Trick or Treating in Manhattan

  I was talking to my sister who lives in Louisburg, KS near  Kansas City yesterday and she asked what Halloween is like in New York.  I said it was really like anywhere else in the country with hoards of little kids running from door to door threatening and begging for candy.  She questioned letting children take candy from complete strangers and walking the streets after dark.  I promised her that the people handing out candy were not "strangers" and that the streets were probably better lit and more populated than the streets her kids would be walking down.  I set out with my camera on Saturday to capture some images of Halloween in my neighborhood to better explain to her and myself what it's like to trick or treat in the mean city.
 
  Coming from Evergreen, CO where in many areas the houses are too spread out to trick or treat in your own neighborhood families often go over to friends houses and launch their kids in neighborhoods where the houses are closer together.  In New York there is no need to search for dense areas of housing. In some of the larger apartment buildings families sign up with the doorman to let tenants with children know who will be home and handing out candy.  For these lucky kids they need go no further than their high rise building. That is not to say that high rises exclusively cater to their own tenant's children. Doormen at large building often dress up and act as the official greeter handing out buckets upon buckets of candy.  And it's not the cheap crap either.  Cameron and I were out early taking photos and we had one doorman dressed as something a kin to a swamp monster call us to the door to take some of the goodies while he waited for the trick-or-treaters to  head his way.

  Several streets particularly down in the West 60's, 70's, and 80's have streets with lots of stoops.  Some of the tenants go to great measure to out do each other with decorations and costumes for passing out candy.  West 69th Street Block Association blocks off the street and offers games, a bouncy house, craft tables and rummage sales, but be prepared for crowds.

                 So back to the question of safety.  How does a parent know if the candy their children are receiving is safe?  Well, they don't. The best a parent can do is chaperone their child and observe the treats they are being offered and who is offering them.  New York is a big, dangerous city, like any city, but it's also a city comprised of neighborhoods full of good people, families, seniors, and singles who all want to help in providing our community with a safe Halloween experience.  In some ways I think it's more festive and well attended than many other more rural places in the United States.

Drinking the Kollege Kool-Aid

  I was thinking of writing this blog after Cameron's college process is over, but then I realized that what I want to write about is the insanity of the college search and if I wait for a result my madness may have subsided. 
  
  Let me clarify that this is my personal experience and in fact it might be something many families are going through all over the country, but I DID NOT go though this with Hunter and Jordan when we lived in Colorado, so for me it feels like a uniquely Eastern experience.  My sister, Elizabeth, lives in Kansas. One day I was talking to her on the phone waxing on about finding the right school for Cameron and worrying about whether she would get in and if she did how we would afford the hefty, average annual cost of approx. $65,000.  She stopped me mid rant and told me that I had obviously drunk the East Coast College Kool-Aid and that I needed a reality check.  She assured me that Cam would get into any college she applied to, but that going to a an ivy league school or one with a similar price tag offered no certainty of future career success or personal happiness.  I tried to explain that at her particular high school in New York City applying to private liberal arts schools was the norm and expected of someone like Cameron with excellent grades and academic drive.


Checking out Harvard

  We started "touring" colleges last April on Cameron's spring break.  We looked at Bowdion College and Colby College in Maine, University of Boston, and Trinity College in Connecticut.  All four schools were amazing with beautiful historic campuses that resembled Hogwarts and curriculum's that would make any academically drive student's mouth water.  Cameron was ready to sign up to any and all of them, although Colby stuck out as the winner with it's majestic presence on Mayflower Hill. New to the college tour circuit we were eager hear all of the college admissions officers talk about their school's special features and winning student bodies.  Financial aid was sort of put on the back end of the tour when a few parents dared to ask the admissions person about financial aid packages, but for the most part we were all starry eyed and figured the gory details of affording the school would come later.  Why shouldn't a parent encourage their child to aim for the best education they could possibly obtain? 


Feeling at home at Dickinson

  In August we did our second leg of tours hitting four schools in Pennsylvania.  Dickinson College was a wild card, but we would be driving through Carlisle, PA and they have an environmental science program (Cam's major), so we decided to put it on the list.  Cameron fell in love with everything about the school: the campus, the science program, the Red Devil mascot, the strong environmental sustainability program the school is dedicated to, the school farm that helps supply the cafeteria, etc.. It seemed to be the whole package.  At the end of the tour Cameron and I looked at each other and got misty eyed.  This school was IT! 

  The problem with finding "it" at a selective, private, liberal arts college is that you don't just sign up and get in.  Cameron is in a very competitive position with her grades and activity resume, but sometimes you just don't fit the slots they have open or sometimes the $$$$$ (or lack there of) gets in the way.  Statistics tell us that a person with a bachelor's degree makes $1,000,000 over their lifetime more than a person without a degree, so with that in mind a student loan debt of $100,000 is only 10% of that additional earnings, but trying to pay off a $100,000 loan over ten years in your twenties and early thirties can be crippling, and I don't think a lot of college bound kids have the maturity to understand what that really looks like.  So are those magical liberal arts colleges really just for the rich?

  As we have compiled Cameron's list of schools that she will apply to she has kept Colby, Dickinson, and Bowdoin on the top.  She added other's that she said she would go to "if she had to", but there really were no "safety school" (defined as academically sure things that we could afford with manageable student loans).  Last Friday night before she was scheduled for the SAT on Saturday morning she said that her college advisor had told her that she needed to go to the College Board website and put down the names of the colleges that she wants her test results sent to.  This was it!  We had to have a solid and final list of schools.  She put down her top 3.  I said, "and...?" She looked at me defiantly.  I named three others that she had said that she agreed to.  She shrugged and added them.  Then I said, "So what about SUNY (State University of New York) schools?"  She was non responsive.  I named two state schools that offered her major, both had smaller student bodies giving the campus a more personal feel, are located in small college towns, and that according to the cost calculator are affordable with do-able student loans.  She sniped, "Why do you even know about these schools?"  I wanted to strangle her, and quipped back, "Why DON'T you?"  Silence.  I named the schools again and she typed the names into her profile.  Ugh...Ok, so now we had the list heavy on reach schools, but with enough safety schools that I felt vindicated.

  Last night was Beacon High School's Senior Parent Night.  There were eight speakers covering a variety of subjects. Jeff and I split up between the speakers to divide and conquer.  For the most part I didn't learn anything new, but, as I told Cameron, at least I feel confident that I'm gathering as much information as possible to help her succeed in this maze of information.  After almost two hours of listening to the same old rhetoric one speaker said something that I had heard over and over again on our tours, but that never rang true to me.  He said that the average student leaves a small liberal arts school on the East Coast with a student loan debt of $30,000.   I AM the middle class, so I had to question that number.  Every cost calculator I had used put our family contribution at approximately $30,000 per year, which is a very different number than $30,000 for all four years combined. I raised my hand and posed my question.  He stumbled for a moment and then explained, "Well, yes, the $30,000 of student loan debt would be part of the financial package that the school offers your child.  The remaining amount would be the parent's portion to be paid from their wages, Parent Plus loans, outside scholarships, and private loans."  So there it was, the truth at last.  Telling students that they can leave college with only $30,000 in loans after attending a private liberal arts college or an Ivy League school is an untruth.  That money does not just materialize.  Someone has to come up with that gap money.  Of course, many people have the funds to do that, but many more do not. 

  As I said at the beginning of my blog, I don't know what our results will be.  We don't know what schools Cam will get into.  We don't know if the ones that she does get into will try to woo her with enough money to make it affordable, or if we will end up at a state school.  No matter what, I am certain that Cameron WILL go to college and she WILL be very successful, because she is smart and determined, but this experience has certainly left me feeling jaded.  A student that has straight A's and a volunteer resume that would make Mother Theresa proud should not have to worry about "getting in" and certainly not have to worry about whether or not all their hard work is for naught if they can't afford to go to the schools that they do reach for. 

  Needless to say I will keep you posted.  Hard talks and ringing of hands are sure to lie ahead.

New Beginnings (at last)

  A month ago I was working on the power of positive thinking.  I had a second interview at an investment firm and I was sure that this was "my job".  When I got the email from the office manager saying that they had decided to go with a different candidate I was devastated.

  I let myself have a day or two to have a good cry then I got back to Craig's List and to my contacts.  A friend gave me an introduction to a recruiter in the New York City office of her firm. I had a wonderful interview and although they were still interviewing I really felt that I had a good chance of being offered a position.  While I was waiting for a call back a recruiter that I had met with several months ago gave me a call and told me that she had an interview for me to go on.

  She said the job was a temp to perm position and they needed someone to start on Monday (this was on a Wednesday).  Well, I had no interest in being a temp and as much as I dislike "un-named retailer" I could not in all good conscientious leave without giving notice. But I had not actually received an offer from the job I had recently interviewed with, so I was not in a position to turn my back on any opportunity.  I tried to stay mindful and prayerful and asked that if this was going to be the right job for me that all of my wish list must be met.  My list included,  1) location - midtown Manhattan, 2) enough money for us to finally enjoy life in one of the most expensive city in the world, 3) respectful and friendly work environment, 4) reasonable daytime hours, 5) a job requiring the skills I have and not the skills I wish I had, 6) and finally a company that does not have a problem with my "older worker" status.

  When the employment agency gave me the address I was thrilled to see 30 Rockefeller Center.  I could not dream of a more mid-town address.  She also sent me the estimated salary which was well above my wildest dreams. During the interview the receptionist who is being promoted into another position told me that average employee has been with the company for five years.  She herself has been there for seven years (and at age 55 was being promoted to work for a managing partner).  I asked about the temp to hire situation and they said that they do not just call an agency and hope that any temp that shows up works out.  They interview the candidate and bring them on with all intents of bringing them on as permanent employees. When they asked me when I could start I told them I would not be able to start for another ten days. As I was walking out the current receptionist said that she was so glad that I had said I was not available for another week because she herself was not ready for the transition until after the 4th of July holiday.  They asked me to start on July 7th.   I accepted.

  As I was leaving the building looking up at the famous Rockefeller Center landmarks I literally had to pinch myself.  A line from the Rogers and Hammerstein "Cinderella" came to mind.  "Can this be real?  Or am I in a dream?"  It was everything I had dreamed of.  There was even the added perk of a television in the reception area tuned into CNN (I'm a t.v. junkie). 

  So I gave my notice at "un-named retailer".   I burned through and did what I needed to do to leave on good terms.  Don't worry, I have a book in the works to detail my 2 1/2 year journey from beginning to end with all the highs and many, many lows of my retail experience.

  Today I got up and put on a pretty dress and a pair of heels and headed off to work. 

  There is really not a lot to say about the day.  I scheduled conference rooms, answered phones, and sorted mail.  I looked down on the skating rink at Rockefeller Center and looked out to the south on the Empire State Building.  I spoke to friendly, professional people, and began and ended my day during civilized daytime hours. When I got home Jeff said that I seemed depressed.  I am not depressed or disappointed,  After years of racing at "un-named retailors" to keep up with an endless pace for a thankless management team I think I'm stunned.  Stunned but thankful.

Don't Push People or Touch Their Cars

I know I recently wrote a blog about sidewalk congestion, so I hate to get stuck on a point, but today I pushed a tourist in the morning and I almost got beat up at noon causing me to step back and take a look at my own "road rage".

Most of the revolving doors in New York City that are in hotels are automated so that they revolve on a motion detector.  When you step in they start to move.  But the majority of revolving door in all of the other thousands of buildings in New York City (and the world) revolve the old fashioned way by you actually having to push the door. Every day I see tourist walking into these doorways and minimally pushing the door forward.  If you watch them they get about as far as halfway through and stop so that they are caged in the doorway standing frozen waiting for the door to revolve.  I work across the plaza from the Today Show, so my day begins with cheering fans making their way from the subway and area hotels towards the shows audience pen.  I understand that they don't know the area and are confused by the Rockefeller Center complex with eight very similar looking buildings, but when they emerge from the subway and need to proceed from the building onto the city sidewalk watching their confusion as they try to pass through a revolving door is almost mind boggling.  Today I was in a rush.  I saw three woman (all wearing matching bright orange t-shirts) heading towards the same revolving door that I needed to use.  The first woman pushed the door slowly and proceeded, the second woman got through on the momentum from the first woman, but the third woman was trapped in the door.  I honestly did not realize that she had stopped mid turn until I gave the door a good push and she went flying forward as the door hit her in the back.  She was not hurt, but she was startled.  She went stumbling out and she and her friends burst into laughter.  At least they had a sense of humor about her not knowing how to work a revolving door and the fact that it was my push that sent her flying.

You CANNOT speed through a crosswalk!

The second incident was my fault.  And if I had seen Jeff do what I did I would have given him an earful.  At lunch time I was 49th and Avenue of the Americas (6th Avenue).  The walk sign lit up white and the throngs began to walk through the crosswalk.  A dark blue SUV turned the corner from coming uptown on Avenue of the Americas onto 49th Street.  Anyone knows that a car turning onto a cross street at that time of day may have to wait until their green light is almost red again before there is a break in pedestrian traffic to make the turn.  This woman barreled through and almost ran over some people.  I was literally face to face with her when she plowed into the crowd.  I knocked on her car window and yelled something at her (I honestly don't remember what because I was so startled by her driving).  She glanced at me and proceeded forward.  She had barely proceeded a quarter of the way down the block before she stopped her vehicle practically in the middle of the road and got out.  I was walking down the sidewalk by this time, but I had glanced back.  Then I saw her standing on the corner scouring the crowds in my direction. I realized that she was looking for the crazy woman that had deigned to knock on her car window.  I know better than to touch a person or their car in New York City.  In a town where we rub shoulders daily on the subways, in elevators, and in shops the unwritten rule is that you never purposely touch a person or their belongings with your hands. I had just reacted spontaneously and now a nut was out of her car looking to hunt me down to seek revenge for me knocking on her car window.

I ducked into a bank for safety.  I've seen one too many iPhone videos on the news where the crowd watches someone being beat up and no one intervenes, and I had no interest in being a You Tube sensation.  I figured if I was in bank the security officer would be obliged to break up the attack and their would be security cameras to capture the woman's image for her arrest. After a few minutes I lost track of the woman in the crowd, but her car stayed in the street for about three minutes from the time she stopped in her madness.  I was safe, but shaken.

Lessens learned.  Unless I want to knock a tourist off of her Sketchers I need to push revolving doors with care, and NEVER touch anyone's car. I tell myself that I can handle the masses and the every day pressures of living on an island with 8,000,000 people, but I must admit there are days when it gets to me. 

The Homecoming

  We left Colorado two and half years ago, leaving the home that the five of us lived in for 11 years.  As much as we all look back on our beloved home on South Pine Road in Evergreen we have all come to appreciate that home is were the family is and not the physical address that we reside.

  Both Hunter and Jordan flew from their lives in Colorado and Japan to spend Christmas with us in New York City.  It has taken several years to feel like I have truly nested into our new lives here.  But for them coming home is more than just being at a physical address it means coming back to the safety and familiarity of "home". Everyone's family has a certain feel, smell, and flavor.  When you go home you know the smell of the towels and you can expect the classic foods in your refrigerator/cabinet.  For weeks before the kids arrived Cameron and I would be shopping and I'd grab something off the store shelf and say, "Oh, I have to get these for Hunter" or " Jordan will want me to have those.  She loves them."  They may have never bought Sunshine Snack Mix or Queen Anne's Chocolate Covered Cherries for themselves, but you feel compelled to make sure those flavors of the past are available to them when they visit.  As I'm buying all this junk food for Jordan and Hunter, Cameron is asking me why I'm buying all this crap for them but she never gets any treats.  Of course, she can't understand that six years from now when she is visiting from college I will be sure to have Nutella in the cabinet although she may be long past that teenage food fad. 

  Jeff and I have a queen sized bed in our bedroom, Cam has a twin, and we have fold-out queen in the living room.  Between the five of us we had rotating sleeping arrangements.  Jordan being the only person who does not have a regular bed (she sleeps on a futon in Japan) had less fold-out couch time than anyone else during her 10 day visit. The one (and maybe only) desirable thing about the fold out couch was the memory lane bedding, including the Toy Story and Lion King pillow cases, flannel elk patterned sheets, and the Olsen Twins comforter from Wal-Mart circa 2000.  There is something humbling and comforting about sleeping on childhood bedding.

  So the kids are home and snuggled in.  And now we all regress.

  One afternoon after I got off of work I met the kids down on 5th Avenue and 42nd Street.  Hunter had never been to the New York City Central Public Library so we went in for a bathroom break and a photo shoot.  When we were out front taking photos of the lions Hunter framed a photo and said to me, "Ok, Mom, stand here and shoot when I say when."  Before I knew it Hunter had nimbly scaled the lion and was sitting on his back.  You have to understand that as a mother what I see is not a great photo op, but instead a missed step that sends my baby plummeting to the concrete below or the sound of a cop's whistle calling him down to issue a ticket for trespassing.  Thank god none of that happened and it was a great shot (see below).  But in that minute of taking the photo I am no longer the mother of a 22 year old man, but instead I regress to the mother of a 14 year old boy who is climbing to the top of a 50 foot pine tree in the backyard and wants me to take a photo of him, which I oblige just to get him to come down.

  Cameron is a wonderfully self-assured and accomplished high school girl.  But after a day running around the city with Jordan and Hunter she was a puddle of tears telling me that they didn't pay any attention to her and disregarded her knowledge of the city. Jordan and Hunter are both well traveled but no one knows the city like Camie, but they negated that with her little sister status.

  Jordan is sunshine and light, except.... for a secret side of her personality that Hunter and Cam call "Sheila".  Forget that Jordan has graduated from college and now lives in Japan.  She can't resist being the big sis.  She has an opinion on who's turn it is to do the dishes, spending Mom and Dad's money, who's turn it is to walk the dog, and which subway line is the safest way to their destination. 

  My children have all grown up to be so self-sufficient and responsible, yet somehow when they are sleeping under my roof I have the need to know where they are, where they are going, what time they will be home, and who has Cameron with them.  When they are spending their own hard earned money I can't resist asking if they really have money for that or if they really need that.  My two older kids have tackled the subways of foreign cities and Cam navigates the NYC subway city on a daily basis, yet when the three of them head to Soho together I insist on them calling me once they reach their destination so that I will know they are not lost somewhere in Queens.  

  Between everyone's holiday "must" list we accomplished a lot.  Hunter wanted to go shopping in Chinatown for his Fayus shoes and teas (check), Jordan needed to go the dentist, get a flu shot, and exchange a game at Game Stop (check), and Cameron wanted to hang out with Jordan and Hunter and go see "Frozen" (check).   Jeff wanted to get through the holidays without getting caught up in a work IT emergency (check), and I wanted to stop time while we were all snuggled on the couch watching "The Waltons - A Homecoming" (fail). 

  Last February we adopted a dog from Bark Animal Shelter in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  When we lost our beloved Golden Retriever, Trooper three years ago we never imagined replacing him, but we truly believe that our little Oliver is blessed by Trooper to be our new dog.  Just having him in our apartment, making his walks in Central Park part of our daily routine, and hushing his barking at the noise in the general hallway makes our apartment feel like a full house.

  Life in New York City is so hard and so wonderful.  But when we are all together eating the same delicious Christmas feast that Jeff used to make in Evergreen we are a family without a city.  We are a family cherishing our history, our independence, and each other.


 


 

Me, Social Media, and New York City

  I will readily admit that I am slow to jump on any form of technology, including various forms of social media.  I joined Facebook back in-the-day and stopped at that.  My seventeen year old daughter, Cameron, informed me this summer that I am "old school" and "out of the loop" not being on Instagram and SnapChat, but at the same time she said that those social medias are not for moms.  I had her set me up with SnapChat, and I pressed a few buttons and much to my surprise I downloaded Instagram to my phone.  The part that I have not figured out is how any of the people that I follow or who are following me connected on these mediums.  I guess if I want my followers to grow I need to figure that out, but for now I'm just trying to figure out the nuances of those accounts.



M7 bus love for SnapChat

Cameron has informed me that I am doing SnapChat totally wrong.  I like to take a photo and send it to all the individuals that I want to follow me on SnapChat, but I also post it to My Story, because I like to create little daily vignettes of my life (particularly my daily life as I traverse the street of NYC).  She said that the people who I send individual photos to don't need to get them individually, but in fact can just look at My Story.  I would argue, how will they know I have added to My Story if I don't keep them updated?  Yesterday I thought I had a particularly visually interesting day combining photos and mini video so I was sitting on the coach replaying My Story for my own enjoyment.  Cameron came out of her room and saw what I was doing.  "Oh, my god, Mom, I can't believe you are watching your own story over and over."  I told her that I wanted to review the interesting images that I had captured.  She informed me that "NO ONE DOES THAT".  She said that SnapChat is supposed to be used like texting except with photos and short captions.  Hmmm..., well, then I would agree that I don't do that at all.  If I want to have a conversation I will text someone, or better yet, call them.  For me SnapChat is a way to communicate to my friends the funny little things and people that I come across as I go through my day walking to work, shopping during my lunch hours, commuting on the subway home, and just generally being in New York City. 

Instagram worthy pancakes

  So you might say that that is what Instagram is for, but I disagree.  For me Instagram is more artistic.  I don't want to just post any photo (that's for Facebook).  I want my Instagram account to reflect my artistic view of me and what I see in the city.  The trick with Instagram is that I don't know how to get people to follow me.  Actually, I was complaining about this to Cameron the other day and she said that I am supposed to be using hashtags (#'s) so that other people using the same hashtags will look at my pictures and if they like what they see they will follow me.  So now I'm having to think of catchy, yet common, tags for my pictures (i.e. #cafeamrita, #dayatLongBeach, #farmersmarket).  I can proudly say that a farmer's market in Montreal is now following me after I posted a picture of the Rockefeller Center farmers market near my office.

Stealth Snapchat shot

   The most challenging thing to do for any of these mediums is to get the candid photos that I want.  I like to do fashion "hits and misses", which can be tricky.  Besides being stealth my older Andriod phone does not take the clearest pictures so I really need to be close and still to get the shot.  Well, as you can imagine, standing two four feet away from someone and getting a still shot is rather obvious.  My friend, Charlene, said some day someone is going to beat me up. Last week I was with Cameron walking down 5th Avenue and I saw a girl who was my "fashion DO" of the day.  She was walking quite fast so I had to practically run after her.  Cam got a video of me stalking this girl. LOL!  I found humor in it, but I might need to consider being a little less obvious.

  My brother, Clinton, was recently visiting and I asked him to download SnapChat so that he could get a dose of NYC whenever he wanted it from my daily stories.  He looked at me quizzically then began to laugh.  He said, "Do you actually have followers on SnapChat?"  I told him I do.  He asked how many of them were over the age of 13.  Rude.  Yes, I will admit that my foundation is based on Cameron's friends, but my network is growing.  I write my blog for myself.  I have been keeping this form of a journal since we moved her in June of 2011.  There have been many entries that only have as many views as I can count close family members, but that does not dissuade me from writing.  So.... just like writing I like snapping photos of what I see in the city.  If my observations are better appreciated by the younger generation, then so be it.  It's all in fun and I hope no one is judging anyone on what they post an something as trivial as SnapChat or Instagram. 

  For now I am writing, and snapping, and posting all of the quirky little things that I see in my daily life. Read, view and respond, or don't, but for now I'm enjoying documenting my observations, chasing fashion Do's and Don't down the street, and posting it all online.  So what if I only have 39 Instagram followers, I'm just getting started!

Observations of a Subway Commuter

This morning as I was getting on the train with a group of  YMCA Summer Camp kid I felt a pang of annoyance at their loud voices and rush to take all the seats. But I reminded myself that no two days are ever the same on the subway and this was just another variation on my commute to work.

Now that New York City Schools have dismissed for the summer the morning dynamics on the train have changed.  During the school year I often got on the 8:00 a.m. B train and all the seats would be taken, but since I know that there are several elementary and middle schools near 86th Street I could stand next to the kids and get a seat just a few stops down the line from my station at 110th Street Cathedral Parkway.  Other than that most of the commuters are office workers heading down to get off the train with me at 48-50th Street Rockefeller Center or hotel staff heading down to 42nd Street Times Square. Most teenagers are not "morning people "so they would vie for a seat and sit in silence.  The elementary kids liked to stand and hold on to the pole, but tended to be very talkative.  When I told Cameron about my observations her only response was, "you're rude".  Hey, I didn't say that I hate kids, I was just saying that I like to sit and have some peace and quiet on my way to work in the morning.

The commute also takes a slightly less busy season from July 4th and runs through Labor Day.  This missing group is not a large number of commuters, because they tend to be people who "summer" on Long Island and aren't part of the daily grind in the first place as they are more apt to take a car service or taxi to work instead of the subway anyway, but I feel like they are worth noting. I miss their beautiful suits, sleek bags, and shiny shoes (I am talking about both men and women). They tend to take the morning trains and are less visible in the evenings. In the mornings I admire their expensive clothing and haircuts, and I wonder what their lives are like inside of their high-rise apartments or magnificent brownstones.  When they return in September they will be sun kissed and slim, and neither will have been gained from a long work day on the farm.

I don't know if the "manspread" is a new phenomenon or it's brought the problem to light by naming it.  It's when male passengers sit down and spread their legs out so wide that he easily takes up two seat.  Sometimes I think the guy is oblivious, but other times it's beyond obvious.  Black women tend to be the most verbal about the situation and will tell the guy to move over to make room for her to sit. I wish I had the nerve to say something.

Next group is the tourist. They tend to multiply in the summer. Within a few blocks of my apartment are two youth hostels and a few less expensive hotels that cater to European families.  In the mornings these groups are neatly dressed in shorts and t-shirts with a bright variety of footwear to comfortably carry them around the city as they see the sights from the Brooklyn Bridge to the Highline. One very frustrating thing that all tourist do is somehow swipe their metro cards incorrectly so that the turnstile does not read it.  Sometimes I can hear the train coming into the station and I'm stuck behind a family of five taking up all three turnstiles as they either swipe the card too quickly or too slowly and you see yourself getting downstairs just as the doors chime to a close in your face.

The "lovers" in the subway make me crazy.  And strangely they tend to be morning computers.  On Monday the couple was a Grizzly Adam look-a-like (which was a stand out in it's self) and a young studious looking Hispanic girl.  Strange combination and their constant tickling and kissing was a bit of a spectacle at 8:10 a.m. I made the mistake of sitting next to them and I could hear them kissing and cooing through my headphones.  Yesterday it was a couple that was obnoxious in how much room they were taking up.  He was practically laying down stretched across two seats and she was cuddled up next to him as they giggled and smooched their way into midtown.


My least favorite group is the group that is under the impression that the subway is a dining car.  IT IS NOT! The other day I was sitting on the train on my way home and I heard what sounded like a metal utensil scrapping a metal plate.  When I turned around I saw a Chinese woman feeding her sons soup.  Yes, soup.  They were not babies.  I think maybe one was five and the other seven.  After she fed them she then proceeded to finish of the soup by slurping the remains in the bowl.  I had to get a photo.  I knew no one would believe me otherwise. More often than not fried chicken or chicken and rice plates are brought onto the train, but this soup nonsense was a first.

Subways are freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer.  You usually have to fight a crush of people getting on and off the train. Sometimes it's hard to remember that we are all in this together.  I make my observations and try to be sly as I take my "candid" shots to help illuminate my annoyance with a photo once I get home to vent to Cameron and Jeff.  But it's all part of living in a city of 8.4 million people. Vive la difference!

Jury Duty for the New York Supreme Court

I spent the usual amount of time Googling "how to get out of jury duty", but I soon found out that there is no way out of jury duty and no particular answers will excuse you from all juries, so I headed down to the New York Supreme Court to serve my time per my jury summons.

There are certain areas of the city that you might not ever get to.  And Center Street and Worth Street where the New York County Court House is located is just such a place.  It's on the tip of tony Tribeca, boring Civic Center, and colorful Chinatown. Google maps had me take the B/D train to Grand Street, walk across Grand towards Bowery to Center Street. Turn left down to the Civic Center.  It was about a 10 minute walk through the "not touristy" part of Chinatown.  Lots of warehouses and small shopping stalls full of fresh fish and produce. Let's clarify, I just finished my jury duty, so it's July.  Walking by fish stands at 9:00 a.m. is bad, but back home at 5:00 was rather foul smelling in the summer heat.  Not a great way to begin or end a day. 

We were told to arrive at 9:00, but they didn't start taking attendance until almost 10:00 a.m.  The woman who was directing the jury pool was actually quite humorous in her well rehearsed speech warning us that attendance could be taken at any time during the day and we did not want to be written down as AWAL at any point during our stay on jury duty or we would end up on the wrong side of the jury.  We were instructed to keep one ear free of head phones so as not to miss our name being called and ending up on that dreaded AWAL list.  We were also told that we would be there for two full days.  Not one day, not a day and a half, but at least two full days.  If we were picked for a jury we could be there any time from two days to two months depending on the trial.  We were specifically told that the vending machines were not the property of the courts and that if we lost our money were not allowed to complain to the attendant.  In fact she encouraged anyone strong enough to shake the machine to do so as to loosen that package of Fritos from the last inch of the coil that held your snack hostage.

I was called the first morning along with about 35 other potential jurors for a jury to determine damages in a case that had already determined fault.  The two attorneys said the case would last about two weeks if not longer depending on the availability of the experts that each side would call to prove damages or the lack there of. The one attorney said he would be seeking "extremely large dollar amounts for his client". I said I would not be able to make an reasonable decision for his client based on two opposing professional witnesses giving testimony.  So back to the jury pool I went.

A very long afternoon ensued.  We were finally dismissed at 4:30.

Back the next morning.  Again diligently I arrived on time, but attendance was not taken for another hour. 

At 11:30 I was called with about 25 other potential jurors.  As informal as yesterdays questioning had been in front of the two attorneys in a private room, today I was being called into a live court with a judge, a court reporter, both parties at their respective tables, and court officers.  We were all sworn in and told the specifics of the case.  It was a rape case and the judge gave gruesome details in regards to the allegations by two woman who claimed to be the defendant's victims.  The defendant would be acting as his own counsel.  After being sworn in we were all sent back to the hallway.  The court officer came back out and asked through a show of hands if anyone felt strongly that they could not be able to be impartial in this case.  I think at least 20 of the 25 of us raised our hands.  Back to the pool.

The jury pool itself was very New York.  A perfect blend of the melting pot that is this city's population.  No ethnic group was immune to being called to jury duty.  What surprised me more than anything about my fellow potential jurors was the way they were dressed.  I wondered if I had missed the note on my jury summons specifying that I should be dressed appropriately for cleaning out a garage.  I get not wanting to look too clean shaven, but people were literally wearing cut off jeans, tank tops, and flip flops.  This fellow wanted to make sure that the judge and lawyers were well aware that he was tattooed from head to toe.


As I mentioned in the beginning the neighborhood the courthouse is in is sort of a no-man's land.  Unless you work or live in the area there is no reason you would ever go there.  The thing about not expecting tourist to stroll down the street is that you can find some restaurant that are vying for local traffic and not hiking their prices for the tourist dollar.  I was looking under Yelp for a place to eat during jury duty and sure enough Yelp came to the rescue and sent me to a charm. Dumplings, Inc. was a tiny store front with a sign on the window adverting five dumplings for a $1.00 and inside two older Chinese woman made handmade dumplings and soup. The place was clean and shiny.  I got a plate of dumplings and a bowl of sweet and sour soup.  It was the best $2 meal I have ever had. 

At 4:15 on Tuesday afternoon the jury pool coordinator said that unless we had been accepted onto a jury we were free to go.  She handed out release forms and asked those that needed to be paid the allotted $40 per day for attendance make sure their names were on the list.  The weary band of potential jurors packed up their lap tops and cell phone cords and headed back out into the city streets.  When I got home Jeff asked said, "You don't have to do jury duty for another six years.  Aren't you glad?"  I told him that I was glad to be done with it, but in fact I was glad I had done it.  Not because I felt proud to do my civic duty, but jury duty was actually interesting. It was interesting to hear about the cases that are being handled, interesting to go to a new area of Manhattan, and interesting to see the extremes people will go to not to get on a jury. 

Another New York City first out of the way.

Entertaining in Tight Quarters

Jeff and I always laugh when we are watching shows like "House Hunters" because the couples are always talking about needing room to entertain.  We are wondering exactly how much "entertaining" these people are planning on doing that they would gauge buying a house on how many people they can fit into their open floor plan kitchen/living area.  But recently I've been wishing that I had more space to entertain. 

Back in April my dear friend, Charlene, and I drove up to Connecticut and made a quick stop by our storage locker so that I could pick up Easter decorations.  In the course of getting to the necessary tubs we had to move several boxes of Christmas decorations.  Charlene commented on how many decorations we have and I told her that I used to fill a 2,800 square foot house with all this stuff and I wasn't ready to part with it yet.  She said that she would have loved to have been invited over to our apartment for Christmas to see what we had done with the place over the holidays.  I have been to K and Charlene's house countless times over the last three years for holidays, birthdays, and gatherings.  They have a beautiful three story brownstone with plenty of  room for entertaining and they are extremely generous with hosting things.  When she said that I felt bad that we have never invited them over for dinner.

As Easter and Passover approached I was thinking about inviting Cameron's boyfriend's family over for an evening.  The kids have been dating since June and they have had us over at least four times for dinner.  I was considering inviting them over for a holiday meal, but I thought twice about it because I wasn't sure that a family of five would have fun in the tight quarters of our apartment. They have converted three apartments into one unit and have done a beautiful job of designing a great living space for their family.

Jeff relaxing on the Saturday morning after our party.

So the question I posed to myself was... Should we entertain in a space close to the size of the average American eat-in kitchen? or do we get a "our place is too small" pass?

When we first moved to New York City we only lived three blocks from Cameron's school.  Cameron often invited a group of 4 to 6 six kids over after school to play PlayStation Dance Dance Revolution.  That apartment was tiny and when I would walk in the door the humidity from their body heat made my hair frizz, but they seemed to be having a great time and seemed un-phased by the lack of floor space.  I loved that she felt comfortable inviting friends to our humble abode and I think her hospitality won her a great group of friends. I decided to take her lead and have the dinner party.

Not only was I going to invite the Charlene's family I decided to invite Cameron's boyfriend's family as well.  In total there would be six adults and six kids.  Now I was looking at the apartment with a critical eye.   If we used an ottoman and a desk chair we would technically have enough seats for everyone to sit on to eat. Luckily we have 20 foot ceilings so the room is deceptively large.  I was hoping no one would notice the actual lack of square footage.

For weeks before hand I fussed over the upholstery and the shabby coffee table, while Jeff poured over cookbooks trying to decide what to prepare for a diverse group of connoisseurs.  Our plan was to disguise the small space with smoke and mirrors (nice décor and good food).

By the evening of the dinner we had spruced up an old chair with the help of a  Pinterst home reupholstering video, bought a new coffee table, and Jeff prepared a delicious meal that satisfied the pallets of the  carnivores, locavors, and vegetarians among us.  When the guest all arrived naturally the kids all converged on one side of the room and the adults on the other, so we ate and chatted separately.  Around 9:30 p.m.as things were winding down the kids decided that a group game of Running Charades would be a good idea.  Two teams are given the same list for charades and the team to complete the list first wins.  Obviously the teams need to be in separate rooms for this to work.  Next thing I know a group of six were heading down to my bedroom. 

I had cleaned my bedroom (thank God), but it was not in "come in and sit on my bed" condition, and yet, that is exactly what we did.  It was one of those situations where I had to just let go.  My team (in the bedroom) was having fun and laughing and I don't think anyone was considering the fact that my curtains could use a good wash or that the pictures on the dresser were in need of being dusted.. One of the kids did ask to use the downstairs bathroom, which I had not cleaned for guest, but all he mentioned was that he was curious about what was in a box labeled "Halloween and Anime Costumes", but he did not mention the toothpaste in the sink. 

The games lasted until around 11:00 and then everyone headed home.  Besides the kitchen counters getting overwhelmed with dishes the house held up under the extra bodies in the rooms. As I was cleaning up I was really glad that we had decided to throw caution to the wind and have a party.  I thought about a book club meeting I'd been to in a gorgeous home in Evergreen.  The house was huge, but did not feel warm.  I thought that if nothing else, our apartment felt warm and that's really what you want people to feel.

When we first moved here I told Cameron that EVERYONE has a tiny apartment, which was actually the opposite of the truth.  We don't know anyone with a particularly small apartment, but in our defense the people we know have all lived in New York for the past 20+ years and have pioneered through apartment additions, extensive waiting list, and weathering what used to be rough neighborhoods. I often think that we are the only family we know that is managing life in a small space, but I can't let that stop us from opening up our house and sharing our home. 

City Sidewalks. Speed Bumps

Now that I am officially ensconced in my new job in the midtown Manhattan neighborhood I have become increasing critical of the lack of sidewalk etiquette from both tourist and locals, but mostly tourist.   I get the wanting to look up thing, but would you stop your car in the middle of I-70 to look up when you drive through Glenwood Canyon, or would you stop in the middle of the Garden State Parkway to admire the Manhattan Skyline.  No.  Then please do not stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take a picture of St. Patrick's Catherdral.  




If cars create gridlock just walk through it!  Don't worry they won't run over you.  They have nowhere to go.

In New York City a sidewalk is a constantly moving pedestrian roadway.  When you literally have millions of people pouring out of the subways and descending from busses the sidewalk flow has to be in motion or human gridlock will quickly ensue. Do not come up from the subway and stop at the top of the stairs to get your bearings.  Move to the side, check out the street signs, look at your map, and then proceed. 



Why do tour groups insist on congregating on sidewalks. This group was on 5th Avenue and Rockefeller Center. Really?

The Rockefeller Center neighborhood is unique in that it is far enough off of the tourist path of hotels, Broadway, and Time Square that it still maintains a corporate neighborhood feel, but with Radio City Music Hall and the NBC Studios in the center of the area it is an equal blend of tourist and corporate suits.   I am not a tourist hater.  I was one for many years before moving here.  But when a school group of 20+ students and chaperons stops in the middle of the sidewalk to count heads they need to understand that they are causing countless professionals lag time in getting to work.  I wonder if anyone has ever formed a statistic on how many manpower hours are lost due to sidewalk congestion.

For those of you familiar with Sex in the City you will remember many scenes where the four woman are walking down 5th Avenue four abreast.  Four woman from Manhattan would NEVER do that.  A family of four visiting from a hamlet in Great Britain would.  Jeff constantly complains that Cameron and I leave him out of conversations when we are walking because he always lags back when we need to make room on the sidewalk for coming pedestrian traffic or for someone to pass.  Walking with three people side by side is almost impossible to sustain for more than a few seconds.  It's actually an acquired skill to be able to walk with someone and carry on a conversation while you jockey from walking side by side, front to back, and with a stranger in between you. 

 

This is not to say that tourist are the only people lacking sidewalk etiquette.  More offensive to me is the passive aggressive local.  Those are the people who walk down the sidewalk slowly and deliberately taking up the center of the sidewalk.  Because there is almost always someone coming towards you passing this person becomes difficult.  More often then not you have to pick up your already fast pace, walk in the street, and pass them that way.  For the obvious passive aggressive pedestrian do not attempt to say "excuse me" and expect them to move to the side.  You are much more likely to encounter an altercation of words.  It is safer to brave the brief step off of the curb to get past them. 



When all else fails walk down the road with the cars.