legally correct, ethically not

Judy and I live in the same building. We both moved in over 20 years ago.

Judy raised three kids here; they are all grown and live elsewhere. The youngest is 31. Judy has been divorced for as long as I've known her. 

Judy is about my age. Personable. Nice. Reliable. Considerate. The kind of tenant you'd love to have.

Judy lives in a large two-bedroom apartment. In April, she receives a letter from the landlord reminding her that her lease renewal is due in a couple of weeks.

Judy pays full market value for her apartment; it is not rent stabilized.

She calls the office to let them know that she never received her rent renewal.

The managing agent says, "That's because we never sent you one. We are not renewing your lease."

Just like that.

After more than 20 years.

No warning. Just an inappropriate comment. "You don't need that much space anyways."

The agent offers to find Judy another, smaller apartment in the building; Judy declines (and eventually finds something else nearby).

The management plans to gut renovate Judy's apartment (as they have been doing with all apartments as soon as someone moves out). This way they can raise the rent as much as the law allows — more than Judy would have paid with her increase.

Judy checks with two lawyers and a real estate judge; she happens to be a broker. They all tell her the same thing.

"A lease is a contract. Once the contract ends, either side can choose to renew or not." In other words, Judy has no recourse.

I live in a rent stabilized apartment so I cannot be thrown out. I guess I'm one of the lucky ones.

But for most, if you don't own your apartment, it's really not a home. It's just a temporary living space. 

I know business is business. But there are better ways to impart bad news. 

our smart and wonderful mayor

Dear Mayor De Blasio,

I am so glad you finally listened.

I applaud your efforts to integrate bikes into New York City. It's good for the environment, helps with traffic tie-ups, and a million more good reasons, I'm sure.

But as you know (since I've written before), the bikers (at least the ones in my neighborhood) need to be educated. I am sure if they knew the laws better they would follow them.

You could start by telling bikers they must abide by the same rules as drivers. Ya know. No right turns on red. No speeding through red lights. No creeping up to the last line of the crosswalk and sneaking through the red light. No crisscrossing back and forth on the pedestrian crosswalk waiting for the light to change. And of course no barreling down one way streets in the wrong direction. I'm sure these green-minded people and hard-working delivery guys (they are always guys) just need to be reminded and all will be good.

Today I see four NYC police officers and a NYC police van parked on the corner of 79th and First. When I ask why they are there, I am first told, "It's to hand out tickets to bike riders who break the law."

My prayers answered!



Okay, the police are in full view, so I doubt anyone will break any laws. But then I'm told, "Actually we're not here to hand out tickets. Just to distribute some flyers."

Tickets would be better, but oh well. I'm sure the flyers will really really help. How could any bike rider not be moved by such strong messaging?!

front

back

So brilliant , Mr. Mayor. I would never have thought to:

• Hire a creative agency.
• Develop such compelling visuals.
• Add motivating copy sure to get bikers to stop driving recklessly.
• Print a gazillion copies on heavy stock paper.
• And have four police officers stand on one street corner to distribute these amazingly wonderful flyers.

Now I'll be able to sleep at night, no longer worrying that someone will be killed by a thoughtless, selfish, I-don't-need-to-follow-the-rules biker. 

Thank you, Mr. Mayor. What a great use of taxpayer's money.

yours sincerely-

a nyc constituent

a place in the sun

Every year I say the same thing.  I am going to be careful about the sun.

And every year the same thing happens.  

I forget my self-promise on the first nice, sunny, summer's day that comes along. Just a little color to wash away the pallor of the past 8 months, I think.

Today is that day. 86 degrees and a cloudless sky.  My plan is to sit outside, read today's paper and some of The Nest (which I'm really enjoying), and be back within an hour and a half. 

So I go to my little place in the sun. 

I don't want to travel the few blocks to Central Park, so I settle on an urban park (I guess you can call it that) a block away.

The bench I want to sit on is too hot. So my newspaper becomes my blanket. 

The sand is there, though less plentiful. 

And the soothing sounds of the ocean are replaced by city traffic.

When you live in the city, you don't get something as nice as M's backyard.











 So I settle for what is convenient.



I'm home in 20 minutes.  My dermatologist would be pleased.

a trip worth taking

 I live in a city with great art museums that I mostly don't go to.

Art museums generally exhaust me. There's always so much to see. Usually the space is large and windowless. There's a lot of meandering to get where you are going. And if I don't have a specific something to see, I get overwhelmed.

But there are exceptions.  A trip to the Norman Rockwell Museum with M and our kids in 2003 was great.  In 1998 I saw the Duane Hanson exhibit at the Whitney which I would easily see again if it ever came back.  The same is true of an exhibit I saw on photos by Robert Mapplethorpe. And Alexander McQueen's extraordinary fashion exhibit at the Met's Costume Institute tops my list.

If I'm going to go to a museum, it'll most likely not be one where paintings dominate.

Today Ellen and I go to The Museum of the City of New York. First, I get my free membership for having a NYC ID. Then, we see the thoroughly entertaining exhibit on the works of Roz Chast, a staff cartoonist for The New Yorker.  

She beautifully captures the absurdities of modern living — particularly in New York City — and the complex relationship between parents and kids and parents and parents.

After the exhibit Ellen and I grab a salad at the museum's little snack bar. Ellen was a producer for many years on NBC's Dateline and just recently got a project working for another television network. I'm happy for her; she'd been looking for a while.

While it may often feel like we're battling everything, it's those little victories along the way that make it all worth it.

missing my son when he's home

Alexander moved to Philadelphia on Tuesday, but he's back on Friday for the weekend.

He takes the train to Penn Station and goes directly from there to meet some college friends who are in town. 

At 12:35 a.m. I text him.

T is a friend from college.

I still can't sleep knowing my son is out. Maybe it's unreasonable to expect him to come home by three, but I need to work in the morning. At least when he's not home, I don't know what time he gets in. I wonder if all mothers are like this.

I work on Saturday and call Alexander when I'm leaving to come home. His good college friend Daniel from LA is in town and they are on the way to the movies.

I fall into a restless sleep and am awoken at 3:00 by a loud, persistent banging. After 20 minutes I go downstairs to investigate.

My lobby is empty. My worthless doorman has left a note that he is who-knows-where-doing-who-knows-what and has locked the outer door. Outside banging are my son, Daniel, and two of our neighbors.

Finally, the doorman returns and everyone is let in. No one, understandably, is happy.  "Where were you? We were outside knocking for twenty minutes!" they ask. But the doorman, who strangely has a friend with him, accuses all five of us of lying and says, "I was only gone for five minutes!" Ridiculous.

So I talk to Alexander and Daniel for about ten minutes before falling back to sleep.

A few hours later, around six, Alexander wakes me to say good-bye. I don't think he and Daniel even bothered to sleep.

Not much of a visit but still, I'll take what I can get.

my roommate moves out

Yesterday was Alexander's last day home. Today he leaves for his new home. But he'll be back this weekend.

The other day he calls me at work.  "Hey, bad news. I just found out that my apartment is not furnished."

He's living with four college co-eds (one he knows from Horace Mann) and two guys. 

I try really really hard not to bug him about what he needs to do. Instead, I ask what he wants for his last dinner home.

"Let's go out for burgers."

We go to Five Napkins. I have 2/3 of a gigantic  ahi tuna burger with avocado; Alexander gets the burger and a third of mine. Both are excellent, but the kitchen is ridiculously slow.



I ask Alexander how his packing is coming along. "Good," he responds. I ask where it is, as I haven't seen one suitcase out, or piles of clothes to be put in a suitcase. "It's here," Alexander says, and  points to his head. Planning is good, I agree. But he's leaving tomorrow.

I go to bed around midnight.  "How's the packing coming?" I ask again. I get the same answer. "Good." I see no indication of progress.

I wake up early and see the apartment exactly as it was when I went to sleep. No suitcases or clothes anywhere.

And yet, by 11 am, he's pulled it off.  

Before leaving, Alexander can't help but say,  "Don't you think it's symbolic? The wall comes down on the same day that I break free?"  Of me, he implies without saying. I know he's half kidding.

And so he's off. 

I have mixed feelings. I'm obviously happy for him. And it'll be nice to have my apartment back. But damn, he brings a lot of life into this home. And a lot of laughter into my heart. I will miss him.

finally... the wall comes tumblin' down

Per the city laws, every ten years a building needs to be re-pointed. Among other things, this involves erecting a sidewalk shed to protect pedestrians from falling debris.



February 23, 2015
A monstrous looking wall is erected at eye level with my window.

My view of the street is totally blocked.

What's the weather? Don't know; can't see the street. Are people wearing coats? Carrying umbrellas? 

I can't see if the crosstown bus is coming.

What's that noise on the sidewalk below my window?  

Is that a firetruck at our building? 

I feel claustrophobic.

I can't open a window or debris will fly in. Maybe even a pigeon.

My sunlight is compromised.



Early June, 2015
The work finally begins.  

3 1/2 months of just an ugly wall for no reason. Couldn't someone have planned better?

But now I have men at eye-level.

I need to keep my blinds closed all day unless I like having random men walking around in front of me. 



Late December or early January
The work is finally done.

But it seems to have zero impact on the wall. It remains standing for another five and a half months.



January 2016 through today































Calls to landlord. Too many to mention.

Emails (long ones) to landlord. Too many to mention.

Calls to 311. Worthless.

Calls to State Senator's Office. Helpful, but legally they cannot force the landlord to do anything, though they did write some strong letters.

No laws to protect me.

Evasive answers.

Waiting for this, waiting for that.

Inconsistent information about inspection approvals.


8:07 this morning

I hear a welcoming noise and look out my window.

I can see trees.

I can almost see the street. 

Almost 15 months of this hideous wall, and only 6 months of work.  Ridiculous.

But today, these men are making me very happy.

Okay, it's not THE wall. But it was my wall. So happy it's gone. At least for another ten years.

a special mother's day card

A few days ago I go to buy a Mother's Day card. I suggest to Alexander that he meet me at Duane Reade (DR) to do the same for his two grandmothers. 

"Can't you do it for me?" he asks. "No, the card should reflect your thoughts."  "Okay, "I'll meet you there in a  few minutes."

There is a DR a half block from our apartment, and another one two blocks further in the other direction.

Ten minutes later I'm still in the card section, reading through the funny cards, the sentimental ones, the boring ones — all with the hope of finding one that resonates some truth or special meaning for my mother. And still, no Alexander.

I call him.

"Hey, where are you?"

"I'm back."

"What do you mean you're back?  I thought you were meeting me here."

"I went to the DR on Second. I already got the cards and now I'm home."

"Why'd you go to the DR that's on Second and not the one around the corner on York?"

"I don't know. I thought you'd be there."

It takes me another 15 minutes to find the right card and I come home.

"So let me see what you got?"

He shows me this.

 

"Alexander, what is the significance of this? Your grandmothers both have cats. They've never had golden retrievers. You should pick cards that are meaningful to them."

"Okay, I'll return them and get something else."

Today is Mother's Day.  I have to work, so cannot spend it at my sister's club with Alexander and the rest of my family.  I miss everyone.  

After work I see the new musical American Psycho with Susan. I thought I'd hate it, but end up really liking it. Very clever staging, lyrics, and a stellar cast.

I get home around 10:30 and see an envelope on the table. Awww, he did get me a card, I think.

I open it.  The sentiment inside is witty and heartfelt.  

 

But it's the card itself that makes me laugh.

 

I am really going to miss my son when he moves in a few days.

name change

When I started college I went from Linda ( a name I never liked) to Lyn. My hometown friends still call me by my given name. And my mom finds it difficult to call me anything else, all these many years later. Though she does try.

When Alexander was about six, I officially changed his last name from his father's last name to mine. When I told Alexander I was making the change, I also added, "Now is the time if you'd like to change anything else about your name." He asked then if I could officially change him from Alexander to Mew, his favorite Pokémon character at the time. When I later told him he was now named Mew, he was not happy. 

Today I go to have my hair colored. My colorist, Lyo, has moved to a new place. I'd follow her anywhere.

Before leaving, the receptionist hands me Lyo's card.  "That's all right," I say. "I have all of Lyo's contact information."  

"No, take it," the receptionist says. "Lyo's not Lyo anymore. She's Lico; it's easier to pronounce."

Lico is the most talented colorist (and head masseuse) around. She can call herself anything she wants and she'd still be my favorite.

that other thing ya gotta do

I'm at my appointment by 9:30.

There is very little waiting time, so less time to worry about the what if.  Every year, when I come for my annual mammogram, the fact that my life could change in an instant does not escape me. 

I don't mind the squeezing and pressure and uncomfortable awkwardness. It's the technician's silence as she looks a the screen that I don't like. It gives me too much time to wonder what she's looking at.

The lovely radiologist, Ayala Rosenbaum, comes in shortly after the process. She's all smiles. I am relieved when she says, "Everything is fine."

Next I go in for the sonogram with Juliane. I met her last year, and we got together a few times after. She is a drop-dead gorgeous blond, and as nice as she is beautiful. We catch up on life as she maneuvers the hand-held ultrasound device across my breasts.

A few minutes after Juliane leaves, Dr. Rosenbaum returns.  She's not wearing the same bright smile she had on earlier.  "I just want to take a look at something, though I'm pretty sure it's nothing," she says.

My life stops. I lie back again on the table and am totally silent as the doctor moves the ultrasound device over one spot .  "I'm going to press down a bit so let me know if this hurts." It doesn't. It's only my imagination that hurts.

But then she smiles and says, "Everything is fine."  

"Are you sure?" I ridiculously ask.  

Dr. Rosenbaum has a nice manner and kindly replies, "What possible reason would I have for not being truthful?" 

None of course.  It's not like she'd hate to ruin my day so she'll pretend the results are all good.

I leave happy. And relieved that I don't have to return for a year. Wish it were ten, like that other thing I just did.