Reliance

A rainstorm hit on my bike ride home. No terrential downpour but one of those storms when you can still see the sun shining, too. Where I'm from they always called it the "devil-beating-his-wife-behind-a-closed-door" kind of storm. Funny. I never really thought the devil'd be married...

And on my way home, I had to pick up Tony's bag at Cafe Mogador. Sure. He can take care of business, like I said. But I forgot to mention. There's usually some kind of crisis involved that ends up involving me. I don't know if I bring the crises or if they happen when I'm there because I'm good at handling them. Or maybe it's my own personal purgatory.

So this one involved a lost bag full of personal checks, several of which were already endorsed, two paychecks of a friend of his, a digital camera, and some other junk...anyway. It's just funny who you end up relying on. And how.

P.S. Who uses checks anymore? And carries around endorsed ones?? Anyone? Anyone?

Tonester

Tony's last night. A two-day jaunt into the city, what a smart thing. First night is your first night in town, the last night your last.

The mission for this visit: to find a sub-letter who likes cats and will give him a check for a quick couple of grand, to meet cute boys and to catch up with the crew. No, not in that order. Cute boys would are always first on the agenda. It's what brings us together!

And amazingly, he made it all happen. That's one thing I love about Tony. He makes it happen. Even if to the point of force. But then again, who could refuse that face?!?

Preferences

So I go to a breakfast spot lately to work on the net. The owner is hearing impaired. Yesterday and today we spoke in sign language. It's such a cool thing. To communicate without speaking.

And it's interesting trying to butt into a conversation among hearing impaired people. You can't exactly make the off-hand comment and leave it at that. You can't just say, "Um, excuse me." You first have to catch someone's eye, then keep it, then remember what you're going to say, then say it. May sound like to many steps to take, and I'll admit I sure stumble, but as with any language, it seems like we'd all prefer to communicate rather than not. Sometimes unspoken but heard.

Without a struggle

I overheard a girl on the subway talking to a friend today say, "I'm having a quarter life crisis. Should I just go to law school and say *@^$@# it all?" And to think that all my friends have been talking about 40 being the new 20. Apparently, we've managed to bump up the glory age a whole other decade. Granted, most of them are beautifully closer to 40 than 20...I just hope I make it to 40 when it's at its peak. With my luck, once I do get there, the hip age will have reverted back to 22 and the fashion world will have resurrected those awful multiples that were so popular in the 80s.

But then, it occurred to me. Since when is furthering your education viewed as a negative? Why is it that law school is a cop out for this twenty-something? What generations of women were denied for ages is now viewed as passe for those borne of those generations? Have we come so far only to want the lives our grandmothers and greats lived? While traveling, I washed my clothes in cement basins, by hand, with a hose or spigot, when lucky. Having done so, I no longer take for granted laundry service delivery here in the city. But I can't help but wonder whether we take for granted other bricks in the foundation laid by women before us. As generations with nothing but opportunities ripe for the taking, does it take being denied a thing for us to want it?

Hair prayer

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know I'm different. Hair effects courtesy Aveda Self Control hair product.

E.U.

This being the third, maybe fourth time I've been here, the atmosphere is decidedly less party tonight. But God bless 'em, they've got Lambrusco. In New York City. In mid-September. It's almost suspect that they'd still have it. No one can hang onto this stuff. It's just that good! It's a deep purple, sparking red wine, the color of an abyss or black hole maybe. And it's rich but effervescent. Me, oh my, I love the stuff. And am in luck.

I'm having a cheese plate here at E.U. Yes, that stands for European Union, and the food is a European blend from paella to gnocchi to foie gras. The restaurant space is oh-so-library chic, exposed brick, dark wood, stainless steel coupled with wash basins, oil lanterns and candlelight. Like Ben Franklin could walk in at any minute. Wait...maybe...William Shakepeare. Seems like the neighborhood has to catch up to a place like this. It's a little too corporate quaint for this residential neighborhood. Here's the deal. If enough people outside the neighborhood come in to it to support a place like this, I guess it could succeed regardless of the menu, atmosphere or neighborhood. I guess I'd just like to see more of a blend. Like if a Puerto Rican lady strutted in the door right now with her kids, grandkids, a niece, nephew and second husband for a meal, then I'd be happy. But it doesn't seem like E.U. has quite been accepted yet. Maybe if they'd called it S.A., served alfajores, cafe con leche, ceviche, arepas, sancocho and maybe even cuy it might work out.

And that's another thing. This place is called E.U., only everyone's speaking English. Fine. The U.K. But it seems like I should hear some German, English, and Castellano with a peppering of maybe Flemish? But, no. Maybe this restaurant is better in theory than authenticity. And I paid with my American Express card. Apparently, they don't take euros.

Visuals

My imagination has been more visual lately. Today in the tub, I painted two canvases in my mind. They're called a row of sneakers and, crap! I forgot what the other one is called. Anyway, talking to Laurent, I mentioned about people moving around in my head, as though people stroll into and out of my mind with the ease of clouds. I think that may be right. I don't think about my friends and family, they show up as visions of themselves in my brain. The actual physical person standing there talking to me. Or dancing, riding a bike, whatever the person may be doing, it's all live. And thanks to all of you who keep coming back! So good to see you!

One of the Big Cs

There was a walk in Central Park today for breat cancer. So, I wrote a poem. And I guess it's kind of silly but here it is.

Ode to Survivors
I am no one you know.
Friend or foe.
Neither a borrower nor lender.
Or even favorite bartender.

I am everyone you know.
A smile in the crowd, the girl in the show.
A sister, mother, a wife, a lover.
A woman looking to recover.


Best of luck to all of you out there surviving.

Finding the center

I reconnected with the people at the center today. I've tutored at the Andrew Glover Youth Program for almost 3 years, and I went in today to see if they needed help. Schools have all resumed schedule, so the neighborhood is quiet in the day. An hour a day, kids screaming during recess, but the streets typically empty during the day. It's nice. Feels more mine.

The night tonight is beautiful. The day was gorgeous as well. The sky covered in those fast moving clouds, the kind that make you think the world's just moving faster today. And the light over the world fades, only seconds later to find the sun's return, brilliant and bright. I spent the evening in a local garden, lying in the grass looking up at the stars. I'm not sure about anybody else, but I've always had a protector constellation. Orion. The hunter. When I was growing up, driving my yellow Beetle, I'd pop the top and see Orion in the night sky watching me make it home, all safe and in one piece. It was prominent in the sky while I was traveling, too. Nice to know someone's looking out for you in this life, guarding your steps and passage.

So then it dawned on me. We all end up in places we don't expect at the start. We're all surprised what we end up with and as. But me, I'm pretty pleased so far with me lot in life. I don't live the most traditional kind of life but I hope it's authentic. Turns out I'm nowhere as old-fashioned as I once thought. I am free in life, much freer than I felt before it seems.

9/11

I woke up to gray skies. Today is September 11th. Six years ago, the sky beautiful blue, the city changed. The attack, the terror, the horror we all remember. While I was traveling in South America, once people found out where I live, this day was the first thing they asked me about. Me personally, I was in the air from New York to Atlanta. I'd spent the night in the Newark airport in a telephone alcove, my flight cancelled the night prior, awaiting a 6:45 am departure. Off the plane clueless in Atlanta, I walked toward a Popeye's Chicken wondering why it was so packed. I mean, Popeye's is good, but it ain't that good. Turns out they had televisions airing what was happening. I couldn't believe it. I thought it was the trailer for the next Will Smith movie.

In the 5 years that I've lived in the city, I've never gone to Ground Zero on this day, and this morning watching the names being called, I decided to go. A maze of police barracades and the Financial Disrict around lunch time, I almost turned back and went home. So many people in one place, it just didn't seem worth it. And I can't say I didn't think about what would happen if there were another attack in the same spot, same day.

I was surprised to find a silent protest on the site. Seated monks beating drums with banners of Asian characters were backed by a crowd, hands raised in peace signs. Confused. They were protesting but I wasn't sure why. One of New York's Finest explained that their point seems to be that 9/11 was a conspiracy and requires further investigation. That the attack was an inside job. In the swirl of theories surrounding the attacks there may lie a legitimate, responsible party. The theories may also be ideas to which people attach themselves unable to handle the magnitude of what happened, the evil in the world. They may even be sheer political propaganda. Regardless, the protest almost seemed insulting. All of these people gathered to grieve, to honor, to remember, to pay respects, and a protest? I wondered how many participating lost a child, husband, co-worker, relative in the attack.

Ground Zero remains a work in progress to this day. It has slowly changed from a destruction to construction site, the PATH trains and subways up and running years back. As for what lies ahead, the Freedom Tower is the plan. Goldman Sachs also recently signed on to set up shop there with 13,000 some-odd employees. So, soon enough, I imagine this part of the city will be aglow in lights and luxury. There is also a memorial slated to commemorate those lives taken in both 2001 and 1993. It's a relief to see there will be a place dedicated to the those who perished, as much to honor their lives and efforts as well as to pay tribute to those they left behind who miss them day by day.

On my way home, the sky poured rain on me. I walked past a bodega cashier smoking a cig on the street. I was soaked, my shirt pretty much see-through, and he didn't glance at any other part of my body than my chest. Eww. I think that shop's run by Muslims. And it occurred to me, maybe Muslim women are covered that way for their own protection. For the first time in my life, I'd have rather been in a full burka.

HOWL, New York!

The New York Howl Festival began today in my neighborhood. A tribute to Allen Ginsberg's ground-breaking poem, the festival gathers in Tompkins Square Park every year. Writers, artists, designers, even political activists, join to rekindle the spirit that has made this neighborhood famous, or infamous, as a community culture of free thinking, creativity, even rebellious acts. Punks, drug addicts, families, trannies, fashionistas, all gather together to celebrate the festival over five days. This weekend is the kickoff, with all sorts of fun fashion shows, gallery showings and parties scheduled over the next few days.

This year, the outside gates of the park are covered in canvas with artists transforming the blank into their own unique expressions of self. Graffiti artists, still-life, collages, sculptures, there's a lot to see. I wonder if Ginsberg would be pleased. In this day and age, so few seem to go against the grain to exercise freedom of speech. Ah. A madman just passed by screeching through the park, alternating between James Brown songs and political propaganda, a cigarette in one hand, a brown bag in the other. I never knew the man, but I think Allen would feel at home now.

The food lines have been moved inside the park today, a group of Indian women serving the masses. Only today, the line isn't just people who need a square meal. They're serving everyone. For free. Looks good. Damn fast. Tents set up throughout the park, all sorts of creative types have their wares out for offer. I picked up an original gold midriff hoodie from a local designer, New York Couture. Can't wait to sport that one! It's going to be a Miss Anne meets Rocky Balboa meets Pat Benatar get up...a girl can dream anyway!

I ran into Chico on the corner, making my way around the artists setups. He seemed to be the gateway artist, bridging the "traditional" acrylics & paint brushes artists with those whose medium is spray paint. As we chatted, a guy in a pressed button-up stopped by to ask for tips on how to get an apartment in the hood. We both gave our best on how he should go about scoring his own crib. We had just been talking about the neighborhood and how no one can seem to afford to live here anymore. At least none of the creative, which Chico equated with poor. Life is funny.

Two music stages have been cranking out a mixture of punk, rockabilly and solo songwriters, each stage rallying for fans. This neighborhood is great. A variety of peoples, that family was speaking Vietnamese. There's goes some Spanish, of course, a majority here. And was that Polish? I've got to travel more. Even in my own neighborhood, though, it's possible to get a glimpse of culture from other countries. I love where I live.

A forgotten note

In case you hadn't heard, I make the world's best guacamole. Now, I'm not one to toot my own horn, at least not every day, but I have to say, my guacamole ROCKS! This year on vacation, I tweaked the recipe. Mmm. Delicious! But not quite like almonds. Sorry, folks. Inside joke I couldn't resist.

Met at the Met

I got a haircut today, do da, do da. I got a haircut today, oh, do, da, day! Yay! It's mad cute, if I don't say so myself.

So, I biked up to the Met this afternoon to meet my new friend Keri. Yes, as in, Keri...is so very. We roamed the museum, well, got lost a bunch. Even with a museum map in hand. We saw all the Renaissance stuff, some china from China, cool Revolutionary war stuff, but kept missing the Rembrandts exhibit. Through the Modern Art section, up the stairs to the contemporary stuff, I was in heaven. I have needed some culture. That inspiration felt when glimpsing a painting you've never seen before that moves you to tears. Or exploring a sculpture you've never seen, even though you may have walked past it time and again. And, sometimes, living in New York, I'm just ashamed of myself. So many wonderful musems, cool things to do and see, and, me? I hardly leave my neighbor-hood. Shame, shame, shame.

But not today. It was another glorious September day, that probably shouldn't have been spent inside. But if going to a museum, it seems a worthy sacrifice. No sacrifice at all today. I think my favorite will always be Picasso, but I adore anything that stops and makes me think. Or leaves me speechless. Or just looks cool.

There are also those pieces that seem as though a first-grader could have done them. They seem so out of place. At one point, I did ask,"What is this? Sherwin Williams?" The installation was nothing more than pastel rectangles of color hung from lightest to darkest. For a moment, I thought I was there to pick up swatches. I know, I know. Who am I to judge?

We ended the day on the rooftop garden. They sell alcohol and fun snacks, but per the fast, I did not partake. The view spans most of Central Park, full of trees, brought to an end by the towers of buildings. And, to our credit, the Rembrandts exhibit is on the map, but doesn't start until next week.

P.S. Thank you to the artists featured on this site, whether living or gone. The words are all original and the photographs, but some of the things captured therein? I haven't even got a paint brush to my name. Yet.

The M.C.

So this is Day 4 of the Master Cleanse. Some of you may have witnessed this madness in the past. Many of you may not yet have had the pleasure. It's a fast. You don't eat, but you do drink. It's a mixture of fresh lemon juice, organic maple syrup and cayenne pepper. You drink the mix every time you feel hungry for as many days as you wish, 10 being the typical minimum, 40 being the recommended maximum. The cleanse was developed by a man name Stanley Burroughs, who is renowned for his work in the field of alternative health care and research on the role of toxemia in disease. This cleanse is supposed to help detoxify the body, while providing all the necessary nutrients the body needs throughout the duration of the fast.

I personally underwent this cleanse twice last year and found the results remarkable. Weird, right? First off, the notion of not eating? Just seems absurd. But if Gandhi could do it, I figured I could at least try. Then, people most ask about cravings and the desire to eat and, well, chew even. And oddly enough, you don't have them. Normally. This time I have had a few funny cravings. Like the other day, I really wanted a Philly Cheese Steak, which I never eat. It was more specifically grease and fried foods. They say that when you do experience cravings it's because your body is ridding itself of those very things you crave. Yep. I've had some fried stuff in the last 10 months. And today, riding my bike, I smelled a charcoal grill and just about fell off my bike. Yep. I've been a meat-eater for the past 10 months, too.

When you come off the fast, you drink orange juice for a day, and the following day, homemade vegetable soup. I do love me some veggies. So wish me luck. I'm shooting for at least 10 days...

To dog or not to dog

I miss Ginger! I want my little puppy! Should I go to Ecuador and try to bring her back?!?

Can a change do you good?

I love New York in September. The humidity disappears and the skies are nothing but blue. Breezes sweep through the streets, the summer pressure cooker smells, melting asphalt, boiling garbage, steaming food carts, all wisked away to another world. The nights are fresh and cool. It's gorgeous.

So I've been thinking. I know, I know. Bad, Anne! Bad, Anne! But maybe I'm a change addict. No, not nickels and dimes, but locations, countries, ahem, jobs?? My work history is pretty solid. I'm no job-jumper. But it seems like every 5 years or so, I make a change. Whether in career, city, personality maybe even, it seems like I'm compelled to make a change. I grew up in a stable environment. My family moved once, and, yes, I went. Kicking and screaming. So maybe that's part of it. I have a need to move around because we never really did. One of my friend's families moved all the time. And she and her sisters are all homeowners. Hmm. I wonder if I'll ever have one of those I've-lived-on-this-block-for-20-years moments. Even the change of seasons makes me happy. Moving from summer to fall, I'm giddy! But what's more, could I ever be happy settled? In one place, in one career, in one personality? What is this need for change?

Ending and beginning

Up early to clean the house and head our separate ways, the sun was just coming up when I got up. There is something relieving, even hopeful in seeing the sun come up. It's particularly special seeing a new beginning on a day that seems so full of endings. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, sand. Goodbye, pool. Goodbye, family. Goodbye, Florida. I'll miss you all. But only for a year, I hope! And soon enough, hello New York!