a big one

In a way, I'm glad it's over. This birthday on the 16th really affected me. I know the alternative is worse, but still. How did I get this old this fast? And, why I do still feel like 40, and think of myself that way.

Alexander came up, and being with my son is always my most favorite gift (although I did get a couple of presents that came close). 

We didn't do much, but what we did do was fine. 

On my birthday we got up and moving late. Left the apartment around noon. Alexander wasn't up to being photographed because "when you take a picture, who knows where it might show up." But this one I don't think he can object to very much. 

We then took a 6.5 mile walk around Central Park, through The Ramble and over the Bow Bridge.

We even stopped at a museum I'd suggested. But when we got there, it was closed. I thought museums were only closed on Mondays, so I hadn't bothered to check.

For dinner, we decided on not going out, as it would have had to have been indoors, and I'm not quite ready for that. So Alexander got us roasted duck-breast dinners (one of my favorites) at Chez Nick's, a great little restaurant nearby.

I got calls and emails and FB posts from more people than I thought I knew. And not one single person close to me neglected to recognize my birthday in some way.

My mom sent me a stunning orchid plant that I adore. I hope I can keep it alive for a very long time. She knows how much I've wanted one.

A very close friend (who prefers privacy so I'll simply call her CF for close friend) gave me an incredibly thoughtful and generous gift. Wrapped in a box and enclosed in money were photos of beautiful women in different gray hairstyles and colors that would look good on me. CF knows how much I've been grappling with the decision of either waiting many more months or letting a stylist accelerate the process of going all gray. How incredibly meaningful this gift is!

Early on my birthday I was surprised with the best cake I've ever had from my dear friend Shari from Buttercup Bake Shop. The cake below doesn't quite capture the way the cake looked when it arrived.

And then another friend Shari sent me an Edible Arrangement that I won't feel too guilty eating.

Some friends surprised me with an Hermes bracelet that I've coveted for a while but would never purchase for myself. Now I have to practice putting it on.

My family got me the most perfect and gorgeous necklace from a designer my sister Jean introduced me to called Lizbeth. It is, in every way, perfect. One that of course wears well with everything. I love its boldness, its simplicity, and the care and thought that went into its selection.

And despite Alexander hinting of buying me a game console of some kind (knowing he would use it and I wouldn't), or anything I wanted "at Zales for under $75," he actually bought me something else. On his own, he decided on something from Tiffany's, and got me a gorgeous Elsa Peretti heart-shaped paperweight. It is being engraved so I haven't gotten it yet, but I will cherish it when it arrives. 

My friend M also coordinated a video but that I haven't seen yet. I am prolonging the joyful part of this birthday as long as possible.

More than the beautiful gifts, calls, cards, emails and FB posts, the day reminded me of how rich my life is. Each person I heard from reminds me of both current times and those past. Of jobs I've had. Men I've loved. Colleges I've attended. Bookclubs and Canasta games I've regularly participated in. Other mothers I've met through Alexander. People I've met through other friends. And a family I am so lucky to have.

So while the number on my cake may be something I don't like, the years behind the number make me grateful beyond words.

city living

I like her. I really do. She's very nice. And she's lived in the building longer than I have, and I've been here for over 28 years. But still.

Over a year ago, I start having bug problems. Big, ugly waterbugs showing up in random places, and always dead or dying.

I write to my landlord and ask for help. I also request that my neighbor's apartment be inspected, as I think her apartment could be the cause of my bug problem. For years, I've suspected that Brenda (not her real name) is a hoarder. And as far as I know, no one has even been in her apartment, including the building superintendent and maintenance people.

In January 2018, a law was passed in NYC requiring annual apartment inspections. I include this (multiple times) in emails to my landlord. Local Law 55, says, in part, "multiple dwelling owners will be required to annually inspect units for indoor allergen hazards, including mice, rats, roaches, and mold."

My landlord is responsive to the bug issue (an exterminator has been to my apartment more times than I can count). But as for inspecting Brenda's apartment?  Well, months of writing with the same request are ignored. Or I get evasive, non-committal answers, such as:

Also are you sure Apt. X is a hoarder?   (Feb 24, 2020)

I will let you know when we are able to inspect Apt. X.    (Mar 19, 2020)

Lyn. I do not know why you are so concerned with Apt X. Has this tenant done something that I don’t know about?    (May  16, 2020)

The bug problem persists, and despite many concerted efforts, no cause has yet been determined. It may not be Brenda's apartment at all. But still, if she is a hoarder, that is dangerous to all of us living on the same floor. It's a fire hazard, a potential rodent or bug issue, and probably other things I don't want to think about.

Today, I pass Brenda's apartment on my way out, and see this posted to her door:

I do feel a bit bad. As I said, Brenda is a very nice person. She does have a boyfriend with whom she lives part-time, and a sister. So she won't be out on the street. But it's not fair to others who live near her to be at risk —  even if hoarding is a type of mental illness.

I'm grateful that my landlord finally has taken some action. But those big ugly bugs still do appear periodically in my apartment. Three, just last week.

I'm sure I can now look forward to the banging and drilling that comes with an apartment being renovated for the next tenant.

Ah. The joys of city living.  Still, I can't imagine wanting to live anywhere else.

free at last (sort of)

Today is two weeks out from my second vaccine. I should now have about 94% protection against getting COVID-19, and 100% protection against getting a very serious case of it. After a year of living in varying states of fear, it certainly feels good.

Yes, I will still wear a mask outside. And I will still avoid very crowded places. But now I can finally start looking at a calendar that isn't totally blank except for physical therapy appointments (my frozen left shoulder is very much improved).

A while ago I made a list, and now I can finally start acting on it.

Medical:

• Get annual check-up.
• See podiatrist.
• Make appointment for eye doctor.
• Have teeth cleaned.

Beauty:

• Get a much-needed manicure and pedicure.
• Use almost-expired Groupons to get a facial and massage.
• Have eyebrows shaped.
• Get hair-cut.
• Use one of two credits for Korean body scrub at the Tribecca Spa of Tranquility.

Boring stuff:

• Get enhanced REAL ID.
• Apply for SCRIE (unimportant what it is, but it involves going downtown to a state agency).

For fun:

• Invite friends over for movies, TV, dinner, anything.
• Eat outside at a restaurant.
• See photography exhibit at the American Folk Museum that I read about in the NY Times.
• Go places/do things unmasked, with fully-vaccinated friends.
• Maybe travel with other vaccinated friends.
• See my son more.

Not on my list, but something I can now feel more comfortable doing, is taking the subway or even a VIA. I keep track of my spending, and —not surprising, I spent $1,251 on local transportation in 2019, compared to $80 in 2020. That alone speaks volumes on how localized my life has been.

I may not do everything on my list, but the possibility of it all is empowering.

dose #2

My second vaccination of Moderna is today. Four weeks and five days after the first. 

I wake up excited. 

I pack a small bag of the things I'll need:  photo ID, confirmation document, kindle (in case the line is long— I waited 90 minutes for the first shot), phone, and AirPods.

I also need to consider attire. When I walk I get hot, but when I wait in line in 35-degree weather, I get cold. Last time I was freezing.

First, I wear a loose-ish cotton long-sleeve tee, so it'll be easy to expose my arm.

Next I put on a lightweight down coat. Of all the coats I have (and I have many), I probably wear this one the most. And, it's probably the oldest.

I pack a down vest (that I wear more than I ever thought I would when I bought it).  If I need to layer up, I can. 

And then, just in case, I throw in a hat; I never wear hats.

Ok, I'm ready. I have enough to keep me occupied (music and book) and enough to keep me warm if the wait is long.

The walk over is beautiful. It's a gorgeous, sunny, crisp winter's day. The park is filled with people enjoying it. Soon, I am hot. And the one outfit I hadn't planned on wearing is the one I end up with. Vest only.

But the best part? I arrive and there is zero wait.

And the walk home is made even better by having the knowledge and comfort of being done.

In two weeks I should have about 94% immunity.  The positivity rate in NYC is now less than 5%.  I already feel this veil of anxiety melting away. And that feels very very good.

one-year anniversary

Today marks exactly one year since I last had my hair colored. 

I had expected that in one year's time, my hair would be gray, and I could then assess if I wanted to keep it gray or not 

I was wrong.

I am nowhere near a full head of gray hair.

I read online of some woman with similar length hair as mine and it took her 18 months to grow it out.

It's not just about the time and money I'm saving. I love the freedom of not being a slave to monthly colorings. 

I also think that my hair is in better condition since I stopped coloring it.

My one fear is that it will make me look old. Forget the fact that I am old (oh how much I hate to say that). My intention, in the end, is to not have boring, elderly-looking, gray hair.

But I am getting tired of the way it looks now — silvery gray on top and an ugly brownish-reddish on the bottom. I've considered lots of things to help it along (NOT including going for a short haircut). But all of them involve some kind of bleaching and that would be bad for my hair.

So for now, I am continuing as is.  And really, since I barely see anyone, it's mostly me who doesn't like what she sees.

I pulled some photos from the past 12 months. It's a slow slow process, made tolerable by the new look I imagine having one day.

July 25, about 5  1/2 months out

August 30, 6 1/2 months out

October 2, almost 8 months out

So at one year, I still have very far to go. I'm losing patience and am considering accelerating the process. 

Here's my aspirational look. 

And though  I'll need a lot more than a new haircut, evenly dispersed gray hair, and blue eyes to achieve this look, it's nice to have a goal —even an unachievable one.

the kid vs the GOAT

I've never been much of a football fan.

But then in high school, my son started playing, so my interest in the game went up ever so slightly.

And unless the Giants or the Patriots (in the good old days, prior to this season) were playing, my primary interest in the Super Bowl has always been the ads and half-time show.

But not this year.

I know a little about the game. And I mean little. 

I do know what a down is. In fact,  I pride myself in being able to understand the meaning of, say, for example, 1st & 10, or 4th & goal, or even something as crazy as 3rd & 15. My son, who probably knows the stats of every NFL player who has ever lived, is not impressed. When I call him with some stupid question, he barely condescends to answer.

All that being said, I am really looking forward to tomorrow's Super Bowl game when the Buccaneers play Kansas City in Tampa.

Unlike my son who knows the history of the teams as well as the players, I pretty much know the quarterbacks. Not so much their stats, but their characters.  

First, how can anyone not love Patrick Mahomes? He's 25. A smart and respected leader.  Calm under pressure. Humble. Decent. Oh, and adorable.

The same can be said of Tom Brady, except that he's 43, and more handsome than adorable.

I know Mahomes is young and likely has more Super Bowls ahead of him (though my son argues against this logic and points to Russell Wilson as an example).

And Brady. This will be his 10th time playing in a Super Bowl.  He's won 6 of them, and was MVP 4 times. If his team wins, no one can reasonably argue again that he's not the GOAT. 

So I don't know. 

I would love to see Tom win his 7th ring. And I do believe that Patrick won't be retiring with only one.

Still, it's hard to root for one when it means rooting against the other.

They both deserve the win. And whatever does happen in tomorrow's game, for a myriad of reasons, it will be a Super Bowl like no other.

I will be at home, in comfy clothes, cheering alone.

a mysterious-sounding ailment

Sometime in September my left shoulder begins to hurt.

At first I think maybe I slept on it funny. But a month later, when I'm still having pain, I go to see my internist. That appointment leads to an x-ray, the results of which are troubling.  My shoulder shows nothing wrong, but there appears to be something on my chest. 

I then have a cat-scan on my chest which shows pleural thickening on the lining of my lung. Both the radiologist and my doctor conclude that it's probably from old scarring and not to worry about it.

But there's still that shoulder thing. 

In December I get an MRI. This shows no tearing of the rotator cuff (am so grateful for that).

I notice the pain mostly when I am putting a coat on, or bending my elbow backward. I make an appointment with Dr. Alton Barron (highly recommended by my doctor) who can see me in about two months.

That two months is today.

I walk to the doctor's midtown office. It feels good to be out walking as the snowdrifts and puddles at every corner have prevented me from doing this all week.

I get to my appointment a little early. The waiting area is clean and mostly empty. And the office personnel are friendly and efficient.

Within minutes I am escorted to a room. Dr. Barron arrives soon after. He, too, is friendly and efficient.

He moves my shoulder into a few different positions and tells me he didn't need an MRI to make his diagnosis: adhesive capsulitis,. Or, as it's more colloquially known —  frozen shoulder. Something I had never heard of until recently when one of my friends tells me she has it in both shoulders, and another friend tells me she once had it.

The good doctor gives me a cortisone shot, which hurts. But he's injecting into an inflamed joint so of course it's going to hurt.

I have slightly more mobility after the shot, but moving my shoulder is not pain-free. I guess I was hoping for immediate relief. 

I walk home and sign up for PT.  I deliberately choose a place (Spear Center) about two miles from my apartment, in the Plaza Hotel (may as well get some walking in).  A friend of mine recommends this place. I even choose Ryan Coye, the same therapist she has and loves.

I begin next week.