a two-family celebration

The day, or should I see weekend, finally arrives and everyone is so excited. 

Dom and Michael (my nephew) are getting married.

Despite the current daily news updates on plane delays and cancellations, everyone's travel plans take place without drama.

The check-in line at JFK is long but moves fast.

An identical-looking line at Dunkin' Donut is also long and moves slowly. Check-in is faster.

The plane ride to Burbank feels quick, as I don't realize that my Apple Watch and phone automatically adjust the time. So I'm thinking we are only two hours into our cross-country flight, and instead we are about to land. 

Plus, there is gorgeous little Charlotte and rambunctious Henry to distract us.

Alexander arrives from Austin (via an afternoon in LA); I haven't seen him since March. 

Soon after, we are getting dressed to leave. 

Dom is the daughter of Marivi and Andy Garcia. Tonight's invitation to dinner reads, "A rehearsal dinner to bring our families together." 

The atmosphere at La Loggia Restaurant is warm and welcoming. It seems that Jews and Cubans blend naturally. Both cultures place a strong emphasis on family, and it doesn't take long for the mingling, conversations and easy hugs to occur.

The bride and groom-to-be welcome their guests. 

And I take a few random (not very good) photos.

Despite it being Dom and Michael's special weekend, the wedding couple is thoughtful, and   have a cake made in honor of Jason's 40th birthday today.

In every respect, it's a very special night.

my job for the 4th

I take another one-day job a few weeks ago.

11:30 to midnight. Somewhere in Long Island City. My friend Robin will be working too. $30/hour. Even if it's dreadful, it's only one day.

We later learn that this is for the Macy's 4th of July Firework Spectacular. Could be fun. But of course that's what I thought about Tribeca.

The weather on the 4th is near-perfect.

I arrive in Long Island City an hour early; getting there is much easier/faster than I thought. One subway stop from Grand Central.

The view is spectacular.

Robin arrives soon after me.

The first ten hours are easy and, dare-I-say fun.

Everyone is nice. Everything is organized. And the work is easy.

We tour the area. And around one, we have a catered lunch of different kinds of sandwiches, 

There are about 60 of us, and we are assigned groups. Robin and I are in the same group. Our leaders, from Macys, are Kim and another Robin. They are great, as are the other 5 people in our group. We've been assigned to the area where people enter. About 3,000 guests are expected. Robin, one other person and I are assigned to give out wrist bands. 

But before that, we break again around four to be fed again, and given our branded T-shirts, hats, and bandannas (though fortunately we only have to were the T-shirt) . 

Our jobs are easy. They require no thinking. Everyone who enters gets a wristband. Period. No decisions at all.

And everyone is totally respectful and appreciative. The line is long but moves smoothly. And at 8:15 we are done.

People settle in to listen to the music...

as the sun sets against the majestic Manhattan skyline 

At 9:25 the 25-minute firework show starts. I doubt I'll ever see fireworks again like I do tonight.

A group of us congregate at the water's edge, near the stage, with the most perfect view. Ideal weather. Clear night. And despite its many problems, a real celebration for the world's best country.

The last hour and a half feels long, as we are charged with breaking down the sets. Carrying tables and chairs and other random things. Folding used tablecloths. Directing foot traffic. Cleaning the break room. Just general laborious stuff. 

I get home around 12:15, totally exhausted.

And when I wake up this morning,  I see I've already been paid. 

Perfect.

the state of things

I wake up and turn on the news. It's not good. It never is these days.

On a local level:

• A woman is shot in the back of her head, likely by her ex-boyfriend, on 95th and Lex.
• Subways are getting dangerous. I don't dare stand near the platform edge.
• Overall crime is up 38 percent vs. last year.
• And there aren't even enough lifeguards to cover the city pools.

And on a national level, I honestly can't remember a worse time.

• Roe vs. Wade is overturned by the now very conservative Supreme Court.
• Gun violence is rampant. 19 children plus two teachers are killed at a Texas school.
• Trump still has a loyal fan base, despite astonishing revelations of his actions around January 6
• Inflation is at a 40-year high.
• Average gas price is $5/gallon.
• Sharks keep getting closer to shore, including on the Cape.
• COVID still lives and now there's monkey pox.

And as for internationally...

• The Russian invasion of Ukraine in February still wages.
• Oh and crises from climate change are accelerating.

But today I wake up. 

I think of my healthy 92-year-old mom. My son who has moved to Austin and has found a city he loves. My friend who has gone through a horrific medical ordeal and death of her husband, and has made it through with strength, dignity, and an always-positive attitude. My own good health, despite an annoying arthritic left knee.  

I walk over to my local Saturday morning Farmer's Market. On a street nearby on the Upper East Side.

So yes, despite all of it, there is still a lot to be grateful for.

easy but slooooooooooooooow

I take a one-day gig at the new Whitney.

I arrive in time at 10; the small retail store where I'll be working opens at 10:30.  No one is there when I arrive. The only people there are people like me, there to help.

I'm a little nervous. How can I be trained when the doors open at 10:30 and it's already 10:30?

I don't know how to use the register.

I don't know anything about back inventory.

I don't know anything.

But not to worry. 

When someone arrives they simply say, "You can just refer all questions to me. And you won't be handling the register. Only full time employees do that."

"Oh, okay. So what do I do?" I ask.

Just be around to talk to any customers.

Needless to say, it is an excruciatingly long eight hours. 

Doing nothing is so much harder than doing something.

Dino

So maybe you remember the fiasco with selling my antique armoire last March.

While my armoire had to be destroyed, the inner piece that was custom-built inside the armoire survived. 

So I decide to try and sell it for $60.

It's a great piece for storage. There must be someone who wants it. I post it on Craig's list. 

It takes a while to find the right buyer, but today he is found. His name is Dino.

Within a couple of texts, we negotiate a price of $50, and today Dino comes to pick it up.

Immediately upon meeting him I just know, here is a very nice man.

And a loquacious one.

It doesn't take long to learn that Dino —

• lives in Queens, in the same house where he grew up.
• is Greek and a good cook.
• has a wife in her early 30's while he's 62. 
• asked his daughter if she were okay with his dating such a young woman; the daughter approved. (I like that he cared enough to ask his daughter's permission).
• has two little kids, younger than his grandkids.

I even meet his wife on Facetime. She seems great, and his two babies are adorable.

DIno arrives totally prepared — Blue tape to seal the doors of the storage piece.  And a pully cart to transport the piece out of my apartment and outside to his waiting SUV.

Here's a guy that gets things done. I can tell. 

And he's meticulous. I see it in the way he tapes the doors and smooths down the tape with his hands, making it obvious that not only does he get things done, but he gets them done perfectly.

There are no pretenses about Dino. He says, "I'm in love with life." And I can tell that he is.

After he leaves, I notice the bolt of blue tape still sitting on my table.  I text him to let him know. 

And then he sends me his address, telling me if I'm ever in his neighborhood to stop by.

Such a nice, nice man.

My little storage piece has found its way to an excellent new home. 

coulda, woulda, shoulda

It could have been a lot of fun.

It would have been a lot of fun if whoever was scheduling knew what they were doing.

It should have been a great experience, if only.  

A couple of Fridays ago my good friend Robin calls. "Hey, I'm working the Tribeca Festival (formally known as the Tribeca Film Festival). You should apply. I've done it before. It's easy and a lot of fun."

She gives me the contact info. I write. And I'm hired the same day. 

I'll be a ranger, whatever that means. It's 14 straight days of work, but hey, I don't have anything else scheduled. And besides, it's supposed to be fun.

Two days after being hired training begins. It's two and a half days, that easily could be condensed to one, if that.

Two of the days are in a movie theater where I won't be working. There is only one presenter for most of the two days. He presents without any audio or visual aids.  Most of the information is not relevant to what I'll be doing. And what is relevant, is poorly presented.

A guy stands in front of the theater and holds up his iPhone to explain how the app the rangers will be using works. I mean really. As if I — or anyone else in attendance — can possibly understand what to do watching some guy click through an app on his small phone that we don't even have yet.

I'm originally told I'll be working seven to eight hours a day, but I don't receive my schedule (despite asking numerous times) until the day before the festival opens. It's then I see the hours for all the rangers at my venue. Of the eleven days we are required to work, six of those days are for 10 3/4 hours, and two are for 9 3/4 hours. Sure, we get long breaks between movies, but there's nowhere to really go.

Tribeca Festival is spread out among several theaters. The venue I am assigned is the only one that has all its workers on one shift; all the others have two. 

That means that all rangers don't work the same number of hours.  Here's a comparison of the required number of hours worked, for the exact same job, and the exact same pay, during the 11 days of the festival:

My venue: 109.2 hours (ave 10 hrs day)

Other Venues AM shift: 88 hours (ave 8 hours day)

Other venues PM shift: 71.50 hours (ave 6.5 hours day)

So at our venue, we are working for under minimum wage, with no overtime. Week two is over 69 hours alone. Is this even legal?

14 days straight. Averaging 10 hours per day. It's grueling and very much not fun.

The people I work with are all great. Hard-working. Responsible. Easy-going. And fun. So is the venue manager and her assistant. 

Most everyone is in their 20's or early 30's. (I was mortified when one of my young co-workers casually asked, "What decade are you from?" I think she said decade, but maybe it was century.

And I do get to watch a few movies; all excellent.

But still. Robin,  who works at one of the other venues, has a great time.

Too bad I can't say the same.

my turn

After two years of not getting it, I was beginning to think I never would.

Despite many close friends and relatives and more than 60% of the US population having had COVID, I've managed to escape it for over two years. 

But now I've been caught.

Last Friday I have a PCR test, as part of the protocol for being an extra on a TV show. I get the results the next day, negative.

But that same day, Saturday, I awake feeling really crummy. 

Stuffed nose. 

Incessant cough (the deep, dry kind that has no bottom). 

A very bad sore throat. 

A pounding headache (like a vise opening and closing on my head). 

Overall fatigue. 

No day is a good day to be sick, but this day in particular is not a good day.

My sister Valerie is hosting a bridal shower in Long Island for Michael's soon-to-be-wife, Dominik. My mom and sister Jean are driving up from the Cape just for the day. And I really want to be there to see everyone, and be part of the celebration.

So I get up. Shower. Steam out my dress. And then go back to bed.

I spend the next few hours mostly sleeping. But when I do find some modicum of energy, I take a home COVID test. This, too, is negative.

Just a mother of a cold, I guess. Not like any I've had before.

So yesterday I decide to take another PCR test. Living in NY it's so easy. There are small tented testing sites every few blocks, including one on my corner.

I wake up today after a restless sleep and decide to see my doctor.  On the bus ride over, I get the results from yesterday's PCR:

I get to my doctor's office and she tells me to go home.

As it's already been five days, I don't want to take any medication. Plus, I can't believe my symptoms will get worse. And while it's been very unpleasant, it's tolerable.

I've had no fever. And my appetite is fine.

Okay, so now I know what I have. And maybe (though who really knows) I'll get a few more antibodies in my system.

Given the horrors of the world and this country right now, I really have little to complain about.