pre-seder at penn station

I am sitting in the waiting area of Penn Station. Alexander is meeting me here, and he's just around the corner, about three minutes away. 

I hold the seat next to me in anticipation of my son's imminent arrival. An older woman approaches me and asks if she can sit in the empty seat next to me. I tell her I am holding it for my son, as he is almost here. Without complaint, she takes a seat nearby as there are many open seats.

The woman next to the empty seat — in her early 70's I'd guess — says to me, "That was pretty rude of you!"

There are many single seats around; there are no two seats together.  She then adds, "This is the reason I hate coming to New York." The implication is clear. I am another inconsiderate New Yorker.

I am going to my sister's in Long Island for a big family Seder, and I choose not to engage her. It's a holiday. Be pleasant, I tell myself. Today is not a day for petty arguments.

Alexander arrives and soon the woman leaves. A 50-ish businessman takes her seat.

I ask Alexander what he thinks of the just-released Mueller Report. "I don't have an informed opinion," he tells me. "I haven't read it yet." As if anyone I know has actually read it!

From nowhere, the guy next to my son says, "Mind if I join in?"

This being New York, and my son being inclined to never listen to me, I say yes, glad to have an assumed ally.

The man begins.

"Well, first of all, we all know that Hillary was behind it. She set the President up and prompted this whole ridiculous investigation."

From there, it gets worse. 

He goes on to praise Trump. Admonish all Democrats. And criticize the findings in the Mueller Report. His delivery is calm and non-confrontational; his rhetoric is absurd and offensive. 

But my son seems to be enjoying it all. Not because he agrees with this man, but because he knows my attempt at having an ally has failed miserably.

Finally we need to leave to catch our train. I am grateful for any reason to exit.

Our abbreviated Passover Seder is great. Jack's the photographer tonight and sends me a few photos.

michael, jason and adam 

two uncles with their adorable niece

Adam and Rachel

18 in all, and not one Trump supporter among us.

I'm assuming the political preference of the one-year-old and three-year-old who keep us laughing throughout the evening.

such a New York thing

So there's this play I want to see.  It's called The Lehman Trilogy and it's gotten rave reviews, has a short run, and is an impossible ticket to get.

The show is sold out, except for a few $450 seats through American Express. I would never!

Last week I'm talking to a friend who told me how much she loved the show. 

I can't believe you got tickets? How much did you pay? I ask.

Just $127 each. I used a line sitter.

A what? 

A line sitter.

What's that?

It's a person who stands in line for a fee.

A few years ago my friend found this guy Will on Craig's List. He has a partner Jack. I text them. Within minutes we have a deal.

Apparently the show offers rush seats for $45 at every performance. And Will has people who will get there in the wee hours of the morning to assure a first-place position in the rush-seat line. Last week we talk, and I confirm I'd like two tickets, at $127 each, for Tuesday night, April 16.

At 11:18 last night my phone rings. 

"Hi, this is Holly," the person announces. "I'm sorry for calling so late, but....."

Holly is the actual person who will be waiting in line. She engages me in a conversation that is far beyond what's needed. I've already agreed on date and price. The only thing I need to know is where to meet Holly to get the tickets and pay. That information she doesn't have yet.

Today I speak to Holly a few more times and we arrange to meet in front of a restaurant on 78th and York. She wants to know what I'll be wearing so she can find me. Huh?! It's not like we're looking for each other at Grand Central. I'm pretty confident we'll find each other in mid-afternoon on an upper east side street corner. Still, Holly wants to know how I'll be dressed just in case.

I find Holly easily. We are of course the only two people in front of the restaurant.

I pay her and get the tickets.

Tonight Zelia and I go. I've never attended a play (or anything else) at the Park Avenue Armory. It's a huge space (one city block long) in a historic building. 

Our seats (as expected) are in the very top row. The sound is excellent, but the actors on stage resemble teeny tiny shapeless people. 

The three and a half hour play is worth seeing, but I can't say I loved it. The three male leads are all superb, and the staging is brilliant. The first two acts focus on the history of Lehman Brothers and the three brothers who created it. But the third act feels rushed, and doesn't give any stage time to the company's demise.

So I leave with some new knowledge of a once powerful Wall Street investment bank. But more importantly, I now know Will.

a belated birthday celebration

Brooke and I both have birthdays in March. And tonight, seven mutual friends take us to dinner at La Pecora Bianca — a "stylish, market-driven" Italian restaurant, as accurately described on their website. (It's not easy finding a date where everyone is free; that's why the late celebration).

We are seated at a semi-round table against the wall. Perfect for people-watching, though we are too busy with our own conversations to pay attention. I love getting together with such a big group of great women, but it's hard to have one common conversation; the restaurant is too loud and the table too big. Instead, we mostly catch up individually with those closest to us — in proximity, not friendship. 

The food is great, though the service is spotty. Drink orders are taken only after we've all been seated for awhile and ask. One person's pasta dish arrives at least five minutes after everyone else has gotten theirs. And one order comes drenched in oil and needs to be replaced. But these are minor blips in an otherwise spotless night.

The food is excellent and the portions generous. We order a few appetizers for the table. My favorites are the tuna tartare and fried zucchini. We finish every last bite. For dessert, we get a large bowl of tiramisu for the table, replete with two candles. 

Brooke and I are careful to remove each one before blowing them out, having just seen Mitt Romney do this to avoid spreading germs.

Tonight there is no drama. Not even any spirited political disagreements. Despite the different parties we may align with, we all share the same disgust for our current POTUS.

All nine of us are ex-Horace Mann moms. We all have at least one son. Some of our kids are still in touch, others not. But I am so grateful that us moms have stayed connected. There are now nine of us who regularly share birthdays together. And now eight of us play canasta together weekly.

If we could only convince the glamorous Brooke to take up this old-Jewish-lady-game, we'd have all nine (though I don't see that happening any time soon). 

how did this happen?

I am about to leave work and notice my glasses. 

How did the arms get so messed up? I have no idea. 

But then, I have no idea about a lot of things.  For example...

In October 2017 I replaced a butter knife when I noticed I had only seven, instead of the eight place settings I had bought years prior. How do you lose a butter knife? I never take them out of the house. So I have no idea.

The other day, I am putting on a pair of shoes I haven't worn in a while. I feel something in the toe area. I take the shoe off and find a butter knife with scraps of food on it. Huh?!

How did a dirty knife make its way into my shoe? The only explanation I can come up with is that I am losing my mind and I put it there. 

But a good friend offers her explanation. 

"Maybe you had people over for dinner, and someone dropped a knife. And maybe you had your shoes off and the knife landed in one of them. And maybe you put the shoes back in the closet after dinner and didn't wear them for a while." 

I decide to go with that explanation — not because I necessarily believe it, but because it's better than the one I came up with.

So, back to my glasses.

I am going to throw them out, but decide to write to Eyebobs instead. I explain the situation and get this response:

Thank you for contacting us!  Now just sit tight.  Our irreverent and slightly jaded customer service team will respond to your request within 1 business day – pinky swear!

Bob (state-of-the-art eyebob wearing email robot)

Okay, so its one of those cutesie companies. But I do love their readers that come in a million great styles and strengths.

Anyway, they do respond and quickly resolve my problem.

I get a free label. Send in my glasses. And a few days later they are returned.

I love when companies offer both a great product and great customer service.

Thank you robot Bob.