High and Dry

When Hurricane Sandy skirted by NYC it was blissfully silent on the street. The howling wind was a comfort compared to honking, jack-hammering, sirens, heavy trucks and buses clanking over utility plates.

I got up, made coffee and tried to go on line. We hadn't lost power but our internet was down and we had no running water. This was a minor inconvenience compared to what many of our fellow New Yorkers were facing. Our old neighborhood near Battery Park was under four feet of water. There were power outages. The subway system was severely compromised by the water. There were evacuations in all five boroughs. New York is a port and surrounded by water.

We watched TV and saw the devastation in other States. I was supposed to have cataract surgery today but my surgeon called me to say it's postponed. I suggested we go to Jeffersonville to see what was happening at our house there. Marty was reluctant, but after listening to traffic reports, calling the parkway police and calling neighbors in our town, we decided to drive up. It was like being in a dream as we cruised uptown, crossed the GW Bridge and had no traffic issues the rest of the way. There were no trees taken out on our property and we had power. Of course, Sandy just skirted the Catskill region.

Please take a moment of silence for all those who lost their lives in this epic storm, and healing thoughts for the thousands whose lives have been severely disrupted.

The Party Finally Ends

My weekend in NYC made me realize I used to be a party animal. I used to work, go to grad school and helped renovate our house. That didn't stop us from going out every Friday and Saturday night. We went for dinner and then out to bars, mainly in the Greenwich Village area. We went dancing. We went to CBGB's, The Village Vanguard and The Cookery. We got home at 5 am and slept until noon. Those were the days.

This past weekend started with a jazz concert at a church on 35th Street. My friend Lucette from Jeffersonville (aka my massage therapist) told me that her husband, Thurman Barker, a jazz percussionist, was playing there with his quartet. The warm-up band played contemporary jazz that had my ears hurting, my body vibrating and threw me into a deep zen state so I could survive the dissonance. Thurman's band was a lot more mellow, and interesting too, because he played about 20 different percussion instruments. The pianist was great and so were the guitarists. It was contemporary jazz in a style I could relate to.

Up early the next morning, we drove to Princeton, NJ for the Ivy League Cross Country Championships. We did a lot of walking and cheering. Columbia, who'd hoped to finish first, came second. All the guys were disappointed, including my son Mark who didn't race well.

We drove back to New York where Hurricane Sandy panic was in full swing. Marty couldn't find a parking spot, the pharmacy was overflowing--you'd think the world was about to end. We had a party to go to in Brooklyn so we changed into party wear and took the subway to Downtown Brooklyn. Our friend's mother was celebrating her 90th birthday. The food was great, we knew most of the guests, and the entertainment was a mentalist. We went to the "after party" at our friend's house and didn't get home until 12:30.

Yoga was at 8:30 Sunday morning. We were having a friend over for dinner so we went to the market and spent 40 minutes trying to push our way through the amazing crowd. We didn't need that much. I have to say it was a party-like atmosphere with real New Yorkers actually smiling about long lines.

We decided to do an old-fashioned Sunday afternoon dinner, just in case the hurricane hit, which of course it didn't because it was still hundreds of miles away. I roasted turkey legs and a breast, made stuffing and a raspberry sauce. We also had asparagus with Hollandaise sauce. Shortly after dinner, while we were relaxing in the front room sipping wine, I became undone. I excused myself and went to bed. This was at 5 pm. I forced myself to get up later to have some ice cream, but even that didn't palliate the morose state I'd fallen into. I was physically, mentally and morally exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep, which I did, for 11 hours.

My party days are over.

Water World

My dreams are filled with water. I live on a raging river that seems to be a water park, a very dangerous one. I seem to own the property, which is in Rhode Island. Water Buffalo cavort in the mud, leaving their prints when they sit on the chaise lounges that dot the slippery slope, when it's not flooded. Ducks, geese, osprey, cranes take wing, but not one flamingo.

I once wrote a story in which I gave birth to a frog. I suspect his progeny are jumping around this liquidy park.

Ironically, I cannot cry. My tear glands have gone dry and all I can do is crumple my face and quiver my lips while water flows from my nose. To my frustration, I carry 20 lbs. of water weight in my body. I'm an enigma of desert dryness and a pond of wetness across my belly and down my arms. 

It's true that I have a country house which has a narrow brook running through the back yard. But even at its height, the river of my dreams flows violently and spills its banks, Noah's charges desperately trying to survive a watery death.

Times Square is Square

It's been a long time since I've been in Times Square. When I moved to New York City in 1978, Times Square was a curious mix of the the seedy, the needy and people from New Jersey. We never hung out there, although we occasionally stood on line for half-price tickets to the theater. We never ate there because we couldn't afford tourist prices. It was a place that served its function, no more.

We were meeting people for dinner at a BBQ restaurant on 44th Street. We stumbled out of the subway into the bright lights and teeming crowds. Disney characters were everywhere, and the pan-handlers, drug dealers and tattoo artists had moved to new locations. I once had a traumatic experience with Goofy at Disneyland in the late '60s. I remember wearing a pink and green miniskirt at the time, so it was probably my fault when Goofy fondled my butt.  As a result of this trauma, I've never been to Disney World. I've never even taken my kids there. Bad mother.

Getting over the shock of arrival in Disney World, we elbowed our way to the restaurant. I'm not a BBQ buff but the food was decent. Everything tastes good with a margarita. Dinner done, most of the crew went to see a musical, leaving us to grab a cab and make it back to the real world of the Upper East Side.

May Last Night's Dream Come True

I had a dream, such a nice dream. Someone called me to say I had to come in for my new job on Monday, to figure out what I'd be doing. Then, I was handed a bag of money by Marty's former boss. Money and a job--yay! I mistakenly thought the bag would be full of $100 bills. What was I thinking? Instead, it was filled with $1 bills and candy. There was maybe a total of $10 and a lot of sucking candy, which I don't like, such as peppermints.

There's zero psychology involved in this dream. I'd love to be able to work full-time. It would mean I'm healthy. Money is always nice, especially coming from left field. Speaking of left field, how 'bout them Yankees?