"Pay attention to your dreams: when you go on a trip, in your dreams you will still be home. Then after you've come home you'll dream of where you were. It's a kind of jet lag of the consciousness." Barbara Kingsolver
At night I wander the city streets, wait for the subway and find myself in a mash-up of many locations as my consciousness overcomes the jet lag. I'm left with this craving which my rational brain know is unreasonable. But there it is....I'm longing to return to the city, pestered by this feeling of unfinished business. I'm sure as time flows onward, I'll readjust. But for now I keep this picture as my desktop background to satisfy my appetite for right angles, straight lines and oppressive concrete.
The first grocery list after moving the first load of stuff into a new place reveals such insights. Often created in fury of distracted activity, the first grocery list is gutteral reaction of priorities and needs. Take for instance this list:
Coffee Soymilk TP Paper towels Wine Sugar Salt
Missing is any vehicle for the salt....just the idea that I MUST HAVE salt: its importance equals coffee and TP. As I fumble with the futon screws and attempt to determine how I fit into this new space, I will ponder the hierarchy of needs. What would be on your first grocery list?
When I first entered graduate school and the Allen lab, the memorable Garcia met me for drinks one afternoon at this semi swanky place in Madison that no longer exists. It was a wonderful experience that helped me feel like part of the lab and there were specific moments I've carried with me that I now reflect upon with an Indian Jones type grin. I distinctly remember him talking about how he loved the city....the continual stream of interesting experiences, the bustle of people, the night lights and flow of energy. At the time my reaction was repulsion at the thought of that type of life. I thought a 'country girl' like me could never adjust or feel comfortable in a big city. How could constant stimulation be healthy? How could the lack of privacy, space and solitude every be a good thing???? I vowed I would never, COULD never live in a big city. It wasn't for me....I would drown in the homosapien sea, go crazy and be sick with longing for forests, stars and horizons. But opportunity called and I choked back my fear and disgust. And now, on my last day in the biggest city, I realize what Garcia was talking about. I get it. And yes, I could live in a big city....at least for a while (and as long as I don't have bedbugs:).
The other day a co-worker was asking about my experiences and my upcoming departure....he asked me a question I initially dismissed, but it tossed and turned around my mind the way questions often do.....
"Did you put down roots here?"
Now I do feel like I did put down roots in Philly last summer, I still feel some connection to the city and at least a few people...but here? In the transparent layer of dust covering the impenetrable cement? In a city where everything has a predetermined place and box to fit into??? Where even chaos is manufactured and structured? If there were soil I could sink my taproot into then maybe I could have put down some roots instead of flitting along the surface of things, dipping in for the occasional adventure.
I'm left singing along with Dolly Parton...."But I never felt right in a garden so different from me. I just longed to be gone....so the garden one day set me free. I hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend, I just let him decide where we'd gooo oo oo. When flower grows wild it can always survive, Wild flowers don't care where they grow."
These last weeks have become the blizzard of my life. As this experience launches into the next, there are moments of introspection and reflections barely glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. Similar to licking any bullion cube of intense experiences, each moment is filled with a multitude of emotion, observations and connections, but the time to communicate them is lacking.
A few of the things though, glow through the continual mental muck......
Gratitude for the people who have opened their minds, hearts and in some cases homes...helping during desperate times and including me in life changing experiences
A new sense of confidence in myself......
And of course, exuberance for the memories of an amazing adventure! It's unrealistic to come away from this summer unchanged. I look forward to coming home...the comfort of familiar faces, to see the horizon again and of course the bliss of reuniting with kindred spirits (yu'all know who you are!). As I decompress, I'll be better equipped to poetically tell the story of these last few weeks.
But for now, I must cope with the conflicting emotions of excitement to be home and sadness to leave the new relationships recently forged in the fire of tension, stress and pressure.
Yes, I've been quiet for a few weeks. There are many new stories milling about in my mind and when I get a few minutes of solitude they will begin to pour forth. For now I will leave you with a few teaser headlines....
"Fear and Loathing in the Bedroom!" (no, it's not what you think....) "Remember when...." "Sultry blues in Harlem" "Re-seeing the city" "Muted experiences"
Tackling the mighty LeHigh river is a wonderful way to counterbalance the stress of the concrete jungle. We gathered early in the morning, a couple of us hungover, and we began the adventure with pouring rain and struggling to get everyone together. We barreled into White Haven, loaded the raft precariously onto the hyundai and as the clouds cleared, entered the roaring rapids for another adventure. Being the prepared woman I am, I had brought many straps to keep to avoid airborne rafting adventures. Last year we used a 4 door sedan to transport the raft and we all stretched our hands out the windows to hold the raft onto the car which was much more challenging.
I'll spare you the complete recollection of Yuengling & J. D. enduced revelry and simply say it was a great time. There was cliff diving, running jokes, jealously from the guided tours who couldn't be as festive as our party raft and rejuvination from being in nature & with great friends. As always, my favorite part of the trip is bellowing the old drinking song.....
I'll drink when I'm ready, Get sober by, and by And if this river don't drown me, it's onward I will roam. Cause I'm a river driver And I'm far away from home.....
Sleep TIGHT....don't let the bed bugs...... We all know this clever little rhyme and have repeated it to small children without a care. Until recently, I thought it was one of those things adults say to make kids giggle. But no, these creatures are real and I recently met them. In the picture you can see their prime number marks where they feasted on my back & side (I should have sucked in instead of poofing out :). Apparently there is a citywide epidemic and this is not an unusual thing. As a matter of fact, it's unusual to have never encountered them. Initially I was incredibly squeamish and this incident just about sent me to the loony bin. As many of you remember, it was a struggle to get ahold of my inner Zena warrior princess. BUT I have biology and a larger brain on my side so I went to war! MOOO HA HA! I am pleased to report today it seems I can pull out of Bugganistan and return to a normal, less frantic life. I now feel more like a New Yorker- like I belong. I have been plagued by the enemy, thought I could never conquer, reached deep inside myself to develop the resolve to persist.
A few things I learned through this strange episode:
B. Bugs are to New Yorkes like Ticks are to Midwesterners
I now know how cow pastures feel- grazed and regularly plundered
I am a resource- like coal, herbaceous plants and sunlight- something to be consumed.
On a beautiful day I took my humble sammich to the park, found an unoccupied table and settled in to evaporate the stress of the day. As I munched along, a few sparrows flew in, curious and hungry. Against better judgment, I threw a crumb to the other side of the table. One of the group quickly nabbed it, cocked its head to the side to look right into my eyes and bounced a bit closer as if to say..."more please". I threw 1, 2, many crumbs, convincing the sparrows to come closer and closer. Eventually one came right under my hands almost within reach of helping itself to my sammich.
I'm not sure what the socially accepted subway etiquette is. I've learned some tricks for how to maneuver into a seat when it becomes available but I'm just not sure when it's acceptable to verbalize certain requests.
Is it impolite to ask someone on the subway to:
"Please remove your armpit from my face" "Could you turn your hips to the side so I don't have a close up of your private bits?" "Kindly stop mushing into me at every stop- muscle contraction is a good thing" "Please close your legs so more than one person can sit on the bench." "Control your purse- just because it isn't a body part doesn't mean it should be a battering ram." "My head is NOT an armrest!" "Stop looking at my feet!"
Do you remember the cartoons where the car would parallel park by jostling the cars on either side of the spot until it finally fit? Remember how that image had you nervous when parallel parking at your driver's license test? And ever since you've had a persistent voice nagging you about how, as you're relaxing in the restaurant enjoying a few bottles of wine, someone is RIGHT THIS MINUTE doing exactly that to your nice new car??? Images of a severely scraped, dented and molested bumper haunting you throughout your meal? Well, fear no longer! There is a solution!!! The Bumper Bully (or Bumper Badger- picture coming soon)! A very clever way to protect your precious car, allowing you to relax while other less capable driver's shove and squeeze themselves into a spot.
Now for the discouragement: Yes, people really do repeatedly bump while parallel parking. While nibbling from the Whole Foods buffet I watched a person spend a full 10 minutes bumping the cars defining the space no less than 4 times each. It was a bit appalling to observe the incompetence and his children learning this 'technique'.
I'm so proud of the neighborhood gang- they understand Darwin! I'm contemplating expanding the discussion and adding a few population biology equations- maybe we can get a nice conversation about genetic theory going on the neighbors wall. Wonder how exponential growth symbols will go over in this neighborhood?
I've heard everything is BIG in NYC....the hair is BIG, the colors are BIG and people are in your face with BIG attitudes. Guessing by this nest on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, even the birds are BIG. I actually don't know what this is.....
I wish I had more exciting, iconic pictures of Coney Island...but alas, the icon is deteriorating. The new wooden boardwalk is a weak bandaid on this relic of a bygone era. There are many creative carnival rides crammed into a narrow strip between the beach and residents. The most fascinating was the wonder wheel pictured above where the compartments slip on rails between the outer and inner ring. We wanted to try it out...but we never saw it make a full, smooth round and at $8/ride the experience didn't seem worth it. It's hard to describe the scene- the old neon lights, battered buildings and attempts at restoration. The best part of the Coney Island experience was the DJ with seamless transitions and great sound system. Coney Island is the adult glorifying and extolling their high school experience as 'the best time of life', reliving the drama and emotionally roiled interactions through the current generation.
Aaah, a Coney Island tradition: challenging your neighbors to an eating contest. Nothing quite says "I Love My Country" like consuming mass quantities. Though when it comes to posturing, smacking antlers and proving fitness I prefer this contest to the more covert games.
Saturday night, my friend and I left the house late…and we should have known the night would be interesting when a rat zipped across his feet while we waited for the subway. We re-surfaced near Chinatown and while the GPS navigator misguided us through crooked streets & past shops in a language quite different from English, we settled into the NY night life seen. Through intuitive ignoring of the GPS, we found the secret crooked alleyway and a line we hoped would lead us into this famous bar. Like good Americans, we qued at the end of the line. Within a few sentences of conversation, the doorman came along the line, focused on my friend and asked, in a short elitist, british voice…
“Are you going to wear that hat inside the club?”
My friend: “I had planned on it.”
English doorman peering down his nose: “Where you from?”
My friend: “Philladelphia. Well, actually just north of there but close enough.”
English doorman, now intrigued: “You gonna take that hat off when you get in the club?”
My friend, in the same cool nonchalant voice: ”I hadn’t planned on it.”
English doorman: “Where you from?”
My Friend: “Philadelphia”
English doorman, grinning: “Okay, let’s go in then.”
As we walked past the 15+people in line, the grumbles started. The man at the door smiled and told my friend he could wear his hat and to have a good time. At no point did they look at me or want to engage my wit and sarcasm. I’m still not sure what happened but it worked!(I suspect it was the Indian Jones hat) We were in, with no cover charge and ready for the experience. Instead of subjecting you my darkly lit bar camera learning curve, I’ll just give you the link to the most awesome bar on earth (above in blue: Apotheke). I have fallen in love with the design, atmosphere and experience this place provides. So take a few moments and look through the pictures, making sure to see the chemistry set chandelier and bathroom sink copper shower head faucet ("Space" tab at the top of their webpage & check out the history of Doyers St. on the "Our Story" tab).
How the cartoon characters felt every time they rode in the elevator. The doors would shut, they'd cockily punch a number and WHAMO they're a puddle on the floor as the elevator shot to the top of the building. Our elevator goes from ground floor to floor 25 in 15 seconds. We all exchange knowing glances as we shake our heads, pop our ears and hoist ourselves out of our shoes like lifting a slinky at the end of its run and attempt a graceful exit from the EXPRESS elevator.
Across from my cubicle is an ancient co-worker everyone tells me he’s 80something (older than god), loves to talk about trains, and (with a nudge nudge, wink wink) just got married. They’ve trained me on the strategy for avoiding him: look busy, avoid eye contact and make sure you LOOK BUSY. Despite the warnings, I’ve decided to listen to him and his stories about a different America, unimaginable to my technology accustomed eyes. Because my cubicle is by a busy thoroughfare, I often get ‘knowing’ looks from passers-by when I’m talking to our wizened co-worker. These looks cause me despair because they convey some kind of comradery of endurance in appeasement. I’m deeply bothered to think about people evading and avoiding me at the end of my life, dreading to hear my experiences, perspectives and opinions. This man asks for nothing but some time in exchange for stories filled with valuable information about experiences that will soon be Hollywood sets and fading pictures.His physical abilities are fading, the neurons have slowed, but the memories are vivid and in need of a home before this home re-enters the life force. The least I can do is listen, process and let him know he is still needed. Interacting with him has me thinking about what I want the end of my life to be, who I want to be and the stories I will tell. What will your end of life be like? What stories do you want to tell?
Thankyou to everyone- You've been my scaffolding! Without your support, contact and updates, well, I would be like this poor lonesome building and just topple right over. P.S. there's scaffolding on the back side of this building as well. If you stare long enough, you can see it shudder in the wind and contemplate throwing a few bricks into the street.
The view from my desk has changed drastically. I guess the neighbors decided the wild, untamed look was too much and they stripped the yard bare of everything but the largest blobs of color and botanical life. Much like the stray cats who stalked through the tall vegetation, I sulk to think of the beauty that's been lost. The blue spiderwort greeting the day and disintegrating in the heat, the strange lilies that had yet to bl00m, the few strands of grass fighting to make progeny among all the other untamed plants. For me, the comfort of witnessing a place allowed to just be...to grow outside the lines, 'unnoticed' and left alone was wonderful. The sparrows, pigeons and blackbirds now enjoy the disturbed yard and we all watch to see the neighbor's vision manifested.
While walking home I encountered a monsterous cockroach, busking near the subway claiming it needed candy, pastries and baked goods. Later, while trying to shake the guilt and anguish caused from having such hunger and desperation flaunted so near to me, I found the beasty pictured here patrolling my walls. All those legs and long antenna are scary but I remember some advice my mom gave me: "when you see these guys in your apartment, you won't have cockroaches because these scary critters are carnivorous...they're favorite dinner- cockroach children." I haven't seen that cockroach round the neighborhood since.
It was a warm Monday evening and I was spending some time reading a book in City Hall Park when several butterflies decided I'd be a good sunning spot. I've never been a butterfly beach before.
While at Brighton Beach, some seaweed washed up and I noticed the air pockets...and popped one, two, all of them. As I suspected, the strange satisfaction from popping small bubbles IS genetic, quite possibly an evolutionary development to help facilitate fast decomposition of aquatic resources on land.
The city, contrary to popular belief, still runs on cash. Contrary to many other cities where I've entered and left with the same $20, I find I rarely use my credit card. I've been in many establishments where only cash is accepted (or rewarded w/exclusion from taxes). Of course, this has its problems seeing as how my bank has only midwestern branches. After finding the closest Whole Foods, they have become my personal ATM. Local, organic food AND cash...Whole Foods is my one stop shop.
It seems to me NYC is one of the few cities where it's acceptable to be alone. Most people cling to their group, directing ALL energy and focus onto each other while allowing all strangers to become fixtures of the background-obstacles to be avoided, dismissed and ignored. I find it easy to slip through this city, in my own world, rarely interacting. It doesn't feel awkward to be by myself. It's as if there's an underlying agreement that in a city saturated with human energy it's acceptable and rare to have moments to yourself. And since I wander far and wide, unlike native residents, I'm always the unknown new person. This actually makes it all easier because the probability of me running into anyone I know, and them wondering why I'm alone, is in the thousandths of a %. It's a curious combination of freedom and lonliness. Or maybe it's maturity that allows me to slip through the social norms w/out care or consideration.
Each day presents new challenges for chemorecognition. The microscopic sensors w/in my nose are continually assaulted shortly after leaving the house....The neighbor has burned toast again, the deli down the street is frying some poor creature, someone urinated in the corner recently, the singed hair smell of overheating subway brakes, the plentiful cologne, BO, perfume aromas, and all those unidentifiable smells... I probably never want to know the identity of or source. But never do I settle into the comforting smells of decomposing leaf litter, sweet fragrance of plant sex or reassuring smells of organic processes. For those I must travel at least 2 hours away from this heavily homosapianed environment. Even the rain has a pungent, lived in smell...
One hot day, while Deniro was sprawled out along the wall, I discovered he is indeed a he. The video below is the only demonstration I've ever seen of altruism from a male cat towards kittens I don't think are his. It's pretty dark but if you look closely to the left of him you will see a kitten chowing on some treats. Watch his reaction and how he tolerates the kittens as if they were his children.
More Kitten Therapy
There are three stray cats who hang out in the awkward space between my apartment building and the yards (yes there are places here with yards!) of houses on the next block. Since moving in, I've come to know these 3 vagabonds about as well as you can know any semi-ferral mammal. I assure you that as the summer progresses, more stories will be added....but first, the background:
As you can see from the pictures, these three are always seen together...a strange thing for ferrel cats. BUT it seems the two tiger stripped cats (Pacino & Deniro) are actually kittens from a previous litter. The black & white cat (whom I'll call Billy after Miss Holliday) has a litter of 4 kittens which I discovered late one night- video & the story coming soon. Although she has 4 little ones in tow, Pacino & Deniro still hang around, glaring jealously from a distance as the kittens partake in a feast whenever they desire. All three linger under the neighbors window (seen in the last picture) for the occasional toss of mysterious food. We've developed a relationship, though their skittishness is difficult to cope with. When I come home and open the windows, they stare hopefully and are attentive to my moves inside the house. Of course, they don't have a TV either so I suppose I'm the best entertainment they have in this dreary vacant, in-between space. I continue to struggle with the dilemma of tossing my own mysterious food from the window: if I start feeding them will they decrease their valuable service of balancing the populations of other, more irritating critters? Am I just participating in the larger problem of ferral animals due to human irresponsibility? Is it really my place to subsidize yet another mammal breeding uncontrollably in a geographic location with such strained resources? Why can't I just naively enjoy the interaction without it becoming a deeper philosophical debate?
The 4 kittens are fat and sassy, taking over the alley way and generally being adorable in their predatory practicing. I'm a bit concerned because I haven't seen Miss Holiday (the black and white) or Pacino in several days. The kittens are following around Deniro (the close up picture w/one white leg).
Kitten Therapy: Video of a practicing predator
Just when I’m starting to loathe the city.....
There are many compensations to tempt me away from my Midwestern comfort zone. For example, I normally head to City Hall Park for lunch as a way to reconnect with greenery & life, but today there was a push cart festival across the street. Being the curious cat that I am, I had to check it out, this little block party. There was a good blues band, the usual jewelry vendors and caricature artists. And then, just as I reached the end of the party…..the Cinnamon Snail. A vegan cart!!! And the selection of desserts! OH MY! I started with the chocolate, mocha cookie crunch doughnut and the cinnamon snail. Instantly I was reveling in culinary bliss! For once, I (or my mom) didn’t have to make the sweet treat! Oh, the luxury of just indulging the sweet tooth with out foresight, planning and cooking! The doughnut was so good I forgot to take a picture :)
Chess….a game formerly for nerds and intellectuals is a spectator sport. Every day, all day, chess games are played in City Hall Park with quiet , intense enthusiasm and dedication. Of course this was a temptation I couldn’t resist and so I coerced another EPA intern to join me in an amateur game of chess. One thing I should point out, is the sex ratio of chess…..when we entered the park, all of the tables and spectators were a diverse group of men. We procured a table, set up my pitifully cheap pieces and quickly drew the predatory and critical observation of numerous skilled players. After a few minutes of observation the unspoken silence barrier between players and observers was broken with people questioning us about whether we were competitively playing. Our awkward responses solicited the help of a fellow EPA person who gets together with other EPA players (all men) and we were quickly re-learning the strategies of the game. While we played, occasional angry, cursing outbursts from the other tables indicated how seriously this endeavor is and how truly out of place we were to simply attempt to remember how to play the game. We played through out game, with much coaching and joking about the quality of the pieces, and hope to join this tradition. Keep checking back for contrasting pictures of my the pathetic pieces and the accepted pieces.
In the absence of a TV, I have jumped ahead in the progression of life to the nursing home experience by purchasing a 750 piece oval puzzle. The selection of cheap puzzles is dismal and I’m dismayed to report my $10 purchase of what is a rather mediocre representation of goldfinches. But seeing as how the most dramatic bird I’ve seen in Brooklyn or NYC is a hybridized pigeon or mutated sparrow, the rendition of goldfinches in full mating colors will have to do. At night I pour a glass of cheap wine, crank the tunes and drift away into a problem with a clear beginning, end and solution….if only I dedicate enough time to staring at it. There is a certain peace that comes when two, then three, then more, pieces fit perfectly together and the picture becomes clear. Puzzle therapy is a real thing and should be prescribed for all graduate students.
