feels so kind to me. It's a good place to rest for a while. I need a rest. I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

Crazed

Ben's school days are winding down.

The last day is June 13th - awful early in New York State. For the last two weeks I've been camping out at school as an audience member for two of his plays, board meetings, and mixed media class autobiographies (wow have times changed since my childhood days of overhead projectors). Oh yeah...and I go to my full time job somewhere in there.

God bless day camp in July!

The next two weeks will include a brief visit to San Francisco to visit my brother in law and his partner. Sadly both are not well...but we remain hopeful. The rest of the time will be spent juggling my son between the both of us at home and at work with mercy playdates sprinkled as liberally as possible.

On a positive note, I am addicted to the Steven Cobert Report (Comedy Central).