I Heart NY

Growing up in Manhattan, the closest I ever got to Brooklyn was looking at it from the other side of the East River. The part of Brooklyn I could see was Greenpoint (or as my Pop Cunningham would pronounce it in his old New York-ese, “Greenpernt.”) Never set foot in any of the other boroughs either. Of course, my traveling options were somewhat limited since we moved away when I was eight (why COULDN’T I take the subway alone? I remember whining. Being a kid was such a bummer!)

I am delighted that both of my daughters are residents of Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn (and Sheridan lived for a time in Astoria, Queens). They have given me opportunities and reasons to explore other parts of the city I love. Bed-Stuy in particular is an amazing neighborhood, with many blocks of beautiful brownstones, most of which have been carved up into small apartments. Rose’s place boasts a fenced in backyard (a rarity there); Julie has an incredible view of lower Manhattan from her bedroom window. It is a rapidly changing area, with modest bodegas next door to swanky wine bars, and I’m not sure how I feel about that—the rents are steadily climbing, forcing many working class families out. Still, NYC remains a beautiful melting pot of cultures, 9 million New Yorkers, all co-existing in a mere 305 square miles.

I recently spent a weekend with my girls, and as always was struck by how at home I felt among the throngs of people and fearless pigeons. I am no longer the child who wore white gloves to go shopping at Best’s department store and have lunch at Schrafft’s. But I feel the same thrill I did back then (including the thrill of crossing the street against the light, a very popular New York sport. The taxis actually speed up and aim at you!)

This visit we spent a lot of time on the “A” and “C” trains, going to an exhibit at the Whitney Museum, enjoying a fabulous pasta dinner at San Marzano in the East Village. A highlight was a Broadway matinee (Julie’s first). We saw Waitress, a wonderful musical. Every performer in the show was scary-talented, and I was reminded that I would never (ever) have made it big on the Great White Way in my acting days.  

Rose and Jules live apart, but they see each other very often, and are the closest of friends. That, of course, does my heart a world of good. I marvel at their casual competence, navigating such a daunting metropolitan area, and know that this experience will be invaluable, wherever they end up living.

Me and my girls on the town!

The little girl looking across the East River is gone forever. In her place is a suburban woman who takes trees and grass for granted, who will most likely never be a city dweller again. But my heart will always belong to loud, messy, exciting New York City, and I’m so grateful it was my first home. 

My Mug Runneth Over

I have a tendency to break things. I have broken countless glasses over the years, and more than a few plates. This is because I am a clumsy and totally disinterested dish washer. I also break necklaces and lose earrings regularly, because I am a slapdash and indifferent jewelry wearer. In short, you should not trust me with any delicate item you own (I know I certainly don’t!)

And what I don’t break, I lose. I’m sure my sister regrets that I ended up with our Nana’s china statues of figures from The Mikado (Nana taught music and often staged operettas with her New York city students. These were a retirement gift from them). As of today, I have one little statue left, and one of the hands has broken off.

THE Mug

So why do I still have the coffee mug I received from Steve on my first Mother’s Day, 32 years ago? Not only do I still have it, but it has nary a chip, and the design on the mug is as colorful as it was on Day One. It has never gone missing. It is my mug of choice for my daily four huge doses of caffeine. Whenever I was pregnant and off the java, my “mom” mug was filled with hot cocoa (and I always thought I had broken the coffee habit at last—until right after each delivery. I’d ask for coffee almost before I’d ask to hold the baby!)

When our Aiden came along, he was enthralled by my mug. The motif (the word MOM spelled out in many different sizes and colors) is an eye-catcher, and a great way to practice an early word. Aiden used to have breakfast sitting on my lap, and would point gleefully to each MOM, vocalizing every one (“Momomomomomomom!”). So now, when I sip my hot beverages, I savor happy memories of my grandson too.

I know it’s just a thing, and someday it is bound to break or get lost. But after 32 years it holds the record for longest-used item in the house, and I hate to think of the day when it will be no more. Oh, I have a cabinet filled with other mugs, souvenirs of trips to Jamaica and Guatemala, a gift from PJ’s time in Germany. A mug from Think Coffee, where Julie is a barista. And I would be sorry to wave goodbye to any of them. But the Mom mug is special. It has survived over three decades with me, and that is no small feat. Protecting it requires me to handle it with care, and that is good for me.

At a Paris cafe--nice cup, but no comparison!

My mug is at my side as I write this. The cheery red and blue and green lettering reminds me that I AM a “mom”, five times over, a fact which still amazes me. And while I know I define myself in other ways too, my favorite role in life is right there. Printed on an ordinary, extraordinary coffee mug.

On Your Mark, Get Set...

In November 2006, I decided to take a major writing challenge. November is National Novel Writing Month, and at that point I thought writing a novel in 30 days would be a snap. After all, I wasn’t sleeping more than a few hours a night, and my brain was basically revved up all the time anyway. So I began on November 1^st, having planned absolutely nothing in the way of plot, setting or characters. This was to be a total stream-of-consciousness activity (as was my whole life back then. Who needs thoughtful reflection? Just slows you down!)

And so, Stoppage was conceived. For the next eight days I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I wasn’t constrained by spelling or grammar—that could all be fixed later. My first chapter was really dark and creepy, featuring a morose pair of misfits. Stephen King I ain’t, so I quickly realized I couldn’t keep going in that vein for a whole book. Therefore, my second chapter was very upbeat. And so it went. Every other chapter was a total downer, followed by a chapter-long ray of sunshine. It was almost as if the author was manic depressive! Or something! Eventually, the characters began invading each other’s chapters, just as my moods were overlapping to an alarming degree. 

The novel in question

A bipolar poem of mine, published in an anthology

On Day 8 I wrapped up my odd little tale. I could barely stand to re-read what I’d written each day. It was a kind of mental health self-portrait, and I never did like to have my picture taken. I showed Stoppage to just a few people. Steve and the kids were very charitable, and actually found things to praise about the book. In the end, though, I let it all go, literally shelving a very disturbing week and a half of my life.

Ten years later, I’m finally ready to challenge myself again: 30 essays/blog posts in the next 30 days. Why? It just feels right to push past the limits I have set for myself (after a flurry early on, my blogging pace has slowed to two entries a month.) My mental state is stable, so I don’t fear what I will try to produce this month. I have enlisted the support of family and friends, including my writers group. I’ve told enough people about this project that I would feel really stupid not to follow through.

I made sure there is an extra pound or three of coffee in the pantry, and I’m trying to get ahead on some church stuff so I can carve out an uninterrupted hour or two each day. Will I make it to November 30^th without quitting? Will the resulting essays be halfway decent? Only time will tell!

I invite you to join me on my literary adventure. Read, comment if you are so inclined. In turn, I stand ready to support you with YOUR next big plan. As long as there is life, there are endless possibilities for us all. Come on, let’s take the plunge together!