Snippets

Posted on July 19, 2008 by onesanevoice

Occasionally I tear items from newspapers that amuse or astound me with the intention of using them in a blog entry but I rarely do.  Months ago I cut out a small piece in my daily paper describing a major university study about the ways divorce impacts our environment.  Broken families create twice the paper waste (in settlement agreements alone), twice the gas usage (for all those custody visits, I imagine), and the additional carbon footprint that results from one family living in two places.

As I was reading this article, it struck me that the university study succeeded in creating twice the guilt as well.  Divorcing parents feel dreadful enough about the death of the future they so lovingly planned, to say nothing of the lasting effect on the children they brought into the world.  Now they have Greenpeace on their case.  You never know how seriously people will take studies like this and I wonder if someday it won’t be unusual to hear, “Well, we would have gotten divorced long ago were it not for the environment.”

Which reminds me of an old joke.  A very elderly couple appeared before a judge requesting a divorce.  The judge looked at them incredulously and said, “You’ve been married 75 years.  Why divorce now?”  To which the wife replied, “We were waiting for the children to die.”

We just returned from several days in Florida and our neighbor was kind enough to stack our newspapers inside the front door while we were gone.  In perusing the news stories we missed, I spotted a notice under Corrections, the column in which the paper acknowledges its printed mistakes.  It read, “Skip Biminetti is a Mets fan.  A story Tuesday said he was a Yankees fan.”  I tore it out wondering how this grave error came to light.  Did the guys at Skip’s local sports bar call in to set the record straight or did Skip have to do it himself?  Did his wife ultimately e-mail the editor and say, “There’s no living with him!  Say it isn’t so!”  Too bad there’s no Follow-up to Corrections column.

The reason we were down in Florida was to visit Husband’s parents, a beguiling pair of elders I’ve written about in entries here and there.  I just find them adorable and Husband suggests that’s possibly because I’m not from Planet Husband.  He has this theory modeled on the Superman-Kryptonite reaction that says unless you’re from the home planet of the specimens being observed, you’re not affected in the least by their behavior.  What might be perceived by natives of the home planet as incredibly annoying can present itself to visitors as charming quirkiness.

After dinner one evening, my 85-year-old father-in-law said he needed some assistance on his computer and because I’ve helped him before he came to me again.  He has an e-mail account, he surfs the net, he even does his banking online.  I asked him what he needed and he said he had two favors to ask.  One, he really wanted to navigate YouTube and I said I could certainly show him how.  The second request was regarding something that might be too delicate a matter for me to handle, and after he shuffled around a bit I told him to just come out with it.

DAD-IN-LAW:  Well, I keep getting these e-mails. . . they seem to be of a dubious nature. . . I’m really not sure. . . (lowering his voice)  I think they’re, you know, pornographic.

OSV:  It’s all right, Dad, I get them too.  Everyone does.  I can easily show you how to block them.

DAD-IN-LAW:  Block them?  I need to know how to open them.

OSV:  HONEY!  COME HELP YOUR FATHER!!

After several entries with Featured Fotos from Costa Rica, Daughter brings us Back To The City

manhattan bridge

manhattan bridge

high bike

high bike

east river

east river

another hydropower fountain sculpture installation

another hydropower fountain sculpture installation

Posted in Random Thoughts and Adventures | Tagged , , | Comments Off on Snippets

Missed Opportunities

Posted on July 15, 2008 by onesanevoice

If you grew up in the last half-century, your mother probably told you to think before you speak.  She knew that words have a way of hanging in the air long after they’re said and they can travel on a wisp farther than you’d ever imagine.  Mothers of the future will have to amend that age-old advice to think before you speak and then make sure the microphone is off.

The wave of embarrassments displayed by our public figures continues to wash over us with the Reverend Jesse Jackson’s latest gaffe at the forefront.  Whispering a derisive comment that Barack Obama disparages his black church-going followers would seem reckless enough from a prominent reverend appearing as a guest on a TV panel.  But his Lorena Bobbitt hand gesture regarding the senatorial family jewels added a dollop of instant infamy.  When you consider that during another election two decades ago this same individual referred to New York as Hymietown, a pattern is hard to ignore.

Reverend Bounty Hunter anyone?  What have we learned from the racially charged tape-recorded phone call of Dog Chapman’s that circled YouTube in 11 seconds last year?  Two things:  1) don’t be a hater; and 2) George Orwell’s 1984 has been here long enough for all of us to know that the walls have ears and eyes and the buzzing inside them is real.  And whether what we utter is meant for everyone to hear or not, like that insipid song from Titanic, it goes on and on.

When I was about nine years old, my family belonged to a pool club in Brooklyn where I befriended a girl named Tina.  My world view was small back then and I had no idea if Tina lived a block away or on the other side of Brooklyn.  All I knew was it was somewhere other than the housing project where we lived and I saw her every day at the pool.

One day we were playing in the water and we noticed one of the male lifeguards talking with a gorgeous teenager who I recognized as the daughter of a good friend of my mom’s.  She was a senior in high school and she looked just like Annette Funicello in Beach Party.  We were watching them silently when I decided to show Tina how worldly I was by sharing some gossip I had overheard between my mom and Annette’s mother.

I said, “You know, that girl has a steady boyfriend named Frankie but she has a crush on the lifeguard.  They’ve been secretly dating behind her boyfriend’s back.  Her mom says he’s much better for her than her loser guinea boyfriend.”

Tina’s eyes got wide but she said nothing.  I nodded my head to reinforce my revelation and considered her suitably impressed.  I had absolutely no idea I had repeated a derogatory term for Italian-Americans nor had I ever met the boyfriend in question nor did I know Tina’s ethnic heritage.

That night I overheard another conversation, this one between my parents.  My mom was telling my dad she just received a phone call from Annette’s mother saying Annette’s boyfriend had come over that evening and broken up with her suddenly, leaving her in tears.  On top of all the things I didn’t know about Tina was the fact that she was Frankie’s little sister.

I never shared with anyone that I was the cause of Annette’s troubles.  A year later she married the lifeguard and they went on to have three children.  I was glad she got her happy ending but it never lessened my childhood guilt.  Better I should have heeded Husband’s sage advice which I will pass on to readers, reverends, and bounty hunters alike:  Never miss an opportunity to shut the fuck up.

My pal betty is planning to frame some of Daughter’s Leaves to hang in her living room.  Here are more Featured Fotos from Costa Rica to choose from

inside out

inside out

bitten

bitten

remnant

remnant

kind of like a black and white cookie

kind of like a black and white cookie

ghost leaf

ghost leaf

Posted in Brooklyn is calling | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on Missed Opportunities

Office Spaced

Posted on July 11, 2008 by onesanevoice

Usually when I begin an entry I have a fairly good idea where I’m going with it but this time I’ll just start writing and see where we end up.  I’m sitting in the kitchen instead of the new office I created with Daughter’s help out of her old bedroom and I have a good reason for being here.  I was just in that nice new office and from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of something I disregarded because the surroundings are all new and I figured it was a shadow.

I continued on with what I was doing and then I saw it again and realized it was either the mother of all water bugs or else we had another mouse.  It scurried across the seafoam green carpeting within inches of my foot and disappeared behind the bookcase.  I jumped up and started to shriek like Olive Oyl when Bluto yanked her by the neck and then I grabbed my laptop and ran into the kitchen with my cell phone to call Popeye.

It was Husband’s good fortune to be out of the house at that moment, but luckily I have The Network, so unless he was climbing Kilimanjaro, a dead zone is not what they advertise.  I got him on the first ring.

OSV:  Are you near a CVS?

HUSBAND:  Are you feeling sick?

OSV:  You know, I am a little nauseous.

HUSBAND:  You want me to get some Pepto?

OSV:  No, I want mousetraps.

HUSBAND:  How many?

There was a time when this conversation would have taken longer to unfold but after almost eight years of marriage the corners tend to get rounded.

When Husband arrived home with my goody bag he had one question:  Where?  I pointed to my new office with its new air conditioner, the installation of which no doubt provided the means for rodential entry.  We had apparently neglected to take down the sign that said ‘Fresh Hole In House – Vermin This Way’.

Husband’s mathematical mind scoured the parameters while I pointed out the trail I had witnessed.  Then he dropped to one knee and with both palms on the seafoam carpet he scanned the route like Tiger Woods planning his final putt.

HUSBAND:  Four will do it.

I followed him like a groupie into the kitchen where he peeled the wrapping from four traps and laid them out on the counter.  He rolled up his shirt sleeves and said to get the peanut butter.  I brought him a jar of his favorite, Jif Extra Crunchy.

HUSBAND:  Don’t we have any creamy?

OSV:  Well, yeah, we do.  But the creamy’s mine.  Can’t you use the crunchy?

HUSBAND:  No.

OSV:  Do mice really care?  I’ll be too skeeved to eat out of that jar again.

He gave me The Look.

I got him the creamy.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos from Costa Rica are filled with Texture

waxy

waxy

gnarly

gnarly

plump

plump

silky

silky

ribbed

ribbed

Posted in 'Til Death Do Us Part | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on Office Spaced

Three-and-a-half in dog years

Posted on July 7, 2008 by onesanevoice

“Oh my God, you still have this picture framed?”

Daughter was helping me turn her old bedroom into an office now that she’s been out of it since college and she came across a photo of herself that used to sit on my desk at work.  It’s a nice 5×7 of folk icon Richie Havens with his arm around her shoulder at an Earth Day Festival for which she volunteered to run his booth.

This image under glass symbolizes many things for me, among them my daughter’s devotion to ecology and the environment; her attraction to new experiences; her tendency not to be intimidated by famous people; the joyous way she celebrates life; and how thrilled I am when people see similarities between us.

Several years ago when I first displayed this photo on my desk at work, a younger co-worker passed by and remarked, “That girl looks a lot like you.  Is it your daughter?”  When I replied that it was his next question caught me off guard.  “So she’s dating an older black guy?”

I was stupefied.  “What?!  This is RICHIE HAVENS.”

He looked at me blankly and shrugged.  I stood up at my desk and gestured with my whole body.

“Woodstock?!  Freedom?  Freedom, Freedom, Freedom?”  I waved my fingers in front of my mouth to indicate those famous missing teeth.  “Where were you born?”

A colleague close to my age passing by shook his head and said, “It’s more a matter of WHEN he was born.”

As Daughter’s 27th year on the planet approaches, I’m reminded that one of my favorite things about her is that she always gets it.  No matter what it is, when it happened, how insignificant or momentous, she just simply gets it.  Which means that a percentage of my time has been spent showing her that I get it too.

While we were clearing the room of her leftover teenage memorabilia, we came across a flier that took us both back.  The last time I saw it was her senior year in high school when it was lying on the floor as I entered her room.  It was reminiscent of one of those Missing – Have You Seen This Person? posters and it featured a graphic rear view of a young guy with his pants down and his hairy butt exposed.  The writing underneath it said, “Where’s Mikey?  Call 1-800-THIS-ASS.”

At the time, I knew right away it referred to a friend and classmate of Daughter’s who had stopped attending school that year and basically dropped out of sight.  Rumors suggested everything from his leaving the country suddenly to being holed up in a swank Manhattan apartment with a famous model having round-the-clock sex.  No one knew anything and it was the talk of the senior class.

Daughter said she arrived at school early that morning to prepare the daily announcements she would deliver over the PA only to find the administration bugging.  Someone had snuck in even earlier and covered every wall in every hallway with these spoof fliers.  Because the building contained grades 7 through 12, every available teacher was rushing around trying to tear them down before the most impressionable students arrived.

Since Daughter was a trusted straight-A student, they asked her if she had seen anything or anyone unusual when she arrived.  She said she hadn’t.  They asked if she would keep her eyes and ears open and let them know if she found out anything.  She said she would.  As first period began, there were still fliers scattered throughout the school and the urban legend grew.

When Daughter finished speaking and glanced up she was surprised to see me laughing.

DTR:  You think this is funny?  The administration was pissed.

OSV:  I think it’s a scream.  If I were a senior in high school I would wish I were friends with whoever posted these things.

Daughter averted her eyes down to her homework.

OSV:  Was it one of your friends?

DTR:  It might have been.

I sat down on the rug next to her.  I knew most of her friends at school and my mind raced to picture which one of them went sailing down the hallways at dawn slapping fliers on the walls.

OSV:  If you tell me I swear I’ll never say another word about it.

DTR:  Are you sure?

OSV:  Positive.

DTR:  All right then.  It was me.

Happy birthday, you little maniac.

Fun At The Equator is the subject of Daughter’s Fotos taken in Costa Rica

stepping out in san jose

stepping out in san jose

my tarzan jump

my tarzan jump

the guy who jumped ahead of me, whoever he is

the guy who jumped ahead of me, whoever he is

payasso: my ride

payasso: my ride

1-800-HORSES-ASS

1-800-HORSES-ASS

Posted in The Kids Are Alright | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on Three-and-a-half in dog years

The Wilderness Family Rolls on the River

Posted on July 3, 2008 by onesanevoice

Summer is family vacation time so here is a reprint of a newspaper column that ran in 1995.  It was written during my first marriage so Doc refers to my ex.  The kids, however, are the same.

We have taken some memorable family vacations in our time, some of which stand out for how quickly we tried to forget them.  There was the journey to the Amish country when Son and Daughter were very young and the Pennsylvania Dutch were suffering through the worst period of rain in ten years.  This trip had me wailing at the kids on the way home that their next vacation would be their honeymoons.  Doc, normally a tower of strength in situations like this, was conceding with despair that perhaps we’d been gone too long.  It was Wednesday.  We’d left Monday morning.

Another trip was a picture perfect example of life imitating art when we decided to go white-water rafting a la Meryl Streep and The River Wild.  Before we hit the water, I had a few maternal stipulations:  this adventure had to be taken seriously as there was danger involved; any camping to be done would have to include first-rate toilet facilities; nearby outlet shopping was a plus; and if the river guide looked anything like Kevin Bacon we were out of there.

We chose the Delaware River and a tour company that assured us of level one and two rapids – strictly family stuff requiring no major preparation.  The timing with regard to our family dynamics was stellar.  The kids had been separated all summer by sleepaway camp and were actively enjoying each other’s company.  Neither one had picked a fight all week simply because the other one was “looking at me.”  Raft on.

The first day’s trip down the Delaware was 10 miles long and it was estimated to take about four hours.  There were turnoffs at five and eight miles but once you passed the eight-mile mark you were in it to the end.  The day was perfection; sunny with a delicate breeze and the scent of a thousand things in the air which could only exist on a country river.  Beavers bobbed by us close to shore and a family of ducks stopped their procession to watch us glide past.  We paddled and talked, paddled and laughed, paddled and sang, and paddled and paddled and paddled.

We could see when a rapid was approaching by the little digs in the water up ahead.  The raft would speed up and then the river would suddenly take charge, trying to spin our craft around against our paddles.  There’d be a dizzying ascent into the air where the water would spray into our open, shouting mouths, “Keep it straight!  Watch out on the left!  We got it!”  Then we’d come down with a thump, always off balance, but trying to stay even with the water and making sure everyone was still on board, only to find ourselves aloft again with the sound of the waves crashing in our ears.

At the eight-mile mark the other rafts turned off and we were alone on the river, the family against nature.  My heart pounded with anticipation.  Then all of a sudden the kids needed a snack break, followed by a rest break, then another snack break.  Doc and I stressed the importance of paddling but the kids were more interested in who had the easier side of the raft.  I sensed that the spell of the river was beginning to break and we had overstayed our welcome by at least a mile.  The estimated four hours had come and gone and we were painfully shy of the finishing spot.

We pushed on until the final rapid was behind us and the river grew still.  The kids were now squabbling to the point that they had gone overboard and were trying to pull each other’s vest off.  Doc and I watched them in exhaustion wondering if there was really anything to be gained by pulling them back in.  They had pretty much given up paddling and it would mean more snacks for us.  But then I caught a glimpse of a combined $8,000 worth of orthodontia gleaming in the sun and we threw them a paddle.

We continued on in the broiling heat, now hoping to find Kevin Bacon so we could be put out of our misery.  The kids had become raft ornaments, each stretched out on a pontoon with a limb hanging overboard like an anchor.  They were bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t brought headphones.

Then Doc shouted that he saw the docking point several hundred yards ahead and suddenly all hands were on deck paddling with renewed passion.  Hey, this is pretty great, I thought proudly.  We conquered the river with time to spare.  I bet those outlets stay open till nine.

Daughter’s recent trip to Costa Rica was All Kinds of Wild

baby monkeys

baby monkeys

poas volcano

poas volcano

rainforest

rainforest

this 200-foot drop is for you, mom!

this 200-foot drop is for you, mom!

the money shot

the money shot

Posted in Mom in the 'Hood | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on The Wilderness Family Rolls on the River

Cause for Cake

Posted on June 29, 2008 by onesanevoice

This past Friday was graduation day for those students in my school who have made it to the finish line.  The faculty requested a volunteer from the student council to act as usher so my co-president Blondie and I called a meeting of the entire council, which meant the two of us in the ladies room between classes.  She checked the date and said she wasn’t available so we opened it up to the rest of the council.  I volunteered.

The night before that day arrived, Husband and I went to Brooklyn College where Husband was honored as one of Brooklyn’s Men of Distinction.  This is an award bestowed by one of our senators on prominent community leaders who make a difference in the lives of the people of Brooklyn.  I was so proud of him.  It also happened to be graduation night at the college and walking among all the nicely dressed, excited young people and their families reminded me of my own kids’ graduation ceremonies and how much I loved attending them.  Nice night.

Friday morning I went to read Dear Amy in the newspaper and reached for my glasses, which broke in half before I could get them on my face.  This was amazing to me since I had just taken them the day before to be adjusted.  The technician even congratulated me on not adjusting them myself since that’s how glasses break.  The other way is when the technician adjusts them.

While she was tweaking my frames in the office, I mentioned how much I love them and how many compliments I get on the rimless lenses with their metallic magenta arms and she said to enjoy them because they’ve been discontinued.  In fact, they can’t even get replacement parts; the company shut down the whole metallic rimless line.  Of course.

So now it’s graduation morning and I’m due to usher and follow the program which I could only read in these glasses if I was Cyclops so I have to find my former pair, the ones that make me look like a Soviet assassin on the run with my boyfriend Boris.  When I locate them I can see why I get compliments on the metallic ones.  And since it’s a four-year old prescription that’s about all I can see.

I fulfilled my ushering duties and sat back to enjoy the ceremony.  The student who delivered the graduation speech for her class was a woman several years older than me, and I’m one of the student elders.  She spoke of the road that brought her to this day, a journey that began ten years ago.  That was when she decided to pursue this career, but before the school term began she fell and broke her wrist in two places.  Since this is a skill you cannot perform with a broken arm, her plans were put on hold.

She re-enrolled at a later date, then her son became seriously ill with a virus that lasted three years so she withdrew again.  Her next attempt ended when she sneezed and ruptured a disk in her back requiring two surgeries.  Finally she began again only to become widowed halfway through.  Now that she has graduated, she will retire from her current, longtime job and embark on the future she imagined a decade ago.  That’s vision.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos offer Visual Interpretations

williamsburg bridge

williamsburg bridge

vintage baby carriage

vintage baby carriage

driving in reverse

driving in reverse

self-portrait mommy & me

self-portrait mommy & me

Posted in Skool Daze | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on Cause for Cake

Perchance to Dream

Posted on June 25, 2008 by onesanevoice

My husband is a social worker and whenever I describe a particularly vivid dream to him and ask what he thinks it means, he reminds me that we are all the authors, directors and stars of our own dreams.  I happen to agree with that, but the writer in me always wants to see the ending in print and not hidden behind “What do YOU think it means?”  I know there are components in therapy that utilize revelatory dream interpretations, and Tony Soprano would agree since they were often the impetus behind his tossing lamps around Dr. Melfi’s office.

A recurring dream I have is that I log on to my computer to check my blog and it’s gone.  In some dreams I log on again and someone else’s website comes up.  In others I call GoDaddy to complain and they tell me they see it just fine.  I log on again and it’s still not there; it’s visible to everyone but me.  In my waking world, I print out all my entries so it’s not like I don’t have a hard copy of what I’ve written, but here’s what I think:  in my dreams the Internet is the afterlife.  This blog is the proof I was here.

People keep journals and diaries for many reasons.  They do it for personal expression, to record important events, to help organize their thoughts, to clarify their memories.  They do it for family members not yet born, or too young to ask the things they’ll want to know when they grow up and there’s no one left to ask.

In the final weeks before my 100-year-old grandmother died, Daughter and I sat with her talking about the things she’d accomplished in her long and unusual life, and listening to her still sharp recollections.  Of my grandfather, who passed away in his fifties, she said, “He was a cute boy, but he turned out not to be as smart as I thought he was.  I could have done better.”  The hospice nurse nearly fell off her chair, but Daughter and I ate it up.  Then Grandma said of her youngest brother, for whom I was named, “He worked at a factory and they weren’t allowed to go to the bathroom during the day.  His kidneys got infected and he died at 26.  He was my favorite.”  And so was I.

While walking through the Renegade Nation Craft Fair last weekend, I shared my dream anxiety with Daughter, who assured me I would never be forgotten.  In turn, she related a dream she kept having about an upcoming trip to Costa Rica where she and her friend planned to go bungee jumping.  It was a 200-foot drop and she feared when the moment came she wouldn’t be able to do it.  She asked her travel companion if he’d give her a little push, and he said he was pretty sure that wasn’t allowed.  So she remained frozen at the edge, alone, listening to her heart pound as the earth opened up below.

She turned to me at the craft fair with a winsome smile.

DTR:  I guess it’s pretty obvious what that dream’s about, right?

OSV:  Right.  Don’t fucking jump!!

They should all be so easy.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos catch us Looking

in the sand

in the sand

through the rushing water

through the rushing water

at the city pavement

at the city pavement

from end to end

from end to end

Postscript:  Comedy’s favorite son has left the building with the death of George Carlin, who reinvented the genre as he reinvented himself.  Let us all say Seven Words in silence.

Posted in Join me on the couch, or How did that make you feel? | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on Perchance to Dream

Cultivate Randomness

Posted on June 21, 2008 by onesanevoice

Every morning I glance over the horoscopes in the newspaper, not because I particularly believe in astrology, but because when all is said and done it’s good to have something to blame a shitty day on.  First I check out Taurus for Husband and I, and then I look at Cancer for Daughter and Pisces for Son.

One day this week, Pisces was advised to ‘be unpredictable so no one can anticipate your next move’.  I don’t know if the fault, dear Brutus, lies in our stars or in ourselves, but both my kids have always kept me guessing.  When Son was a freshman at college in another state, we drove out to see him and prearranged to meet in the Student Union.  We arrived early so we swung by his dorm room first since it was on the way.  His roommate greeted us.

OSV:  Hi, do you know if Son plans to come back here after class or just head to the Union?

ROOMIE:  Um, I don’t know.  He doesn’t live here anymore.

OSV:  What do you mean?

ROOMIE:  He moved to a dorm across the quad last month.

OSV:  But I’ve been sending his mail here.

ROOMIE:  Oh, I give him his mail.

OSV:  I see.

But of course I didn’t.

In the fall of 1998, Daughter was in her senior year of high school and serving an internship with the Metro Channel, a cable TV station that operated out of the New Yorker Hotel in midtown Manhattan.  She had won a spot as an intern in the production department as well as appearing in front of the camera for a show called School’s Out!

The program featured a panel of high school students sharing homework tips with call-in viewers along with providing their general opinion on everything.  It was cleverly done and a hoot to watch as well as being the only reason I gave in to getting cable after holding out so long I was starting to feel like the last living cell in a dead body.

Daughter’s school was extremely cooperative in allowing her to be excused from class early three days a week to catch a train into the city.  The show aired at 5:00 and I always turned it on the moment I got home from work.

One morning, Daughter informed me she wouldn’t be going to school at all that day.  She was due at Metro in the afternoon and in the morning the Yankees would be parading down the Canyon of Heroes in lower Manhattan having just won the World Series.

OSV:  So your school is being terrific enough to bend the rules for you all year and you respond by cutting.

DTR:  I’m a senior, Mom.  They hardly expect us to come at all.

OSV:  Really.

DTR:  The YANKEES WON, Mom.  Who knows when I’ll have this chance again in my lifetime?  Who knows the next time I can watch them parade down the Canyon of Heroes?

OSV:  I know how you were raised and I know you’ll do the right thing.

Our eyes locked and I made certain mine imparted as much guilt as possible.  After a stony silence, her gaze softened and she kissed my cheek.

DTR:  You know I will.

I turned on the TV after work and the student panelists were relaxed and chatting.  The one I always recognize first was wearing an enormous T-shirt emblazoned with WORLD SERIES CHAMPS 1998.  She said she got it that morning at the parade right before they ran out.  How lucky.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos say Go For It

become your dream

become your dream

stay gold

stay gold

get noticed

get noticed

cultivate 4 footnotes

Posted in The Kids Are Alright | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on Cultivate Randomness

Renegade Nation

Posted on June 17, 2008 by onesanevoice

Saturday morning I planned to leave the house at 8:45 so I could pull into the parking garage across from Daughter’s building in the city by 10:00 and get the special Saturday rate of $10 for the day.  Daughter and I would then walk to Union Square and hop on the L train to Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn and from there make our way to the McCarren Park Pool, site of the Fourth Annual Renegade Craft Fair, the most artistic and authentic handmade craft exposition of the year.

As I was getting into my car at home, our contractor showed up unannounced to finish some odds and ends of the work he’s been doing for us.  Contractors are like soul mates and job promotions – you don’t refuse them when they appear even if you’re not ready because you never know if they’ll come by again.  So I walked him around to go over things as my carefully choreographed minutes slipped away.

I foolishly decided to take the bridge instead of the tunnel and in so doing encountered a police caravan on Queens Boulevard pacing the traffic to ensure the 30mph speed limit.  This is an infamous stretch of road with repeated pedestrian accidents so I applaud the NYPD’s efforts in enforcement.  I can now report from personal experience that if you travel the entire length of Queens Blvd at thirty miles an hour you will catch every single red light whether there’s a cop car in sight or not.

I hit Daughter’s general vicinity at 9:45, just in time to have the street blocked off in front of me for the 2nd Avenue Street Fair which I had forgotten about.  Mired in a mass of redirected traffic, I nonetheless arrived at the parking garage at 10:03.  The attendant informed me that I missed the special and it would be $26 for the day.  I told him it was just three minutes.  He said it wasn’t up to him; it was monitored electronically.  I considered further discussion but he gave me a look that said, “Until I get my green card this subject is closed,” so I decided in a ridiculous act of rebellion to get back in the car and try for a spot on the street.

I circled the heavily congested area once with no luck and then noticed a garage right opposite Bellevue Hospital advertising a full-day special for $10.  I thought this was sweet since anyone visiting a patient at Bellevue could certainly use a break.  When I was a kid, my father’s mother fell and broke her hip and was taken to Bellevue late at night.  We rushed to be with her and in the crowded emergency room there was a young guy on the pay phone with his bloody hand over his stomach saying into the receiver, “Hello, Richie?  Yeah, it’s me.  Tell Mom I got shot.”  Feeling fortunate at Bellevue for a second time, I left my car in the garage and proceeded on foot to pick Daughter up and head south to the land of our birth.

The Renegade Craft Fair is held every year in Brooklyn, Chicago and San Francisco and it attracts over 200 highly skilled and original vendors offering handmade jewelry, clothing, home décor, artwork, and items you will see nowhere else.  It is a genuine cutting-edge craft fair, not the bastardized $3 sunglasses and knockoff Gucci handbag display we’ve come to expect of city street fairs.  This year it fell on a picture-perfect summer day that I enjoyed with a perfect companion who always takes pictures.  Throw in all-day bargain parking and it was a little slice of heaven in Williamsburg.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos offer a Summer Tour Thru the Boros

riding the wave in Williamsburg

riding the wave in Williamsburg

danny meyer is building a restaurant in union square

danny meyer is building a restaurant in union square

tights in the city, part 3

tights in the city, part 3

 (see tights, part 2)

no thanks, honey, i'll pick up some breakfast on the street

no thanks, honey, i’ll pick up some breakfast on the street

Posted in Brooklyn is calling | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Renegade Nation

Hurry Up and Wait

Posted on June 13, 2008 by onesanevoice

One of the dominant genes in Husband’s family is the Male P chromosome, the P standing for Punctual.  I introduced him to the Female M chromosome, the M meaning Mascara, and when he sees me putting it on my second eye he can start looking for his car keys.

Husband likes to make a show of how patiently he’s enduring the tedious process of me preparing to leave the house.  He used to open a giant book in my line of vision and proceed to read while glancing up at me periodically.  Over the years it’s gone down to a paperback since War and Peace failed to elicit the response he was after.  I’m not sure what that response would be since I’ve always been upfront about needing one hour from waking state to out-the-door condition.  It was an hour when we were dating, an hour the first seven years of marriage, and an hour as I write this.  Husband may still think an hour is excessive but he can’t deny my truth in advertising.

The men in Husband’s family believe that five minutes early is practically late.  For me, five minutes late is practically on time.  Husband’s P chromosome has led us to arrive at weddings before the caterer.  We’ve gotten to airports so early that the plane we’ll be boarding is still on the ground in another state.  And yet he’s a piker compared to his father who I half expect will ask me to repeat something I haven’t said yet.

We just went down to Florida to visit Husband’s parents who are at a lovely assisted living complex for the past several years.  We had an appointment with the director of the facility at 2:00 at my in-laws’ apartment.  We arrived at 1:40.  My father-in-law threw his hands up and said, “Where were you?  When you didn’t come I canceled the appointment.”  My husband looked at his watch and said, “It’s 20 minutes to two.  When did you cancel?”  And his father replied, “At 1:30.  I called the director and told him not to come because you were running late.”  Husband looked at him like, yeah, I can understand that, while back on planet Earth I’m thinking wait a minute:  We’re twenty minutes early for an appointment that hasn’t happened yet that my father-in-law canceled ten minutes ago because we weren’t early enough.  Is there a pill for this?

Husband went to track down the director before he left the premises completely and I sat and chatted with the in-laws who are both engaging characters.  On this visit, my mother-in-law wasn’t pointing out possessions and asking me if I wanted them after she was gone which was kind of different.  But they still managed to entertain me with their hard-of-hearing banter that went like this:

DAD-IN-LAW:  Would you like some iced tea?

OSV:  No, thanks.  Mom, would you like some iced tea?

MOM-IN-LAW:  You see something in my teeth?

DAD-IN-LAW:  No, we’re saying do you want some iced tea.

MOM-IN-LAW:  Well, if you both think there’s something in my teeth I’ll go brush them.

My father-in-law looked at me like you couldn’t make this up, could you, and I looked back at him like no, I couldn’t, but I sure can write about it.

More of Daughter’s Featured Fotos of the car that burst into flames outside DUMBO’s New York Photo Festival attended by dozens of photographers.  Ironically.

hurry 1 fire!_fire!

hurry 2 car_on_fire1

hurry 3 firemen_to_the_rescue

hurry 4 safety_in_DUMBO

Posted in 'Til Death Do Us Part | Tagged , , | Comments Off on Hurry Up and Wait