traffic police with no traffic

Today is the Puerto Rican Day parade.  I stay far away from Fifth Avenue with its throngs of celebratory people, and all that implies.

As I am crossing the street to go to Agata, I notice three things:

1. A driver makes a right turn on red — this is illegal in NYC.
2. A bike rider almost hits me as he pedals through a red light (this, too, is illegal).
3. There are two police men on either side of the street, both dressed in bright yellow, announcing they are traffic police.  Neither does anything as they watch these two offenders pass by.

So I ask one of them, “Hey, how come you didn’t stop that biker?”  He responds, “We are not responsible for moving violations.”  This surprises me.  I had no idea there were subdivisions within the subdivision of traffic police. I try to imagine the various departments:

Traffic Police:  Parking

Traffic Police: Moving Vehicles

Traffic Police:  Hit and Runs

Traffic Police: Monitoring No-Standing Zones

Traffic Police: Accidents

Traffic Police: Crosswalk Specialists

Traffic Police: School and Bus Crossings (or maybe these are two different groups)

Traffic Police: Parades

But these two policemen are in none of these groups. No.  According to the one I speak to, they are there to:  Keep traffic moving in case there is increased activity resulting from the parade,  a long six blocks from where they are leisurely hanging out, and have been for the past three hours.

Here's a view of the traffic these two men are watching.

a quiet saturday

Wake up to a surprisingly beautiful day.  So much rain yesterday it felt like it would never stop.

Pick up a few things at the Farmer’s Market, most notably small wild strawberries and the last heirloom tomato, on sale for the first time this season.  

I walk a few blocks along First Avenue where they are having a street fair.  Decide there is nothing I will find that I need, so I come home.

Finish reading The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud.  It’s a beautifully written book with little plot and a wow ending.  I think I write well until I read people who really do. 

Alexander makes chicken for dinner, one of his specialties.  Had I eaten it at 5:30 when he made it, I would have liked it a lot more than when I eat it three hours later after microwaving it for a couple of minutes.  I now fully understand the term rubbery chicken.

Alexander is going to a friend’s house and I ask (rather beg) him to let me take a picture.  He reluctantly agrees. I grab my camera and follow him out the door.

a very wet day

a view of my street

Sometimes it’s what we don’t do that matters.  So today, I don’t:       

    Nag Alexander to get up at a reasonable hour, and instead wait until 11:30 before uttering my first, “Hey, are you getting up today?”

    Go to a 50% off sale at Wolford to buy a white skirt I saw yesterday and really want, but instead decide I can probably find something in my closet to wear to a couple of big “dressy” events I have coming up in August.

    Leave my home after picking up muffins this morning, but instead stay in and read more of The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud.

    Go to theater tonight with Zelia in the torrential rain, but instead re-schedule for a night next week.

    Have a healthy, low-cal dinner, but instead order in a large onion pizza from Al Forno’s, a place Alexander and I love.

    Call some friends at midnight and suggest going out!  True, it’s not midnight yet, but I’m pretty certain this won’t be something I’ll be doing.  Instead, I will likely be cuddled up in a warm comfortable bed, listening to the calming sound of rain, pitter-pattering on my windows.

more doing, less planning, more fun

Here’s a typical night for me lately.  Dinner with Alexander while watching 30 to 45 minutes of TV.  It amazes me how much conversation we have while doing these two activities simultaneously, especially if it’s an old Law and Order episode.  We guess what might happen.  We discuss the moral implications of some of the stories.  We relate sometimes to the victim or the accused.  We wonder if the punishment is too harsh or not harsh enough.

I prepare dinner and Alexander typically cleans up.  After dinner I might read a bit, and usually by nine I’m in my room playing WWF, watching DVR’ed shows, and maybe catching up on phone calls.  Around 12:30,  I turn off the lights, turn on the AC, and go to sleep.

My son’s life, at 20 is far more exciting than mine, just as it should be.  Even his more ordinary nights are often tinged with surprise. Last night, for example, he meets up with some friends around 10:30.  It’s raining out, and about an hour later he’s home, water dripping off his shorts and T-shirt.  I think he’s in for the night and ask why.  “No, I’m just changing clothes.  We’re sitting on Peter’s roof and I’m cold in these clothes.  I need to change.”  I question why he’d be hanging out on someone’s roof in the rain and he replies, “Because we’re young.”  He leaves, and about an hour later he’s back with his friends hanging out here.

I remember how much fun the unplanned and unexpected were.  Creating an impromptu ridiculous-looking costume and dancing around the apartment to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

January 1979 in Chicago

Sitting around with friends at midnight discussing what we wanted to do that night.  Or deciding to just get high.

 

February 1979 with Tim (my husband, to my left) and
Hazel (to my right, and still my good friend)

Eric coming over at 1 in the morning and then going out to a bar —on a weeknight when I am working the next day. Deciding in late afternoon to hitchhike to New York City for the night, while a college student in Boston, just because it might be fun — then ending up sleeping on the floor of some boys’ dorm room at NYU — boys we don’t know and never see again. 

It’s good to have a plan for the important things in life, but too much spontaneity gets lost over time. 

Maybe I’ll call some friends at midnight tonight and see if they want to go out!  I hope I can find someone who's still up.

"don't call me; I'll call you."

Today was my last day of mentoring until the fall.  Going in, this was my hope:

    That I would be assigned a student with whom I could make a difference.

    That I would find opportunities for this student that she may not have found otherwise.

    That our relationship would continue through the summer.

    That I would help her through the college application process, and in the end, she would be accepted at a good school.

But that is not how it is playing out. 

The first session with Jasmine (not her real name) three weeks ago is a good one.  I am optimistic.

The second session with Jasmine, last week, does not go as well.  She arrives 20 minutes late for the 90-minute session.  She looks like she wishes she were somewhere else.

The final session is today.  Our goal is to identify nine colleges of varying degrees of selectivity by the end of 90 minutes.  It is a near-impossible task given the criteria Jasmine has selected.  She is only interested in attending school in one of two states.  She is looking for a specific type of program that few schools offer.  She wants to be near a city, "a place where there are fast food restaurants nearby."  Or if not that, at least a nice neighborhood.  She doesn’t want to be far from home, but she will consider schools further than 100 miles away if they happen to be in New York or Pennsylvania (she likes these states).    Forget Massachusetts, Connecticut and New Jersey.  “I don’t know those states and wouldn’t be comfortable there.” 

Based on Jasmine’s criteria, we identify only four schools.  One is an Ivy, one has only a 15% graduation rate (we nix that one), one is a state school in another state (she would unlikely get much financial aid), and one is a NY State school.  She seems angry with me for finding only four.

I ask her if something is wrong.  She tells me she is tired of people telling her what schools to apply to.  “I want to pick the schools where I want to go.”  I agree with her, but suggest she widen her criteria.  We eventually identify nine possible schools, but Jasmine’s heart is in only three of them. 

I tell Jasmine I’d love to stay in touch over the summer.  We exchange emails.  I tell her I’d be happy to meet with her more.  She says simply, “Feel free to email me at any time.”  Hmmmm.  Not exactly an inviting response.