City Life

What Was I Saying?

I swear I had a post in my head ready to go, just needed to sit down and type it up. Now that I’m at the keyboard, I can’t remember one word of what I intended to blog about.

Long and busy days here, though I’m not sure what I’ve been so busy with. Not much fun happening, behind on laundry and the fridge is alarmingly empty. Must be mid-summer. Art Child has been busy with her art intensive, and I’ve been trekking all over the borough for drop off and pick up. The other day, I had to meet her in the East Village. A fun neighborhood, one of the few left in Manhattan that still feels like New York, art, artists, small businesses. We weren’t in the fun part, but I got a couple of photos.

Rainbow brownstone

Love this, and I’m not the only one.

What better place for a small theater than an abandoned Catholic school?

Some neighborhoods still have interesting graffiti

Hi there.

To get to that area from my apartment is kind of a haul, required train transfers and many flights of stairs to get from one station to another without leaving the subway and having to pay another fare. By the time we got home my back was on fire. I was just starting to relax into one of the back meds when I heard that siren call, “Mom, the toilet’s overflowing!”

Does everyone else have low flow toilets now also? Low flow saves a lot of water, theoretically. Unless you try to flush more than one square of toilet paper. Because that requires many flushes, and often an overflow. I don’t know what the heck happened, but this was more stopped up than I’ve seen in years. And I couldn’t lift the damned pail to force water down. The good news, Nerd Child got a complete plumbing in NYC lesson. The bad news, the many hours it took to clear the clog.

The whole thing earned me a day at the beach, no? Maybe.

Nice view of the new World Trade Center on our way to the Holland Tunnel.

Oh, I went. With Husband and Art Child, so we went to one of the NJ beaches, supposed to be cleaner and nicer.

In the parking lot, some lovely plantings around.

It was going to be a perfect beach day.

It just didn’t quite work out the way I hoped.

When we got our stuff spread out and settled, a cloud settled on top of us and the wind increased.

Then we realized the family next to us was the Loud Family. The cloud will pass, right? Those kids will go back in the water, right?

So I took a little walk with my camera.

The cloud passed and those kids did go off somewhere. Then we realized it was the mother–who did not wander off again–who was making the most noise. Then another cloud came.

But okay, the family left, yay! Everywhere else the sky looked blue. Surely this massive gray cloud above us was going to move off any moment.

It started to move off, then it came back. And the Louder and Larger Family settled right next to us, complete with screaming children and mother spraying sunscreen in futility against the wind. Thanks, my sandwich was missing something.

Story of my fucking life.

Run Away

Yesterday, I did something I haven’t done in over 21 years. I went to the beach. By myself. Come to think of it, beach or not, I haven’t had a day by myself, no obligations, in over 21 years. I took my towel, my phone, my metrocard, my iPod, and a frozen bottle of water.

The beach was packed, the subway was nose to armpit jammed, and it was heavenly.

One of the best things about New York is the diversity. On the beach
I heard Russian, I heard French, I heard Chinese, I heard Spanish, I heard English, I heard Hebrew, I saw a family of Asian descent speaking Russian, I saw senior citizens swimming in their underwear, young studs in cut offs, young women in thong bikinis, old women in string bikinis, an orthodox man in his beard and black suit sitting on the sand so his little ones could have a day in the ocean.

I plugged my ear buds in and blasted all my old beach favorites–to the group three towels down, thanks for sharing your rap, but I was sticking to Cream. And Creedance and Kate Bush and Melissa Etheridge.

It’s true, the Brooklyn beaches aren’t the prettiest, that glint of green in the sand is as likely to be part of a beer bottle as seaweed, but yesterday it was bliss.

After about an hour, I realized I was free to enjoy another beach pleasure I haven’t indulged in years.

Why yes, I do think a beach towel is equivalent to a brown paper bag. I have to ask though, wtf is a nutcracker? Guys in heavy jeans and towels walk up and down the beach same as always, selling water, beer, and Newports out of black plastic bags. But now they offer nutcrackers too.

When I was young, there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of Brooklyn. But yesterday, I looked at the fancy newer condos along the boardwalk and thought, “not so bad.”

Hell, I looked at the ancient buildings on the side streets, the ones with wiring too old and fragile to support an air conditioner and lights at the same time–trust me, I used to live in one–and thought, “not so bad.”

If you called me yesterday, or texted or messaged or emailed and I didn’t answer, forgive me. I ran away. And Nerd Child, thank you.

What to Do?

When you’re frustrated as hell with life and what is or isn’t happening? Today was going to be the day I ran away to the beach by myself, but due to more life and clouds, that won’t be happening. So. Shut the hell up and wander around the city with a camera.

We’ve had some really great, southern feeling storms recently. The kind that come through quickly, pour while the sun is shining or make afternoon feel like night.

: And look, here’s the spider!

Over to the east side yesterday, along 5th Avenue and wandering the eastern edges of Central Park.

For the record, this isn’t the type of dog walking I do. I walk one dog at a time.

The birds and the bees. Which reminds me–city pro tip: If you’re going to watch porn in a dark room at night, close your blinds. Oh, apartment life. It was really hot and humid in the afternoon, caught my attention to see the flowers in all the stages of blooming and dying on the same day.

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And then, at the end of the day, I sat on this bench, just outside the park. It’s a thing here in NY, you can “buy” a bench, and get a plaque attached with your name or the name of a loved one. I’m always intrigued, sometimes there’s a hint of a story, and you know this was someone who spent a lot of time enjoying park benches, other times I’m free to imagine whatever I’d like for the name attached. Many are “in memory of.” It’s unbelievably expensive, I looked into it about a year ago for a friend. In any case, on this one bench were two plaques, on the same slat. I wondered what the people who paid a gazillion dollars each to buy a bench thought of this. More than that, I wondered about who Mopsy is/was.

Hear That?

It’s my sigh of almost relief. Not quite, but getting closer. We’ve had a few beautiful days in the neighborhood, so a photo post today.

Even the pigeons shut up to enjoy a perfect moment in the sun.

The light was unbelievable here.

Yesterday, Art Child and I ran away for a couple of hours. We got on the train and headed to Brooklyn. Come ride with us, and enjoy the sights as seen by the group of young women sitting across from us, excited by their intention to walk the boardwalk–each one carrying a purse that I’m fairly certain cost more than my entire wardrobe, and each one wearing more makeup than I own–or can identify.

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Oh, dirty sand and ocean, aggressive seagulls and competing radios, how I’ve missed you…beach!

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After way too short an afternoon, on the way home again.

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And Mrs Fringe’s Blood Pressure Skyrockets

I know, it’s predictable. If I’m posting a second time in one day, you know it’s a rant.

It’s a crowded city. Part of living here without losing your mind is the ability to block out what isn’t your business. The man next door might be cooking something that smells phenomenal, but you can’t knock on his door at dinnertime. Just because you can hear your neighbors argue doesn’t mean you’re invited to join the debate.

I just returned from picking up Art Child. When we left her school, there was a young woman in an “argument” with a young man. I put argument in quotes, because she was quiet, trying to get him to calm down, and he was all up in her face, backing her against a fence. Boyfriend? Husband? Brother? I don’t know.

Then he shoved her.

Yes, one woman was calling the police before I could get my phone out, when she was put on hold I got one of the police officers from Art Child’s school.

This block has not just one school, but 4 schools on it. This is pick up time, a beautiful Friday afternoon. Hundreds of children/adolescents to see this model of “relationship.” No. No. No. No.

Most domestic violence incidents are never reported.

This young woman looked fit and strong. I’m pretty sure she could kick my ass without breaking a sweat. But so much of domestic violence isn’t about the physical, it’s the mental/emotional. It’s the cancerous belief that this is part of being in a relationship. It’s the sad and horrifying fact that too many parents don’t have anywhere to go if they leave, except maybe, if they’re lucky, a shelter.

The stats I’ve seen say 1 in 4 women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime. That’s in the US. Worldwide, the statistic is 1 in 3. Every year, close to 1/3 of women who are victims of homicide are killed by their former or current partner.

I recently saw something saying more American women have been killed by domestic violence than troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq in the same time period. I’m not 100% sure of the fact checking on this one, so don’t assume it’s accurate.

Look at the numbers. This isn’t something that only occurs in other parts of the world (whatever country you’re reading this from)/other states/among certain races/religions/socioeconomic groups. This isn’t somebody else’s problem. It’s our problem.

Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-621-HOPE

Backwards Skate

Hellooo Fringelings!

It’s been a little bit since I last posted. You know what they say, if you don’t have anything nice to say, then shut the fuck up. Really it’s just been hectic. Nerd Child is home for the summer, which is wonderful, and Mother in Law is in the hospital, not wonderful. On the bright side, she’s recuperating, getting stronger each day. Art Child is not finished with school yet, the NYC public schools are in session until the end of June every year. Just making sure that even with a late start to summer weather, the kids and teachers have plenty of sweltering days in the classrooms.

This has, of course, all involved a lot of back and forth and running around. Yesterday, Mother in Law told me I need roller skates. I agree, and would like the ones I had in middle school/high school, with the emerald green wheels and matching green sparkle laces and furry green pom poms. Yes indeed, I was stylin’ those Friday Nights at the Roller Palace. For some reason, my clearest memories involve the inevitable point in the night when someone’s wheel would bust off, and there would suddenly be a thousand little ball bearings rolling across the floor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MuFLTFCp7ps

Alas, my wheels are long misplaced, and I suspect if I tried, I’d be skating backwards when I tried to go forward.

Yesterday Man Child called me to touch base, and maybe, just maybe, give me a little nudge along the lines of, “Hey Ma, wtf?! You haven’t blogged.” So I brought my camera earlier today, to catch a few pics of St John The Divine, and the ~~assault~~ construction taking place on its grounds right now. In my opinion, this cathedral (Episcopal) is one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, in the city. Interesting, too. Construction began in 1892, and has yet to be completed. The campus involves something like 11 acres, and they offer a lot of free or inexpensive programs and classes for the public. They also house one of the fancy private schools of NY. Somehow, they’ve found themselves running with a deficit. There was a huge fire over ten years ago, and if I had to guess, I’d say they’re still trying to make up for the cost of restoration and clean up. Several years ago they leased a corner of the property, and allowed an apartment building to be put up. Now comes another one, this one much closer to the church itself. As I walked around with my camera, able to see in through the back along Morningside Ave, it broke my heart a little. They don’t have official landmark status, and I’m not familiar with the politics of this type of thing to know why, but somehow, seeing the excavation for the foundation up against the gorgeous granite and carvings, it feels wrong.

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Breathe

It took me a long time to write yesterday’s post, mostly because it was upsetting. In the middle of writing it, I realized what a beautiful day it was outside so I took a break, and Art Child and I went for a walk. West instead of the usual East, to Riverside Park. The city is amazingly empty on summer holiday weekends–assuming you stay away from the tourist areas. Memorial Day weekend is Fleet Week, in addition to the naval ships and sailors, many people come by boat to hang out. I rarely make it as far south as the naval and coast guard ships, but it’s a good opportunity to enjoy the river.

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Riverside park runs along the Hudson River, from 72nd Street to 158th Street. The park is split by the Westside Highway. Then there are tunnels that pass under the highway for pedestrians/bikers/runners to reach the path that runs directly alongside the river. To me, because of the highway and sewage treatment plant on the northern end, it isn’t quite as peaceful as Central Park, but the river makes up for it, and it is beautiful.

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Next to the boat basin is a cafe. There are outside tables right over the river, and then a cavernous space that is covered but open, if that makes any sense. It was packed in there yesterday, so I didn’t shoot any pics inside.

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Fringeland is meant to be a space for honesty, but not unrelenting angst and anger. I needed this walk, this post–how about you?

Yesterday

Ready for a walk?

My plan was to write. But it was beautiful outside, a perfect spring day. So instead of working on the short story, I took a walk through the park and thought about writing, instead. Sometimes this makes everything click into place, gives me a title and clear direction. Not this time, but it was still beautiful.

I walked south, and ended up by the turtle pond.

Perfect day

Cherry blossoms? Crabapple?

These didn’t even look real to me.

Turtle pond

Whose idea was it to come to the family picnic?

Anyone else notice anything strange about cousin Ernie, so flashy.

I’ll just sunbathe, thanks.

Wouldn’t seem he was in the middle of Manhattan.

I said, go away.

Why are those children squealing?

Howz about a little kiss?

Castle overlooking turtle pond

So vivid agains the lamp post

Watch out for falling pine cones.

Don’t know what these are but they are lovely.

The trees of the park are the perfect mix of blossoming, half blossoms/half leaves, and just budding

When headed out of the park, I realized it was cat day. Who knew? I’m kidding, as far as I know there’s no such thing, but I did see a few people walking cats.

This owner was trying to walk, but the cat was not interested in doing anything other than rolling on the ground, enjoying a dust bath. Sadly, she wasn’t much more interested in posing for a picture, but wow, what a beautiful animal.

Some special breed, I didn’t catch what.

I think the word leopard is in there.

And then at the exit, I saw this. He was eyeing a lively collection of pigeons and morning doves, then turned his attention to one of the old gated tunnels. I think equipment is stored in there, along with many plump rats. At first I thought oh, poor kitty is lost, he’s going to get eaten by a raccoon if he doesn’t find his way home soon. Then I wondered if he was, in fact, a strangely colored raccoon.

And this concludes today’s pictorial on the floral and fauna of Central Park. Have a good Sunday, Fringelings!

Pinch and Dollop

^^The above title means nothing. I’m a bit scattered today but feel like yapping, so this will be a scattered post.

I woke up this morning happy to not hear the sound of rain, looking forward to that first morning vat of coffee with an hour to myself. All quiet, Art Child still asleep, dogs still on their bed and Husband left early for work.

That early morning brain didn’t calculate quickly enough. Dogs still on their bed with me out of mine. Yup, left the bedroom and walked through a stream of dog piss. Aaah, kidney disease in an old, sizable dog. Remember folks, I don’t live in a house. It’s a high rise building, which means even if I “catch him” mid pee, at this point there’s no stopping him til I can push him out the door to the yard. It’s leaving the apartment, waiting for the elevator, riding the elevator down, and then walking through the lobby to get outside. Don’t ask, the answer is yes, I have been walking him more frequently. Good times.

So after I washed the floor for the twelfth time this week and got the girl to school, I went for a walk.

Nice morning, cool angles.

Strolled down Broadway to the super duper stupor inducing home store. I’ve spent a lot of money in that store over the years, but most of it has been outfitting dorm rooms for the boys. Not today. Today I was buying a mop. Why yes, I have been washing the floor with a sponge on my hands and knees. And double yes, my back has been singing an aria between the extra walks and the floor washing. I’m tired, I’m frustrated, I was not just buying a mop, I was buying the king of all mops. Of course, the one I wanted wasn’t on a shelf reachable by customers, but the man in the store was nice and accommodating, brought over the 50 foot rolling ladder and brought down the box I wanted.

Came home, opened the box, and found these.

A little daunting that the bit packed on top was the stop sign.

Have no fear, Fringelings. I’m a mother of three. I’ve assembled countless Lego sets and performed surgery on multiple Barbies. Not nearly as tricky as all the individual little bags made it seem it would be. And now, a question.

Why has no one made me buy this before today? I love this fucking thing. I honestly couldn’t believe what a great job it did, while leaving the floor dry within seconds. Well worth the $11,000 for a mop. Less 20%, because I remembered the coupon, whee!

Soon I have to go pick up Art Child. But first, I’m going to enjoy my floors while they’re clean and dry.

Possibility: A Pseudo-Lesson on Defensive Living

Crossing a threshold, maybe

Mrs Fringe and Husband were informed a 3 bedroom has opened up in the building. We’re going for it. Again. Sounds good, right?

It may or may not come through. We’ve been this close before a couple of times, and life happened. There’s a little part of me that’s crying. If it really comes through, and we take the apartment, it will cost us money, a lot of work, and acceptance that I’m not leaving New York anytime soon.

As I’m typing this, my little email notification popped up, there’s a new listing in Oahu! Yeah, yeah, I can and do dream. Why would I take this apartment if I know it takes me further away from leaving the city? Because for whatever life hasn’t taught me, I’ve learned a few lessons well. One of them is I don’t know what next year, next month, or even tomorrow will bring. So if there’s an opportunity in front of me now, I need to take it. Get it while you can and all that. And hey, a 3 BR apartment in Manhattan that’s practically affordable–not to be taken lightly. Besides, I made my buddy Mrs Smitholini promise about a million times that when I die, she’ll take my ashes to Hawaii. So eventually, in some form or another, I’ll get there.

I saw a neighbor earlier, she asked me if Big Senile Dog was still alive because she hasn’t heard him. He is, but the truth is when I woke up this morning I thought he wasn’t. As I’ve said before, he always wakes me up, cries until I get out of bed and go to the bathroom, and then he goes back to bed as soon as I start making my coffee. This morning he cried, but then stopped. All was quiet when I was in the bathroom so I went to check on him, and he was all curled up, not snoring, on his doggie-pedic bed. Still alive, but slowing down a little more each day.