conversation with a stranger

she purposefully walks into the familiar bodega. walks to the back. and draws a solitary beer from its pack. she approaches the counter. and as brevin rings the purchase, he knowingly slides it into a paper bag - the neck of the bottle barely peeking from the rim. and, with his gentle smile, he nods slightly to the bottle opener lingering by the magazine rack.

with her brown bag in toe, she pulls her way up the 6 flights of her building. opens the door that has illegally remained ajar for at least a year. she steps onto the roof.

and she breathes.

perched on the edge of the rooftop, there are no barriers to protect her from the streets below. the rooftop across the way. the neighbors nestled in their own homes.

and the cityscape is . . . magnificent. brilliant.

as if a child has been playing with blocks and haphazhardly plopped them here and there. gathering various shapes to create dynamic and contrasting building tops to scrape the sky. stringing christmas lights for color.

"how am i going to do this?" she wonders aloud.

"do what?" she asks in return.

"honestly . . . all of it . . . " there's so much to her question she's not sure how to answer.

she crosses her legs, sitting indian style. pensively looks across the skyline and continues by answering ambiguously, " . . . be here. or not be here. . . . i want to be in it and out of it at the same time . . . the only other time i've felt that way was with an abusive boyfriend . . ."

i don't know what it is

wandering the sprawling 51st street stop it's hard not to notice its distinct smell. it's nothing that i can pinpoint. nor am i sure that i would want to. but i know that between the time the subway doors slide open and smash shut, it wafts into the subway cars. permeating the air. and if i were struck deaf and blind, i would still know that stop when riding on the 6, E, or V.

today, that gave me an odd sense of comfort.

not so funny

i ventured north this weekend. an impromtu trip to the berkshires. winding country roads took me to north adams, massachusetts. a small but picturesque town.

in my short visit, i encountered some of the students at MCLA and wound up watching part of the college's open mic night. don't ask me how that happened. there were the usual boys with guitars singing about the girls they've, er, loved. but there was one young man who stood before his classmates and gave a shot at comedy. . . with nary a laugh.

it was pretty painful.

when he finished his set, he walked off the stage and headed straight for the door. don and i were seated right outside, and the aspiring comedian mumbled to us, "i gotta get outta here while i still have at least a LITTLE dignity."

don and i looked at each other with pity splashed across our faces. don is one of the most genuine and kindest people i know. and before i knew it, don was once again instinctively exemplifying it as he sprung from his seat and shot out the door to follow the student comic. as i eavesdropped, i overheard don telling him something like, "you know, it takes a lot of courage to do that. and it takes a while to figure out all the timing and your audience and stuff. you're just learning. don't let one night get you down."

don's also terribly modest, so he didn't completely understand why i thought so much of that gesture.

but i insisted on telling him. . .

sometimes those gestures are the things people remember more than what prompted them in the first place.

he may very well have changed that boy's night. or life.

um no thank you

you know you're looking pretty rough when the strange man seated next to you on the subway offers you a swig off of his water bottle.

sometimes you do forget

i often get annoyed with the fire station across the street. it could be the 2am fire alarms, and inevitable 2am sirens. it could be that they clean their saws promptly at 9am and 5:30pm everyday. it could be that some leer at me for far too long when i'm walking by doing anything from getting groceries to going out for the night. or it could be the tourists blocking the sidewalks pausing to take endless pictures of the authentic fdny.

and some of those guys have this obnoxious bravado.

...until...

this morning. when i look out my window. and see the men lined up in front of their truck. in full dress. with bowed heads. saying a prayer. for the many they've lost. and as they lift their heads, one of the men wipes a handkerchief across his eyes. and exhales. receiving a few pats of comfort from his fellow firemen.

and yada yada yada . . .

today i actually used the word "seinfeldian" in a sentence. and meant it. and it was accepted. in the context of a heart-to-heart conversation with my roommate, it was accepted without hesitation or question.

tick tock

it's just completely demoralizing . . .

if you only knew . . .

there are a zillion things that happen between the time you walk out your door to the time you walk back in it.

most of them don't get mentioned here.

some moments have grown to feel not necessarily mundane, but they might. they might if i put them down on paper. if i remembered them all in every minute detail. instead of as sketches in my own memory. things that i can recall in that grandfatherly way . . . "i remember this ONE time . . ." carrying a distant smile with the excitability of only those who have the image of a place and time etched in their brains.

and others . . . others are mine. times that i don't think i could dare share. for fear of tarnishing them. huge moments that were defining of this place and the move i made to live in this place. representative of all that i'd hope this would be. moments that were beautiful. and silly. and astonishing. and, honestly, i don't think my words - or the english language in general - could do those moments justice.

and others . . . others are just secret.

falling in love all over again

siiigh . . . holiday weekends . . . those who can, flee. those who cannot, relish the relative quiet to which the city succumbs. save for the influx of tourists. but they often fail to drift into the neighborhoods that are what make this our home. afterall, we do not actually LIVE in the middle of times square, the empire state building, or macy's. in fact, we do our damnedest to stay as far away from them as possible.

so on weekends such as this, when i don't hear incessant chatter and honking on the streets. and there is simply a crowd rather than the impenetrable mass that usually accompanies most shopping districts and parks and bars. and it is absolutely beautiful out. well. i feel as though i've been given a vacation right here at home.

and when the weather is as gorgeous as it has been, it goes without saying that it will be a great day. because in new york, so much relies on the weather. because you're IN it. you have to walk and carry and climb in it. you have to work with it. so when it's shitty out. you're likely gonna be feeling the burn. and you want to just curl up into a little ball and get blown away. but if it's sunny and it's "just right," you feel like you've never been so lucky. you're walking with it. you feel like you're living a dream. you can see it in everyone else too.

walking down the street yesterday a ragged looking man was approaching from the opposite direction. with a cat on a leash. perched on top of his head. now i've seen a man with a large bird perched on his shoulder sitting on the subway. and i've even seen a cat on a leash once when i was at central park. but i believe this is the first time i've seen this particular configuration. and as the man strutted passed me, i couldn't help but wonder how he and the cat decided upon that arrangement.

i cut through the park today - as i often do - and suddenly heard a boombox cut on. and very formal big band-ish sounding music blaring. i turned my head. and an older gentleman was placing a hand puppet on his right hand. and began singing to the tape being played on the boombox. screw the mystique of ventriloquism. he moved the puppet's mouth as well as his own. and passionately sang: "OH! on a beautiful day like toDAY . . ." i couldn't help but smile. and noticed that after he - and the puppet - finished their song, he simply packed up his gear. and left.

as usual, it was only a few feet ahead - within earshot even - that i found more performers. 3 guitars, 1 harmonica, and 1 recorder/flute performed rousing, but abbreviated, renditions of classic songs like "Wild Night" and "The Weight" (aka "Take A Load Off Fanny"). all the while, a man with a boombox sat directly to their right blasting other rock hits by bands like Rush and um Phil Collins. i'm constantly reminded that in washington square park there are no rules.

and as i walked through the other end of the park, a couple of guys started hollering out: "hey! hey sunshine! hey! yeah! sunshine! beautiful! hey! sunshine!" i walked on. i let myself assume that, like me, they were observing the day.

huh . . . even as i'm writing this. suddenly. a small make-shift marching band has stomped by chanting . . . something. though i'm not sure what.

but i'm telling you. i think it's the weather.

never never jam today

it's pretty extraordinary how many elderly people there are living on their own in the city. they live in the same apartments they've had for 40-plus years. run their own errands. maintain more active lives than most people their age do. i guess because they have to. or because the level of activity this city can require - the walking, the climbing of stairs, the carrying of heavy loads while doing the aforementioned walking and climbing - increases their ability or inclination to maintain their activity as they grow older. they also tend to be sharp. witty. social. maybe that's also because of their day-to-day interactions. i don't know.

lorraine is 97. she lives in the same apartment that she and her late husband lived in for their entire married lives. she now lives in the apartment with a dog named alex. everyday she wakes up at around 11am. steadying herself with her cane, she slowly but purposefully makes her way down the street to jack's for coffee. she sits with a coffee and scone and good company. and she talks of everything from her life experiences to her crush on jack. good-humored. fascinating. sharp as a tac. she has no children of her own. but she certainly has family here in the 'hood.

lorraine is exceptional. even by new york standards.

today i went to one of my local diners, joe jr's. i took a seat at the counter directly in front of the door. and just as my food was being served, a stranger on the street opened the door to assist an elderly woman as she shuffled inside. the woman used a cane to hobble around as she inspected each available stool, all the while mumbling disruptively that she was looking for a "strong" one. she finally settled on one to the right of a middle-aged man at the end of the counter perpendicular to me. she continued to babble with question after question about the stools. and . . . "is this skim milk in my coffee? is this butter with my toast? do you have margarine? oh you don't? well. i can't have butter. what's this other stuff?" the man next to her had become a surrogate son and caretaker in a matter of minutes and explained that the other packets were jelly. she asked him, "what's the brand?" he responded, "kraft." upon hearing this, she hollered out, "do you have marmalade? i want marmalade. i need marmalade. not jelly." she continued to blather on about marmalade until the busy but accommodating staff put the marmalade on the counter in front her. The woman's new and helpful companion called attention to it by proclaiming, "there ya go!" the woman, looking surprised and pleased, picked it up. realizing her nimble fingers couldn't tackle the small packets, she passed them to the kind man on her left. he obliged in opening them. and went a step further by spreading the marmalade gently across her toast as he continued to listen amiably to her chatter.

as i paid my bill and stood to leave, the two were enjoying a late breakfast and conversation together.

though strangers mere minutes before, her need for patience and marmalade and his willingness to offer both helped bring these two together if only for one meal.