Meeeeehhmories . . .

Oh New York.  I remembered you today when John went to the grocery store for me to pick up some items for Thanksgiving.  No Challah or Brioche at my local grocer?!  What?!  Where am I anyways - in the middle of nowhere (said in Brooklyn accent)? 

The dear Staten Island Costco had Challah and Brioche.  Costco in SI is like putting an Italian, Jewish, and Chinese grocer together in bulk form.  Costco in SI had three refridgerated isles devoted to cheese!  Costco in SI sold Chinese sausage in bulk.  Aaand there was a semi-permanent stand on the weekends where you could order sushi fresh!  Of course, doing any shopping between the hours of 6-8pm on the weekdays and Saturday morning was not meant for the weak of heart, and for some was a certain death wish.  Imagine the subway at rush hour but with shopping cart as a weapon.

On a side note, I'm certain that one of the ways to tell if you're a true New Yorker is if you can tell the difference between the borough accents.  Little did I realize that I had acquired (very slightly) the dreaded SI accent until I was speaking with a patient over the phone and he asked if I was from Staten Island!  Of course it's easier to fall into an accent when everyone around you is speaking with a similar one. 

The Brooklyn accent is currently the flavor of the day and can be heard anytime someone wants to impersonate a New Yorker.  At my old work place I recall the Long Island accent clearly, the Latina Harlem accent, the Upper West Side/East Side accent, the Queens accent.  Boy, oh boy.  The physician I worked for would announce his presence to the staff with a "What's goin' on?".  Of course the staff loved that kind of thing and would repeat it back in their own personalized dialect.

Great place that New York.  And that's with enough grains of salt to know what I'm sayin'.  

Copper hills and snow

And brrr to you Manhattan and your crisp cold morning.  After three years of listing in my mind the vast differences between Utah winters and Manhattan winters I was happy to stumble upon a lovely similarity this morning.  As I usually do, I looked out of the SI Ferry on my way across the bay and saw the snow capped pyramids of the tops of three apartment buildings in downtown and recalled how, in their own way, they were the concrete jungle equivalent of the snow capped Rocky Mountains.  Their copper angles turning white with the snow fall, just as the valley's golden fall ranges turn to overnight to their own more powdery version on the white stuff called snow.  This may have been a reach that my mind made in an effort to make our place here in NY a little more like home.  But nevertheless I was able to appreciate a little more of the NY winter that I so utterly find so grey, wet, and depressing.

Good Morning Sandy

I have to say that autumn in NYC usually means to me that a "hello there lovely lady liberty" is done in the glow of a warm sunrise whilst the lights on the Brooklyn bridge and lower Manhattan sparkle their warm glow back in response.  In the wake of Sandy's destruction my good morning greeting has now become a 5am snooze on the shoulder of the East River while on an express bus scooting along on the BQE. 

We've been without hot water, electricity, heat, cooking appliances, et cetera since Monday.  We huddle together under blankets on top of blankets and place Oliver between us in his warmest clothing at night.  Instead of staying up late to watch our favorite show we read by candlelight together and then go to bed at 9:00pm. We've been able to completely clean out our fridge and refrigerator.  We live like gypsies going from one friend's house to the next in search of a place to cook food and take a shower. 

On the downside, Oliver is sick and needs a warm home.  We aren't able to use his nebulizer.  Someone siphoned gas out of our Jeep.  People are walking around Staten Island grocery stores with baseball bats.  And John is doing his best to keep positive in a dark and damp basement apartment with a wound-up pup and an active little guy.


In all honesty however, our complaints are like penny candy compared to the devastation that has rocked our little forgotten borough of Staten Island.  Lost homes and lost lives.  I have nothing to complain about.  NYC I hope for a warm greeting as soon as possible.

My Version

I looked straight into the eyes of the city this morning and asked her what kind of morning it would be.  Sometimes I do that, and sometimes she'll tell me.  I don't always ask, but today I needed to ask because the people of the city were telling me what it was going to be like, and it didn't particularly jive well.  Like the confrontational woman in the subway who blames you for not moving enough so she can get to an open seat without any inconvenience, even though you have no room to move to the right, the left, up, down, front, or back.  Then there's the smell of excrement that reoccurs on each part of your commute, from the ferry, to the subway, and the walk to the office.  I was hoping the city would tell me a crooner swing was in order, to warmly enchant me in spite of the chilly fall breeze.  But I haven't heard back yet.  However, I'm starting to realize that you make this city your own by not leaving it up to her to make it for you.  And in those moments when she gives you something to work with, or even for free, you've already learned how to just sit and appreciate it. 

So with that, I give you my version of this Manhattan morning.

Good Morning Whitehall Harbor

A hood of clouds that reached beyond the edge of the sky surrounded the harbor, effectually trapping everything in a cool and shadowy calm.  As the ferry floated the criss-cross of the breeze fell smooth upon the ocean creating what looked like a liquid laminate floor.  The call of a flock of gulls echoed as their V clan flew over Govenor's Island, around the Queen Mary 2, and disappeared into the rolling hills of four-story buildings across Brooklyn.  The shimmer of the sun that hoovered over the harbor floor followed me in my seat as we crossed the meeting of the hudson and east river and docked in Whitehall harbor.   

Manhattan Morning

• Checking your boots to see if you've stepped in manuer to find that it's only the stench of the city air.
• Walking along the sidewalk in rush hour to realize that the lady in front of you is the tallest and most obviously masculine drag queen you've ever seen.
• A peek of the sun reflected off of another building into your tiny office window (partially blocked by your absolutely useless partition) brings extreme longing and physical aching.
• Happy that your taste buds are finally over the flavor provided by Chili's salsa and chips and chocolate molten lava cake.

September Weekend

This past week the subtle changes in temperature have made everything around us feel like autumn is ever more present.  The coolness makes everythig smell different.  Better.

Even the metal of the grungy bus smells fall-like.  A sweet breeze skims the ocean and the air refershes rather than suffocates the moment it hits you as you step outside.

With the change in season came a change in coiffure fashion for our little guy.

Oliver had his first haircut, given by none other than his immaculate father and his artistic and (thankfully) precise hair cutting skills.

On Saturday we had a first for all three of us as we attended our ward activity apple-picking in NJ.

We especially enjoyed the Red Delicious apples and their juicy White Peaches!

  Complete with cherry cider, hay rides, and perfect weather the activity was the perfect introduction to fall.