favorite locals

It’s a typical Saturday morning.  I spend it, like most people I imagine, doing errands.

My first stop is Joseph’s.  My favorite cleaners.  Joseph is the name of the cleaners but the owner is Larry (I think he bought it from someone named Joseph many years ago and kept the name).  Larry’s prices are high, but his work is excellent.

Larry

Doris, the seamstress

Next I head over to the Farmer’s Market.  It’s a few blocks from my apartment, and vendors from all over the state populate it.  My standard fare includes apples, vegetables, corn, maybe some plums, and always tomatoes.  I usually buy from the same two vendors. 

I don’t know her name but her lines are always the longest.  Her husband went to Cornell and they live somewhere upstate.  She is friendly and hard-working and if she lived locally I could see being friends with her.  She claims not to photograph well but I would disagree.

Then there is this man. 

He is always smiling and sells the best tomatoes.  His lines are also long.

Next I stop by my favorite little neighborhood boutique where I have a $290 credit.  Lisa is one of those people you can’t help but gravitate to.  She has impeccable taste and knows my slyle.  “You wouldn’t like that coat; it’s too heavy for you.  But let me show you this skirt, it is so you.”  And she is always right.  I consider a few things but buy nothing. I feel good walking out empty handed.

And my final stop of the morning is Perfect Brow, a little waxing/threading place around the corner from where I live.  The place is clean, inexpensive, and close.  These are my waxers though I don’t use them today.

No, today I see Viju.  

He does a great job at blowing out my hair and today I decide to use him for the first time to color my roots. It costs $40 and I’m pleased with the results.

I am home by noon.

my dad turns 90

In celebration of my dad turning 90, my mom is hosting a small get-together of about twenty neighborhood friends.  Since my dad is still at JML (a healthcare facility for both long and short term care), the party will be held there. 

The last year has not been a good one for my dad.  His health continues to decline, though his heart remains strong.

The vibrancy of his youth is long past.

My dad around age 20

His life is nearing its end.  But my father has always been content.  He is a man without regrets.  Most people can’t look back and say,

I married the most perfect woman.  She is still beautiful and can still make me laugh.

My three daughters have never caused me much grief (except for some minor hair issues).

My six grandkids have grown into smart, funny, caring and wonderful adults (well, Jack is almost one, and Sally and Alexander are sort-of ones — adults that is).

My sons-in-law are as much a part of my family as my daughters are.

I live in a place I absolutely adore.

I worked successfully at a job and didn’t quit until well past 80.

I grew up surrounded by great friends.

I always owned the car of my dreams.

I traveled the world with the woman I love.

I have everything I want materially.

I am, and have always been, well-loved.

July 2013

 Happy 90th dad.  I love you.

the joys of public transportation

Yesterday I hear about an electrical problem on Metro North.  This heavily traveled route will inconvenience commuters for weeks.  According to a Con Ed spokesperson, the type of repairs needed “typically take two to three weeks.”  Commuters are stranded.  Frustrated.  Miserable.  I am happy not to be one of them.

This morning I leave my house around eight, on my way to class number 6 (of 20).   I take the crosstown bus to 79^th Street and switch to the subway. At the subway, I can’t find the Metrocard I just used.  I’ll have to pay again if I can’t find it.  The woman in the booth has the air of one with attitude.  I know this before any words are spoken.  I ask her if she can just let me through.  I understand she doesn’t have to. She says no (or course) but offers instead an obvious suggestion. “Check your pockets; maybe you’ll find your Metrocard there.” I hate when people do this.  Offer up a no-value solution.

So I buy a monthly pass for $112.  I’m using the subway a lot to get to class and back.  Why does the monthly card look exactly like all the other Metrocards? Shouldn’t the head of Metrocard Marketing (assuming such a position exists) institute a new design to differentiate a monthly from a single-use card?

Twice, while waiting for the subway, people rush by me so close that my tote is dislodged from its rightful place on my shoulder.  No apologies from either person.

On the subway, a 20-something woman is watching a TV show on her smartphone, volume up high. Has it not occurred to her that no one else wants to listen to what only she is watching?

A man on the subway is taking up two seats while others stand.  He is not particularly big, but his wide-leg stance says, “Don’t even think about asking me to move.”

If I ever win the lottery, I’d first buy an apartment, and then get a driver.  In the meantime, the forever meantime, I should just be happy I live in a city where public transportation is accessible. I just wish I were the only one using it.

my mom turns 84

My mom was born on this date in 1929.   But you would never know it.  She still walks three miles, five times a week, and has been doing this for years — long before it was fashionable. Weather is rarely a deterrent.

Her exercising shows.  My mom is in great shape.  I don’t think of her as old.  She sometimes reminds me, “You know, I’m not so young any more.”  But I think it’s just an excuse when she doesn’t want to do something.  Like stay up late and play cards.

My mom had me when she was only 21.  Two years after she married my dad.  None of my friends, growing up, believed me when I told them her age.  She was younger than all the other moms in the neighborhood.

 

Around April 1951

 In recent years my mom has learned all sorts of new skills.  Since my dad’s been ill, she’s become the family financier.  She’s even learned the complicated and unfriendly world of medical insurance.  My mom handles all the household chores my dad used to do, like emptying the kitty litter, or taking out and bringing in the barrels.  She got an iPad and learned how to use it.  I’m working on her to get an iPhone, but to be fair, she probably doesn’t need one.

My mom still makes friends easily.  At the rehab center where my dad is, everyone loves her.  One of the administrators has chosen my mom as her confidante.  The administrator is contemplating marrying a man 30 years her senior and wants my mom's opinion on whether or not she should.  And the sister of a 90+ year old man who recently died tells my mom how much she doesn't like the dead man's widow, a woman my mom has come to like.  People enjoy talking to my mother.  They know she will listen and offer sound advice, if asked.

Even the handsome son of my parent's friend comes by to help my mother with manly tasks, like trimming the trees around her house.  And some of my mom's good friends are my age or younger.

My mother is totally independent.  Has a great sense of humor.  Is the best card player on the Cape.  And always knows the status of the bridge traffic.  

Happy birthday beautiful mom.  I love you.

August 2013