Miss Millie

Today I searched through the contact list in my phone and the first letters I hit took me to contact "Nana." My grandmother, Mildred Carter Hutchison Woody, passed away Monday, February 23rd. A pistol, one could say. She was a real pistol.

She fell ill over Christmas, recovered, and then ended up with pneumonia again just a few weeks back. She conceded to remedies for a few days, but then decided that she had had enough. She refused food and water, only taking morphine when necessary for about a week, and then died.

It's moments like today that make me nostalgic. She was stubborn. She wanted things her way. Who doesn't? She may have been difficult a time or two. Who can't? But still, she was my grandmother. She was also the last of the grandfamily for my brothers and me. Whether you accept family or deny any similarity, it's still all you got. I'll miss you, Nana. Hope you got where you wanted to go, and hope you're looking down on all of us. Smokin'.

One last stroll

We have had a lovely snowstorm this past weekend. The city is calm in the snow. You can almost hear the snowflakes fall to the earth. A quiet so rare, blissful.

I walked through the neighborhood on a leisurely stroll. I am headed to travel again and wanted to say my goodbyes to what has been home for the last 6 years.I love the park in winter. They are also still mulching Christmas trees, the scent of evergreen lingering in the air.

Having moved out of my apartment over the past week and into a storage locker, my next adventure has begun. I am staying with friends (thanks to all of you) and living out of a few bags. It's a bit maddening and has all come together in a very brief timeframe, but I am thankful to be able to travel again.

Lucky 13

Happy birthday, Gray! It's a big-un but I hope you know that we're all proud of who you are.

Here's to a new decade!

My hood

My girlfriend Rebecca recently mentioned that she wished she'd gotten to see my apartment and life up here in NYC. I told her about this grand new invention called the airplane that could actually take her from anywhere in the world to just about anywhere else in the world. Who knew?!? Sarcasm aside, she had a point.

I've chronicled my life while traveling over the past few years, but have neglected my life when it's just that. Life.

I live on a street made up of mostly subsidized housing. There's a senior facility across the street with 24-hour security. One of the guys who works there is my friend in particular. We wave and smile.

And then there's Theresa. I'm not sure what she's on, generally speaking, but it's usually something. She lives two doors down and is always out on her stoop in the summer. She's quite friendly and inquires about my kids (of which I have none...at least not at the time of writing).

Across the street next to the senior facility is a squattors' building. A couple of years back, someone living there rigged up electricity into the building that started a fire. A few days later the city condemned the building and forced everyone out. In the past few months, like most of the city's "affordable" housing, the building is being renovated for surely luxury condos. I still can't imagine why anyone would pay $1.2 mill for a one bedroom essentially on Avenue D. The housing and mortgage crisis has yet to affect this city. Here's my bet for the next new luxury residential address for New Yorkers: 11 Wall Street!

Subconscious

I was a rite of passage for an 8 year-old kid last night. His sisters and mother had been searching the jungle for those of us who didn't belong. Hiding in a thick brush, they reached me and grabbed at my thighs. One said, "How do I know if I have something?" The mother replied, "You'll know because it'll move." One of the little ones also grabbed hold of my flesh. "It's squishy, but it's not moving." Another added, "I like it. It feels soft."

They cleared away a part in the brush and exposed my legs, then up to my face. I was taken to a clearing and the boy whipped me with my own scarf. Then he moved me to my knees and began cutting the arches of my feet with a razor. They do it to prevent you from walking and to change you for life, no longer able to hunt or hide in the jungle again. With such wounds as well, crippled, you are forever recognizable as an other. Out of reflex I recoiled on the second cut, slicing through muscle and tendon, and jerked my leg from the pain. After the third cut, I awoke.

Katz's Delicatessen

Tony and I went in for a light lunch this afternoon. HA! What a laugh. Sharing a bowl of split pea soup and a pastrami on rye, we left amazed. Full beyond full, we gawked at those around us who tackled an entire sandwich. I'm convinced you have to be in construction, or some purely physical job, in order to sink a whole meal at Katz's.

Having said that, the place is classic. Photos of celebrities line the walls. Upon entering you're handed a ticket, like what you'd get from winning at skeeball. With 50 tickets, you could get at best a plastic boomerang. The prizes at Katz's, however, are far better. For each item you order, you hand your ticket to the person behind the counter who in turn scribbles in your price. As you accumulate items, you too accumulate new numbers, your former cost scratched out, a new one in its place. Old school. No computers. No credit cards.

And the pastrami? Sliced off the bone in front of you per order. A sliver of meat is handed to you by your butcher/sandwich maker to ensure quality and satisfaction. Rye bread and yellow mustard. Go. Share a few things. Bring cash, maybe $50. It's awesome but it ain't cheap.

Behind the times

I have entered the 21st century, folks. Finally.

Horatio came and set up DirecTV in my tiny studio today. What does it really mean? No more does it have to be a minor holiday for a Law & Order Marathon! Nope! I can now watch it seven days a week and even two at a time. Now that's living.

And after, chances are, a 12 year break from watching MTV, now I see that there are no longer such things as music videos. Who knew?!?