Trying to see the blessing for the trees

We have been in New York for 2 1/2 years.  Basing our time here on Cameron's expected date of high school graduation as June 2016 we are exactly half way through our adventure here.  Time has flown by and stood stagnant all at the same time.

Fear not, I am not going to blither on about how blessed we have been or how I've grown from this experience (although both are true). In June during a period of feeling particularly overwhelmed I told Jeff and Cameron that if I had not found one job by December I would no doubt vote for a retreat back home to Colorado where the cost of living and employment opportunities would be more abundant.  Well... here it is and I am still working 65 hours per week between the two jobs to keep ourselves solvent. Somehow time has marched on and turning around seems almost impossible both financially and emotionally. 

In early October Jeff flew back to Colorado and emptied our storage locker into a U-Haul truck and drove it  back East.  Having our things (boxes of photos, china, children's keepsakes, camping equipment, etc.) tangible again has had a huge calming affect.  Instead of feeling like half of my life was across the country I have it at my fingertips.  Last weekend we drove to the locker in Connecticut and brought back our Christmas decorations to the apartment in the city.  It sounds small, but just having the family keepsakes with me makes me feel more grounded. 

Turkey retrieved from storage locker.



For two years Cameron has participated in our church's annual pie baking for a local charitable organization.  The first year she was invited by a friend and she told me about the wonderful community she had discovered, last year I was working at "un-named retailer" and I had to work, and this year I requested the time off and was finally able to participate in what is now our family church community.  Tonight as I rolled pie dough with both new and old friends I realized how far we'd come and yet still how far I needed to go to make our New York City dream a reality.
Looking back on some of my first blogs from the fall of 2011 and I see how far we have come.  Honestly that first Christmas here felt like such a failure.  Although we want to believe that the Christmas season is more than the buying and the bows, I'm afraid my experience confirmed that for me without the financial means to "do Christmas" I felt like I had not provided for my family. I've had two jobs since January 2012, so we have kept our heads above water and enjoyed a livable household income, but I am still working too many hours for me to be much more than an observer in Jeff and Cameron's life on the Upper West Side. 

On Thursday we will venture out into the fore casted wind and cold to see our third Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade just blocks away from our wonderful duplex apartment.  We have been invited to share a feast with friends in an amazing townhouse.  And we will wear new clothes and bring food and wine to share.  We are blessed.  We are the picture of the American dream and yet I feel it is still just out of my reach. 

Not sure what this says about me.

Dog Days in the City

My  brother, Clinton, was visiting in August.  He is both a dog person and an early bird, so he and our dog, Oliver, quickly bonded over early morning coffee and newpapers.  Clinton is also a smoker so he would go out to the stoop in the morning for a smoke.  This evolved into him taking Oliver out for an early morning walk.  What Clinton discovered has been a blessing for Oliver and a pain in the butt for me.

Before 9 a.m. Central Park allows dogs in the park off leash.  We live half a block from the park. Clinton and Oliver, enjoying an early morning smoke and walk, discovered that in a five minute stroll from our apartment there is a dog jamboree going on every morning around 8 a.m. at The Hill (a wide grassy open space at the top of a hill overlooking the city).  I would estimate on any weekday morning there are 20 dogs and on the weekends there are 35 to 40. You get a wide assortments of breeds and muts, as well as scruffy and well groomed, just rolled out of bed, owners all congregating to let their furry friends socialize.

 

 

Just a side story - for several days Clinton came home to tell me about a single gal and her dog, Biscuit, who he and Oliver had befriended.  After Clinton left, I showed up at the park with Oliver.  I saw a very attractive women in her early 40's there with her dog Biscuit.  She saw me with Oliver.  I never saw her again.  I think she had assumed that Clinton was a single guy who had chattered her up.  Suddenly Clinton is gone and another woman (me) shows up with the dog.  To this day I have never seen the woman or Biscuit at the park.  I think Clinton left a broken heart on The Hill.

There are so many personalities there.  Dishevelled Columbia students with their rescue dogs, burly black men with their pit bulls named Tiffany and Diamond, elderly Jewish women with their toy poodles, childless women with their "babies" Edward Ruban and Timothy, retired men with their cocker spaniels and collies, and gay men with their miniature greyhounds and labs.  This is just an example of my dog park and is not meant to suggest that all Columbia students rescue dogs or all women longing for a baby name their dog after the child that they hope for. 

They say that people look like their dogs.  Our beloved Oliver is mix of Jack Russell Terrier and Shih Tzu. His hair is white and wirey, and his  belly is pink and bald.  Hmm... I think in this case, Jeff and I would agree and deny that he looks like a combination of both of us.

We have lived in this apartment for just over a year.  We have had a dog since February.  And since February we have lived in ignorant bliss about the dog social hour in the neighborhood.  But now that we know it's there, and Oliver definitely knows it's there, not taking him seems cruel.  Since Clinton left, there was one morning that I did not take Oliver to the park.  I  had taken him out of his crate around 6 a.m. to use his piddle pad, but I did not wake up for the walk.  When I did drag myself upstaris to begin my day I was greeted with a whole role of paper towels that had been on the bathroom floor shredded across the living room. I think he was being not so subtle about his disapproval about me sleeping in.  Telling him that Clinton is the morning person, not me, seems useless.  Pandora has been let out of the box.

Ride at Your Own Risk

I work at un-named retailor a mile and a half from my apartment.  The M-7 bus literally stops in front of my apartment building, but with all the stops and starts and the nanny's with their charges and the seniors with their walkers (and dont' even get me started with the wheelchairs) the ride can take 20 to 25 minutes.  If I ride my bike it takes 15 minutes easy.  The problem is fighting the taxis, delivery trucks, messenger bikes, and pedestrians. 

Without getting too detailed, let me explain the bike route.  The most obvious route would be to take the Columbus Avenue bike lane from 108 to 83rd, but much to popular belief, Manhattan is not flat. The road from 108 to 93rd is very hilly with a lot of major uphill battles.  Remember, I am on my way to work. Showing up perspiring, with my hair plastered to my head with sweat is not ideal.  Central Park West has the flattest terrain, but the bike lane is only going south (perfect for riding home, but not getting there).  This is my preferred route, but going against traffic is against the law and some bicyclist will go balistic on you for riding in the wrong direction. 

Once a month I go into work to do an update of the store with new merchandising.  We arrive at 6:30 a.m.  It would seem that at 6:00 a.m. going the wrong direction in a bike lane would not be an issue, but you would be surprised.  One morning I was riding against traffic and the bicyclist coming towards me said in a very cheery voice, "Good morning, Salmon."  I wasn't sure what he had said.  The second month I came across the same guy on a Sunday morning at 6:15 a.m. "Good morning, Salmon,."  I was trying to figure out why he was calling me "Salmon".  Then it struck me - salmon swim upstream.  I appreciated his humor much more than I appreciate the insane, self-appointed bike lane police who cuss you out.  And no, I'm not exaggerating.

TAXIS STOPPING IN BIKE LANES




The other night I was riding a few blocks up the Columbus Avenue bike route heading home.  There is a grocery store on 91st and Columbus so I was riding the wrong direction on the downtown path.  Most of the cyclists I passed were delivery messengers who regulary go whatever direction gets them to their destination fastest, so they don't say anything, but this one guy caught me at a stop light.  He started screaming at me, "You are going the f#$@ wrong direction.  What the f*^%$ do you think you are doing.  Get off the f^%&# path."  (you get the idea).  I honestly thought of getting out my cell phone and calling the police telling them I was being assaulted, but the light changed and I was able to peddle away from his tirade.  It's really hard to shake off a madman screaming and cussing in your face, but I get cussed out at least once a week for my direction choice.   Don't think that I am alone riding in the wrong direction.  I see law breakers riding towards me all the time when I am in the right, but needless to say I don't say a word to them, because I understand their fear of riding with the motor traffic with no skinny white line to set a boundry.

DELIVERY TRUCK BLOCKING BIKE LANE FORCING CYCLIST TO RIDE IN TRAFFIC LANE


 

On the days that I do ride down Central Park West with traffic and go without the safety of the bike lane line to keep me safe I come across all sorts of obstacles.  The biggest object is the double parked delivery truck.  That forces me into the fast lane with all the other street traffic racing down the road. Another hidden danger is the fear of a driver who has just parked on the curb opening his door, so that you are suddenly confronted with a wide open door blocking your way.  I've heard of bicylcists going crashing into the door and over their handlebars, a term in New York called being 'doored', but I've never had the encounter myself  (fingers crossed).

I WAS ABOUT TO GET A GREAT PHOTO OF THIS WOMAN RIDING NEAR LINCOLN CENTER, BUT SHE ABORTED HER MISSION AND JOINED THE PEDESTRIANS BECAUSE THE TRAFFIC WAS SO HEAVY 

Last summer I didn't have a helmet or bicycle lights.  I have since added a helmet and a front and rearlight to my bike.  Forget reflectors, you need battery operated lights in the front and back so that both drivers and other bicyclists can see you blinking in the distance.  I must admit that I don't always wear my helmet to work because, as I said before, I am trying to get to work looking pulled together, but I always wear one at night when I ride home.

 

October will come and, with it, cold weather.  In a way, it offers a sense of relief not having the option to ride the bike, because to say it's dangerous is in no way an exaggeration,  But on an afternoon when I'm running late switching gears from one job to another and I need to get to un-named retailer in 15 mintues or less there is no subsitute for riding Jordan's lime green Townie to work (she gave me permission to ride it while she is in Japan).  Riding my bike to work has become part of my New York summer.  Someday I will look back and wonder what the hell I was thinking at 50 years old, fighting traffic and insane bicylists, but for now it's all part of the adventure.

Melinda Malcolm Neiblum verses NY State DMV

I have held onto my Colorado license for two reasons, 1) it's a good photo and 2) having it still makes me a Coloradan, but time marches on and license expire.  So... in May I headed off to the DMV to officially become a New York State resident.  I read all of the reviews on Yelp and thought I knew the ins and out of getting a new license at the Herald Square DMV. I arrived 30 minutes early per the Yelp instructions and stood next to a very irritated Asian woman who told me that she is a plastic surgeon and she had received a DWI after only a few glasses of wine and was now being put the ringer by he court and the DMV. After a long 30 minutes we were let in. Per the Yelp instructions I skipped the wait in the information line and headed straight to the line for photos.  I showed my identification papers to the disengaged girl who accepted what I had as proof of identity.  She then asked me to read a yellowed eye chart on a pillar behind her.  I was wearing my mono vision contacts.  In Colorado the test is a simulated road test which the mono vision would have worked well for, but an eye chart? tried and failed.  She said I could repeat.  I sluggishly continued. She said, "If you can't read it quickly you fail."  I replied, "Then I fail."  She gave me a form and told me that I could have my optometrist fill it out if I have current prescription for eye wear.

I went to the eye doctor.  He tweaked my prescription but told me the DMV should have passed me with my mono vision contacts. But now I had the current form filled out.

I returned three weeks later. 

Again I arrived at 7:30 a.m. to get in line.  This time the man I was standing next to was the embodiment of Ed Norton from the Honeymooners.  He talked non-stop about having to take time off of his construction job for the city to get his license renewed.  I had on my headphones but he ignored them, so I eventually just took them off and listened to him drone on.   Let me just add the building had scaffolding on the outside so the line was under the scaffolding.  When he ran out of things to say he would do pull ups on the scaffolding.  He was 40 if he was a day, so the pull-ups added to the absurdity of the situation.  Ok, 8 a.m.  We are let in.   I went directly to the photo line.  The woman asked for my identification.  "Sorry, this is not sufficient.  You can see a manager and see if they will accept it."  I was sent to another window and a manager reviewed my documents.  She looked at my birth certificate, marriage, certificate, social security card, and Colorado license.  She said, "How did you get that social security card?"  I told her that the baby Melinda Diane Malcolm married Jeff Neiblum, and the social security administration saw fit to issue me a new social security card with the name Melinda Malcolm Neiblum.  DENIED.  She needed more proof.  I needed to bring in an addition piece of documentation to prove who I am.

Really?  Really? (I never even got to the eye exam)

I went to the bank and had my debit card re-issued with my full name and I had my life insurance policy add Malcolm as my middle name. 

To be honest I was in no rush to go back to the DMV.  Two early mornings down and still no new license.  I wasn't really sure that three would be a charm, but I was going to Missouri for a vacation and I wanted to have my New York State license in tow.  After two years living here I wanted to prove to my family that living in the city was not a lark but in fact I am a legal resident.  So I trudged down to 34th Street one more time.

I got there a little late so I didn't have time to befriend another DMV weary friend.  I got in quickly.  I showed my id to the first window.  She accepted what I had.  She asked me to read the chart. I showed her my documentation from my eye doctor.  She told me to stand in front of the blue wall for my photo.  Not really believing I would get this far I had on no make-up and my hair was flat, so I still wish I could have used my old Colorado photo.  I was sent to the next window.  I showed my paperwork.  I laid out my birth certificate, my wedding certificate (which he eyed for several minutes before approving), my social security card, my Colorado license, and my bank debit card and statement.  Slowly, very slowly he stamped my new paper license.  He said the photo id would be in the mail within two weeks.

I left the DMV on cloud nine.  I rode the subway home.  As soon as I stepped back into the sunlight I shouted, "Oh, @#&!."  I was flying to Missouri in three days and I had just traded in my only legal form of picture id for a paper document saying I had a license.

Here we go again.  This time - Melinda Malcolm Neiblum verses the TSA.  Sigh....

Uncle Sam and New York City, the tax man

A friend recently made a visit from Evergreen to New York.  It was wonderful to see Sue's smiling face at my apartment door.  We had arranged to meet for breakfast, but I wanted her to stop by the apartment so that she could see our new digs and report back to my book club on my living conditions.  I hope she liked it and the review was good.  $2,600 a month for my apartment is hard to swallow unless you live in NYC and have a handle on what rentals look like.

I gave Sue the tour of my neighborhood including a walk by St. John the Divine and Columbia University. We ended up at my favorite breakfast spot, La Monde Café.   We spoke candidly about my experience in the city and Sue asked whether or not my lack of finances had actually hampered my original idea of what we would be able to experience in the city as residents.  I think I answered with a pat answer of "we love the city and there is so much to do here that is either free or practically free to residents if you know the right person to talk to or the appointed day to go".  And that is true.

But it's April.  Tax time.  And the Big Apple is giving our Colorado butts a serious kick this year!

Somehow my second job to make ends meet put us into a new tax bracket.  Really?  Really?  Somehow Uncle Sam thinks we are part of the 1%, ok, not the 1%, but somewhere that I'm not.

I saw a news feed on MSN that gave the 10 states with the highest taxes.  No surprise New York was numero uno - #1!. Sigh...

So back to Sue's question: after all is said and done can you afford what you wanted to do when you moved to New York City?

The answer is a resounding Yes and a  humbled No.

There is a lot to do for free.  Museums (entrance fees are for the most part "suggested donations), bike paths all over the city, free kayaking on the Hudson, Central Park, free days at the Zoo, free Shakespeare in the park, etc..., but every day living expenses will kill you.  Metro prices just went up from $2.25 per ride to $2.50.  Grocery store prices are high because all items are full price and name brand - nothing generic..

Jeff and I tried to pin point our largest expense that we have in New York opposed to life in Colorado. It was an easy answer.  Eating out.  Back home we ate out every weekend at Tokyo Joe's, Panera,  Qdoba, etc... For holiday and birthdays we would go to places like Macaroni Grill or PF Changs.  Because life in NYC is so confined to small apartments people tend to socialize in cafes and restaurants.  You may have lunch in a café and linger over a coffee, passing the time of day people watching.  It's just different. But financially it's a big difference.  It's not something that we added to our budget when we were calculating things before our move.

I work from 8 to 3 Monday - Friday for HRPlus and I work at "un-named retailer" 30 hours per week.  When I do have time off I don't want to sit in my apartment.  I want to be out and about.  Certainly in the cold winter months relaxing after work in a restaurant where there is no shopping to do and no dishes to clean up is a very desirable option. Hey, don't lecture me.  I know it doesn't make fiscal sense, but what's the point of working two jobs if I'm not getting some reward for all of my hours of labor. Unfortunately, the tax man decided that between Jeff s salary and my two jobs we have become the elite bourgeois and we need to tally up. But... I'm not sure how to cut the fat without becoming the working poor.

It's getting harder to justify life in here in New York. I love the city, I love the people, I love my friends, and our community, but at what point do we decide that instead of taking a bite out of the Big Apple we are being eaten up ourselves. 

A Weekend Away

Last weekend my baby girl, Cameron, turned 15.  I took the weekend off of "un-named retailer", we rented a car and headed for Princeton, New Jersey.   I had not been out of Manhattan except for some Saturday train trips to the beach since last May when I went to St. Louis for my brother's wedding.  Everyone else in the family has been on several long weekend or weeks away visiting friends or on business trips, so they have all tasted suburbia or small town living within recent memory. 

After we checked into our hotel we  headed out for a lovely dinner downtown and then to our ultimate destination, Wal-Mart.  I have not been to a Wal-Mart in the year and half since I left Colorado.  Now, this is not a conversation about the pros and cons of the mega store.  This is just an insight from someone who has spent her life having access to the convenience and low cost that the store has to offer.  I got my shopping cart, took off my coat, and began the fun!  We started in cosmetics and spent a lot if time browsing nail polish and make-up concealers before heading onto shampoo and toothpaste.  The only litmus test for prices that I conducted was L'Oreal hair color.  It was $7.95 per box, which is the very low end of the price point that that product goes for.  After that, I put whatever I wanted in the basket knowing that I would never find it in Manhattan for less.  We did not frivolously fill our basket, but I did buy things like a three way  outlet plug, a pair of pajama pants, a picture frame, birthday wrapping paper, Nestle's semi-sweet chocolate, and computer paper which I knew we needed  but that I had waited to buy, or didn't buy, because I was looking for the odds and ends at a decent price. When we checked out I piled my goods on the counter with glee.  The person at the register was a man in his mid 50's who looked like life had passed him by and his words were as empty as his gaze, "Did you find everything alright?" he asked and I replied, "I had the most wonderful shopping experience.  I found everything I was looking for and some things that I didn't even realize that I needed.  Thank you."  I told him what had brought us to Princeton on this rainy January night and then he began telling me that he had lived in Germany for a number of years and that his life in Princeton was just a brief stop on his life's journey as he raised his three daughters. Wal-Mart never disappoints

Now you would think that living in Manhattan shopping for clothes would be a joy.  Variety is abundant.  The latest trends and fashions are available.  But....  the masses.  There is always a crowd.  Your idea of holiday madness is every day in the city.  Some days you just want to buy a pair of jeans and some t-shirts.  So we headed to Kohl's.  Cameron needed new jeans and tops.  We left the store with clothing essentials for Cameron to get through the spring. I'm not so naive as to think that she isn't going to have many, many special occasions, but the jeans and t's are taken care of with no overcrowded fitting rooms and impossibly long check-out lines. 

We had lunch at Panera.  I live across the street from two delis that are both insanely inexpensive (by New York standards).  I can get a foot long Italian for $6.50 at the Dominican bodega or a turkey/avocado sandwich at the Indian corner store for $6.00.  But there is something to be said about knowing that if I go into the Panera at Southwest Plaza in Denver or a Panera in Princeton, NJ the Chicken Frontaga is going to be exactly what you expect it to be.

Ok, I can hear my locavore daughter and Manhattan friends railing against what I've written.  Hey, I get it.  I understand "viva la difference".  I live it and I love it.  But this blog is about stepping back into the ease of living outside of Manhattan..  And there is no denying that living outside of New York City is easy living.  Access to a variety of products and services at reasonable prices is at your doorstep and there is a LOT to be said for that.

It was foggy and cold on Sunday when we came back into the city, so Manhattan looked dark and dreary.  Jeff dropped us off at the apartment and he drove the few blocks to the Hertz garage to drop off the car.  I love living in New York, but on this particular night coming "home" was hard.