Stories

Telling stories in my family is not a tradition or habit but rather, a way of life. You are considered good company for your ability to sit and listen, encourage at the right moment and appreciate a good tale. You are also considered good company if you can tell a good story. I will grant you that the people in my family have a habit of ending up in interesting situations that warrant being retold. However it may also have something to do with a mindset that allows one to see the good story in a situation. At any rate good story telling is such a familial establishment that at a very tender age my cousin Gregory (somewhere between 3-6) refused to come downstairs for a family gathering and when asked why, proceeded to burst into tears while claiming "He had no good stories to tell!" I feel strongly that more people should hide from public events due to this reason...but I digress.

My Uncle Ray (Gregory's father,) was an inveterate story teller. He had a repertoire of stories a mile long, that was constantly being added to. Classics, all of them. He led an interesting and adventurous life, even if he may not have seen it that way. He grew up in Philadelphia in a large family (14 brothers and sisters if memory serves, all of whom feature in his tales,) and held a multitude of jobs. He was primarily a school teacher but while he was in school and during the summers he would take these crazy jobs, i.e. roofer, camp counselor, butcher, milk factory worker, and he once told me he worked in a nail polish factory. I thought he was kidding, now I'm not so sure!

One of my favorite stories that I would beg him to tell was a story about the milk factory. I will attempt to do it justice, but I can make no promises.

They would come in these big trucks, you know the kind with the round tank on the back, and deliver the milk. Drive in, from all over, and deliver the milk. I worked in this factory in Philadelphia and it was summer and it was hot. I had to do this one thing. When they delivered the milk I had to hook up the truck to the pipes and the pipes to the big vats in the factory. So one morning a guy comes to deliver the milk. Well I've been there all night, I'm tired and it's hot. The windows are all open, these big windows way up on the wall. So I hook up the truck and get things going. I think everything's fine when I hear from down on the street "Ray! Ray! Ray...the milk!!" I look out the window, and I see milk shooting (Zingo!! the noise the shooting milk apparently made) out one of those high windows on to the street! I hooked up the truck but not the pipe to the vats, when the milk started pumping in it pushed the pipe towards the window! All the cats in Philadelphia lived on that block for a week.

My Uncle Ray was the best of company.

Laundry

I dislike doing laundry. It has very little to do with the process of making my clothes clean. A process that I not only enjoy, but relish it's end result as well. Rather, it is the process of dealing with the people at my laundromat. They are horrible. I can feel my blood pressure rise every time I have to go in there. They will not move when you need to get past them, despite repeated and increasingly louder "Excuse me"'s. They will take your things out of a dryer before they are done, so they can use the rest of the time paid for with the quarters and lint you scraped from the bottom of your purse. They will turn up the heat on a dryer you specifically put on delicate (so your underthings that cost more than should be legal don't come out looking like overcooked bacon) in order to steal more quarters and lint. I walk into this den of quarter thieves, underthings destroyers, and narrow walkway despots to find myself being impatient, snippy and suspicious of the small children running around and causing havoc. (It's true, I think they are spies and diversionary tacticians, you loose focus and your laundry is suddenly sopping wet and on the floor!) So I have decided it is not the people who are all awful, it is in fact the building. I think it may be a portal to hell, which is why it is always so hot (has nothing to do with the 40 dryers,) and everyone is instantly a worse version of themselves once they cross the threshold.

This is why I use the very convenient drop off service. They wash, and fold my laundry. It smells like heaven and all I have to do is pick it up and put it away and I get to avoid going to hell.

Missed Connections

I occasionally enjoy reading the missed connections sections in the classifieds. I don't do it for my usual "people watching," enjoyment, which involves general hilarity at the ridiculous behaviors of humanity. This, is for the sweet wistfulness of humanity.

"When we met a month ago in the West Village, we were at a dinner party. After dinner we went dancing and you were too shy to dance too close to me. During dinner you told me you would take me sailing before we both headed out of town for the holidays. You spoke of the stars above your boat against the deep black sky. You spoke of the shore as you approached the cliffs of Maine from the sea. " -Sailing - w4m - 21 (West Village)

Here is poetry and longing for a kindred heart.

"We managed to get on to the N going downtown from Union Square by fighting the doors open together. It was a mighty struggle. You sat down next to me and we exchanged pleasantries. I wished I would have talked you up and I would have, but I was so tired. (Not much better than a zombie.) You seemed like a charm. I hope you'll forgive me my unfortunate brain freeze. I was in a pea coat and had on blue slacks with dress shoes. You were so stylish and elegant. I hope you'll give me another chance. "-Struggle With the Downtown N Door... - m4w - 24 (Downtown N from Union Square)

I can picture these scenes, and it's like watching little movie clips. I hope for these folks, and wonder what happens to them. What always stuns me is that the writers so frequently seem sure, that their missed connection counter part will find this add and contact them. It is a lovely reminder of the connection that is not missed between the human heart and brain.

New Years

I am not a fan of the hoopla that surrounds New Year's Eve, which is odd as I am a chronically social being . There was a time, when I attempted to find something fantastic to do, that necessitated being dolled up. That time has passed. Perhaps it is a casualty of living in New York, where New Year's Eve is an establishment of drunken behavior at sub-zero temperatures. Or perhaps it is the fact that I am perpetually single on New Year's Eve and don't feel the need to count myself among the ranks of women looking for "better luck," in the new year. (shudder)

Rather I find it to be a contemplative time, where I think about the past year, my accomplishments and my failures and what I would like the new year to look like. It sounds somewhat sad and pathetic, I know. But I look forward to it. It is a time of goal setting, and not the I will lose twenty pounds this year and suddenly look like Jessica Rabbit, type of goal, but the I will be happy with the person I have become at the end of two thousand and whatever. These goals are maybe less tangible than the typical New Year's resolutions, but in the end very satisfying. And after all what else is lent for if not weight loss; such thoughts should not be wasted on the New Year!

This year on New Year's Eve, I have every intention of cleaning my house to within an inch of it's life and cooking a big pot of sauerkraut and pork products otherwise known as Choucroute Garnie (french of course) which is considered good luck. I will let this year of trials and tribulations go quietly into that good night, and usher in a New Year of productivity and ease of mind. A new broom will be purchased for my cleaning endeavors, because a new broom brings a clean sweep. It is with that clean sweep that I will begin my year, happily by myself, with my thoughts and goals.

My Piano

I rent a piano. It's true, this is one of the many amazing things available in New York. I can also have someone pick up my dirty laundry and return it twenty four hours later, clean and folded. I can have groceries, dinner, or alcohol delivered to my doorstep as well. But, I digress. I began renting my piano about a year ago. A friend of mine who is beyond musically talented told me about his piano and I in a fit of covetousness decided I needed one too. I took piano lessons as a child reaching peak proficiency around the age of 15 from which point it was all down hill. I can now only play the simplest of tunes and a few memorized pieces from my halcyon days. One might ask then, why bother renting a piano?

My mother plays the piano beautifully. I can remember as a child falling asleep to the sound of her playing when my parents would have company. Sunday afternoon she would sometimes play when the aroma of a nearly ready sunday dinner had permeated the house. These memories and others like it bring me great joy and a sense of peace. Music in the house whether proficient or not, brings warmth. For this reason, I rent a piano for sixty bucks a month. A bargain by any standard.

NY Stories: You Have No Bagels?!

While in graduate school I lived in a closet of a room in Astoria, right off of Ditmars Blvd. There were many things that I loved about living there. The food shopping was easy and excellent. There were so many little specialty shops and small super makets on my eleven block walk from the train station to my house. The neighborhood was extremely safe and very family oriented, which was a nice transition for a girl from the suburbs.

An added bonus was the Dunkin Donuts that was open twenty four seven. How, one might inquire, is this an added benefit? Well I shall tell you! When one works odd retail hours one sometimes must be at work at 5am. A 5am shift with neither food nor coffee (no matter the quality of either) is not to be recommended. So Dunkin Donuts was the happenin' place to be at quarter after four in the morning! That being said, when suddenly a sign appeared on the door informing me that construction was about to occur thereby temporarily closing my early morning haven of chewy bagels and tepid, over sweet coffee, I was needles to say, unsettled. All was not lost however! A new Dunkin Donuts was opening a few blocks closer to my house but still along my path to the train. The first morning I had to go to the new Dunkin Donuts I was prepared to be required to actually order. My Dunkin Donuts guy always knew what I would order and therefore simply prepared it for this bleary eyed, early morning commuter, no questions.

So I walked in and asked for my usual, "May I have a whole wheat bagel with strawberry cream cheese and a medium coffee extra milk and two splendas." "I'm sorry we have no Bagels." Baffled by such a statement, I repeat it "You have no bagels?!" He is of course standing in front of a wall of bagels and doughnuts. "No we have no bagels." My yet to be caffeinated mind is not prepared for such a challenge. Thinking that I could possibly change the inevitable answer I attempted changing the inflection of my voice, "You have NO bagles?" "No, we have NO bagels." This went back and forth for several moments before I was able to get out, "Well what are those things behind you?!" "Ohhh, you want one of them? Toasted?"

Needless to say I got my bagel and coffee and rued the day when my Dunkin Donuts decided it needed to upgrade.

About three weeks later my Dunkin Donuts reopened. I was walking past it in the middle of the day and overheard a man say to his wife, "You know I really like the new (meaning the newly renovated) Dunkin Donuts." To which she responded, "It's not a freakin Disney World ya know!" "I know! But at least at this one the guy don't tell me he's got no bagels when he's standing in front of a freakin' wall of them!" I could barely contain my urge to turn around I shout with triumph, knowing I wasn't the only baffled Dunkin Donuts customer in Astoria!

First Blog

This being my first blog, I feel the need to set forth some parameters for myself. For instance, what do I intend to write about? Ummm, I dunno. Stuff that interests me. Check! Am I going to do it every day? Let's be honest, no. Cool. Check! Is this the step in life that will make me wildly famous and the most recent best thing since sliced bread? Please god no! Check! Ok, I think we're doing well!

So you ask...well what are the things that interest you, and if you're not going to write every day, when are you going to write, and seriously, don't you want to be famous?! Well don't be a stranger and stop by sometime and you will most likely find out the answers to some if not all those questions and probably some other stuff too.

See you soon.