Best Laid Plans

I left for New York City Friday around 3 pm, thinking it would take maybe 4 hours. I was driving against rush hour and weekend traffic, so I'd be okay. What I didn't count on was the horrendous drivers that came into my path. Sure there was volume. But there was also dangerous weaving, drivers crawling in the passing lane at 55 mph, and cars speeding along at 80 mph on the bumper of the car in front. Talk about a white-knuckle ride. The only satisfying thing was that a little blue car that had been particularly annoying had an accident and was removed from the mix. He wasn't hurt but his poor car was badly smashed. Ungraciously, I cheered.

Turbo and I finally arrived around 7:30. Marty came down to rescue us and went to look for parking. 45 minutes later, I left with Turbo to meet him at the river where we sat outside and had much-needed margaritas. Rats the size of cats ran in front of us. Turbo took it in stride. We had a lot of explaining to do about Turbo's roots. Even in the most diverse place in the universe, bouviers are rare.

By 9:30 we were eating Korean take-out in our apartment and watching the Yankee pre-show. I actually stayed up until nearly midnight.

We were due in Yonkers for a loan closing at 11 am the next morning so we bailed out the car and drove to a branch of our local RI bank. The bad news was, the loan amount was wrong and there was nothing we could do about it since bankers call all the shots. We'd figure out something. As we were driving back to NYC, my cell phone rang. More bad news. The reservation we'd made at Le Bernadin for our anniversary dinner was cancelled due to a small fire in the restaurant earlier that morning. There are a zillion restaurants in NYC so we could easily get a reservation somewhere else, but probably not at a 4-star restaurant. Not that night.

Always known for being relentless, I went on line as soon as we got back and procured a reservation at a top eatery, Jean-Georges. We had the prix-fixe menu, which for me included soft-shell crab, asparagus with morel sauce and sea bass. Marty also had the crab, along with sweetbreads and lamb ribs. The food was excellent as expected. Dessert went a bit off the rails. We both had the chocolate course, consisting of four rich morsels on one plate. Had it ended there, we would have been fine. But no, they brought us a complimentary flan with a marzipan Happy Anniversary sign. Apparently they'd overheard our toast. Then they brought out a huge jar filled with marshmallows--I kid you not. They were awful. On our way out, we were handed a small box in a small bag that contained two chocolates. Wretched excess.

We limped back to the apartment, changed, and took Turbo out to the doggie park. Turbo doesn't know he's a dog, and refuses to socialize with other dogs. He happily accepts human interaction, however. Not wanting the evening to end, and still feeling bilious from the marshmallow, we went down the street for a nightcap.

By 9 am the next morning I was running along the river, enjoying the breeze. Doug was coming for dinner so shopping was in store. It was hotter than the hinges of hell so we moved slowly and canceled plans to look for furniture or go to a museum. We had a delicious meal (no marshmallows) moistened by fine liquor in the air-conditioned comfort of our pied-de-terre.

The ride back to Rhode Island was a breeze. I stopped off at Connie's house in Larchmont for a drink and a chat. The rest of the ride was problem-free .

Buying, Selling. Or Trying.

Our Rhode Island house is still on the market. Only the mice seem to be nibbling. We've dropped the price three times. We've only had one offer, and that was a long time ago. On the bright side, my kids can live at home this summer instead of staying at friends' houses. This is a lot more comfortable and a lot less disruptive as they work/interview. It was not my plan for the summer. I enjoy having them around, but it means I have to shop, cook, clean and organize more than I'd hoped.

I'd planned to move to Manhattan and start that life, along with the one in Jeffersonville. Buying, like selling, has been illusive. Tomorrow was to be our closing date. We have the money lined up and a signed contract, but no closing in sight. The seller apparently hasn't sold all his furniture yet, furniture he somehow expected us to buy for $4000. One of the reasons we bought a house was to have a place to put our furniture. Of course, we mainly bought it as an antidote to Manhattan life, fresh air versus Times Square.

In the meantime, I go to yoga class, shop at Dave's and get ice cream at Hilltop. It's an easy life with no traffic and little stress. Tomorrow I'm driving to the apartment, Turbo in tow. He will have his debutante as a city dog this weekend. Saturday is our 27th anniversary, and we plan to have dinner at a restaurant we dined at on our second anniversary. We will do some New Yorky things like shop for petite furniture and perhaps go to a museum. Outdoor cafes will play a big role.

While I'm gone, there's an open house. Hopefully it will generate some interest. Owning two houses for any length of time is not something I had in mind when I set this plan in motion.

I'll take Manhattan.

24 Hours in the Big Apple

I had a follow-up job interview yesterday in NYC so I drove back with Marty on Sunday. Harry came with us since he's not seen the new apartment and doesn't have much going on at the moment save for sleeping and hanging out with friends.

Eating was the main focus of our stay. We went out to an Italian restaurant near where we live and managed to have a relatively light meal. We went back to the apartment and watched the basketball playoffs. The next morning, after Marty left for work, we went to a nearby diner for breakfast. It's not likely I'll go back there because the coffee was sub-par, although the bacon was superb. After watching World Cup soccer, napping, shopping and my interview, we went for gyros at George's. Heavy and delicious is the best way to describe these gyro's. We'd planned to go to Gyro II across from Madison Square Garden for gyros but wanted to get out of Dodge before rush hour. One of these days, we'll have to have a taste-off. Oh, and Mark joined us for ice coffee and stayed at the apartment to have dinner with Marty.

Have I ever told you how much I hate the Connecticut Turnpike? I hate the Jersey Turnpike, too, but I'm trapped in Connecticut more often. Once we move out of Rhode Island, we'll be able to avoid this clogged roadway, unless we go to Block Island. We can always sail there from Long Island, so we may be able to avoid Connecticut forever.

Lack of traffic will be the thing I miss most about Rhode Island beside the handful of friends I've made here. I went out with Harry this morning to do errands and we breezed around like we were the last people on earth. The natives grouse about the traffic here but since they rarely leave the state, they have no idea what traffic is. I think Jeffersonville will be like Rhode Island, slow and sleepy.

Sour Dreams

I've never been a heavy sleeper but lately I've been waking up remembering bizarre dreams which I often return to upon going back to sleep. The overwhelming sensation I have in these dreams is frustration. I will analyze this later.

The Travel Dream is the number one vehicle for my mental meanderings. Last week I found myself in Israel visiting Marty's family where I was inexplicably in charge of their donkey. This was a very bad donkey who kept escaping, much to my relief and chagrin. For some reason, I was also in charge of all the children who also challenged my patience with their constant demands for food and entertainment. Wasn't a donkey enough? The relatives, whom I've never met, were equally annoying. The old uncle, who's been dead for years, sat propped up in an armchair, stuffed and wearing his best suit. The aunt kept wishing me Merry Christmas. In the adventure part of the dream, I got locked out of the building only to find myself in a very rough part of the city where I was assaulted by thieves. I had this dream several times in two weeks. The only pleasant aspect was my ability to speak Spanish with the cook who made me platters of huevos revueltos for the young hungry hordes.

Last night, I piled into an old car with my parents and siblings (one of whom was my daughter Mariel) and took off on a trip to Canada. The first night we stayed in a crappy motel. My parents were replaced by friends whom I won't mention because they were so annoying. Again, I was charged with caring for children while I tried to cook a gourmet dinner using skillets made of pastry. No one was happy in this dream. We would never get to Canada where we were renting a cottage for a week. I woke up after losing all my charges on the NYC subway and realizing I'd forgotten half my possessions, including my eyeglasses, in the motel. It was after 6 so I decided to get up. There was no way I wanted to return to that dream.

Why all the frustration? My life is smooth as silk at the moment. I have few responsibilities gnawing at my days. Is Turbo the donkey? Are my friends, family and children really that annoying?

I suppose it's better to have sour dreams than sour days. My days aren't all sweet but there are no donkeys, no hungry people with picky appetites and few travel nightmares. May it stay that way.