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.

 

Road Rage via the M7 Bus

  I don't miss driving. Yes, I miss stopping at the gas station and getting my icy 64 oz. Diet Coke, but I don't miss driving.  For the most part the New York City bus and subway system are very efficient.

  But on the days that I work at "un-named retailor" I often catch the 3:35 bus from 108th Street to 83rd Street. It should take 15 to 20 minutes with the bus stopping every two blocks.  But... there are so many factors.  First of all the busses pick up handicapped and wheel chair passengers, which can take five minutes to board.  And since I often catch the  bus after schools have dismissed for the day I am riding on what has literally turned into a school bus.  In NYC all public school students get a metro car that can be used between 5:30 a.m. and 9 p.m. for four rides weekdays.   I live one block away from a middle school.  When I get on the bus there are 30 kids from Delta Middle School waiting to board the bus.  Down the road on 92nd Street we pick up the kids from Trinity and Columbia Prep, and so it goes. ... Oh, yeah, there are the nannies and preschool set that get on at Columbus Square.  So now the bus is packed. 

  What do kids do after school?  They eat. Imagine a bus full of middle schoolers eating Fritos, Cheetos, Twizzlers, gummy bears, Pirates Booty, and RingDings and the nannies are getting out juice boxes and granola bars and Cheerios.

  I have a loud voice that carries, so I have never told anyone to whisper, but the sound of middle schoolers shouting from one end of the bus to another is ridiculous.

  I know it's not politically correct to speak ill of the handicapped, but... The other day a woman got on the bus with her walker, which took about five minutes.  The bus had to lower the ramp to the sidewalk, she slowly (I cannot emphasize the word "slowly" enough) walked onto the bus.  Then all the seniors and mother's with babies had to make room for her in the handicapped seating area.  After all this she pushed the button to get off at the next stop. Are you kidding me!!!!???

  And then there is the rude bus driver. Don't even get me started.  One night I was coming home after midnight.  Legally drivers have to stop on any street on their route after 10 p.m. when requested by a passenger.  I asked the driver to stop at 108, although the next stop was 109.  I know it's only a block but late at night I'm not crazy about walking alone down a quiet street and I don't like the idea of crossing the path of a rat on the way.  I asked for 108 and he replied, "You can't get off on 109?  Really?"  I just stood there quietly waiting for 108. He did stop but I could hear him huffing and puffing in his seat.

 One night after work a bus stopped that read "Out of Service", but he had a few passengers still onboard.  He stopped at 83rnd and let someone off.  He asked me, "Where are you going."  I relied that I was going to 108th and Manhattan Ave.  Much to my relief he said, "Get on."  On 96ths he let off the other passenger on the bus.  He turned off the interior lights and he said, "Hang on!" and we flew up Amsterdam all the way to 108th/Manhattan.  When he stopped at my bus stop he said, "You and I are both gettin' home early tonight."

  On those rare un-crowded rides I try to be present and appreciate the moment. I guess it takes all those rides where I'm wishing for a Xanex to make me really appreciate the few and far between express rides home.

Whole Foods at Rush Hour

   I was at Whole Foods around 4:30 p.m. last Thursday.  Cameron is a locavor, so I rode my bikes the eight blocks to the store to buy locally raised produce so that she can enjoy her food in good conscience,  Most of the larger grocery stores in New York City are on two levels.  You take an escalator that has a stair function for the shopper and a smooth glide function for your cart to go up and down. 

  I went downstairs with my shopping cart to begin in the fresh produce and meat department.  The place was jam packed with people.  Mom's pushing strollers and pulling small carts, seniors in their hover rounds, young professionals dashing through with their hand held baskets, and the rest of us with large carts trying to find dinner for the family.  I was in the fruit and vegetable area and there was complete grid lock.  I saw an opening but I was going to have to push past an older Jewish woman who was slowly and purposefully looking at grapefruit.  I smiled and said, "Excuse me" as I pushed my cart past hers.  I was expecting the cart handles to bump each other, but nothing more.  As I passed I saw her finger when it was already too late.  She had her left hand all the way to the far edge of her cart and he pinky was on the outer edge of the handle.  As our carts made contact she screamed, "My finger!  I think she broke my finger!".  Needless to say I stopped my forward motion.  I apologized.  She did not acknowledge that I was even speaking to her.  I offered to go the fish counter to get her ice for her finger.  She just kept saying, "I think she broke my finger."  Just to clarify, there was no blood and although I knew that it hurt (it REALLY hurt) I knew it was not broken.  Remember, there was a major traffic jam and now our interaction was just compounding the situation. I apologized profusely again, and then I just moved forward. She was not acknowledging that I was even speaking to her and I knew, although it hurt, she had not "broken". 

   I made my way down towards the dairy aisle.  I could still hear her talking about her finger.  I wondered who she was talking to and guessed that she had cornered a produce stock clerk to retell her story to.  I was about to round the corner back towards the meat counter when I heard her say, "She broke my finger and then she just strolled away!"  Ok, now she is retelling the story and making it sound like I had crushed her finger without even stopping.  I didn't dare round the corner to see who she was talking to.  Paranoia set in and I was afraid she had managed to get the attention of a manager.  If feared that if they saw me I would be escorted out of the store.

  I saw an elevator open and rushed forward to get in.  I didn't dare take take the escalator where I would be exposed for her to point out and identify. 

  Although I needed cheese for a quiche that night I made a bee line for the registers.  Thank god there was a lull and I don't think I stood in line for more than five minutes.  All the while I was expecting to have a tap on the shoulder and to be escorted from the store. 

  I once I'd finished with the register I rushed to my bike and quickly balanced my bags between the two handles.  I sped home and did not stop to look back until I was safely on stoop.

Melinda verses the New York State Department of Unemployment

    After 12 years with the company on March 21, 2014 was my last day with HRPLus .  When I hired on in 2002 it was a Mom and Pop owned business out of Evergreen, Colorado.  Since that time we have been acquired three times (I may have lost count).  In this last "merger" Sterling Infosystems acquired the small background screening company.  I have loved my time at the company.  It has been an amazing and legitimate work from home job that was perfect for me while I raised my children.  But honestly I have been looking for something else since I moved to New York City.  I did not move to NYC to work out of my apartment..  Yes, I have had the part-time job at "un-named retailer", but the dream was to find one full time job here in the city.  So when I got laid-off I actually breathed a sigh of relief.  Now I could collect un-employment, work part-time at the "un-named" retailer and finally have time in the day to really look for that dream job. 

  You cannot know your unemployment benefits until you actually apply and you must be laid-off to apply.  You apply the first Monday after your last week of work.  I did the online application but I still had questions.  On Tuesday candidate's with the initial J-N were allowed to call and speak to a human.  I spoke to Jim who has to be the friendliest and most informative government worker I have ever encountered.  I explained that since I still have a part-time job with "un-named" retailer I was not sure how much I would be eligible for in benefits.  He asked how many days a week I work for the company.  I said I work about 20 to 25 hours per week.  He said, "No, how many days?"  I said four or five.  He said he get benefits based on the days you work not the hours.  You can work one hour a day and that counts as a full day.  You can show up for work if the employer scheduled you and he sends you home due to lack of work and that is considered a day of work.  You can work strictly on commission and work all day and make no money and that is considered a day of work.  He said basically you are screwed.  He said that if "un-named retailer" only schedules me for three days I can then apply for unemployment.  I explained that HRPlus had laid me off of work after 12 years and 34 hours per week.  He said it did not matter.  He said, "You should have quit this part-time job before being given a lay-off date and you would be making more money on unemployment than if you work all week."  Are you kidding?

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.