Okay...so I haven't done a f*ckin thing all day....

Well Ben and Brian are camping and I have 48 whole hours to myself!!! I packed them up and sent them on their way this morning. I then proceeded to pour myself a cup of coffee and draft a "to do" list. It went something like this:

EVI To Do List

go to the gym
do the laundry
go to the green market buy groceries
go to duane reade (drug store) get batteries
meditate
go see the Dark Knight w/ Mike G
purge Ben's room of old toys

And now a look of what EVI actually did

bought a lot of songs from ITunes
listened to them over and over and over again
did a little bit of laundry
got a call from my friend Winsome
ate lunch with Winsome and her kids at life cafe then goofed off at Tompkins Square Park with them
downloaded a show from the first season of MAD MEN because I wanted to see what the hell people were talking about.
watched it
walked my dog around east village
came home and fell asleep
made two beds
started writing this post while listening to classical music
got a call from Mike to go see the Dark Knight

I am such a friggin goof off. Blame it on arrested development. I hit eight years old and I stayed there.

When the Walls Come Tumblin' Down....

Lot's of friends losing jobs on Wall Street this week...friends with kids, tuitions and mortgages.

It was seven years ago today....

Today I woke up and went about my day. Brian woke up at the crack of dawn and got coffee going. I soon followed by jumping into the shower and jumping out to make breakfast and get Ben into a wakeful state.

There were a number of features about 9/11. We listened to some but I could see that Ben was getting unsettled so I shut the radio off for while. Ben needed to be at school a bit earlier since he serves as an acolyte during chapel....Ben is agnostic at best but he enjoys the pageantry of mass, especially when he is carrying a large flaming candle or swinging a large crucifix on a stick up and down church aisles like a misplaced pirate.

Why didn't I wake up with the same sick feeling I usually do on the anniversary of 9/11? I suppose the cloudy gray weather threw me off. It's those sunny, crisp days that make me feel sick and sad.

The twin lights are up. I hope they always have them there.

Summer Love

Today I returned to the Union Square Farmer's Market to do some quick shopping before the remnants of some wicked hurricane hurls its way up the coast toward NYC.

I have something to confess. I always get a bit depressed at the end of the summer months because that means the tomatoes will be going away for a while. Eating a good red or yellow tomato can be a religious experience. Feeding family and friends good tomatoes makes me feel grateful and closer to God.

Alas, September always arrives and my tomato romance must come to an end until next summer. Apples and squash just feel like dating down.....

EVI returns from planet vacation

Whew! Two and a half weeks of no technology, no cable, just ocean, bike riding, hiking and sleeping in a secluded cottage on a country road WITH NO TRAFFIC.

Truro was a very welcome respite for me this year. I had no idea that 2008 would be such a major drag. I had lots of time to decompress and make some MAJOR decisions in SILENCE.

Every time I went to the beach, I made a point of running into the water as soon as I got there. It felt like a baptism every time. Nothing like the mighty power of the Mama Atlantic to slap some sense into you. And it did.

I loved the sensation of submerging myself into cold salty water as the waves swells rolled past me-- a force that couldn't give a shit about the day to day worries that piled up in my life for last six months.

It's nice to be able to check on all my blog friends. Especially one down in Louisiana who is getting ready for the storm that's brewing.

So that's how babies are born...

Ben had his yearly physical this week. Last year when Ben turned nine, his doctor suggested that we begin to discuss puberty with him.

Keep in mind, my son still marches around the house naked with the total abandon of a five year old. He can frequently be found standing in front of the TV nude with a long forgotten bath towel at his feet, far too mesmerized by ESPN to realize his position in the time/space continuum.

A pre-teen wrap session?! Ben would have none of it. So we moved on.

Ben is now ten. He is a big tall boy for his age (in the 98 percentile - where he always is).
His wonderful fabulous doctor suggested that we begin to discuss the birds and bees with him.

I just don't see it happening, but I had my husband take a crack at it.

Ben said he didn't want to learn about the birds and the bees because he already knows about it.

Reproduction according to Ben:

"A mommy and daddy sleep in the same bed. A mom gives the daddy the eggs, then a mommy gets pregnant and a baby pops out of mommy somewhere down there."

What do you mean "gives the daddy the eggs?"

"I'm not sure about that part. But who cares."

Better luck next year.

A Word to the Wise....

Don't EVER do yoga when you are in a bad ass mood and hate the world. You just might fuck your knee up and pull a muscle in your lower back...why didn't I find solace in drugs or alcohol like the rest of the genetic pool I hail from?!

The Kids are Alright

My professional life is keeping me super duper busy these days - - away from the many blog updates I would love to share. So time for a bit of catch up.

Years back when Ben was a little less than two years old, I brought him to a dinner party at the home of some friends in Brooklyn. They all thought him utterly adorable - which he is - and said he looked like a little angel with long auburn curls.

I stared down at my sleeping son, splayed out on their couch with his belly hanging out of his tee shirt, and I responded with total honesty...."Really...a little angel? When I look into my son's eyes I feel certain that he will grow up to be Keith Moon....hopefully a less excessive version."

My friends were shocked and could not understand how I saw that in him.

Fast forward to 2008. My son Ben is ten. He is OBSESSED, OBSESSED,OBSESSED with The Who. My husband brought him to get his haircut at the Israeli barbershop around the corner. Ben opened a rock book pointed to Keith Moon and said "please cut my hair EXACTLY like that!"

A mother always knows.

Ben wants to be a Mod. He has asked for purple round sunglasses and feels certain that I have the ability to SEW him a British flag jacket (note Pete Townsend above). He had Brian take him to Ben Sherman's in Soho to buy a tee shirt with the Mod target design on it. How did he even know where to find such things?!

He spends countless hours on YouTube playing "air" drums to Who clips.

And of course I will oblige him.

The vendors on St. Mark's Place have the sun glasses and I will order him the Union Jack jacket...all in time for the first day of school where absolutely no one in his class will know what the hell he is talking about...which is just another day in the life of my beautiful, quirky boy.

Help Me Beet the Habit!

Every time I see beautiful beets at the green market I fall in love with them. Beets are my favorite color. They are tastey. So I buy them....and proceed to watch them rot in my fridge. It's becoming my little ritual.

How do you cook beets? I like to eat them cold maybe with dressing on it. Any ideas? Help save innocent beets from dying in my fridge!

Fourth of July

Remember that song from X? I always loved that song.

Yesterday was a quintessential NYC day for us. We got on our bikes and rode over to the East River Park. Tons of families were out there grilling and relaxing - just a huge mix of everyday people. There are these tents you can set up - basically a roof on four poles that everyone seemed to have. Seeing all these families and friends together made me wish that I was at a gathering like that myself. I'm sure my mother and her family did the same right along this park years ago.

We proceeded down the pathway that takes you passed the Manhattan Bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge and South Street Seaport. At that point, we navigated our bikes into Chinatown for a stop at Dim Sum GoGo. If you come to the City - you must go there. It isn't fancy but it also isn't intimidating (as in you must speak fluent Chinese to enter).

They have a standard menu which we forgo for the one page dumpling menu where you can check off what you might like. Each order of dumplings has about three or four dumplings that are delivered to you in a bamboo steam basket. We usually get two orders each of some kind of shrimp, chicken, veggies and fried pork dumplings. Basically, the waiter comes to our table with two towering columns of bamboo steam baskets....we are not a proud people.

After lunch, we got back on our bikes and rode down to Battery Park where we were joined by the rest of the population of NYC. It was packed - but again, I just loved seeing everyone. I love New York. I love the diversity of class, race and ethnicity. As I get older, my love of this city has become deeper and more personal. On these sorts of days, you feel the love returned.

So it's getting hot and we keep on riding. Ben is being a real sport. We ride along the Hudson River and reach the West Village, where we cross over and ride into the East Village. There we celebrate at Ben and Jerry's over well earned ice cream cones. Later that night, we barbequed hot dogs and watched the Macy's Fireworks on our roof.

Nice Day in the Big Apple.

The Blind Leading The Blind

Today I was coming home on the L train when I noticed a young woman beside me playing solitaire on her ipod or something that looked like an ipod.

I'm sorry but how the hell do people play card games, video games, watch movies and read the friggin newspaper on screens that are essentially two inches high and three inches wide?? Why put yourself through that hell? I'd rather daydream.

Why would I watch a movie or t.v. show on a screen as small as the palm of my hand - - or smaller? It just amazes me how much time people spend on their technology. It frequently seems like communication that is less about content and more about technology.

Just tons of noise and visuals being pumped into our eyes and ears non stop.

Remember Me?!!

Short staffed and work has been non stop for quite some time. Not fun. Not fun at all.

I miss all my beloved blog friends.

Went on a tour of Ben's new day camp. It looks pretty nice. He seemed to be warming up to it in his shy way.

Glad to be back.

Now THIS is New York

It's 6 pm.

I'm sitting by my front window and there are about 300 people across the street learning how to salsa together in Tompkins Square Park. The instructor is guiding them from one step to the next. To see all these people moving in time with the salsa and instructions echoing across the park is beautiful.

It looks like they are moving into the Rumba! Now I want to take lessons.

I'm on my own this weekend. The boys are up in Boston making a pilgrimage to Fenway Park so I'm flying solo.

As my first act of defiance, I woke up at 8:05 (about 11 am non childrearing time). I walked Saki all over the park and hung out with my friend Martin for a while. He is an artist and a surfer.
I did a few chores then took Saki out to check out the...

UKRANIAN FESTIVAL on East 7th Street afew blocks away. My dad is part Ukranian and spent many years as a child living on or near 7th street.

I dropped my thirsty dog home and went to St. Mark's Place to watch the Dance Parade that began somewhere in Chelsea and shimmied down to Tompkins Square Park. That parade did me a world of good. There must have been a zillion different dance troupes, dance schools, dance groups and a few dancing drunks shaking their groove things for blocks and blocks.

What I LOVED best about it was that the people dancing all had different bodies - sure there were the lean and tall legions but they were way outnumbered by the wiggily, jiggily let it all hang out baby brigade. There were disco dancers, followed by South American traditional dancers. There was a group of black women in black unitards and plumed masks on roller skates doing disco moves. At one point I saw a guy in traditional Greek costume hanging out with a woman who was one of the multitude of bellydancers who showed up. It was just insane, sloppy and great.

They all marched into the park where...they danced some more! At the water fountain of the three graces - three women each wrapped long wide red pieces of cloth around the sculpture and then wrapped themselves in it, moving position very slowly while someone played the violin. It was cool!

After parade watching, I got a slice of pizza and went to the gym....you read that right. Then I wen to Trader Joes and came home and plopped myself down. In two hours I'll be going over to the Pearl Theater on St. Mark's to see the Importance of Being Earnest.

It's a good day in New York.

My Baby

Today I walked down the stairs of the subway en route to pick up Benjamin after work. I'm going into week two of a crummy sinus infection and work continues to drain the joy out of me these days.

I walked by the magazine stand on the platform and glanced at all the gossip magazines that seem to rule our culture. Don't people get bored sucking in all that garbage? I take it too seriously.

I looked over and saw the front of the New York Times and it showed a pair of Chinese parents who made a make shift cover of cardboard around their eight year old son's face. He was dead. A victim of the earthquake. It looked like he also had a blanky they brought to comfort him on his journey home. They sat together tenderly attending to him. Doing right by him.

So many of these families have only one child in China. I can't imagine the grief hanging over these communities.

Needless to say, my job and health woes began to shrink down to their proper scale. Here I was running to pick up my beautiful son. And I was dam grateful.

Mommies Rule Daddies Drool!!

.....Or so my son Ben claimed this morning.

It is Mother's Day -- a day which is part of my holy trinity (Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, My Birthday). After 18 years of marriage, Brian stands at the ready with flowers, cards and a gift - - all the tools necessary to feed the beast that is Mommy!

Happy Mother's Day to all you wonderful mommies out there. You make the world go round.

Yep. That's what I did.

I was making the rounds and read writermama's most recent post (see link to writermama in the column to the right). Check it out.

It's an interview with some local downtown friends of hers who chatted a bit about life and style back in the late 70's/early 80's when the big apple was a lot grittier.

For me - nightlife began in 1980. Going to Danceteria, the New Peppermint Lounge, CBGB's. Having wide streaks of purple running through my thick dark hair. Army boots, Doc Martens, heavy black eyeliner, used tweed coats with big black guy belts. Impromptu huge parties in warehouses downtown. Wearing about fifty black rubber and silver bracelets on each wrist. The music, the nightlife and the fashion felt so sloppy, beautiful, interesting and alive.

The feeling that anything goes. What the hell feels better than that? I can't see that here anymore ... that feeling is the key to paradise. There isn't a day I didn't cherish it.

A good friend gave me sage advice. She said, "You didn't lose anything. You are your own East Village."

God knows I'm tryin'. Sometimes I just feel like the Cross Bronx Expressway.

Free Love in the Park

Don't be fooled. It is very easy to have a personal relationship with a park. This weekend I got to spend some precious time across the street in Tompkins Square Park. How spoiled I am to have this beautiful green square to look out on every day....well maybe the noise of Avenue A balances it all out.

The other day I was walking Saki through the park. The volume of blossomed tulips was extraordinary. Red and yellow beautiful tulips everywhere and so densely planted together. It almost looked like an error in landscaping. Either that or the bulbs were planted months earlier by someone on speed. The daffodils made a strong second showing. Regardless of the back story, I still enjoyed the flower explosion.

I'd also like to confess that I have become an owner that chats with their dog while walking around in public.

On Friday evening, Brian, Ben, Saki and I went out to the park to shoot some hoops at the corner of the park by 10th and B. The sky was a deep blue violet and the courts were lit by the dim gold lighting that goes on as the sun sets. I felt very happy to be exactly where I was, doing exactly what I was doing. It's been a long time since I've felt that way. It was one of those zen moments that comes out of nowhere. Moments of unintentional bliss.

Shakespeare's Birthday

.....is today. And for that reason I consider it a personal holiday. Even if I must go to work.

Work.

It is feeling very work like these days. Feeling more like "a job" than work. Very sad.

And yet I remain stubbornly hopeful that I will one day soon resume my usual custom of skipping to work.

Cool

If you look to the right of this post, you'll see a list of bloggers I read quite a bit. One of them is
Writermama. I really enjoy her blog about city life, librarian-in-training life, writing life and mama life.

Every Monday she posts a Monday style post. Most of the photos are girls and guys on the street - mostly downtown wearing something neat. These posts have made me more aware of what people wear as I take my long subway ride to work from downtown to way uptown.

The verdict is that every day New Yorkers dress cool and with great style. I would wager that they dress cooler than any other city in the world. And it isn't only one type of cool. The diversity of class , age and ethnicity make it even more fascinating to me.

A good reason...a great reason to love New York.

Recession? I think so!

I am a woman who enjoys cooking. It is probably the one thing that I do without looking twice at the cost.

Boy is that a thing of the past.

Every time I go to the grocery store (from the glamorous Citeralla to the crunchy Commodities to the supermarket of your choice) I have become more and more amazed at the prices. Orange juice costs $5, cottage cheese $4.50 - I went somewhere and saw lemons for $1 each? Are you fucking kidding me? I think it's time to grow my own lemon tree.....

Which brings me to my backlash strategy. I am so going to the greenmarket now for everything I can...even meat - which I never did. I'm also seeing more meat/poultry at the Union Square market. I'm trying to cut the shipping, packing, gas overhead out of my grocery bill and hand my cash over to local folks....I'd rather they had it any way. Driving it down from upstate NY has got to be less than shipping it from CA.

I saw a small container of guacamole at Whole Foods priced at $8.99.
Whole Foods can kiss my ass. Where did those avocados come from - Mars?!! Were they hand picked by Christian Bale and placed in a wicker basket that was Fedexed to NYC?
I think not.

Ben Ten

Yep. My baby has entered into the double digits just a few days ago.

We celebrated with his band of cousins and grandparents singing/shouting Happy Birthday to him.

The cake was HUGE. I ordered a 12 inch cake that looked a helluva lot more like a 16 inch cake that was six inches high. Basically it appeared to be a Dr. Seuss cake. Something you might see eaten in Who-ville. The outside was chocolate ganache with a devils food cake and chocolate mousse filling....I am not a fan of chocolate but even I enjoyed it. We ordered it at Ciao for Now on East 12th Street between Ave. A and B. They did a teeeeriffic job.

We gave Ben an electric guitar, an Epiphone - "like the one John Lennon had". I realize I may live to regret this purchase but I married a musician so I stand unafraid.

Cooperstown

It's Spring Break!! Two weeks of keeping my son entertained while not losing my job!

We finally decided to bite the bullet and head on up to Cooperstown, NY for three days. I'll be honest, the prospect of devoting my life to the Baseball Hall of Fame for 72 hours seemed less than promising.

And yet it was wonderful. Cooperstown, New York is a quaint small town sitting on the edge of Lake Otsego - about four hours north of New York City. I love going places off season - whether it be Cape Cod, Europe or Cooperstown. The air was crisp, the lake clear and beautiful and the surrounding hills (foothills of the Adirondacks I suppose) pristine.

Upstate New York is stunning. You can see how artists fell in love with the landscape and writers continue to be inspired here. The Native American spirit is everywhere.
Check out the Fenimore Art Musuem and the Farmers' Museum - - they really are cool.

Coming back to the City feels less and less exciting to me. Those Cooperstown people seemed pretty happy to be nestled in the splendor of nature and the life of a small town.

I guess I would miss the Arab guys who run the bodega two doors down from me. They make me feel like I live in a small town.

Hey Neighbor!!!!!

I was rounding the corner of A and 14th on my way home and for the first time in about five years I looked across the street - the east side of Avenue A.

My eyes locked onto a place that looked like a precious coffee spot. Remember when a coffee spot usually meant sixty year old waitresses, the Daily News, donuts as big as your head and cheap coffee? Not anymore baby...that went the way of the dinosaurs years ago. Even Dunkin Donuts is pimping itself out with Milky Way Hot Chocolate. What the hell is that about? Who would drink that besides a jonesing heroin addict?

Which brings me back to gramstand - the place I "discovered" today. You see that particular side of Avenue A was the home to one or two heroin hang outs masquerading as bars for so many years that I literally blocked out that part of the street from my line of vision....just a few short blocks away from me.

Now we have gramstand which is not a coffee spot but a tea spot with a website and a mission statement. The young man who sold me my coffee for $2.70 was very nice. What can I say. It's a new world order.

A Mover And A Shaker

Some big changes at work.

My boss is moving on to the women's college for super duper smart girls in the Boston area. This leaves her job opened and a few dozen people asking me if I'll be throwing my hat in the ring.

Sigh.

Throwing your hat in the ring isn't always everything it's cracked up to be. My happiness comes in people (like the president of the college) encouraging me to consider it because they respect my work. Receiving this affirmation from so many people is a huge gift to me.

As for my hat flying into the ring....well girls....as my generation has learned the hard way, we can't do it all --- especially not at the same time. I realized this tragic fact when I had problems recalling what my son was like from the ages of two through five.

I figure I've got about three more years before he starts ignoring me - - no brass ring is worth more than what the two of us share right now.

In Memory of Michael

Living life to its fullest isn't about
checking off thrills from a list;
It's about being fearless in following my dreams,
courageous in accepting
that some will go unfulfilled
and taking the time to savor
something as simple
as a cup
of tea

A little over a year or so ago, I tripped over a blog www.ohenrosan.blogspot.com . It was the blog created by Michael, a talented writer, photographer and zen follower. He was also slowly dying of a rare form of cancer. He took extraordinary photos of the East Village. He managed to capture its fading essence through photos of the neighborhood regulars, its buildings and colorful events in such a way that made even cynics like me moved.

He loved Japan and immersed himself in the Zen life. I so enjoyed following him on his spiritual path.

He was honest and compassionate in his honesty. I learned so much from him. He accepted his death with a grace that I cannot do justice in describing.

Michael died in January. The poem that begins this post is his.

I don't think I will ever forget him. I know that I don't want to.

Basic Training

During the weekend Ben takes an art class in Chelsea. Brian drops him off on his scooter and scoops him up afterward for lunch. Each week the ritual is the same. They pull into the White Horse Tavern for burgers and root beer....sometimes Dad's beer has less root in it than Ben's.

This location is famous for being the old stomping ground of Dylan Thomas and other formidable drinkers and writers who passed through Greenwich Village through the years.

I'm sure Brian is drawn to it a bit by the nostalgia but not totally. He's far more invested in being in an old New York bar in the afternoon when it's just the longtime bartenders, a handful of regulars and some routine news or sports show on the small t.v.

Benjamin, at almost ten years old, is a regular.

He's been going there for almost two years now - - usually on a Sunday right after baseball practice. The bartenders greet him with "hey - pitchers and catchers!"

This greeting continues throughout the year well beyond the baseball season and into the School of Visual Arts class season.

Maybe it's just the old East Village in my blood, but I'm happy to know that Brian is indoctrinating Ben into the male rituals of pub life - - the banter, the customs, the food and one day when he is over 21 - - the beer.

It's important to have a true New York bar - a pub-like bar - to call your own. A place you can hang out in the early afternoon and read the Daily News.

A special place you can be with your dad - especially when your dad is your best friend.

Lame! At Least For Now.....

We gave Ben a subscription to Sports Illustrated for Christmas.

He was thrilled and looks forward to receiving every issue. This week I pulled the mail out of the mailbox and handed it to him, taking little notice of any the items I handed off. After coming through the apartment door and throwing off our coats, Ben gave out a shout of disgust. "THIS IS SOOOO LAME!"

He turned the pages of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue looking more and more disappointed. "All these stupid girls sitting around in bikinis. They aren't even doing any sports! What a waste!" He then proceeded to toss the magazine into the recycling. I stood there speechless.

I had forgotten that the swimsuit issue even existed! Then I wondered how much longer my almost 10 year old little boy would be calling girls in bikinis lame. Three days later we got the NASCAR issue and life was as it should be.

18 Years and Five Tiffany Pendants Later

Yes folks, the preceding title is a direct quote from the gift card coupled with the lovely necklace that my husband gave me for our 18th anniversary this morning.

I have been with Brian for twenty years. Jesus Christ. I can't believe I've done ANYTHING that long besides breathe.

And yet here we are. Together on this lifelong Outward Bound Trip along with our trusty dog and ten year old son.

Love. Loyalty. Possibility. Compromise. Laughter. The ability to bite your tongue without completely severing it from your mouth. That's what makes a marriage....at least mine.

18 is a lucky number in the Jewish tradition. God knows we've earned it! Cheers.

Old Times

I haven't been posting much because the "big job - mom gig" leaves me so exhausted for the last month that I haven't much to say to you all....at least nothing that's of any value or humor.

I know people all across this country are working hard - many much harder than I am in many circumstances. I've never been good at juggling it all. Much of my time is spent keeping the balls up in the air AND picking up the multitude that fall.

This afternoon I left work the usual time and got Ben from school. I was dead tired. When I got home I fell on the bed and the feeling of profound fatigue came over me. I was giving myself a moment to actually realize how tired I am and started sinking. I called my husband and asked when he'd be home because I really hoped he could take over soon.

Idiot me forgot that he teaches on Wednesday night (working a 12 hour day) and stays at my parent's home which is 45 minutes closer to his job than we are. I wanted to crumble into pieces.

Instead, Ben and I took Saki for a walk in Tompkins Square Park. It was already dusk and quite beautiful. Walking through the park always gives me a second chance.

Ben and I went to our favorite Italian place down the street and had dinner. The owner (who we like very much) started speaking Sicilian to a customer. I listened and understood parts of their light conversation.

Their words had a unexpected effect on me. Not the meaning - - just to hear them. Layers started falling away and I could remember how I felt to be young and clinging to my Italian grandmother's dress. It was home base for me as we traveled about the neighborhood or entertained guests unfamiliar to me. The sound of the words and the tone of their Italian disarmed me. I stared out the cafe window that looked onto the corner of my street. My eyes filled with tears.

Maybe my grandmother was reaching through time and soothing me. I miss her very much tonight. She taught me from the beginning that the deepest love can be felt just being in the company of someone. Just being with them...as they do their chores, schoolwork, writing...anything really.

Thanks Nonna - I needed a good cry and you helped me find it. XXOOO

House Huntin'

So I've decided I will kinda stay here and kinda not.

We've been searching for a dirt cheap cottage/farmhouse near Brian's job up at a university in CT. That way we can go there on the weekends and vacations while Brian can also use it on days when he has to work or teach a class in the evening.

Maybe I'm nuts but it feels right.

That was then. This is now.

This weekend we all went up to the Metropolitan Musuem of Art. Thanks to the wonders of technology, we split up and agreed to meet in forty minutes or so. I went off to the new photography gallery and Ben/Brian went off to the knights, weaponry and musical instruments.

My mom gives us a family membership to the Met every year. Ben has practically grown up in the Met and feels the same way about it that most NY kids feel toward the Museum of Natural History.

I've always thought of this museum as New York's wise, beautiful matron.

After lunch in the cafe, we took one last look at the medieval armor, Revolutionary War swords and ancient Japanese military head gear. After an obligatory purchase in the museum shop, we walked out into the warm sunshine of a NY winter afternoon.

Brian and I reminisced about our pre-Ben days of meeting at the Met after work on a Friday night and walking all the way home it the East Village (approx. 3000 miles - 4000 with heels on).

Brian said "Things changed in the City after 9/11. In more ways then we realized. It isn't the same place."

I'm still thinking that one over.

Small World

I picked Ben up from a play date on Wednesday afternoon. It was the first truly cold day in a long time. We scurried down 10th street and I stopped into Kmart for some luxury items - - rubber gloves and glass cleaner.

Ben was coveting my earmuffs for the last few days so I offered to buy him a pair before we got to the cashier. He didn't take a moment to check out the merchandise before saying "Mom, I don't want to buy my earmuffs here. I want to give my money to small, local businesses. Let's go buy them from one of the street vendors."

Now this approach to consumerism has been my husband's creed forever. Only in the past year has he walked into a Starbucks (out of desperation). In all of Ben's nine years, I've never seen him take a political stand on any consumer issue that stood in between him and the desired object.

A street vendor was selling his winter goods right outside of Kmart. It was freezing and he must have been standing out there for hours. He was covered from head to toe except for his eyes peeking between a hat and scarf. Ben got his three dollar ear muffs and explained his new philosophy.

He just finished reading The Pushcart War, a children's novel written by Jean Merrill and illustrated by Ronni Solbert. It was first published in 1964. The plot focuses on a war between pushcart peddlers and delivery trucks in NYC. As traffic becomes increasingly horrendous in the city, three huge trucking companies try to alleviate their parking problems by running the pushcarts off the curb and out of business. Needless to say, the NY pushcart vendors unite and push back... so the story begins.

What Ben didn't know was the Jean Merrill and Ronni Solbert lived in East Village and were very good friends with my dad. Ronni also wrote and photographed a super cool book I Wrote My Name on the Wall (1971) profiling city kids in their words, kids who never went beyond their neighborhoods.

What goes around comes around. Especially with art.

You've seen one ball...you've seen them all.

At least that's how I feel about the ball dropping in Times Square.

I sometimes think my relationship to New Year's Eve must be how non-Christians relate to Christmas in our culture. Everyone else is at a party that I have no interest in attending. Sounds terrible doesn't it?

I wouldn't mind standing on a sandy cliff overlooking Longnook Beach at the stroke of midnight. The crashing waves and pull of high tide in the frosty moonlight would wash away any trivial thoughts of mankind out there counting the minutes that take us from one year to the next.

Maybe something beautiful will happen this year. Some wonderful miracle that will end suffering somewhere on the planet - - anywhere.

I propose a toast to the possibility of miracles for 2008.

Cheers!

I have work coming out of my....

Sorry folks. Work has been insane.

If it isn't on the internet, Santa won't be bringing it on his slay.

Is it the Christmas season? Who knows. No time to buy a tree yet. And sadly no playing of Christmas music....which is the highlight of the holiday for me.

No sooner do I exhale then I'll be jumping into a car for my 20th anniversary ride down to Maryland and North Carolina for Christmas.

The other day I saw groups of people in Santa outfits roaming downtown going from bar to bar. It's an annual ritual and a pleasant spectacle to behold.

One gang of Santas was wearing kilts instead of red pants and black boots. That particular gang was hanging out with someone in a big Easter Bunny outfit.

Brian and I came out of a party on the lower east side at about 1 a.m. and encountered a good many santas who had been drinking for hours. Luckily no barfing Santas!

Christine's

After a very long week, I convinced Brian and Ben to have dinner at Christine's Friday night. It felt like seventh heaven. I love that place. It's one of my last East Village cozy places still standing.

Christine's sells mostly diner food with specialty Polish dishes. I ordered sauerkraut pirogies and kielbasa. I recognized the wife of the couple at the next table. She works at the pirogi shop a few blocks down the street. Lots of unfancy people enjoying their dinners.

It felt as nice as Thanksgiving.

Speaking of which....we had a wonderful time celebrating the holiday up in Phoenicia, New York - - a poor cousin to its neighbor Woodstock (15 minutes away). The weather was mild enough for us to go hiking in the mountains surrounding the farm house we stayed in with my brother. It was a beautiful, run down true farm house - no fancy stove, no high tech stereo system, etc. The house sits on the edge of a huge stream with the foot of a mountain beginning across the water. You could hear the stream through the closed windows....beautiful, peaceful music.

I brined a turkey and we cooked up a feast while listening to WAMC - North Country Radio. I listened to a Bob Dylan documentary, Alice's Restaurant , a James Taylor performance up in Stockbridge and lots of great local shows. Come to think of it. That felt like seventh heaven too.

Proceed with Caution

My younger sister is learning to drive after all these years.

I'm really proud of her because it's always been a challenge she was reluctant to take.

So she's taking lessons here in Manhattan. After two or three classes, they put her on the friggin' FDR Drive!!!! Then they drove through the South Bronx.

They say that fear can be a great motivator.

My younger sister on the FDR Drive is like teaching Janis Joplin to drive during a NASCAR event.

But hell, she's still alive and so everyone else.

Go Speed Racer!

May the Force be With You

Ben and I were talking about the problem the Catholic Church is having recruiting men to the priesthood.

He started to chuckle to himself and said "Maybe in the future they'll develop robot priests who can marry people."

Now that's something I'd like to stick around for.

Veteran's Day

the CBS five-month study found that vets were "more than twice as likely to commit suicide in 2005 as non-vets." Chillingly, though the Veterans Affairs Department estimates that "some 5,000 ex-servicemen and women will commit suicide this year,' that's a lowball estimate. Said Keteyian: "Our numbers are much higher than that, overall."

Update, 5:30pm: CBS has just released some of those numbers: "At least 120 Americans who served in the U.S. military killed themselves per week in 2005, CBS News learned in a five-month investigation into veteran suicides. That's 6,256 veteran suicides in one year, in 45 states."

- I'm not very good at statistics but do those numbers mean that more vets return home from war and commit suicide than have died in the war each year?

Good Night Sweetheart

The working mom gig is presently in overdrive. Sorry for being out of touch so long.

Tomorrow morning I leave for a business trip for three days.
I just kissed my son good night and told him I'd miss him.

How many moms and dads in the military have done that - will do that? Are having to do that more than once? What about the single parents who are saying goodbye to their kids and leaving them with whoever they can after signing up for the National Guard?

Do people give a fuck about this war and the toll it is taking on these children? Not to mention the children of Iraq?

RED SOX RULE!!!

RED SOX ARE #1!!!!!

THANK YOU JESUS!

FINALLY - - I GET BACK TO A NORMAL LIFE...

UNTIL APRIL 2008!

THEN WE START ALL OVER AGAIN!

Cool Poem

Poem: "35/10" by Sharon Olds, from Strike Sparks: Selected Poems 1980–2002. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2004.

35/10

Brushing out our daughter's brown
silken hair before the mirror
I see the grey gleaming on my head,
the silver-haired servant behind her. Why is it
just as we begin to go
they begin to arrive, the fold in my neck
clarifying as the fine bones of her
hips sharpen? As my skin shows
its dry pitting, she opens like a moist
precise flower on the tip of a cactus;
as my last chances to bear a child
are falling through my body, the duds among them,
her full purse of eggs, round and
firm as hard-boiled yolks, is about
to snap its clasp. I brush her tangled
fragrant hair at bedtime. It's an old
story—the oldest we have on our planet—
the story of replacement.

Sucker

I've always felt that advertising copywriters are the bottom feeders of our society but I must admit to being a bit moved by the Liberty Mutual "personal responsiblity" ad campaign that they keep running over and over again during the ball game.

I don't know...maybe I'm just cracking under the pressure of the World Series.

Souless

If I read one more article asking the public "has New York City lost it's soul?!", I will most definitely puke.

Where was the glare of the media spotlight for the last several years while unbridled gentrification efforts drove out just about any bohemian/working class/old immigrant/edginess left in the East Village?

My family has been in the East Village for five generations. I'm not naive to all the ups and downs this neighborhood had faced. But it always had a creative soul....until now. It's gone and it's unbelievable to me. Ann Magnuson once said that the East Village was becoming a theme park for the privileged. It's true. How sad.

Red Sox Nation

Red Sox 3 / Indians 2 bottom of the 6th.

How many post seasons can this little family of mine take? It's getting a bit frightening.

Ben is getting older and louder. Brian had made a radical break from his WASPY demeanor with cheers and jeers going off the testosterone charts as each inning progresses.

Without prior discussion with yours truly, Ben informed me that his father now allows him to use the word "asshole" when referring to the opposing team in post season Red Sox Games.

I don't have the energy to challenge male tribal rituals. I'm sure Margaret Mead would agree.

Footnote

Something else happened when I lost my bag with all my ID and important stuff in it.

As I was hurriedly peeking into every friggin' garbage can from Tompkins Square Park to Cheyenne Wyoming searching for my stuff, a weird realization came over me that made me pause - if only for a few precious minutes.

Now that my wallet, keys and phone were all gone - I was without formal proof of my identity - or at least it felt that way for a moment.

A profound feeling of relief swept over me.

I didn't have to be who I am anymore. I could just say fuck it and start again with a new name and any other new things I could think of.

I could have a karmic do-over.

Remember do-overs when you were a kid? How wasted they are on youth!!! Somehow the prospect of wiping the slate clean made me feel expansive and liberated.

Then I got it all back. And life went on as planned.

Lost and Found

Over a week ago I lost my bag.

It was Sunday and I was going to the gym. My bike is not in the city so I used a spare that didn't have any baskets in the back like my trusty cheap old girly red bike does.

So I took a bungy cord and wrapped it around my gym bag and onto the bike rat trap. I optimistically left the building and about three minutes and ten blocks away from my house, I realized my bag had fallen off my bike.

My heart stopped as I frantically rode back home retracing my steps. It's a miracle I didn't get killed riding into oncoming traffic as I barely took my eyes off the ground. Alas, the bungy cord was in front of my building which meant that the bag fell off the minute I left.

Brian and Ben were playing catch in Tompkins Square Park. They keyed me into the apartment and the canceling of debit and credit cards began. I was more terrified at the prospect that I also lost my keys together with all my ID - extending a generous invitation to be robbed at a later date.

I didn't care as much about the IPOD, the cell phone, the two monthly metrocards, and the cash.

I just wanted my keys, my ID and my loyal and good hearted red wallet. It was a purchase I made at a street fair at Astor Place.....after I got robbed in the Columbia University area after my second day at work three years ago.....also in October.

It's funny what really matters to you.

Well, I sat on my bed, drenched in sweat and despair and burst into tears....and I do mean burst. I cried like a school girl. Ben looked frightened at first, then came over and wrapped his arms around me. In his nine years, he'd never seen me fall apart before. I apologized for freaking him out and explained why I was freaking out.

"Mom. It might be a good idea not to put everything important into your wallet."

Sage advice.

I gained my composure ,went outside and started checking all the garbage cans in Tompkins Square Park, figuring that anyone who took my bag wouldn't be too keen on marching around town with "Barnard - Women in Leadership Conference" emblazoned on their knapsack.

One hour later someone rang our bell and announced "I've got an ID for you". Some guy from the park staff across the street handed my husband my ID and basically took off, insisting that they didn't find anything else. Thirty minutes later, he rang the doorbell again. This time I went down to speak with him. He said they did have my bag and that he'd take me to pick it up at the office in the park.

So I got my bag back and trust me folks, in New York that is nothing short of a miracle.
Apparently it was left hooked to a fence sans IPOD, phone, cash...etc.

I was just glad to be reunited with the stuff I cared about most.

Let's face it. That cell phone was a dead end relationship from the start.

Net Flix

I LOVE Net Flix.

Some stuff I've rented and loved

Waiting for Guffman (Seen it before but still love it)

Garden State

Blades of Glory (Will Farrell and my husband are soulmates)

And after much encouragement from fellow bloggers, I will rent St. Elmo's Fire if only to pay tribute to Demi Moore's outfits and hairstyles.

STRIVE

The other day I stayed home from work with a fever and bronchitis.

Of course my cold doesn't stop the world from turning and since I live in the city that never sleeps I got to stay home and do five loads of laundry. I then had to pick up my son from school and walk over to Pier 40 on the west side highway where he has his baseball afterschool session.

There's nothing like having a fever in 90 degree heat with no voice or breathing capacity. And like all devoted 9 year old boys, my son couldn't give a shit. As long as the old broad shows up with a sports bar and a Gatorade - life is as it should be.

So I sat there baking in the afternoon sun like any other masochistic over compensating mom with a high pressure career would. After a point even the nannies started taking off for some shade and water.

I wandered down Washington Street and found a dunkin donuts on the first floor of a carpenter's union building - talk about excellent product placement. The store must be making money hand over fist. I sat there for 10 minutes in the glorious air conditioning listening to the theme of St. Elmo's Fire blasting out of the sound system. I must have been near the end of my rope because I actually became nostaligic for the 80's....which was actually a great decade for me. It's just that St. Elmo's Fire had nothing remotely to do with it.

I resigned myself to return to the Sahara like sports complex I escaped from and and began walking behind a lively young woman in beautiful athletic gear. She had the word STRIVE tattooed across the back of her neck in all caps. I stood behind her waiting for the light that would deliver her to the bike/running path along the Hudson River and me to another thirty minutes in the blinding sun.

Here she was. A young hopeful twentysomething - inspiring the world with one word. STRIVE. All I could think of was - what happens if she runs into a jag in her life (like we all do) when we sit on our asses and deconstruct after the loss of a job, a relationship, a family member, or a dream?

What happens when she doesn't live up to the back of her neck and it shows? What if she became a heroin addict or an anorexic?

I've decided that if I have a tattoo placed on the back of my neck it will either say:

SHIT HAPPENS

or

DON'T FOLLOW ME. I'M LOST TOO!

The Bitch is Back

I've been totally out of the blog mode for the last few weeks. My life is seriously insane. I just need to get into a routine and things will be cool again.

The original title of this post was supposed to be "Fuck My Fucking Cellphone". My beautiful, nice, low key cellphone died a few months ago. I replaced it not knowing that I could keep my old number.

It's been chaos ever since. This new rogue phone of mine has a terrible number that I just can't embrace. I'm an 8 girl. I've always been an 8 girl and this new phone number is a friggin tribute to the number 7.

7 is just so nowhere with me. I refuse to memorize this new number. It's like I'm dating down with this number and I just don't want to invest the time.

But I'm not dating down. It's more like I have an arranged marriage with this new phone number and there is no getting out of it. I have a bloody mental block against my cellphone number! Insane.

And to boot, my new phone can take photos (who cares) but it has NO icon to tell me when I have messages SO I never check my messages until it is toooooo late. Friends look at me oddly because I never refer to their calls. One of my closest friends lives in L.A. The phone plays a critical part in our relationship. He just told me I could basically F Off for not returning his calls in the last two months.

This is NOT good.

What? Me Worry?!

I need to do all this stuff at once

1. Get to cruise control with a big fat promotion and the huge fundraising responsibilities that go with it.

2. Find a new home in a foreign non east village place.

3. Find a new school for Ben maybe in NYC maybe not depending where we live so I have to apply out to four distinctly different schools.

4. Get all our finances in order....and I use that term loosely.

5. Have total responsibility for school drop offs and pick up (for the first time in seven years).

Welcome to the hell that is my life right now. Now you know why my blogging has slowed down to a halt.

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!