lesson #1

After months of trying to coordinate, finally, today, I have my first canasta lesson.

Five of us meet. The group was supposed to include people I know, but they all decide to meet for four, evening classes in June. I don't want to wait, so this afternooon I get together with a very nice group of strangers.

I contemplate what to wear, fearing that the others will be attired in "ladies who lunch" type outfits. In the end, I throw on a pair of jeans and a white T, and am relieved to see the others are similarly clad.

The woman hosting lives near Fifth Avenue, in a beautiful apartment that feels more like a house. There are too many rooms to count. 

Sharon, our instructor, is no-nonsense, patient, organized and well-informed. She knows the subject and has much experience teaching it. It's obvious from the start that she's going to be great.

For a game that is relatively simple, there are so many rules and exceptions. It feels like every card played is interrupted with, "Oh,  this is probably a good time to tell you about the Rule of Five."  Or, "It's important to keep track of the number of sevens played." All this and I'm thinking more simply. Like, "What's the value of an ace again?" 

By the end of two hours, I feel almost dizzy from all I just learned: the plays,the opening requirements, how to count points, the complicated ace, the scoring, the pros and cons of sevens, what my partner is doing, what my competitors are doing, when to pick up the deck, when not do, and a lot more.

I just hope that when we meet next week for lesson number two,I still remember pieces from today. 

one of those days

Yesterday I make an online payment to a CitiBank credit card for $500. My account is debited twice for $500 each. It's an annoying, time-consuming effort to get it corrected.

I go to Agata to buy dinner for the next two nights so I don't have to go after work: half a cooked chicken, roasted yams, a couple of tomatoes, and brussel sprouts lightly sauteed. $17.

Get to work and am greeted with $2,000 in returns: 1/3 of what I earned last Sunday (the beginning of this week).

By the end of the day, I am totally spent; my feet are killing me after almost 20,000 steps in booties (not sneakers). I start to help someone at 6:45, planning to leave on time by 7:15. Instead, I end up leaving at 8:15.

I don't get home until nine. Hate eating dinner so late, but at least all I have to do is heat it up.

Walk in and see the Agata bag with my groceries on the kitchen counter — there since 10am. 

I google, "How long can chicken stay out unrefrigerated?"  Two hours max, before bacteria starts growing. Same answer for cooked yams and brussel sprouts. The two tomatoes are the only things that are safe. I reluctantly toss everything else.

I go back to Agata and re-purchase dinner.

Come home and there are huge blinking lights in my windows. 

Con Ed is doing some repairs. I go back out and ask them to turn the top lights off. 

"Sorry, ma'am, we are not allowed to."

"How long are you going to be here? The lights are blinking directly into my apartment?" 

"We don't know; a couple of hours, at least."

Okay, in the big scheme of things, I know these are minor annoyances. 

I go to bed late, with my alarm set early.  Harry and Meghan are getting married tomorrow. 

By then, my small annoyances will be forgotten as I watch what I know will be a spectacular event.

more people say yes than no

Finally. After thinking about it for a year, I  purchase the Nikon D5600.

Amazon makes it easy: five equal payments, all interest-free. 

I was going to throw out my Nikon D80 body (purchased in 2007) that no longer works, but thought instead, maybe someone wants it.

So I post it on Craig's List. 

My Nikon D80 (body only with battery and charger) doesn't work. I have no idea if the repair will cost a little or a lot. But if you want it, it's yours. No charge.

Within 10 minutes, I have 7 texts of people who can come by and pick it up. By 7pm it belongs to Min, a pleasant man who'll be using it for its parts.

Today I go out to test my new camera. 

I approach people on the street with a simple, "Hi, can I take your picture?" I'm surprised at the many sures I get in response. Whoever says New Yorkers are unfriendly is just plain wrong.

A few do ask why, and then I tell them, "I just got a new camera and want to try it out."

So here are some random New Yorkers, strolling the Upper East Side around noon today.

I have a lot to learn about this camera, but it's nice to know it works fine, even when set on automatic.

mother's day

A few weeks ago I ask Alexander if he'll be home for Mother's Day.  His response?

"I have to come home the following weekend anyway so would it be okay if I came home then instead?"

"Sure," I respond. "Or how about mid-June? Just pick a date that's most convenient for you."

He does the right thing and comes home.

I work on Saturday so we meet afterwards. Alexander chooses the restaurant. A little Italian place called Finestra on the UES. 

My son is waiting for me when I arrive. At first he was worried (he later tells me) because all the patrons there were so old. Maybe they were finishing up from their early bird dinners. I arrive, near eight, and by then, the small restuarant is filled with people of all ages.

The food is great. We both order the same fattening meal: shrimp parm with a side of spaghetti. During our relaxed conversation, Alexander casually says,  "I really need to see a doctor. My right shoulder keeps poping out, even when I sleep."  I have no idea how long this has been going on for, but he injured his shoulder in 2009.  His busy life doesn't allow time to watch a one minute youtube video I recently sent him, so I shouldn't be surprised that he hasn't found time to have his shoulder examined. 

Today, Mother's Day, Alexander meets me at work to shop, something he loathes doing. But I wish all my customers were like my son. He's quick, decisive, knows what he wants, and it would never occur to him to return anything.

Despite having to work, it's a nice Mother's Day. 

I consider myself lucky for a lot of reasons. And being mom to Alexander is top on my list.

recipe for a more intriguing life

This week I don't:

• Accept an invitation to watch the royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle starting at six in the morning. That I could do (if I weren't working on Saturday), but female attendees at this private party are encouraged to wear hats with fascinators. Now that would be a challenge.

• Go to a screening of a new Showtime series called The Fourth Estate, an upcoming documentary series about The New York Times in the Trump era, and the challenges its reporters face in covering a president who undermines them. The show is followed by a Q&A with Leslie Stahl.

• Attend a private screening of On Chesil Beach with an after-party.

Instead, I:

• See Lobby Hero with Zelia.

• Organize some closets.

• Clean a few drawers.

• Have a haircut.

• Finish one book and begin another (neither worthy of a recommendation).

• Spend about seven hours (no exaggeration) with Apple and someone in Saks tech support trying to get my work emails to come through my home computer like they have been for the past two and a half years but now suddenly don't.  Four days and hours of conversation. The result?  No solution and none on the way.

• Do some clienteling (yes, that's a real word). Contact about 150 customers and hear back from two.

• And buy some groceries (multiple times).

My life would be so much more interesting if I only did more of what I don't do. And my guess is, I'm not alone.

surprising acts of kindness

My sister and M have a mutual friend. I'll call her Jan.

A couple of months ago Jan is skiing in Colorado. Feeling great.  A few weeks after coming home, she doesn't feel well, goes to the ER, and gets diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. It's devastating news. Totally unexpected.

But this isn't about the battle Jan is now fighting. It's about two people she barely knows, and the humanity and kindness they extend to her, just because.

Jan has been a customer of Saks (in Boston) for many years, and has worked with the same salesperson for most of that time. Jan decides to return a recently purchased dress and pair of shoes after getting her diagnosis. The desire for more clothing has been supplanted with more important desires. So Jan mails the clothing back to her salesperson at Saks, with a note explaining the reason for the return.

A few weeks later Jan gets a package in the mail. She opens it to find the clothing she had returned. My first thought, when M is telling me the story, is, "Oh, no, I can't believe the salesperson would return the items because it was over 30 days." But no, that's not the story M is telling.

The salesperson includes a note with the clothing, telling Jan how sorry she is to hear the news ... and then goes on to say that she would like Jan to keep the items, as she knows Jan loved them enough to purchase them. "And don't worry, you won't be charged. I will credit your account in the full amount."

And then yesterday, M is with Jan at the Apple store and they are getting watches. They are being helped by a big strapping guy who looks like an NFL running back. In the course of the purchase, it comes up that because of Jan's recent diagnosis, she now has to keep track of her heartbeat, and that's one of the reasons for getting the Apple watch. 

But Jan would love one of the very-cool mesh bands that costs about $200. M decides to surprise her and give it to her as a gift. When the salesperson is ringing up M, she says, "And don't forget to charge Jan's mesh band on my purchase." He looks at her and says, "Nope. I'm including the band for her as a gift." This, from a complete stranger!

Though I risk sounding sappy, these stories really do reinforce my belief that people are generally kind and compassionate. 

big fine averted

I hate this weather.

Two days ago it was damp and biting cold. The uncomfortable kind that pierces through all   layers. Nothing protects you from this kind of weather. It's not the brisk cold of winter that can be protected by warm clothing — my favorite.

Today is almost 85. What happened to spring? I walk a couple of blocks and feel sweaty and exhausted. I am meeting Susan to see Carousel.

I go to the bus stop, put my metrocard into the machine to pre-pay, and no little white pass pops out. It's supposed to. It's my only proof of payment. And if you're caught without that little white pass there's a $200 fine.

But what are the chances? 

Select Bus Service started in the city 10 years ago and I've only been on a bus ONCE when I was checked. And besides, I am only going four blocks before I have to switch to the subway.

One block into my trip the doors open, and sure enough, two Transit Police Inspectors (or some such title) board the bus, while one guards the door. They are asking everyone to show their white slips of paper to prove they've paid. 

Now I'm getting nervous.

Everyone seems to have their white slips to show. I'm expecting a battle. Why should the inspectors believe me? 

When it's my turn to show my pass I speak with confidence I don't really have. Polite. Not aggressive. 

"The machine I used didn't spit out a proof of payment."

"Where was the machine?"

"79th and First."

"Okay. Thanks. We are aware that it's broken; it's been reported."

NY at its finest! 

I don't really care that it's been broken for months. At least this inspector knew. 

Next time I'll use the machine next to the broken one. Now I know.


Oh and Carousel? Loved It. The music is gorgeous, and the leads incredible. Definitely worthy of its near 3-hour run-time.