a little red hen

Miscellany from the Slower Lane

And then, the next message from my body:  a tooth had to be removed.  No pain, only new space and the promise of a "cantilevered" replacement by my excellent dentist.  Now that was a word that brought back memories of places I'd seen in the 1960s.

Influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright, architects favored this in homes I saw in New Mexico when I lived there.  Los Alamos had a number of cantilevered balconies over living rooms.

I try to imagine the interior of my mouth with a connection to Wright's famous Fallingwater in Pennsylvania.  There's a misty memory of a visit to it shortly after it was built.  Though I wonder if this is actual memory or the result of seeing many photos, reading descriptions.   

Anyway, those blue-green eggs seem cantilevered here.  There are 12 of them in a bowl in my dentist's kitchen.  Laid by his very own chickens.  How come? In response to my question about what was okay to eat that night, he said something soft.  "Eggs," Ron added, "We have one or two." 

Neil our dentist is also Ron's nephew, lives near his office in Princeton, New Jersey.  "Eggs...I'll give you some."  And that is how I carefully carried back to Manhattan, one dozen freshly laid eggs, scrambled three.  Neil felt more accomplished, I sensed, for moving along the produce than removing my tooth.

Two days later, the cast came off my hand.  I could knit again with two fingers on left hand; the black band is a Velcro tape.  There was great temptation to remove it to knit and type more easily.  A mistake, the hand therapist told me.  She also made a splint to use when I went outside to protect myself in public.  Subway and bus travel, take-out delivery bikes, pedestrian life is pretty dicey these days as reported in this this Sunday's New York Times.

I find myself not wanting to go much of anywhere.  But I had been looking forward to the Take Back the Night March tonight at Barnard College, know how important it is for the wider community of women to join in--my community.  The synchronicity of Ron--who walks more easily daily--also experiencing new limits has an impact too.  Being in our seventies is a change from our sixties.

I needed to develop better balance and lose a little weight, I've started working with a trainer who is a neighbor.  The gym is just one building away from mine but it's hard to get motivated to do the work in between our weekly sessions.  Before my accident, I'd begun visiting the treadmill, got over some of my reluctance to engage with it.  Even though my infirmity is very minor, I feel a shift in self-perception.  Who am I as my body ages?

Visitors from Baltimore and Beyond

Judy Lombardi called one night from Baltimore, "We're coming in this weekend.  Can we see you Sunday brunch?  My friend Heidi from London--I've told you about her--I'd like to bring along, maybe her kids will be with her.  Talk to Carol about people she wants to invite."

Talking with Carol I learn that a couple she knows are making a move to New York similar to ours twelve years ago.  Except he's already retired, spouse still working.

Sunday morning, Judy on cell phone.  "In Soho, on the way.  Where should we get food?"  Judy and Carol had never been to Zabar's, definitely the place.  Always a treat to have Judy in the kitchen.  I remember her making spaghetti and sauce at our house in Baltimore.  The tomatoes used were ones she and Ron grew--twenty-eight plants?--in the backyard.

Heidi brought the cerise-colored tulips behind Judy's head and her two children.  I thought they were going to be little, but was wrong.  They were amazingly mature post-teens.   Because she used to do work about HIV/AIDS, Heidi was interested in the Condom Amulets.  I showed them the ones still with me and not lounging on the wall at Knitty City.  Gave the three of them New York City's 2007 condoms.  I have to move theses along because they are dated; the 2008 model has a musical video

Carol is a dedicated bird-watcher and as she looked out our window was rewarded by a visit from a sparrow hawk who enjoys the plentiful community of pidgeons in the neighborhood.  She has been a longtime vigiler in Baltimore with Women in Black, a worldwide peace network.  We spoke about our frustration, how we were once in the minority.  But even with the majority of Americans  believing the U.S. should be out of Iraq nothing changes the administration's position.

Susan and Jamie, the recent NYC arrivals, brought a delicious flan she had made.  One of my favorite desserts.  We talked about how joining The Transition Network and one of its peer groups might be a useful way to get integrated into the City.  As she began to look at Clara Parkes' The Knitter's Book of Yarn sitting on the coffee table, we found a pattern we both liked.  "Baby Soft Cardigan" is the one I'd like to make for Zoe in Portland from bright green yarn Ron has spun.

All in all  a perfect afternoon for us semi-homebounds and covered all the bases of our concerns.  I told Judy how her advice to get a Canon digital camera like hers (SD850) has been a fine addtion to my life in images.  Ron even spoke Yiddish with Heidi who  originally migrated to England from Germany.  Her children, also fluent in German, could understand him but were surprised by the relationship of the languages.

The Vagina Monologues and MACBETH

Lisa Daehlin, the exceptional knitter/crocheter/singer, and I were the over-twenty-somethings at last Saturday night's "The Vagina Monologues" at Columbia University.  Though 2008 marks the tenth anniversary of Eve Ensler's "organized response against violence against women," it was a first-time for each of us.

We both were impressed by how much has changed for college students.  The auditorium, on the second of three nights, was mostly women plus a representative number of men.  We joined their enthusiasm, were touched by the openness about their concerns. Lisa was an undergraduate twenty years ago-- nothing like this in Minneapolis, her home base.  And we know what a desert it was in the 1950s, my era.

Original monologues were a first at this year's presentation.  Performed with great fervor, they were less "polished" than the VM script itself and very powerful.  The six performers were talking for themselves about eating disorder, about gender identity.  Very funny one about visiting a therapist.  The only review online is HERE from an undergrad magazine at Columbia.  None in "The Spectator," semi-official daily emanating from the School of Journalism.  Because Barnard College is the source?  I've always been puzzled by the relationship of Columbia to this women's college.

At intermission I talked with two Barnard women at a table in the lobby to promote this year's "Take Back the Night" events in April.  That energy began in 1976 in Belgium with marches through dark streets by women who wanted to feel safer in the public space.  These were happening more generally throughout the U.S. in the 1980s.  I'll have to dig up a photo from one in Baltimore--and that red tee-shirt.  Currently it is college campuses that keep the flame alive on this issue-- as crucial as ever.  I'd like to see this year's efforts draw in the community around Columbia, my community--a concept that's always a challenge.

Oh yes, Macbeth with Patrick Stewart.  Ron and I saw that the next day at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.  Talk about culture disjuncture!  Again, it was via another that we happened to be there.  A friend could not attend, asked if we'd buy her tickets.  Okay--and who was Patrick Stewart?  Do I hear a gasp from readers younger?  We were very busy in the day of "Star Trek."  Seeing clients at night, raising kids by day.  All the pyrotechnics that worked for last year's "The Coast of Utopia", Tom Stoppard trilogy, were mostly annoying for me in this production.

Flashing light shows?  We had not done discos either; amazing how culturally disadvantaged we can feel.  [Aside:  This is why much on TV, stuff in the entertainment section of NY Times does not speak to us pre-boomers.]  My very least engaged moment, enjoyed by Ron and NY Times, was this one.  Stewart walks to refrigerator (Macbeth reimagined as 1950s Russia, see review above), takes out plate, slices bread and deli meat (symbolic?), makes sandwich and eats it while speaking.  Somewhere in Second Act. 

Patrick Stewart is a fine actor; we could feel that beyond the distractions.  I would love to see him in something more about the play, less about the production.  We came back to ourselves with a Middle Eastern meal at a modest place on Atlantic Avenue--Bedouin Tent, no website.

 

One Toe in Another City

My first visit to Portland, Oregon, I was alone, had gone to help out when my daughter and her spouse moved there.  That was ten years ago. Both the city and my view of it have changed.

Though widely touted for its mass transit system, my only connection with that has been trolley rides with our grandson.  For him, a ride on trains or buses are special; his everyday travel is by car.  It appears you have to live in the right spot for the system to work well.  I recall long, long waits at bus stops when traveling from Rachel's apartment.  As a New Yorker, I'm spoiled by our mass transit system. 

Did we know then about Powell's, The City of Books?  Odd we did not but it was a distance from their place.  Somehow I'm sure my son-in-law, the once-librarian, knew but his work was in the opposite direction.  Opened in 1971 by Walter Powell, a newbie to book-selling, in the warehouse building to the left (at night), it was situated in the neighborhood of a disappearing beer-brewing industry.

Now discoverd by us and the rest of America, Powell's has branches all around Portland and is known internationally.  More of its history is on this site of the union that organized its employees back in 1998.  It is a complex, not pretty story from a city without a union tradition. 

Before they bought a house in the southeast, they had another apartment downtown near the Portland Art Museum, which impressed me with its lack of pretension.  Over the decade, however, it became grander, brought in high-profile exhibitions with costly tickets.  Glitz happens--and with more speed all the time.  That's certainly the case in New York.

One growth area that would be wonderful to import to Manhattan is the middle-range  restaurant.  Portland has become a mecca for young chefs.  Last summer we had dinner at Nutshell, a new vegetarian place in the northeast, Alberta--a neighborhood in flux.  I have never had veggies and grains prepared with so much care.  Aside from an excess of salt, yes, salt choices, it was a fabulous and unpretentious meal.

This trip I longed to take home pastry from  Pearl Bakery, a short walk from Powell's.   We discovered this very small place maybe eight years ago.  Then it was a singular good-coffee spot in the early development of the "Pearl District."  Now the Pearl is filled with glamorous high-rises--and cranes putting up more.

Rachel surprised us by saying, though she bought their bread where she lives, that this was her first visit.  They have that has a few tables, serve excellent sandwiches, the three of us lunched there.  One of Portland's most appealing characteristics is how open people usually are.  Another time we shared a table here with a man who was glad to tell us about local challenges for businesses, "Taxes too high; companies are moving to Seatttle."

Oh! is the name of his new company producing "sexy healthy heels,"  made in Brazil.  He's a great salesman and I had high hopes.  But these high heels would not work for me; you can check them out for yourself here.

Only ones that tie or have Velcro closures will make my feet happy, so I am the owner of a blue shoes by Keen.  Rachel swears by them, they're locally produced and very popular in Portland. 

My new shoes look similar to my granddaughter Roxie's latest.  Maybe that's the answer for old lady comfort:  design shoes like the little kids wear!

Tooling Around Queens

Yes, we are very Manhattan centric, parochial big city dwellers who travel mostly within the Big Apple's borders  This year though,   the borough of Queens has become a regular destination with Roxie's arrival last January.  (Picture from a couple of months ago when I squatted to photograph on her level and fell over!  But isn't it a cute photo?)

As we strolled Roxie past the Kew Gardens movie house (first-run features, no less), we bumped into one of Ron's weaving classmates.  We responded to her invitation to stop by later and were treated to a glass of wine in her large apartment with its glamorous 1920s lobby.

Proof of how provincial I am, my first thought was that this grand and elegant lobby resembled ones I'd seen on the upper west side's Riverside Drive and West End Avenue.  But Queens, who knew?

When it was time to move on to dinner, we drove along Steninway Street in Astoria.  I was hoping to see an Egyptian restaurant that I'd read about in the book, Crossing the Boulevard.  Nothing looked quite right, the name escaped me.  We reached the end of Steinway with an Italian restaurant on the corner.

You need to know that my least favorite place to eat anywhere is an unknown Italian restaurant.  But it was late, we'd try this tiny place.  Valverde with six tables had terrific food!  Ron felt kind of smug since he is alway ready to go into an Italian place; I have a low tolerance around most tomato sauces.    Great service, good al dente pasta, ricotta cheesecake to die for.  Grownup restaurant.  Read the reviews in CHOWHOUND, a foodie blog.  Be prepared for full range of comments--thoughtful to beyond cranky--very New York.

Reading Blogging in Paris has made me more conscious about meanings behind common expressions.  Not that I often use "tooling around" to describe poking about here and there.  At Google, of course, I discovered "Take Our Word for It."  Etymological questions are dealt with beneath the sign of a moving typewriter (indicating that curiosity about language may be going the way of the...but let's not go there).  Travel in a vehicle in the early 19th century by driving a team of horses is their connection for the verb "tool."  Guess that's what we were doing. 

Usually we drive to Queens but every now and then it seems a good idea "to train."  Here's an accurate representation of evening rush hour on the LIRR, according to Wikipedia, "busiest commuter railroad in North America."  Lucky us, we got seats with two daily travelers.

When Ron told them we had retired to New York, the man next to me became apoplectic.  He first refused to believe it, then allowed that it might be possible for New York to be preferable to our former location--Baltimore.   We'd found the true provincial New Yorker who grudgingly traveled to "the City" (how Manhattan is referred to by longtime residents of the outer boroughs) for his job, believed he had deprived his now-grown child by raising him in Queens.  I imagine him at work the next day, "Listen, I met this insane old couple on the train..."

An Unexpected Family Day

We were concerned that Roxie and her parents would get caught in long delays as they travelled  out of New York on Christmas Eve.  So it was quite a surprise to get a call this morning from Leanne that their flight had been cancelled by bad weather in the midwest.   

Making the best of it, they decided to take advantage of a clear, bright day by coming in to see the sights.

We met up for lunch at Ollie's Sichauan on West 42nd Street at Ninth Avenue.  On the trip downtown, I saw for the first time several walls of mosaic murals in the 8th Avenue subway at 42nd.  In writing this post, I learned its perfect title--Losing My Marbles.  Artist Lisa Dinhofer created it in 2003.  The link has a full length photo of this wall, one of three.  The online site, "SubwayArtGuide," is an illustrated catalog of 210 art works--mostly underground. Roxie would love the colors, clap her hands and probably try to eat them as she's doing here with the bamboo steam basket from our shrimp dumplings. 

It was a treat to be with her another time; it will be mid-January till we are all back in New York.  And then she will be one year old.