A New York Story

So this is a New York story. I'm sure that this couldn't happen anywhere else, pretty sure, let me know if I am wrong.

I'm on the A train coming home. Across from me is a little girl and her nanny. How do I know it's her nanny? I just do. No. The nanny is this little Hispanic woman, tiny woman with a little bun of black hair wound just to the left of center of her head. The little girl is blond blond blond and almost, not quite, but almost as tall as the woman. She is about nine years old.

She is studying her reading flash cards which her nanny is holding up for her to read one at a time. The words flash by: house, horse, piano, glass, lamp, basket..... the nanny holds up the card, the little girl squints at some of them, then answers, some of them are as familiar as her own name and she takes no time to pronounce them.

She gets stuck on the words Scissors. She looks at the card for a long time, then shrugs. It strikes me then, just then, not before, that the nanny doesn't have a clue what any of the cards say, she doesn't read English. She doesn't know if pee-an-o is correct, but what she is listening to is not the little girl. The nanny is listening to the response of those on the train with them.

"SaKISS, SkySSS," the girl guesses for another minute. The nanny holds the card up to the crowd.

This is a New York-on-the-subway-going-home crowd. Their faces are like mush. But, with the holding up of the card, the invitation to join in extended, one, and then another intrepid commuter chimes in. "More like SSSSS" says one. "See? Like this" says the other, making his fingers scissors in the air. "Cut, cut, cut". The girl looks at the card and then at her mentor strangers. "Scissors" she says."Scissors" "Ah" say the teachers, the prodders, the profs.

The nanny holds up another card. Bathtub, it says.
The crowd, now eager to help, waits for any hesitation on the part of the girl.
"Bath tub" she says.
Ah, says the crowd.
Hallway says the card.
Hmmm says the crowd.
Hallway, she says.
And on towards Washington Heights we fly.

Next card, next stop, next word, next lesson.
The lesson is you can learn your English vocabulary any place there is a New Yorker nearby. They are the most helpful people on Earth.

The Winds of Change

There are big fights going on now around the country over whether or not clotheslines are eyesores. Everyone agrees that the method of drying clothes on a line is much more environmentally friendly, uses little or no energy - unless you ask the person hanging the wet clothes on the line - and the fabrics smell better after spending some time in the sunshine.

- god, have these people so little wrong with their lives that they have to spend time and effort over this?? -

The Water's Upstairs

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Went for a long run down the river on Friday. I went North around Ft. Tryon Park and then down the hill by the GW Bridge.
A short, flat, quiet stretch of running/bike trail, (quiet, unless the Amtrak train is rattling by, the tracks are just to the right), turns into a winding path right next to the river.

There was only one problem. No water. The only drinking fountain on the ground level was at the Eleven Mile Park. (That's Eleven Miles from the South tip of Manhattan) which was about five miles into my run. Temperatures were climbing into the seventies and I was very happy to see that the water was turned on. I had a nice big drink and headed South again. I knew where the next water was. There was only one problem.


It's at the top of these stairs.






I ran up the stairs.

Okay. I ran up the first four flights of the stairs.

At the top is one of the nicest sport facilities in the city. I ran one lap around the track just to see if my watch was calibrated correctly. (It was cheating me .01 of a mile. I fixed that.) and then headed for the nearest fountain to fill up.

The George Washington Bridge suddenly looked very far away, but I knew it just two and half miles to the little Lighthouse at the bottom of a very serious hill and then to home.

More color along the way but no water. I've decided that I have to break out the water bottle belt before attempting anything this long again. Total run was just over twelve miles. The Little Lighthouse appeared and I chugged up the hill, finding first a little baby shoe lying on the path, and a minute later, a woman coming down the hill who was very glad to see me holding the shoe.

The Starbucks at the top of the hill at Ft. Washington Ave supplied me with a cup of ice water and a Venti Iced Coffee. The first I gulped down, the second I sipped as I ran down the hill to Bennett and the finish.

Okay?

The Folks

These are actually not my folks, but my father's. I am hoping to put the whole family on here and say a little about each of them. My genealogy research has, so far, connected over 4,000 individuals to our little band of beings.

More to come.

The New York Hack

No, not taxicabs, this has nothing to do with taxicabs, it's about the pervasive, nearly universal, barking cough that has spread over the city of New York this winter. The virus causing this condition is having a winning season. Every subway car carries the sound of the scattered gunshots of the Hack. Every café, restaurant, diner and coffeeshop contains at least one person who woofs now and then, in several I've been to it's been me and some of the waiters.

The darkened romantic movie scene is punctuated with the comma, comma, fullstops of the victims, none of whom are sick enough to stay isolated nor really well enough to be amongst other people. It's only a cough. Right.

"It's only a cough that started a few days after the New Year and now has lasted through Valentine's (I -chuff- chuff- love you.) and now Lincoln's birthday."

Maybe you should see someone.

So you call to make an appointment. The first opening at any time for any day is .... April 20th.

WHAT?

Pleading, begging, asserting that you might be spitting up blood and something that resembles a piece of gum you swallowed in seventh grade gets you a 8:15AM a week from now.

I will tell you what will happen because it has happened to thousands of people already in this city. On the morning of the appointment day, and not one second sooner, you will stop coughing. The Hack will be gone, your chest and lungs and throat will feel fine.

You will feel fine.

You will still go to the appointment and at about two hours after it's scheduled time you will listen to the internist listen to your chest and hear her sigh "No, no congestion."

It's as if in some quantum physics inspired weirdness, the virus knows just when to cease operations and bug out.

You pay your deductible at the desk a little disappointed that after all these weeks of ca-caak-caws you didn't even get a prescription for some purple colored elixir. You decide that you are going to take the rest of the day off anyway just because of the stress.

Tell the truth. Isn't that what happened to you?

My, my, my, my Corona.

I took over $50.00 out of the money I had made picking tobacco that summer of 1961. I went up to Potterton's on Center Street to buy the Smith-Corona in the hardshell case. It was blue.




It took me forever to learn to type. Some of the pages of my high school papers weighed considerably more than others because of all the White-Out on them.

I learned how to set margins but never got the knack of TAB/SET.



That typewriter traveled with me to Boston, to California, to Texas, to Oklahoma.

I wrote my first love poem on it.

I wrote the first story I ever sold on it.






I wrote about a hundred days of short stories on it.

(That typewriter tale, I will tell later.)










Resumes, I've written more than several and Letters to the Editor, both angry and bemused.


I wrote the birth announcement of my son on it.


But as I sit here this morning, I cannot remember for the life of me, what ever happened to it.

















Do you know what happened to yours?

The Way Through

I forgot that they had my favorite Northend exit blocked off. Soaking wet from my run around the park and cold because I had stopped to take a few pictures of the icicles, I was already to the barricade before I realized it was there. I had three choices: I could be compliant and turn around and A) walk back up the drive and then up the hill to the water fountain then down the path to an exit. (No water in the fountain in Winter, in case you were wondering.) Or B) I could walk down the hills past the icicles, then walk around the Northside of the park to the subway entrance, a longer, colder route.
Or, wouldn't you know?, C) I could do what I would do if I was a twelve year old - find a way over around or through the barrier.

Luckily for me I was a paperboy. When you are doing a paper route, as I did from age 10 until I got an actual job at age 15, you see a lot of things. Open windows, unlocked garages, unlatched back porches, all kinds of things that in the hands of a youngster who was not terrified of his Irish mother might lead him into temptation. My observations were mostly for my own benefit. When you are doing the daily route, ninety five percent of the time you are on the streetside of the houses and apartments but when you are doing the collections you use the cut-throughs, the shortcuts and the squeezes. That way you can get from the Farr's house on Edgerton to the Thompson's on Orchard, then through to Winter Street and Rosemary Place for the Crouteu's without ever being on an East-West street.

You have to find out which yards are fenced tightly to the next and which have little gaps, maybe a piece of wood slat pulled aside, maybe there is a slim twelve year old's behind width opening where two fences come together. Maybe there is a fence, but there is a tall stump on one side that leads up to the edge of a convienently sloped garage roof to a crumbling stack of firewood. You find these by looking for the paths.

There is always a path to a shortcut. You have to look carefully to see some of them, there's a little browner stretch of grass, a bare spot just at the corner of the garage or the homeowner may have put up a few of those little foot-high wire loop garden edge fences as a deterrent which makes a very good signal - others have gone before you here.

There are no barriers that remain unchallenged by local twelve year olds, knowing that gave me hope of not just finding a way through but of finding their way through because it would be the shortest. Rather than walk all along the barrier looking for a gap, I looked for the tracks of the path. Soon enough, in seconds really, I saw the scuffs and tracks near the leftside corner. Ah! Striding towards it I looked beyond the fencing and saw, between the piles of old paving stones, a whitish trail of the dust leading directly, first to one side and then the other.

You can't see it in the top picture but there were three of those orange fences making a maze. You can just see the yellow rope some nice pioneer had untied before I got there. Once through the first two I had only to glance at the ground to see the signs to the exit.

This was just a small incident in an otherwise non-eventful Sunday run, but it brought back some really powerful memories of the old neighborhood, shortcuts and finding the way through made me feel really young again.

I'm getting tired of this winter even though it hasn't been a bad one, very little snow and bitter cold for mostly the days I was sick, but still, I was happy to see these ladies and gents heading North a few days ago.

Outside my window, just now, February 20th, 6:24am, I heard a robin.

Good. We are finding our way through this season.

On the Boston Post Road (not really)

The run to Canada continues along the Connecticut coast. 65.9 miles of the thousand run. I haven't a clue exactly where in Canada I will cross the border but that's months away. I'm going to turn left at New Haven and head North.

MAP

Can you see this map? If not, use the link above.

This line added to keep the map separated from the bottom of the post.

Let me ask you something?

What would you say if I asked you a question?
Are you okay?
Are you alright?
Are you mad at me?
Are you glad to see me?
Can you hear me?
See me?
Touch me?
How have you been?
What have you been doing?
Read any good books recently?
Ever?
Did you see that?
What!?
What do you mean what?
Ever done something about the war?
What about your mother?
What about my dad?
Wasn’t that that summer?
Have you heard from my mother?
Did you pay those student loans?
What did they say about that lump?
Was there anything to those sores?
How is your addiction progressing?
What did you do about those pics on the web?
Do you think Global Warming is real?
Is your depression different than mine?
Do your headaches make you blind?
What about those noises from next door?
Is that box still under your bed?
What about that one in your closet?
Do you remember that box in the cupboard above the refrigerator that you can't reach without getting on the top step of the stepstool?
Do you have a stepstool?
Where did you go that night?
Where were you last night?
Where were you on the night of October 9th?
How about October 9th the year before that?
How about those Red Sox?
How about 1968?
Did you ever hear back about that test exam?
Have you heard from Lenny?
How about Bennie?
Don’t you remember?
Is your brother still over there?
Will you be home for the holiday?
Will one bag be enough for you?
Are you cold?
Are you too cold?
How about now?
How old are you?
How about now?
Want to grab a bite?
Is this seat taken?
Did you eat yet?
What will you have?
You want this to go or eat in?
Will you have one lump or two?
Any Cream, half and half or Non-fat?
I meant to ask: Mac or PC?
Are you Hillary or Obama?
Do you HD-DVD or Blu-ray?
Are you Manet or Monet?
Are you more Vivaldi or Pachelbel?
Is it a matter of dark or white meat?
Do you want dressing on the side?
Is it a matter of dark matter?
Are they joking?
What do they mean Cashier Charge?
What other choices besides Paper or Plastic?
Do you have the time?
How much time do you have?
How can anybody know?
What time is it?
Does anybody really know what time it is?
Does anybody really care?
Do you know what the next line is?
Is that Eddie in that picture?
Did he ever forget?
Did you ever forgive him?
Do I have it all wrong?
Is it my turn already?
What did you just play?
Is that really a word?
Can you use it in a sentence?
Does it have a future pluperfect form?
Would that be too much to ask?
I was just wondering what you meant?
I was just wondering what you thought?
I was just wondering how you felt the future might unfold?
Do you believe time can be folded?
Do you think time can bend and be twisted and shaped?
Have you ever felt like this before?
What are you feeling?
Do you need some kind of multiple choice?
Where is the library?
Is this the pen of my aunt?
Is this a dagger I see before me?
Can I walk you home?
Will there be coffee?
Is it hard to say right now?
What would you say if I asked you a question?