return to the cape

There is not easy way to get to the Cape without a car.

Until a few years ago, I would take the train from Penn Station to Providence, and there my mother would pick me up.  We would drive the 80 minutes or so from Providence to the Cape.  But now, understandably, my mom doesn’t want to drive to and from Providence.

I think I have tried every combination of options. None are good.  So this trip I pick a route I’ve not done before. 

I leave my house at 8:50, to get the 10 am train from Penn Station.  I arrive at 9:30.  Enough time to pick up coffee.  When the 10am train does not appear on the board listing arrivals and departures, I double-check my e-ticket.  My train leaves at 11.  How’d I get that wrong?  My long trip has just been extended an hour.

I like the train.  It is only 3.5 hours to Providence.  The train travels along the coast.  I sit in the quiet car.  And though I have to share a seat, the 80-ish man next to me is interesting and polite.  It is an effortless ride.

I arrive around 2:30, and walk to Kennedy Plaza to catch a bus to the Providence Bus Station.  All goes well.  I arrive at the second bus terminal and have to wait an hour for the bus to Bourne.  It’s scheduled to depart at 3:45, but by 4:00 it hasn’t arrived.  After asking the listless young counter attendant, she checks and learns the bus is not arriving.  I ask why.  “I have no idea,” she responds.  But not to worry.  She arranges for a new bus and driver and at 4:15 we are on our way.  I’m glad I mentioned that the scheduled bus never arrived.

My mom picks me up in Bourne around 5:30.  It’s about 15 minutes to her house.  That’s about nine hours since I left my apartment. Nine hours to go 236 miles.

My mom and I drive straight to the rehab center to see my dad.  I walk in the room and he starts sobbing.  He tells me he is crying because he is so happy to see me.  It breaks my heart.  But he looks good, despite the big contraption around his neck. Before we leave, he’s smiling, and the long ride to get here is forgotten.

my gift

I get a call from Rita.  Abbey’s mom.  The incredible woman who turned 90 two weeks ago. I made her a photo book from the pictures I took at her birthday celebration.  I included all the speeches as well. 

https://www.dropbox.com/s/d28rvv6cpnumsm0/Rita%20Final%201.0.pdf

Making a book is labor intensive and time consuming.  But when doing it for someone I know will appreciate it, it’s something I love to do.  I knew Rita would recognize the effort and love the outcome, but I didn’t expect the response I got.

Rita’s book finally arrives.  She calls and her voice is quaking.  She tells me she can barely speak as she is so overwhelmed with gratitude.  She tells me, too, that she loves me and views me as another daughter.

She is the one who has gifted me.

gone baby gone

Yesterday I am running around during the day with my mom.  The bridal shower is at night.  Lots of primping to do.  And Alexander decides to return to school.  "I booked the six a.m. Cornell bus for tomorrow,” he says. It leaves from Weill Cornell Medical College, only ten blocks away.

I had anticipated Alexander’s leaving sometime this week, but suddenly sometime this week is now.   “Wake me before you go,” I make him promise last night.  “Okay, but I’m telling you right now, no pictures." 

It feels like I've just fallen asleep when the door to my bedroom is thrown open.  “Okay, time to get up.  You’ve been sleeping too long.”   Alexander is mimicking the words he often hears from me, but in my case, it’s usually well after noon when I say them.

It is 5:30 a.m.  Alexander’s bus leaves in 30 minutes.  My son is standing in his underwear.  He is making toast.  He is relaxed and unhurried.  You’d think the bus was picking him up outside our apartment door.

We drag his large duffel bag, small suitcase, and heavily loaded backpack downstairs.  It is still dark outside.  I give my son a big hug and say, “I’ll really miss you.”  “I know you will,” he responds.”  I smile, hoping this is a good year for him.  He’s a junior; I still find that hard to believe.

The cab comes.  He’s gone.

I go back to sleep.  At 7:15 Alexander calls to tell me that the bus has been delayed.  He ends up leaving at 7:45.  Damn!  He could have made hard-boiled eggs to go with that toast and still have made it to the bus on time.  

amanda's bridal shower

Jason’s beautiful bride-to-be is honored tonight.  

Amanda

My sister Valerie hosts a bridal shower at Gramercy Park Hotel.  And like everything Valerie does, it is done to perfection.

The lighting and flowers all reflect a warm white glow, and the décor subtly but exquisitely displays shoes, in recognition of Amanda’s career in this field of fashion.

Shoes are displayed in the invitations and seating cards.

 In the table accents.

And even in the delicious cupcakes. 

My three-inch heels are inches below most others. It is a room filled with head-turning shoes.

The large space where hors d’oeuvres are served is beautiful.  Lush tropical plants and flowers are everywhere.  After a dark and rainy day, the weather clears and the striking Manhattan skyline is visible.  Mini-lobster rolls, oysters, salmon tartar, and other delicacies are discreetly offered, along with endless refillings of prosecco.  Everyone looks stunning.

Amanda

Amanda with her mom, grandmother, aunt and sister

With Valerie and Jean, my two sisters

My mom

Jean and my niece, Sally

Jessica, Rita and Jill (Abbey's niece, mother and sister)

After an hour or so, the doors open to a magnificent room for dinner.

The toasts are few and heartfelt.  Valerie and Amanda’s mom Jill both speak.  They joyously embrace their new, extended families.  

At the end of the night, Jason arrives. They talk of how they met.  Their's has not been one of those long, protracted, up-and-down-drama-filled relationships. 

Amanda met Jason in January 2010.  She had gone to his Wall Street firm for an informational interview with Jason, as she was contemplating a career in finance.  By the time she left the “interview,” Amanda’s thoughts were elsewhere.  Uncharacteristically, Jason called Amanda that same day.   They met again that night, and have been together since. 

It is an extraordinary night for an extraordinary woman who will soon be marrying an extraordinary man.  We are all so happy.

toloache 82

A couple of weeks ago my friends went to dinner at Toloache.  My mom was in town and I couldn’t go, but everyone loved it.  So when my two big-eating and very hip nephews (Adam and Jason) suggest dinner tonight (my mom, sister and niece are in town), they ask me to choose the restaurant.  I pick Toloache, and am excited to introduce them both to one of the few restaurants on the Upper East Side they don’t know.

I get to Shari’s around 4 to help her prepare for the last night of Shiva. She lives around the corner from Adam, where my sister Jean, her daughter Sally, and my mom are all staying.  My phone rings at 6:50.  Alexander and I are just saying good-bye.  It’s Jean.  I tell her we are on our way to meet them.  “Okay, we’ll wait.”  Wait?  It’s a 15-minute walk to the restaurant.  But then I remember my mom’s phobia about being late.

The restaurant is great.  It’s busy and loud (even in the back room), but the service and food are excellent.  Eating with my nephews is an experience.  They are generous and gracious, and always over order.  The restaurant’s signature shrimp dish and flank steak are spectacular.  Everyone tries everything, except for Sally who last week became a vegetarian.  But there are still enough options for her.

It’s a great night, made especially nice by seeing my mom relaxed and laughing.

I hope the fitted dress I’ll be wearing tomorrow night still fits.