Party on my doorstep

I rolled out of bed this morning, intent on being productive.  List of errands in my pocket, I walked out of my building and was immediately greeted by a street fair.  What? Hooray! I had heard about the street fair season in New York, but had never seen any signs or mentions of my neighborhood in the local press.  I immediately aborted my original mission and plunged in.  It was a simple fair, one that lined 1st Avenue for several blocks, abundant in food stalls, hawkers of miracle gadgets, ethnic artifacts, and clothing.  

And fried oreos.  I was intrigued, especially since I am a child of Minnesota, and the Minnesota State Fair is infamous for having every sort of food imaginable fried on a stick.  The vendor sold them in bags of 6 and 12, but I finagled for just one.  Yummy.

Satisfied and feeling a wee bit guilty, I continued my stroll and was immediately accosted by the world's best saleswoman.  A Chinese woman stepped out from the tent, took my arm, and started massaging my shoulders.  To my right was a little city of massage chairs, people with faces hidden in headrests, and an army of Asian massage workers.  I succumbed. 

Hard to beat the blissful massage, but in the end my favorite vendor was a guy selling t-shirts for kids and adults that he and his wife had designed. The young boy in the photos is his son. I loved the shirts immediately-- it was just the sort of quirky NYC/Brooklyn design that would suit my little niece, Baby Bird. Yes, the second photo has a shirt with a friendly alien next to the Flatiron building. I bought two shirts.  If you'd like one (or two or three) too, check out http://www.kataplin.com/

A string of happy moments

New York provides small delights even when one is in the midst of a very intense work week.  I'm in the middle of a huge project, and was at work until midnight last night (don't worry -- today I wised up and delegated about half of my plate to my team).  At 10 past midnight, I was amused to step onto the train and discover that it was packed with people.  The train was as full as morning rush hour.  It was nice to have company.

Alas, I had boarded the wrong train.  It was going the right direction, but that particular one didn't stop at my street.  I disembarked to pick up the right train, and while waiting saw the new cover of People magazine at a little shop.  Sandra Bullock adopted a baby!  I love Sandra B, and immediately pulled out my wallet.  The price of the magazine: $4.50.  The contents of my wallet: $4.25.  I was crestfallen.  The shopkeeper immediately insisted that I take the magazine.  "We are friends", he said.  "You take the magazine, and tomorrow you can give me the rest".  So sweet, especially given that he had never seen me before. I resolved to honor his request, even though I am almost never in that particular station.  I devoured the magazine on the way home.

I left work at a reasonable hour today to meet my long-time friend J.  We met in Chinese class at university, and see each other every few (or several) years.  He was traveling through the city for work.  It was so wonderful to see him, and to essentially pick up the conversation right where we left it four years ago. 

I was in a great mood as we parted, and decided to walk towards the subway station that housed the generous shopkeeper.  Along the way I encountered a very long line, about 50 people long.

What on earth?  Here's what they were waiting for:

Unfortunately I wasn't hungry for savory food, but the tacos smelled divine.  Another time.  I did encounter a Mr Softee truck several blocks later, one of a huge army of ice cream trucks that seem to invade the city whenever it gets past a certain temperature.  I am a sucker for vanilla softserve ice cream, and I couldn't resist.  Plus the vendor called me sweetheart.  Delicious all around.

Further down on 53rd Street, I heard rushing water.  A fountain, and- surprise!- a segment of the Berlin Wall were tucked into a little cove.  I was in Berlin a couple years ago, and loved it, so it was wonderful to see this reminder of the city.

I continued walking to the metro station, and upon my descent found the little store.  The shopkeeper wasn't there, but two other men were, and they smiled at my offering of the quarter and the story for why I was handing them 25 cents.  While I was waiting for my last train, I realized that two of my favorite musicians, playing under a banner that said "Lankandia Cissoko (African Criot, Kora Player)" were playing a few steps down.  I leaned against a pillar and let several trains go by as the rippling, dreamy music washed over me.

Small treasures are to be found on even the most challenging of days.

Spring!

This past weekend was the most beautiful weather I can ever remember for the Easter holiday.  Absolutely perfect temperatures... a perfect warm coolness, or a cool warmness.

The tree-lined streets on the Upper East Side were decked out in poofy white clouds, otherwise known as Callery Pear trees.  I've been longing for days like this, during the darkest and coldest days of winter.  I am a little stunned that my wishes have come true, finally.



When I returned home from my sister's place on Sunday, I had a Very Long List of Things I Must Absolutely Do.  I had every intention of Doing them.  But the sun had different ideas, and within minutes of my return home its tendrils gently loosened my fingers from my pen and turned off my computer and paused my iTunes.  I floated out of the apartment and down the stairs on the sun rays, and eventually found myself on the street, walking in the direction of the park, immersed in the beauty of the season.

Carl Schulz Park is not nearly as grand as its neighbor to the west.  It has its own special merits, though, and is worthy of the neighborhood.  A special treat is the view of the East River:

The playground was full of little ones, and had wonderful chalk drawings of every type:

I took a nap in the grass for an hour or so, read a bit, and wrote in my journal. I felt at peace.  I needed this time more than I had realized.

Walking home, I passed a charming cafe:

It lived up to its name, with a very welcoming place for dogs as part of its outdoor seating:

Annie Dillard wrote that "how we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives." 

And also: "Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you."

A fine afternoon, indeed.

It's the Small Things: Laundry

When I first moved to NY, my friend M told me three things:
1. Buy a pair of Wellingtons (rain boots)
2. Get your groceries delivered via Fresh Direct
3. Send out your laundry.

As a corporate refugee who's recently moved to the non-profit world, I resisted all three pieces of advice.  Too expensive.

Then I realized that the washers and dryers in my apartment (which are actually in the building next door, in the basement) were out of commission, and I had no choice but to patronize one of the many "Wash and Fold" establishments in my neighborhood.  That, or wash my clothes in the bathtub.  I'd never tried anything like it, and in fact don't even remember seeing this type of service in any other city I've lived in.

I was hooked after the very first time.

For years, I've spent precious weekend or evening hours monitoring laundry loads.  I now gather everything up, drop it off around the corner, and pick it up the next day.  Everything is perfectly laundered, fresh and neatly folded.  Average weekly price: $20. 

It wasn't something I had originally budgeted for, but I've made room for it.  Yes, it saves me time.  But there is also something sweet (and perhaps sad) about feeling taken care of-- I work long hours and live alone, and it's so nice to have someone just do something for me so I don't have to think about it. 

I guess the next step would be Fresh Direct and maid service.  But I'll try to hold out.  For now.

Worker watching

People watching is an almost unavoidable pastime in a city, especially New York.  Every day, every minute, an astonishing array of faces, colors, expressions, fashions, sizes.  One looks, and upon being caught either sheepishly smiles or quickly shifts the gaze.

There is a variation of people watching that was unknown to me until I moved here.  I think of it as worker watching.  Towering peoplehives stand side by side on street after street.  M/honey manufactured in virtually every cell.

From my office window, I can see construction workers renovating a space.  The African-American business man rarely looks up from his computer.  The young workers sitting at tables and going through files must work at a law firm.  A few floors above me, I can make out a dental chair.  Thank goodness I am not on a higher floor to witness that particular scene.

The Vegan & The Carnivore

I giggle every time I walk across this street.  Bistro Le Steak, immediate neighbor to Candle Cafe, one of the best-known vegan restaurants in the city.

I can't help but wonder if the proprietors and patrons are equally amused.  What happens when warm weather arrives and there is outdoor seating?  Food fight?

Mr Crankypants & The High Lord

I have lived with central heating for much of my life, so when I first encountered the two radiators in my apartment, I found them rather charming.

I don't use that word anymore. No, when I think of them the descriptors that come to mind are irritable and jealous. The radiators are no longer inanimate objects. They are alive. I've assigned them names: Mr. Crankypants inhabits my living room, and The High Lord of the Temple of Steam holds court in my bedroom.

Many days they perform their duties as they are supposed to, simmering merrily away like a kettle heating water for my evening cup of tea.

And then there are the other times. Mr. Crankypants owns a baseball bat, and at inopportune moments- usually when I am on the phone- energetically starts batting practice. Like a young child, he can't handle me paying attention to someone else and immediately acts up when I most need quiet.

*CLANG!*CLANG!*CLANG!*CLANG!*

The High Lord of the Temple of Steam also owns a bat, but his particular specialty is mimicking Yellowstone geyser sounds. He loves it best when I awake, startled, in the middle of the night.

WHOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I keenly look forward to spring.