Who would have guessed that I would finally find rest in the city "that never sleeps"? Who would have imagined that I would get primo seating to see Placido Domingo at the Met on my last day in rainy New York? Or that I wouldn't cry at the 9/11 memorial, but felt like crying with joy at the splashy joyful "American in Paris" on Broadway? Who could possibly entertain a glass of wine for $25 or a simple steak for $45? Yes - all true -- New York appears to be the city where the unexpected is alive and well, and you need your "don't know mind" with you.
One of the great gifts of this adventure was my arriving at a place of rest in my bed at night, dog tired from all our trekking during the day. Since my insomnia started last fall I have felt plagued by this affliction of no rest, and my brain became ragged and wonky and silly under the influence of sleeping pills. And the second night I was in the vibrating city, in midtown Manhattan, I turned the light off without taking my dose, and I slept. Granddaughter Riley was communing with her Kindle close by, the bed was comfortable, the curtains drawn, and the room quiet. And I slept. It has been a little less than two weeks since I took medication, and I feel like boasting and shouting in delight...
I walked and walked and walked in New York, and my cranky tendonitis softened. How was this? It was cold as hell, and I had no coat, and yet I escorted this young woman through the city and felt a subtle elation -- I was back in a place that I knew, I was with this girl whom I loved and wanted to love me, and I was looking at art, theater, food, and opera - the best of the best - how could I not feel happiness?
I think it was all about love, yes I do. Love of an old home, of art, of all the memories from when I was Riley's age growing up in New York, and of this young person on the brink of becoming a woman. And perhaps her love of me... When love is present, there is safety and comfort. And when there's safety and comfort, we can rest, we can let it all go. In this hysterical and magical city, I could let it all go. And not work so hard anymore to manage my life.
The memories are still crystal clear, and the warm feelings rest in my heart. I am glad I live in a less complicated city like San Francisco, but I'm also very happy to have been a citizen of Manhattan back in the 60's when everyone's life was less complicated, and quite innocent. It makes sense to return in our minds to those times of goodwill and hope when we are faced with as many horrors as surround us today. Yes, humans are complicated, ignorant and greedy, but the presence of love between us is the great winning force.
I am grateful, I am hopeful, I can sleep and laugh and play and write again.
My Elephant Friends
Amboseli elephants
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
In the Big Apple with Riley ....
I have been on the road with Riley ... I like how that sounds! We have been marching about New York for the last several days, pursuing such interesting things as "rainbow bagels," the huge MOMA on 53rd St, a number of high end restaurants of course, the 9/11 Memorial Museum, and vintage boutiques in Brooklyn. It has been busy, and it has been COLD. The 30 degree temps have been slicing through the concrete canyons of Manhattan, and I've been quietly cursing myself for not bringing a proper coat. Somehow I thought it would be springlike and balmy in April in New York. But, no, winter is still hanging on...
What's interesting in unforeseen circumstances is that you discover you can improvise. And so I did. I pinned my quilted kimono jacket across four layers of clothes and went out this morning to face the cruel chill that swept down the streets. In the museum shop at the 9/11 Museum I bought a foul weather jacket in black that looked like it could withstand the cold, and then, low and behold, the temperatures started to rise a bit -- to a toasty level of 43 degrees! Riley with her long golden mane of hair and her mother's delightful gray sweater walks like a dancer, with big strides. Sometimes it seems she's all legs! I love to look at that. She is seeing New York for the first time, and I think she rather enjoys it. This afternoon we strolled through Greenwich Village and I showed her where I lived back in the early 60's, long ago enough for her that it's barely comprehensible. She loved the brick, the stately brownstones that line the small streets in the Village, and we both appreciated the quieter rhythm of the streets here. It felt sort of like Brooklyn. I wanted to tell her about Henry James' great little novel Washington Square, the sad story of a selfish father's dominance over his only daughter at the end of the 19th century, but I figured it couldn't have the relevance to her that it does for me. I lived near Washington Square once, And I read Henry James. And I can't help but wonder if anyone reads Mr. James these days!
We had lunch at the Spotted Pig in the Village which I hear has a Michelin star, but most importantly, this place has tons of charm and real honest creative food. It is quaint and feels old, and is authentic. There's old wood, tons of ceramic pigs and other creatures, lots of flowers and and a very lived in vibe. I had an Irish Coffee after lunch and thought of Pete Martin, my mother's third and last husband, the Irish-Italian fellow who loved that drink, and all the others... It was perfect, with just the right balance of coffee, whisky, and beautiful cream on top. I felt nostalgic when I sipped it. There was a similar nostalgia as Riley and I laughed fondly the other night over a beautiful basket of miniature Madeleines, and I told her about Proust and his remembrances of things past... We took pictures of those beautiful little cake-like cookies and tasted their lemony sweetness and we were definitely happy. Everything was as it should be.
Soon Riley will go see her sister in college for a few days and I will be on my own. I will see a play called "Blackbird," which sounds suitably grim, and I may meet up with a very old friend, a man I haven't laid eyes on for over 50 years... I am letting things evolve slowly, and seeing how I feel about them. I am trusting the feelings that arise. There is nothing wrong in that, and I haven't chosen that route frequently, preferring instead to lean toward the choices and preferences of others.
Speaking of feelings, I love being with this granddaughter of mine as she feasts her eyes on this city for the first time, and I love the spaces of silence between us as she takes it all in. I try to still my teacher, guide personality, and just be there. With her.
From the city that never sleeps, I send love. And assure you that she and I will definitely sleep tonight after our adventures.
What's interesting in unforeseen circumstances is that you discover you can improvise. And so I did. I pinned my quilted kimono jacket across four layers of clothes and went out this morning to face the cruel chill that swept down the streets. In the museum shop at the 9/11 Museum I bought a foul weather jacket in black that looked like it could withstand the cold, and then, low and behold, the temperatures started to rise a bit -- to a toasty level of 43 degrees! Riley with her long golden mane of hair and her mother's delightful gray sweater walks like a dancer, with big strides. Sometimes it seems she's all legs! I love to look at that. She is seeing New York for the first time, and I think she rather enjoys it. This afternoon we strolled through Greenwich Village and I showed her where I lived back in the early 60's, long ago enough for her that it's barely comprehensible. She loved the brick, the stately brownstones that line the small streets in the Village, and we both appreciated the quieter rhythm of the streets here. It felt sort of like Brooklyn. I wanted to tell her about Henry James' great little novel Washington Square, the sad story of a selfish father's dominance over his only daughter at the end of the 19th century, but I figured it couldn't have the relevance to her that it does for me. I lived near Washington Square once, And I read Henry James. And I can't help but wonder if anyone reads Mr. James these days!
We had lunch at the Spotted Pig in the Village which I hear has a Michelin star, but most importantly, this place has tons of charm and real honest creative food. It is quaint and feels old, and is authentic. There's old wood, tons of ceramic pigs and other creatures, lots of flowers and and a very lived in vibe. I had an Irish Coffee after lunch and thought of Pete Martin, my mother's third and last husband, the Irish-Italian fellow who loved that drink, and all the others... It was perfect, with just the right balance of coffee, whisky, and beautiful cream on top. I felt nostalgic when I sipped it. There was a similar nostalgia as Riley and I laughed fondly the other night over a beautiful basket of miniature Madeleines, and I told her about Proust and his remembrances of things past... We took pictures of those beautiful little cake-like cookies and tasted their lemony sweetness and we were definitely happy. Everything was as it should be.
Soon Riley will go see her sister in college for a few days and I will be on my own. I will see a play called "Blackbird," which sounds suitably grim, and I may meet up with a very old friend, a man I haven't laid eyes on for over 50 years... I am letting things evolve slowly, and seeing how I feel about them. I am trusting the feelings that arise. There is nothing wrong in that, and I haven't chosen that route frequently, preferring instead to lean toward the choices and preferences of others.
Speaking of feelings, I love being with this granddaughter of mine as she feasts her eyes on this city for the first time, and I love the spaces of silence between us as she takes it all in. I try to still my teacher, guide personality, and just be there. With her.
From the city that never sleeps, I send love. And assure you that she and I will definitely sleep tonight after our adventures.
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