my neighbor

Shirley (that’s not her name though the name suits her) is my neighbor.  She doesn’t read this blog as she doesn’t own a computer or TV.  In fact, she’s part of the 25% of the world’s population that doesn’t own a cell phone, and that’s including all those really poor countries and remote islands.

I would guess she is about my age.  She sounds educated.  Is articulate.  Has a normal-looking boyfriend of many years (which is more than I can say).  And is very nice, though strange.  She lives in another era entirely.

She also has a habit of leaving things in the hallway.  Wet shoes.  Umbrellas.  Bags of who knows what.  I (and others) have asked her in the past to please keep her belongings inside her apartment.  She remembers for a while and then forgets.

Yesterday morning, around 7:45, as I am leaving my apartment, I see a white plastic bag of garbage and some black rubbery thing outside her door.  She’s a nocturnal person and gets up late in the day, so I tell the doorman, as I don't want to wake her.  That, and I'd rather not get involved with her directly.

At 6:30 pm, the bag of garbage is still there.  I tell the super and he knocks on her door to ask her to remove it.

Later, she sees me in the lobby and asks if I were the one who ratted her out (not her words) and I own up.  She politely tells me she is upset that I didn’t “slip a note under” her door.  I tell her I’ve spoken to her in the past and it hasn’t worked, so I told the doorman.

Then she starts to tell me about her suicidal sister, and that I don’t understand how difficult this is for her and that unlike me she doesn’t rely on pharmaceuticals.  Huh?  I stop her there and ask her what she means.  “I remember you telling me once that you took tranquilizers after 911.”  I think I did take Xanax but I remind her that 911 was 12 years ago, and then I wonder, why am I engaging her in conversation at all and why did I ever tell her anything so personal.

This morning I get up and there’s an envelope under my door.  Inside is a nicely written note from Shirley imploring me again to let her know (and not the super) if I am bothered by any of her actions.

I remember the Robert Frost poem, Mending Fences.  In this case, good fences do indeed make good neighbors.

"How would you like that coffee, ma'am?"

86 degrees.  Too hot for fall.  Even the air conditioning on the bus feels good.  For once, I am not shivering as I travel crosstown.

Today I am taking Class #10 (I’m now half done).  As I do before every class, I stop at the same Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up a large coffee.  I am particular about my order:

    The height of the coffee — an inch from the top so it doesn’t spill as I walk.

    The color of the coffee — one squirt of half & half.

Sometimes the over-zealous server adds too much cream. I hate milk, so coffee too light is undrinkable for me. I like to see the coffee before the lid is put on it.

Today I get a polite young man.  He takes my order, does as requested, and shows me the coffee.  “Like my complexion,” I hear him say, but I’m not sure.  I ask him what he said and he repeats, “You like your coffee like my complexion.”  I look at him and he’s smiling.  His skin is a beautiful medium brown, exactly the same color as my coffee.

obamacare: attempt #1

Beginning in January, I may need to buy my health insurance through the new government exchange that's been established by state.

I want to see what my options are.  You know, see if it's better or worse than what I currently have.  Well, it's not that simple.  In fact, it proves impossible.

I google NY exchanges and end up on the right site.  Before I can see any of the plans, I need to create an account.  It’s an involved process that takes me more than an hour. The system keeps crashing.  I’m told my time has expired after 30 seconds.  The page I want doesn’t exist.  Or the page loads so slowly you’d think I had given up cable for dial-up.

The confidential questions to protect my identity are not of the garden variety mother’s maiden name type.  No.  It’s your home phone number growing up.  Or your maternal grandmother’s maiden name.  Who knows this stuff?  Finally I find a few I think I can remember.  Best friend growing up.  Favorite comic book character from my childhood.  And first grade teacher.  

I also need to type-these-two-words into a window.  Do I put a space between the words?  And why are these words impossible to read? It takes me several tries.  I don’t understand why they don’t just ask a simple math question.  Like 4+ 3 and I need to type in 7.  That’d be a lot easier than trying to decipher something that looks like MjdCHrin in one window and pSEUdinrlX in the other!

Anyway, I am finally in.  Can I see the options now?  Nope.

Now I have to complete more information about myself.  I start to fill in the basics:  name, address, etc.  But then I’m asked a lot more.  I lose patience and quit.  But not before saving everything I've just done.

I come back a couple of hours later, and try several times to get in.  I go back to enter more information about myself and half the information I previously entered is gone. I re-enter it, determined to get to the section where I can finally see the offerings.

I am next asked:

Personal Identifying Information

Please answer the following questions to allow verification of your identity.

There is nothing below the question.   

I can’t even get to the next screen.

I give up. 

phyllis visits new york

Before my mom arrives in New York, she tells me of two things she wants to accomplish:  find a nice dress and have the shrimp parmigiana at Tony’s.

She does both.

In the three days my mom is here, we walk a lot, eat too much, shop plenty, and have great conversations.

My mom gets here Sunday, late afternoon.  Despite her very-long bus ride, she spends no time relaxing.  At 84, my mom has lots of energy.  We go to Bloomingdales where my mom is hoping to find and buy that nice dress.  She doesn’t.  But it’s only day one.

At 6:30, we meet my nephews (Adam and Jason) for dinner at Tony’s. I love going out with them.  First, they are hilarious.  I doubt my mom laughs harder with anyone else.  And two, they typically over order.  We get a bit of everything and miraculously finish it all.  Despite all the good restaurants my mom has eaten at in New York, her favorite is still Tony’s. 

On Monday my mom and I go to the showroom of Magaschoni for their invitation-only fundraising sale.  I expect hordes of people, disarrayed clothes, no dressing rooms, and zero help.  That’s not what we find. We are the only shoppers.  Everything is beautifully arranged by style and color.  There are two dressing rooms.  And Allison acts as our personal shopper.  My mom and I each buy a pair of cashmere/silk leggings (from $280 to $50).  I am pleased to fit into a size small, but my mother fits perfectly into the extra small.  We also get some heavily-discounted and comfy cashmere sweaters.

Next we go to Saks where my mom finds not one, but two nice dresses that meet all her criteria.  One is all red and the other is kelly green.  She looks beautiful in both.

We meet Valerie and Abbey for dinner at Pietro’s.  The food is outstanding and the portions are enormous.  Their Caesar salad may be the best I’ve ever had.  

Today my mother meets my sister for another fitting for the gown she is wearing to Jason’s wedding; it’s the reason for her visit here.  I go to class #9 (11 to go).  We don’t meet up until later in the day.  Finally, on day three, my mom rests.

We order in dinner, play gin (she of course beats me), and get to bed early.

In the three days my mom has been here, I think I've gained at least that in pounds.  Good she's not staying a month!  But she will be back in a few weeks for her third and final dress fitting.  When she returns, I hope she’ll remember that:

    Cabs without a light on are not available.

    Express busses don’t allow you to pay onboard.

    NYC has great food; not just great Italian food.

    Most people eat dinner here after six pm.