Hello NYC 1992!!! Good-bye NYC 2014???

Yesterday was a dreadful day.  I missed my family.  I missed my kids, and although grown and opinionated, are the soul of my being. The holidays and the dysfunction of my city had "done me in".  I might be ready to reassess my situation and move back home. Oregon.  My home state.  WHAT!!!

When i was young i drempt of living in a big city.  The fantasized choice was Paris or Greenwich Village in New York City.  I wanted to know how other people outside my state lived.  I wanted diversity and the exposure to other cultures.  It was a dream and honestly i  believed it would never come true. Never come true.  But it did.

A couple divorces, my daughter's marriage to a transplanted New Yorker and the discovery of art and metal and jewelry, some tragedy and some miracles, led me here.  I am sitting at my desk as i type, looking north, up Ninth ave. toward Harlem and Queens, in an apartment, far beyond my wildest sane dreams. Actually i really did have a dream in 1983 of this apartment. After being on the waiting list for several years, i received a call saying an apartment at Manhattan Plaza was ready for me if i was ready for it.  My daughter went with me.  I dropped to the floor when i entered because right in from of me was the view i had seen in my dream.

The excitement and curiosity that brought me here 23 years ago has grown stale.  Granted i haven't been out of the city for 5 years and as everyone knows who is a transplant, that that is far too long not to have a break.  The recent problem with the police over the killing of Eric Garner and subsequent protesting and the need for police reform all over the country has left a deep sadness in my being.  The problems with law and order are everywhere--i know that--but i live here now and saw and heard hundreds of protesters out side my window several nights in a row and felt helpless to do anything about trying to make things better.

I was scared for the first time.  I have never been afraid before.  I have always felt safe here in Hell's Kitchen.  But...I am older now and less able to get around. The city feels like a traitor.  I feel like a traitor and a coward.

Today i decided to go to the library to return books.  I ran into a friend, on my way to the bus, who lives in the building and is a prolific and talented mosaic artist. We chatted a bit about the holidays, and her recent gallery shows and sales. I congratulated her and told her i was getting ready to leave for a visit to Oregon to see my family.  After all the recent hoop la i was thinking about maybe moving back to the ol home state.  "You're a New Yorker. You can't do that. Things will turn around. They always do". The brief conversation with my friend started me thinking.

I returned my books to the library  and was waiting for the return bus on 42nd street when i realized i was witnessing some typical, yet unique, New York actions.  A big ol SUV did a u turn right in the middle of traffic, a common occurrence here in the city.  A local helped a confused tourist with directions, while an Asian girl asked me if this was the right place to wait for a bus going to the pier. Yes it was i said  Once on the bus i heard the driver voicing a welcome and enjoy the ride, while an older tourist couple, without the proper change, were given a free pass.  The bus was crowded but the women was given a seat by a younger gentlemen who could have been a local.

As we proceeded west we passed through times square.  I noticed new cement barriers had been erected going into the times square area.   The city was getting ready for the onslaught of visitors and locals alike who would be crowding into the area to see the ball drop on new years eve.  (I open my window to  hear the countdown)  At one of the stops the transit cops boarded the bus and were watching the rear doors to make sure people wouldn't sneak on.  Some tried. They didn't succeed.

I got off the crowded bus at Ninth Ave. and returned to the security of my home. The ride and my excursion to the library gave me lots to think about. This city that i love is alive and vibrant and ever changing.  Politics will always be controversial as will the unions, and big business.  Here it seems to be more IN YOUR FACE.  Don't know if i want to have to deal with it anymore.

I have been checking the housing situation for seniors in a couple cities in Oregon. All my relatives except my grandson are there.  I don't know.

Happy 2015!!!  What will the new year bring???!!!???  Love and contentment for all, is my wish.  Dream on you Pollyanna!! You cynic!!

PPDJ

Pet Peeve Du jour

   Me.  I am bullheaded and i just realized i often beat a dead horse.  Now i've said it, i'm aware, and maybe i can change the pattern.  I just needed to feel sorry for myself for a few days.  Life feels hopeless at times.  I show up, do the best i can--one day at a time.  Try gratitude and continue to show up.  No expectations!!  WHAT!!!!!

The BLM

The Bureau of Land Management needs to be called in to address some foliage issues that are appearing on my face.  The dark thick hairs are leaving my head only to appear on my chin and neck. YUK!!  The magnifying mirror, in strong light, was the truth teller.  Wish i could feel good about this phenomenon of aging, but i can't.  I prefer the theory that if you can't see it, it isn't so.  Could i be confusing my theory with the one about the tree falling in the forest??  Same deal. Nobody will see my unshaven legs!!!  Oh! if it were only true.

As a young child i decided early, to enter my senior years with grace and dignity. Some of the old ladies at church were grouchy and loud and never seemed to care if the lipstick was crooked or the hair untouched or the eyebrows too dark with pencil. Getting old did not look attractive. I was never going to be like that!! As a  youngster and teen-agers we all know we are never going to get old, right? Youth is permanent.

Then the day comes, out of the blue it seems, and i see my youth has slowly dwindled away.  My bones hurt, my eyesight is different, and the skin looks like a prune no matter how much dedicated care i give.  I can slow the process but i can't stop it,   Sorry, but old age comes like a thief in the night and one day you wake up and are in wonder at how it all slipped away.

Life has been good for  me.  I've had extreme ups and severe downs with most of my time on an even keel.   I plan on living at least to 79,  the age Elizabeth Taylor claimed to be when she died.

These are just some thoughts i've been having and needed to put them in print so i could reflect, not just on the hardships, but on the graces and love i've been given.  I also know the grouchy old lady that i vowed not to be, is alive and well and living on the 19th floor in NYC.

Sister Barbara

The middle of August is almost here.  My sister Barbara's birthday is tomorrow. Can't believe she was just 3 years old when i walked down the isle for the first time.  It was 1960.  We both had our whole lives ahead of us.  If we only knew what lie in wait. What did the future hold for the two Darland girls.

Barbara was one of my city guests this summer.  She and i saw the 9/11 Museum and Memorial, we saw Kinky Boots on Broadway  (in fact she saw two musicals), we cooked lunch for some friends, we had lunch on the terrace at Bryant Park, she saw the High-line,  and we laughed and played for the full 10 days.  I hardly cooked a meal.  She took me anyplace i wanted to go for lunch and dinner.  What a treat, as that meant no cooking and no washing dishes. We both are pretty decent at getting a good meal on the table but since i live by myself and am getting older, i don't cook as often as i use too and the dish washing routine is one i am not liking at all anymore.  Barb, however, although recently retired from her teaching position, still cooks an occasion meal for  a husband who not only cooks but does most of the cleaning up,  Now that's a deal if i ever heard one. The summer visit was a blessing for both of us and one not to be forgotten.

My sister and i didn't get to know each other really till after my mother passed away.  The second i found out the news about my mother, i had this yearning for my sister.  This was a new and curious feeling.  We hadn't seen much of each other through the years.  She grew up in a different time.  She was also the 7th child and born just before i was leaving my parents charge.  I married, had my child, and moved out of the valley only to return after she had moved on with her husband and her child.

I did know she could sing and act and that she was much more outgoing then me and seemed more sure of herself.  But i didn't know who she was really.

It wasn't until our mother died that i had a profound yearning to be with my sister. I needed to know her and be with her and hug her and touch her.

I didn't arrive home, in Medford, till the day of the funeral.  My brothers picked me up and it wasn't until then that i saw my sister.  I grabbed hold of her and didn't want to let go. That feeling is still with me to this day.  We skype at least once a week usually more. We text all the time.  We share and cry and talk and complain and laugh and gossip and are always available to each other in any emergency.

My 5 siblings and i are close.  We all get along.  We are  there for each other and love each other. My sister wasn't there to defend me against my 5 brothers, who teased and tormented me ceaselessly growing up, but boy she would defend me now if she needed to.

I don't know what i would do without her.  She's strong and loving and bossy and demanding and sweet and tough and smart and beautiful all in one glorious package.

Barb and her patient husband Kirk host an annual February birthday party at their home on the coast.  Coos Bay, Oregon.  Instead of me joining in on Skype, i will be there in person this winter.  Just my brothers, their wives, Barb, Kirk, and me. Can't wait. My sister will have everything organized and since she and her husband have been doing this for several years, they, and my brothers and sisters in law will know the whole routine.  My sister will fill me in.  She is the boss of the family.

Happy birthday Barbara Cecile.  I am so grateful  you came along when you did. I love you my beautiful girl.

From an Interloper's Point of View

Many would still call me an interloper.  I've lived in this wondrous city for twenty-two and a half years.  My grandson was born here, in a building i lived in for 8 years before i moved into the building (after being on a waiting list for eight years) i am in now, 6 blocks away.  Still Hell's Kitchen.

Occasionally i start thinking that it might be time for me to move back home to the west coast and join the rest of my family.  Only my grandson and i are here now.   My daughter moved back 3 years ago to be with her fiance and resume a career as a hairdresser after gaining a reputation as one of the best in this tough city.

When i moved here, the plan was to try it out for a few months, which turned into a year.  Then when i started selling more of my jewelry and the profession of artist was not so strange any more, i decided maybe 5 years.

Time passes.  Supporting myself was a reality that required extra jobs as the jewelry sales eventually slowed down, but my lust for the city grew.  I found myself getting use to the hardships and always found a way to continue to live and thrive.  I grew more in love with "my city" but still thought i would not want to grow old here.

Then 9/11 happened and everything changed.  My deal to myself then was--i'd stay here till the memorial was built and the grotesque hole was filled.

By the time i retired shortly after 9/11 my living situation was one people in new york would kill for.  I had a lovely apartment in the middle of town, transportation outside my door and everything i needed within walking distance or a bus or subway ride away, plus the biggie--it accommodated my less then spectacular income.  I also had an established health care network.  The prospect of growing old in the city didn't seem so impossible.

Fast forward to now.  My sister is coming to visit me next month. The opening of the 9/11 memorial was a few days ago so i wanted to make some reservations for when my sister is here.

Oh dear!! The next goal for staying here has arrived.  I feel like i belong in this city now.  I love when friends and family visit and i can show them my view, and we can have dinner in one of my neighborhood restaurants, and attend a play, or see the ships on the hudson, or go to a museum, or whatever.  It is right at my fingertips.

Maybe i'll always be considered an interloper but my deal to myself now is---i'm here, i'm still alive, i'm still fascinated, so i think there is no need to set a leaving plan.  I'm a citizen of Gotham until........  

Pet Peeve Du jour. Winter--It's Suppose to be Cold

It's winter, my favorite season, it's cold, it's suppose to be.  We are in the northeast and it's suppose to be cold.  Weather fluctuates and goes through cycles.

Some of us rare souls love the cold weather.  I love the rain, the gloom, the drifts of snow.  Do realize though, that i don't work in it, and don't have to travel in it.  I do get to look out my window at the beautiful first flakes of white settling beautifully on our city.  Then the aftermath sets in and it isn't pretty.  But it's winter and it's suppose to be cold.  Summer will soon be here and we will be complaining about the heat and humidity.  I prefer the cold!!!!!!!!

CBS Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt. Over, and Over, and Over...

My favorite tv show by far is now known as CBS Sunday Morning and is hosted by the heartwarming Charles Osgood or Charlie as i like to think of him. He stepped in in 1994 when the man i loved, Charles Kuralt,  retired. He died shortly after.

The feeling of nirvana took over my body for a brief moment this past Sunday morning as i sat on the bed with my breakfast on the tray and the coffee at the ready. The anticipation was there  It was Sunday morning, 9 am and time for CBS Sunday Morning.

I started watching shortly after the show debuted in January 1979.  Doc Severinsen's trumpet blared and the logo's sun erupted in front of the screen. There have been brief  faithful watching interruptions, but on almost any Sunday i will be sitting in front of my screen.  The theme song's been replayed by the brilliant trumpeter Winton Marsalis, the host has changed, but my love for the show has not.

There is an opening segment that sets the trends in the show.  Usually some topic relevant to the time.  That segment is followed by four or five more segments and include interesting happening with interesting people.  The producers along with the writers and interviewers are, in my mind, brilliant.  The show is beautifully put together and almost never boring.

My sister, also a faithful watcher, said the other day that she thought the show should be a half hour shorter.  "No way" i said.  It's only because she wasn't interested in a particular topic. It happens occasionally, but NO the ninety minutes is perfect.

Charles Kuralt always had at least one segment on the arts.  Could be an old man who was so enamored of a particular object, say bottle caps or old license plates, that he saw fit to cover his whole house with millions of the collected passion. Could be an artist who still makes violins in the back woods of Kentucky.  When Charlie Osgood took over it seems as if occasionally there is not a segment on the art's. The is one segment ALMOST every Sunday bur not every Sunday.  I complain on my facebook page.  I'm sure it isn't Mr. Osgood's fault but it's someone's and they should be fired.  We NEED the arts to survive. See, i get emotional about the show. Mr. Osgood though, occasionally plays, on the piano, a tune he wrote and also  recites poetry he's composed..  I love him for that.  He's a cool dude.

At the close there is a quiet segment of nature of some kind.  No music, no talking, just the scene with whatever sound nature provides--babbling brook, falling snow, rutting moose. The scenes are endless and sometimes too short depending on time i'm sure. When i went back to college in my mid 40's, i did a video piece called "Anatomy of a Play"  The quiet segment of Sunday Morning was the basis for my transitions in the piece.  I learned from Sunday morning that silence is a production value too.

I once sent a sun made out of wire and glass globs to the show.  It was shortly before Charles Kuralt left.  They did not use my sun.  Boo!!!!