Israel 1982

Where was I?In 1982, on the eve of Christmas, I was in Bethlehem (Israel).

Tuesday, December 20 the Transit Workers of New York went on strike. I believe I was stunned into immobility. I realized that I wouldn't be able to walk from my house to the bridge.














For three days the Union and the Metropolitan Transit Authority wrangled. Hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers, day and night, walked, biked, car pooled from their homes to Manhattan--the hub of the workforce.

On Christmas Day, Marijke and I are going to New Mexico.

We'll arrive in Albuquerque around lunch time, Marijke from Pittsburgh and me from New York.

I am just beginning to get excited; thinking about what to pack or rather how to pack, one of my bete noirs, packing is but thrilled to be able to think about another adventure with my daughter.

We haven't traveled regularly together but we've done it swell. Last trip was to Sicily just before the little Anya Zoe was born six months later.

At Thanksgiving dinner Thursday night, our hostess, invited the circle of more than 3 dozen, to share their thanks. Sophia, 13 years old, shared, "I am thankful that I don't have to experience loss to appreciate what I have."

Yes, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea!

Now, believe it or not, I am struggling with how much I'd like to see of my City of birth before I leave.

Several times I've nearly come to tears as I touch base with the past. This past Thursday, December 1, was such a day.

After taking some unpleasant tests, one of which had me still for 45 minutes, coffin-like, I decided to proceed Uptown to 53rd Street, a most magical street of New York City museums.

I only managed the MoMa, but I did peek into the shops of two others.

At the MoMA, I was privileged to see van Gogh's "Starry Night" and several rooms filled with the work of Redon.

But for every street and avenue that sparkles under my feet with remembrance, nothing shines like the skylights of this City.

Everyday is different but some days remind me more of yesterday. Reading the news this week, I recalled the times since September 11th that I traveled by air. On more than one occasion I hastily packed and found myself with a scissors in my carry-on bag. On two occasions my little scissors were confiscated. Once I nearly cried!

I don't recognize any of these, but mine was orange but much smaller and perhaps even sharper.

It seems that effective December 22, the prohibition will be lifted.

Will I take my favorite scissors again and risk another loss, or will I be more mindful when I pack my case coming and going to New Mexico?

I'll let you know when I return.

Stolen Moments at the Museum

Today was a most special day, not because it is Thursday, but because it was filled with stolen moments.

Up a little earlier than usual, I went with a certain trepidation to the Diagnostic Center to have an MRI and a bone density test; nothing like getting older for ratcheting up these expensive tests to see why we're aging.


But instead of going to work, I headed uptown to West 53rd Street for a look at van Gogh's "Starry Night" and an hour's tour of Redon.


Going, coming, staying, all stolen moments as I first sat leisurely in the Museum Cafe and eat the tinest portion of smoked trout and drank two really well made cups of coffee--so fresh it was as if I was drinking an aphrodaisiac!

Trying to catch up with each day's memories can be a challenge.

Monday, R and I found ourselves in the East Village. While walking back from a St. Mark's restaurant, I looked up as we approached Second Avenue.

I was perplexed by the absence of a movie theatre on Second Avenue off St. Mark's Place that I recall going to with great regularity. I know I saw the outstanding film, "Coming Home" with Jane Fonda about a paraplegic war veteran played by Jon Voight. The movie left a big impression on me then, enough so that nearly 30 years later I recall it clearly. It probably was among the first post-Vietnam movies, and among my favorites.

But no matter how much I craned my neck the theatre was gone. What was left was the Stuyvesant Polyclinic and the Library.

Annie's Gallery Opening in Saugerties

Sometimes it isn't the map that leads but circumstances like an invitation to a gallery opening that seems to lead me along the path--that's how I found Saugerties.

When I learned I was going to drive up to the Delaware Water Gap, I thought I'd stop by Annie's gallery opening.

What a detour? Dashing back and forth between the two Catskill counties might become habit forming if I decide it is the New York State mountains that will entertain me in my next move.

First I drove up, through the Verrazano Bridge through NJ to the Water Gap and stopped in Hurley, Honesdale, visited Calicoon and zoomed through Narrowsburg, never stopping but continuing along Rte 55 to make it with plenty of time for the Opening.

Thanksgiving

Thursday I had Thanksgiving in Phoenicia with two or more dozen people only two of whom I had ever met. This trip to Phoenicia and the celebration of the holiday was a two-fer. I had the pleasure of a wonderfully prepared, joyful dinner and the opportunity to house hunt with RW the following morning.

I saw about half a dozen houses, none of which pleased, but all of which helped me move closer to understanding what it is I want.

Phoenicia was already covered with light snow when I arrived mid-afternoon and foolishly I arrived sans boots. My apple torte from the Hens was a success that evening, and I started to feel real comfortable, almost too comfortable as I was headed out Friday morning for the West, that is, across Ulster to Sullivan county.

Friday was Thanksgiving in Narrowsburg, New York with Judith, Miranda and the Buckley clan.

I tried to dash across the State but found myself lost less than 20 miles out. Somehow I lost Rte 52, and drove around one country road after another. Having become dependent on a cell phone I was lost. No service in either sojourn. The phone was able to reach out to Pittsburgh and Marijke but not in the mountains. With a little help from Marijke, lots of disjointed calls that got cut off with Judith, I made it!

When I pulled into the road, it appeared that we all timed our arrival: we all came together so although I considered myself late I was really on time.

Everyday, it seems, a small part of the past vanishes. Something new appears, but is new always better? I think not!



I have a memory, albeit distant, of an early morn in the 70s when I visited the Fulton Fish Market. It was bustling, thriving, invigorating and I was there at 4 a.m. Perhaps it was a Friday, perhaps not. For a short while I had been part of the "Buy Team" at our local 10th Street Food Co-op. We rose early, went to the Bronx Terminals, the Meat Packing district and Fulton Fish Market.

I loved it!

This blog is intended as a place to record memories, not ordinary memories but my memory of place.

Today for example, I had a false start in Park Slope because in such a few short months, less than 9, the number just short of pregnancy, since I lived there I found my favourite Lebanese shop altered, the corner store at 3rd Street now a restaurant, the place I bought 3 of my 6 Merrick's closed and no evidence of a bakery between 9th and Union Streets.

I was grateful the eyewear shop was present and open. I will have some new spec's by February, two years since I dropped by and bought two pair, one for walking around and another for reading this fuzzy screen we call a laptop.

I managed to pick up some new underwear, and two warm wool socks, buy terrific cheese, crackers and two treats for myself: halva and nutella. I neglected the lemon curd but will remember before the year is out.

Speedy was ready for me with a Nissen,

and off I drove to the Two Hens. Crowded with people clamoring for good pies, cakes, cookies and freshly brewed coffee, I bought not one but three pies in anticipating of two days of Thanksgiving. Thursday in Phoenicia, Friday in Narrowsburg.

Perhaps I'll have memory of these places to share. Perhaps!