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.