Right now the produce is so pretty that it practically assembles itself. First thing this morning I hightailed it to Tompkins Square Park to hit my favorite greenmarket–the winking fishmonger who calls himself a retired radical; the Muslim-Jewish couple with the perfect kale and purple onions; the Close Encounters homage to composting. It’s the New York City I miss every day. I came home with a bounty of pale striped green zucchinis spilling out of my arms. My Sunday: A Study in Zucchini. Sautéed zucchini with mint and purple onions and poached farm-fresh eggs for breakfast; penne with heirloom tomatoes, fennel, basil, thyme, serrano peppers, green garlic, ricotta and zucchini for dinner. It may be miserably swampy outside but tis not my summer of discontent.
I was on the subway tonight, sitting in the small enclave between the sliding doors and the passage to the next car: two-seat benches on either side of the aisle. Next to me was a weary-looking woman with a beautiful headwrap and big earrings. In her arms was a baby with the saddest, brightest eyes I’d ever seen on a human. (I see eyes like that on dogs and sometimes cats.) His sadness didn’t seem to stem from any mistreatment; though visibly tired, the woman was holding him with a tenderness that seemed constant to me. His sadness felt soul-heavy, as if he registered her pain and wished he could do something about it. More than that, he seemed like the kind of very small person who’d been worrying about everything and everybody even before he was sprung from his mother’s body. Perhaps I am a sadist: It made him cuter to me. Continue Reading →
For the first time since September 13, 2001–two days after New York City and I changed forever–I lost my wallet today. The circumstances of the two disappearances were so similar: The losses (or thefts, I’m not sure which) both took place on the L Train between 1st Ave and Williamsburg when I was already emotionally devastated; I even reported them at the same MTA police station. What’s weirder is I’d just replaced my wallet for the first time since I’d replaced the one lost in 2001. Not to mention that my car–which I got on September 6, 2001–has been dying this month and I’ve been gathering the resources to buy a new one.
I’m trying to sort out the significance of these events because I know there’s lemonade in this story, and I’m determined to drink it. (All insights welcome.) For one thing, I tend to view lost possessions as the equivalent of the “death” card in the tarot deck–symbols of upheaval, harbingers of life-defining shifts. So these losses feels especially meaningful, as if I’m shedding a host of identities that no longer apply. For the love of Pete, I literally lost my identity cards. All this jibes with the enormous changes I’ve been courting since my back injury impelled me to seek new levels of healing, communion, insight. Certainly it’s true that, unlike the helpless girl I was 14 years ago, today I played Damsel in Distress to no one–didn’t cry or alert loved ones until I’d cancelled cards, called the bank, gathered my composure. I even had a backup driver’s license and bank card at the ready in my home office. Also new: The cops were much, much hotter than I remembered them.
Right now the produce is so pretty that it practically assembles itself. First thing this morning I hightailed it to Tompkins Square Park to hit my favorite greenmarket–the winking fishmonger who calls himself a retired radical; the Muslim-Jewish couple with the perfect kale and purple onions; the Close Encounters homage to composting. It’s the New York City I miss every day. I came home with a bounty of pale striped green zucchinis spilling out of my arms. My Sunday: A Study in Zucchini. Sautéed zucchini with mint and purple onions and poached farm-fresh eggs for breakfast; penne with heirloom tomatoes, fennel, basil, thyme, serrano peppers, green garlic, ricotta and zucchini for dinner. It may be miserably swampy outside but tis not my summer of discontent.
I was on the subway tonight, sitting in the small enclave between the sliding doors and the passage to the next car: two-seat benches on either side of the aisle. Next to me was a weary-looking woman with a beautiful headwrap and big earrings. In her arms was a baby with the saddest, brightest eyes I’d ever seen on a human. (I see eyes like that on dogs and sometimes cats.) His sadness didn’t seem to stem from any mistreatment; though visibly tired, the woman was holding him with a tenderness that seemed constant to me. His sadness felt soul-heavy, as if he registered her pain and wished he could do something about it. More than that, he seemed like the kind of very small person who’d been worrying about everything and everybody even before he was sprung from his mother’s body. Perhaps I am a sadist: It made him cuter to me. Continue Reading →
For the first time since September 13, 2001–two days after New York City and I changed forever–I lost my wallet today. The circumstances of the two disappearances were so similar: The losses (or thefts, I’m not sure which) both took place on the L Train between 1st Ave and Williamsburg when I was already emotionally devastated; I even reported them at the same MTA police station. What’s weirder is I’d just replaced my wallet for the first time since I’d replaced the one lost in 2001. Not to mention that my car–which I got on September 6, 2001–has been dying this month and I’ve been gathering the resources to buy a new one.
back injury impelled me to seek new levels of healing, communion, insight. Certainly it’s true that, unlike the helpless girl I was 14 years ago, today I played Damsel in Distress to no one–didn’t cry or alert loved ones until I’d cancelled cards, called the bank, gathered my composure. I even had a backup driver’s license and bank card at the ready in my home office. Also new: The cops were much, much hotter than I remembered them.