happy mother's day

When I took the at-home pregnancy test and saw it was positive, I was thrilled.

I didn't have a husband I could share the good news with. And I  knew the 29-year-old father would not share my excitement.

But I wasn't an unwed teen either, and I had confidence that I could raise a child on my own.

My family was at first skeptical, but always supportive.

I have always felt lucky to have a child. A son. And this Mother's Day, in particular, I am incredibly grateful.

Being a parent is not easy. And not for reasons of finance or logistics. No, it's the never-ending worry that your child is not happy. Or making bad decisions. Or getting hurt, whether physically or emotionally or by just some girl who broke his heart. 

Your child can be three or fifty, it doesn't matter. As a parent, your heart forever lives outside your body.

But there truly is no better feeling, than when all the stars align, and you see joy in your child's eyes. 

So to all my single friends. My married ones. The moms with newborns and toddlers. And the older moms with grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Embrace the day. And know how truly lucky we all are.

Happy Mother's Day.

tragedy averted

I get up at 1:30am and find my son in the other room, still wide awake.

We talk briefly and I go back to sleep. 

The next time I see him is at 6:45am. Alexander has come in my room to tell me he's leaving to head back to Philadelphia.

"Did you get enough sleep to drive?" I ask. 

"Ya, I'm fine," he responds.

Around nine my phone rings; it's Alexander.

"Hi, are you home yet?" I ask, figuring that's why he's calling. I always like to know when he arrives at his destination after a long drive.

"No, but listen. I'm fine." And before I can question that odd remark he continues.

"You were absolutely right. I should have listened to you." I have no idea where this is going.

"Look, I'm totally okay but I guess I was too tired. And I started to doze off. Just for a second. But in that short amount of time, I lost control of the car and drove into a concrete embankment. The car started smoking, and..."

I think around this point I stop listening and my mind fills with horrid imagery.   But my son is on the phone. I am talking to him. And he sounds fine. Serious. Rational. And calm.

The seat belt, the airbags, and a last-minute decision to swerve saved his life.

The car is totaled. The chances of surviving a crash at 70 miles per hour on a 4-line highway is not good. 

My son is so very blessed.

The NJ State Troopers who stopped soon after the accident were helpful, despite giving him three tickets. Alexander did not have to go to a hospital but he did go to a walk-in clinic later. 

He's a little bruised but appears to have no serious injuries.

I am not a religious person, but I do believe in God. And today he was watching over my child.

a visit from my son

When Adam and Rachel give me a very generous gift certificate to Wolfgang's Steakhouse for my birthday, I know immediately whom I'll invite.

Alexander and I differ on so many subjects it's sometimes hard to remember I raised him. I prefer winter; he hates the cold. I am a spender; he is a saver. I am a liberal; he is not. But our tastes in food are similar. Among many common loves, steak is high on the list.

Today my son visits. He looks healthy and I know he's happy because he lets me take his picture without complaining.

Alexander arrives midday and has a few things to do. So we talk over lunch and a long walk to Wolfgangs.

So many NYC restaurants have created great outdoor environments that I hope last beyond the pandemic.

We have our own semi-private room, complete with window and portable heater.

And as always, the food is amazing. 

We start with tuna tartare.

And both get the medium-rare, perfectly prepared strip steak, along with the restaurant's signature German potatoes and creamed spinach,

After dinner, I come home and Alexander goes off to meet up with some friends.

I wish my son lived here, and that spending time with him was more usual than not. 

a photo shoot from years back

He was the lifeguard at a local hotel pool where my family had a membership. 

I had just graduated high school and was looking forward to starting college. He had just completed his first year at the University of Rochester. He seemed so worldly. After all, he could quote Nietzche. Knew about existentialism. And drove a convertible sports car with a stick shift.

It was the summer of '69. I had tickets to Woodstock but never made it there. We watched the moon landing together. And I took a psychedelic drug with him for the first time ... among other memorable firsts.

When the summer ended, so too, did any kind of relationship we had. 

Still, sometime in the winter of my freshman year, I visited him at Rochester. He was into photography and I did some posing. It wasn't as memorable as the summer, as that is pretty much all I remember from my visit. That also may have been the last time we spoke.

But then, thanks to Facebook, a couple of years or so ago we reconnected. He had gone on to earn a PhD.  Married. Had kids. Moved to the West Coast.  And had a successful career in the sciences. 

Last week he sends me the photos I'd never seen from that long-ago photo shoot. When I first opened my email and saw this photo I honestly didn't recognize myself. I thought it was some ad for a horror movie where the heroine is screaming.

But when I saw the others I remembered.

Funny now to think that hair that long was pretty. Though I do miss the very long lashes and defined dark eyebrows I once had.

another little story of incompetence

One of the items on my post-vaccination to-do list is to get an Enhanced Driver's License.

I make an appointment and have to wait two months. When the date arrives, I follow the instructions mailed to me and bring my passport and current driver's license. 

I walk to a place in the West 30's.

It is clean and well-organized. And the wait is short. 

My number is called. I walk up to the window, hand over my completed forms and documentation, and am told that I also need my Social Security Card. That I did not bring. After some ineffective pleading on my part, I am told to come back when I have it. The very patient clerk gives me a green paper pass and tells me I can return the next day.

I do.

Armed now with the right documents, I have my picture taken, am asked if I want to add four years to my expiration date (sure, why not?), pay the $72.50, and am told I should receive my Enhanced License in about two weeks.

It arrives today. It is supposed to look something like this:

Instead, it looks like this:

It's an ID. 

An identification card. 

The most critical element of an ID is a clear and recognizable photo.

Didn't anyone at the DMV notice that the photo looks as if it were printed on a printer that had run out of toner? 

Or that there is no visible photo of me at all on the right?

Or maybe they just assumed I was a ghost. 

Imagine trying to board a plane with this as my ID. It's so bad it doesn't even look real.

So I call the DMV. Not an easy task.

20 or so endless prompts later, I am told the wait time is over 60 minutes. Or, I can leave my number and someone will call me back. Surprisingly they do.

I am told that unfortunately, I will have to go through the process again and have my photo retaken. The DMV rep assures me that I won't have to pay again. Well of course not I want to say.

 "I will connect you with someone now who can schedule you. Don't worry. It won't take long," he says.

Then he connects me to an automated voice and the whole process I originally went through starts again. A million prompts to get to a recording that tells me the wait is between 63 and 75 minutes. How does that fall into the category of it won't take long?

I leave my number and again, someone does call me back an hour later. At least that system works.

This time I speak to someone who gives me totally different information after she consults with her supervisor.  Now I'm told that the DMV rep cannot do any scheduling. Instead, I need to go to the DMV online site and email them explaining my problem and see what they recommend. UGH!

So I do that.

But then...

About ten minutes later I get a call back from the supervisor who originally had advised the clerk to tell me to write to the DMV. He is very nice and apologetic. He tells me that the information he previously gave was incorrect, and he, in fact, can schedule me. But, he cannot expedite things.

The next earliest appointment is June 23.

Addendum:

Called back today after my friend got an appointment for this week. And guess what? I now have an appointment for this Friday. 

a tiny love story

A modern love in miniature — that's what the New York Times calls its column. Submissions must be under a 100 words and can be about any type of love.

So I decide to submit. Not sure it'll get posted, but thought it was worth a try.

It was summer. A shared-house in Southampton. I met him there. He was 12 years younger. It didn’t matter. A summer fling, I thought. He was young, beautiful, and soulful. I should have anticipated the years of heartbreak that would follow. The acrimonious words we would have. The tears I would cry. But never would I have anticipated, nor traded, the meaningful relationship I would eventually develop with his parents. And his sister. Nor the magnificent son I would raise alone.

--------------------------------

The above photo was taken with Alexander on the Cape in 2015. 

The resemblance to his dad is strong.

another side of the city

When my nephew Jack was about 5, he visited NYC for the first time. Exiting the subway station at Times Square, Jack looked around and said, "This is what people think of when they think of New York."

Jack has always been an astute observer.

But there is a NY that people rarely think of when thinking of NY. 

Its beauty.

Its solitude.

And its relative serenity.

I am walking through the park and notice four young men. One is holding two cameras (a cell phone and a Nikon) and taking a photo of his three friends who are seated on a bench. They don't speak English all that well; tourists I think. I ask the one with the cameras if he wants to be in the picture too. He smiles, nods and hands me the cell phone.

I take a few pictures of the four men, then ask the original photographer if he wants me to take some photos of him and his friends with the other camera, the Nikon. He eagerly hands me that camera too.

I take a few shots. They appreciate the effort. I hand back the camera and continue my walk.

On my return, I pass the same four men in the same place, and near them is a couple.

"Excuse me," says the woman. "Are you a famous photographer?"

I laugh and tell her I'm not. "But I'm curious," I say. "Why would you ask that?" 

"You just looked so comfortable handling those cameras," she replies.

Maybe next walk I'll take my Nikon. I haven't used it in a while. 

And there's a lot of beauty coming back to the city these days.