Central Park

Oh Sanity, I Barely Know You and I Miss You Already

So. I’ve got a love/hate relationship with this city of mine. There’s a 91,000 word manuscript sitting and waiting for me to decide if I’m going to query it or not, and in many ways it’s my love letter to New York; the dreams it feeds and feeds on, the dreamers (not to be confused with yet including Dreamers) who so often go unnoticed but are the framework. While I hated the unique stressors that have gone hand in hand with raising kids here; the ludicrous public school process, not having the ability to say, “go play in the yard!,” having to lug toys and snacks to the park every day when they were small, it also meant Husband and I found amazing school opportunities we wouldn’t have otherwise explored, spent enough time in museums that each had favorite paintings from the Met, a favorite dinosaur (given names) in the Museum of Natural History, knew the best way to have fun in the Guggenheim spiral without annoying everyone else, and that we spent thousands of those days playing in Central Park, Riverside Park, Morningside Park, Washington Square, etc–not a terrible backyard.

I’m here, I live here, at this point I don’t expect to live anywhere else. In all honesty, the increasing frequency and intensity of hurricanes have tarnished my lifelong beach house fantasy. Still, the constant energy of the city can be…a lot. I still dream about a little house in the middle of nowhere. And a garden. What I have–and yes, I know what a luxury it is–is a little terrace, shared with my neighbor, split by a flimsy partial wall thing. It isn’t big or fancy, but it’s my peace. I’m out there every morning, drink my coffee in my rescued-from-a-local-nail-salon-just-before-it-went-into-the-maw-of-a-garbage-truck chair, and watch the sun rise. I pop out throughout the day and evening with my tea to think about what I’m writing or just breathe. In the spring, I plant–and all summer, I close my eyes, smell the lilies and tomatoes, and imagine I’m in that middle of nowhere.

The other day we got a notice to clear off the terraces on this side of the building, they’ll be doing repair work. All. Summer. Long. No terrace access. I get it. It’s necessary, safety, blah blah blah, we’re lucky this is being done, imagine if it weren’t…. Today Man Child is going to help get it cleared off, most of my plants will go up the block to my mother-in-law’s terrace. Not terrible, right? I’m being ridiculous. Dramatic. But the thought of not having that access for the next three months takes my breath away. I wonder if anyone will notice if I drag my mug, my chair, and my tomatoes to a hidden corner in Central Park.

PTSD of Snow

Everything on mute.

It’s well documented that I hate winter but really, it’s just the cold. I never minded the snow, always figured if we had to have sub freezing temperatures, might as well have the beauty and quiet that comes with snowfall. There’s always something a little magical about snow, not to mention the throwback to being a kid, hoping for a snow day. And let’s be honest, if you live in the city, it’s likely you skip the bad part of snow–shoveling. (Unless you have a car and park on the street, in which case you’re screwed.) Sure if you have a brownstone the steps and path need to be shoveled, but it seems like most hire that work out. It has to be a LOT of snow to interfere with public transportation or cause any real inconvenience. Say, for example, 26.8 inches, like we saw yesterday. Even with that, we were warned well in advance (though we didn’t expect as much as we got, it isn’t like we were expecting a dusting), and it was a Saturday, no school anyway and many people off from work.

Look what we get in exchange, clean and lovely scenery, cool ice patterns, etc.

All good, right? Biggest concern dodging the icicles and avalanches of snow sliding off the rooftops in the days after the storm, as they melt just enough to slide off and hit the ground–or the nearest head. Except not anymore. Every step on the snow, every glimpse of an ice patch…makes me think of the ice patches I won’t see, how hard those snow piles are after sitting on the curb for a couple of days–or weeks–and flash back to my face hitting the ice last spring, when I fractured my everything. Ridiculous. I’m not young, but I should be too young to be literally worried about busting a hip. Should be.

Maybe I should just stay in and write. Winter has traditionally been my most productive time in terms of fiction. I think it’s the excessive heat pumping through the radiators, puts me in just the right stupor to lose myself in my imagination. Except. Recently every time I open the damned file intending to do more than read the few pages I’ve got, I flash on the mountain of rejection letters I’ve accumulated over the years for various projects. Dear Fringie, Intriguing story, great characters, thanks so much but no thanks and good luck.

Maybe I’ll just kick back on the couch and watch Netflix with Art Child. Mmm hmm. Remember the avalanches I mentioned? Sometimes they happen and you hear them during the storms, from winds blowing and drifts settling. They make quite the sound on impact, and mostly it’s just background noise, though sometimes it can be startling, depending on the size of the chunk of snow, and how far it has to fall. A few years back Art Child and I were home during a storm, and there was a particularly loud snow-muffled thud. It wasn’t snow. Someone jumped from the roof. Despite all the years and storms where those thumps were just snow and ice, now I jump.

Nervous staying in, nervous going out. I took the girl and the camera and went to the park this morning. I’m too damned old to be scared of boogeymen, especially when they’re decked out like Frosty.

Click on the photos if you’d like to see them full-size. Happy Blizzard, Fringelings!

: Perspective

: Such a pretty block, in every season

: Trees and shadows, the snow provides an excellent canvas

: The Pool is one of my favorite spots in Central Park, a little (manmade) pond

: The Pool was frozen today, though not enough to step on

: Waterfall feeding from the pool

: At the edge of the pool, where the ice began

: Poor swings, ignored in favor of sledding today

: I swear the mayor said something about keeping the fire hydrants cleared of snow.

: Who needs steps? Guess they’ll sled down to work on Monday.

: Remember when I said you’re screwed if you park on the street?

: Not even a blizzard gets between New Yorkers and their restaurant deliveries.

Walk in the Park–leave your blues, take in the greens

It was such a glorious weekend here in NY, going into Central Park felt mandatory. I missed the spring blooms this year, but there’s plenty of beauty in the greenery. Unless you go deep into The Ramble, you really can’t forget you’re in the middle of the city for more than five minutes. People, the detritus of people, shadows of buildings and artfully placed pipes remind you. I don’t know about anyone else, but I kind of love that. Makes a statement. Not sure what that statement is, but I know it’s there. Yesterday, though, I gathered the girl, the dog, and the cane, and focused more on the greens. We went to The Pool, a manmade pond on the north end of the park.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Another set.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Ok, yes, I took a lot of photos yesterday.

I like this one

I confess, Art Child isn’t the only one obsessed with trees.

Memorial Day is one of 3 days each year when it’s legal to barbecue in the park. The scent of charcoal and charred meat was palpable.

One of my favorite spots in the park, you can almost pretend you’re in Louisiana.

I would like this bench for my terrace.

Happy start of summer, Fringelings. Soon it will be beach days!

Downturn on the Upswing

Lucky day.

Yesterday I woke up and smiled. 43°F felt like spring compared to the single digits I’ve been waking up to. I was exfoliating my pits trying to scrape the last bits of deodorant on, when I remembered I had a brand new stick in the closet. The sun made an appearance and stayed out all day. I walked a dog through Central Park, and enough ice had melted so the paths were wet but relatively clear. We learned that Art Child was accepted to a high school she feels good about, as do we.

This morning when I woke, it didn’t feel as warm. Sunrise came and left behind a gray sky. Disappointing, but still not bad. The mounds of snow at curbs and corners are disgustingly black and slick, but they’re melting. I took Art Child to school, and I slipped. Luckily, I broke the fall with my face.

Oh yes. I went down hard and fast, didn’t have a chance to try to break the fall with my hands. See the black chunks that look like slabs of asphalt? That’s snow in Manhattan after a couple of weeks, and I slipped on a very similar looking mound. My entire left side was covered in black muck and who knows what else. I could just cry thinking about how I’m going to get this crap out of my beautiful sheepskin fingerless gloves. I opted to go home and shower before heading to the urgent care place for X-rays. A good thing, because it also gave me a chance to stop shaking.

My face is bruised and hurts, but not broken. My arm is sore and swollen, but probably not broken. The urgent care didn’t have the right machine (?) to X-ray my pelvis, if my lower half gets significantly worse I’m supposed to head to the ER for more X-rays.

After loading up on ibuprofen and acetaminophen, I figured I’d blog about my little adventure. Turns out I’ve used up all the storage available with a free domain. Upgrade time, we’re now at mrsfringe.com instead of mrsfringe.wordpress.com–this should also mean if you saw ads before, you won’t now, and you should automatically be redirected if you’re visiting from a link or bookmark.

I think this is now me.

Fuck spring, I want summer.

Wah Waah Waaah

Little Incredibly Dumb Dog knows what to do with a snow day.

The Northeast was expecting the blizzard of the year last night, with predictions of epic snow accumulations. The NYC DOE announced public schools would be closed for today, and the city effectively rolled up the sidewalks at 11pm Monday night. A big deal. A very big deal. Buses were taken off the streets, the trains were shut down. I took these shots yesterday around 2PM, just as the storm was picking up.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

My Facebook feed was filled with photos of empty grocery shelves and menus detailing who would be cooking what, whose schools had been canceled when, most people moaning about the snow, harrowing tales of 3 hour commutes home during rush hour, slipping and inching down the roads.

As it turned out, the storm hooked east, and we didn’t get slammed here in Manhattan. I think 6.5 inches in Central Park. Now my Facebook feed is filled with moaning and groaning about the inaccuracy of the weather predictions, how the mayor was paranoid and jumped the gun, inconvenience, no school, no work, blah blah blah. First of all, it’s weather. Regardless of how sophisticated the satellites have become, they’re called weather predictions for a reason. Second, a lot of areas were slammed–not far from each other, friends on Long Island were hit hard, some in NJ were, some weren’t. And those up North of us are still being pelted. Third, so what?

Yeah, I said it. How many of us are so important (outside of emergency workers, snow removal, hospital workers) that the world collapses and people die if we don’t get to work? How many truly believe that one snow day is going to make or break the children’s test scores? Yes, it was the wrong call in terms of how much snow we actually got here in the city. But what if they didn’t announce school closings yesterday, and we got as much snow as expected, and it was announced this morning? Well, then everyone would be complaining about the late notice, many scrambling to figure out child care. If they didn’t tell everyone to get off the roads last night? Everyone would be complaining about how long it’s taking the city to clean the streets, not to mention the inevitable accidents and cars stuck on the highways.

It was odd for the subways to be shut down, it’s true. But my first thought was for the homeless for whom the subway tunnels and trains provide a relatively warm and dry place to be during bad weather. Six inches of snow and thirty mile per hour winds has to feel like storm enough when you don’t have somewhere safe to shelter you.

Are we so entitled that inconvenience is prioritized over safety? Is it really so terrible to have a bonus day off? Many won’t be paid for this day off, it’s true, and that sucks. Many more will work extra hard, and/or extra hours to catch up later in the week. But, oh, wasn’t it delicious to sleep an extra hour or two today? To go play in the park, or cook something special, or play a game with the kiddos, or just stay warm and dry? We are the only “advanced” nation that doesn’t guarantee its citizens paid vacation time and/or paid holidays. Huffing and puffing about the inconvenience of weather seems to fit right in with that philosophy. If you don’t have a hill to trudge up backwards in the snow pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps on the way to work, find one! I don’t think anywhere in the US embodies that spirit more than New York. The show must go on, after all.

I walked through Central Park earlier, watched others walking their dogs, sledding, taking photos, and smiling. I didn’t hear one person complain about how miserable it was to have the day off, even though snow flurries started up again while I was there. And I saw plenty still at work: in small businesses, police cars, driving buses, building maintenance and doormen, running the snow plows, shoveling the walkways for brownstone owners, and yes, even delivering groceries. I really hope whoever couldn’t be bothered to wait on line with the rest of us peasants yesterday are giving big tips today.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

And watching Art Child listen to Stevie Ray Vaughan with Husband this morning? Priceless.

Have Yourself a Merry

He came, he saw…

and he left behind more food than this fridge has hosted in months. I’ve been keeping the refrigerator sparse due to its now sensitive nature. Trying to coax it along for another year or so before I break down and replace it, but in the meantime, to minimize losses I try not to keep much in there at a time. Man Child came home last week, took one look, went shopping and got to cooking. And baking. Because he was leaving to do some traveling and meet up with Miss Music for the holidays, he wanted to be sure Art Child was covered for Christmas. She now has approximately 8001 assorted, homemade cookies to share with Santa.

There’s good and bad to having a large span of years between the first child and the last. The bad, I’ve kind of run out of steam for all the little extra touches during the holiday season. The good, the oldest doesn’t want the youngest to miss out, so he picks up the slack.

Having him here was great. A friend of his also came to stay for a couple of the days, so fun! I’m glad I’m no longer one of them, but the passion and enthusiasm of young adults can’t be beat, and we had a great political discussion one of the evenings. That’s the thing about allowing your teens to go to boarding school, there are fewer opportunities for these moments. So yes, even now that Man Child is in his senior year of college, I can honestly say I treasure these times.

He left, and Nerd Child arrived. I’m hoping he’ll play his guitar for me a few times while he’s home–another one of those experiences I wish I had more of–but it’s unlikely. And that is my fault, I get too excited. Really. I always tell myself I’m going to be blasé and just nod and smile, but then I burst with the fabulousness of it all, asking him to play another and another, and why doesn’t he sing, too? Mmm hmm. My enthusiasm is received like a zit exploding mid-performance.

Art Child and I got a little tree this year. Barely more than a table top. On the stand, it just about reaches my rib cage. It feels right. Low key. I haven’t done one thing to decorate the tree or the apartment. Honestly, I’m still too busy feeling the relief of the extra space.

Do I have to consider myself behind on the holiday shopping if I’m never done at this point? I say no. Besides, I’m still busy angsting (took 4 tries to type angsting, spell check is insisting I mean to write ingesting) over what I am or am not doing with writing and submitting, checking email 43 times an hour to see if I’ve gotten any responses.

I did drag myself away from the screen yesterday, spent some time in the park with Art Child to check out the bare trees and the holiday booths by Columbus Circle.

I’ll stick with tea, thanks.

I never knew horses could have curly hair. Fur?

The park, tony Columbus Circle, the artisan booths, older buildings behind, to me this shot caught NY.

Art Child and I both loved this tree.

At long last, I now have a favorite park bench.

Wanna Tour NY with Mrs Fringe?

Where’ve I been? Playing tour guide, of course. I mentioned a while back one of my longtime reefing friends was coming to visit. I’ll call her Bella, because she’s a beautiful person. She came, she stayed, we walked, we rode the subways, and I laughed a whole lot. And of course, lots of eating. On a tight budget, many of the more traditional attractions are off limits, but there is still plenty of NY flavor to be experienced. Gave her a New Yorker’s NY experience, complete with 5am wake ups and a high school open house. Whaddya mean that isn’t a real tour? It’s city life once you’re beyond clubs and late night bars when you aren’t one of the wealthy and fabulous.

I didn’t take photos of all the food consumed, but I’ll just say between me and one of our other reefing friends–I’ll call him Blue, because blue is my favorite color and he’s currently sporting a fabulous steel blue mohawk, Bella was able to experience a broad variety of international flavors unavailable in her southern town. Yah, yah she says it’s a city, but population < 30,000 = a town to me. The first day was all about the food–and a little walk through Central Park.

Fall flora

And the fauna

Look! An authentic city rat. Aw, c’mon, he’s just a little one.

The second, I took her to the Met–after introducing her to the subway, Metrocards, and a city bus. The Met is my favorite museum, and the admission price is a recommended donation. In other words, you can give what’s comfortable and still enjoy the full experience. Sort of. The Metropolitan is huge, I don’t recommend trying to cover the whole thing in a day. Better to choose a couple of exhibits and take them in fully. Which we did.

Beautiful art to see and study no matter where your eyes land.

Prints and copies are lovely, but there is NOTHING like seeing the real deal in front of you.

After the museum, I had to introduce her to a dirty water hot dog and a knish in front of the steps to the museum. I don’t care what your budget is or isn’t, what the weather is or isn’t, these are integral NY experiences.

oh, the pigeons!

Bella was able to explore further with Blue, traveling by subway to the outer boroughs, experiencing a smaller gallery exhibit, and even catching the LIRR to meet with another friend and see Oyster Bay. We had a small gathering of fishy friends at my place over the weekend, such a treat to laugh in person–and of course, show off my new tank. Our Long Island friend even brought me a cup of live sand from one of her incredible reef tanks to “seed” mine. Yes, we’re nerds and proud of it.

Yesterday was her last day in the city, so I took her back to Central Park and headed uptown, then to St John the Divine–one of the most breathtaking sights of the city, in my opinion, and certainly my favorite church. Bonus, it’s another “recommended” donation, you pay what you can to enter.

How is scaffolding erected with signposts and trees already there? Like this, of course.

Outside the cathedral, I never tire of this one.

I posted exterior shots here on the blog several months back, now I’ll take you inside. In addition to the incredible architecture, stained glass, community classes offered, and private school (love the way you hear children singing and giggling from below as you walk through the cathedral), it is used as a gallery, and there are usually a few temporary exhibits on display in addition to permanent ones.

One more exhibit I want to revisit before it leaves–and take Art Child and Blue with me–It’s a collaborative effort of interfaith and international artists (along with some other photos of the Cathedral mixed in):

Bella had only one request for me this visit, she’d heard me mention, maybe seen photos, of the rice pudding I make. No problem. It takes hours to cook, but it isn’t labor intensive. I made it on Sunday while she and Blue were out sightseeing, since they planned to come back here for dinner. Of course, my oven has been acting up, and when I dished out the pudding, more than half my arborio grains were, well, crunchy. Oops. We were still able to share and enjoy my favorite part of the new apartment. Sunrise or nighttime, clear or cloudy, it’s a hell of a view.

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.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

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.

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!

Walking Through Fringeland, Part II

Ready to walk the plank?

Poor Cinderella, has to find another way around.

Edge of reservoir

New maintenance truck driver?

Someone left a stash.

And someone else found it.

I wonder if a fairy is under there.

Hello there.

Why yes, there are actual ball fields in Central Park.

Crocuses peaking out.

I love this little bridge.

The northern end of the park gets steeper, more hills and stairs to navigate.

I’ll take a park facing 3 BR with a study, please.

Peace ahead.

Above were just a few of the hidden paths, nooks and crannies. Central Park is 843 acres, there’re a lot of them. The set below are from just outside the park, on my way home.