new york at its best

Jill emails me on Thursday, "want to do something together on sat night?" I say yes, and volunteer to go to her home in Brooklyn.

Jill lives all the way across the bridge in DUMBO, as in, Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Jerry Seinfeld once joked that New Yorkers added the O at the end because they didn't want to live in a neighborhood called DUMB.

Jill has a spectacular apartment with 10-foot ceilings and a view of the Statue of Liberty.  While DUMBO was once a sleepy outer enclave, its morphed into one of the hippest neighborhoods (and consequently most expensive) in NYC.

We grab a bite at Luke's. Their lobster rolls are great by New York standards, but nothing compared to the ones I get on the Cape.  Jill and I order at Luke's outdoor window, and eat at a table nearby. After, we walk over to Brooklyn Bridge Park. The whole waterfront area has been developed. New buildings are being erected or renovated, a massive shopping center similar to Chelsea Market is under construction, and new trees have been planted everywhere. It's a stunning transformation. 

The moon is bright and the temperature perfect. I decide to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge on my way home. Jill (and Brownie, her dog) walk with me part way. I had contemplated bringing my camera and so wish I had. My iPhone doesn't begin to capture the majesty of this great city.

whoops! wrong person

A few years ago I got an innocuous email from a casual friend.  Somehow, another email had gotten attached.  The accidental email was a very personal email my friend had written to her then-husband's mistress. I had no idea my friend's marriage was anything less than perfect.

Another friend — at another time — was angry at her mother. Her mother sent her an email, which my friend forwarded on to her good friend with a note that said, "From my so-called mother." By accident, she cc'ed her mom on the email.

These things happen. And today it happens to me.

Alexander never found his iPhone, though he swears it's somewhere in his apartment. Of course he never got "find iPhone" so there's no way to know for sure if his phone is hiding between some cushions in the living room, or lost in a gorge somewhere on campus.

While reaching my son was difficult when he had a phone, now it is near impossible. I can't call, and I can't text. I can email and I can messenger him on Facebook. Alexander needs to be near his computer for me to reach him. And I'm sure now that school is over (he's staying on for a bit), my son is not hanging out in front of his computer.

So today I have to tell Alexander about some information I got regarding his upcoming grand jury duty. It's important and time sensitive. I email. I messenger. I wait.

I do all of the above again.  Still no response.

And then in my frustration, I forget that Alexander does not have his phone and I text him:

An hour goes by before I realize that my son cannot receive a text without a phone.

Then I get a text from Diane, Alexander's paternal grandmother. 

Diane is among the most well-mannered people I know. In the 23 years I've known her, I don't think I've ever heard her swear. Not even a damn. 

I sent the text to Alexander's grandmother instead of to him. I am so glad I didn't spell out effing! 

day after

I'm up at 4:45 to catch the 5:40 campus-to-campus bus home.

Across from the elevator I see two deflated Cornell-colored balloons — a reminder that the festivities for the class of 2015 are over.

Our driver gets us back to Manhattan in record time, under four hours.

My legs feel the daily 5-6 mile walks. I like that they ache.

Everything about the weekend was perfect. Alexander is lucky to have three loving grandparents all participating in this important milestone. If I had to change one thing, it would only be this: I needn't have packed three pair of stylish shoes.

One pair of running shoes would have been enough.

graduation weekend: day 3 of 3

It's another perfect weather day.

My mom and I get to Schoellkopf Field early. We've been told by the new friends we made yesterday at Collegetown Bagels (Lorna and Mike) to sit about four rows back, "closest to the goal post." They tell us all that all the students will pass in front of us, so it's the best seats for photos.

We go exactly to where Mike and Lorna have told us to go, and see them already there. They are both so nice, and so comfortable to be with, we feel as if we've known them for years. 

I have an hour or so before the ceremony begins, so I leave my mom with her new good friends, and walk over to the Arts and Science quad, hoping to see Alexander. As I'm walking over, I think, there will be about 1,000 students there, all dressed exactly alike.  What are the chances I'll find my son?  

But soon after I arrive I spot Daniel, Alexander's closest friend. Now I know I'll find my son. I take a few photos than hurry back to the stadium.

with close friends (since freshman year) John and Daniel

Graduations are boring. Lots of people, dull speeches, and familiar rituals. But today is my son's graduation. And while I have many feelings, boredom is not one of them.

My mom and I are hardly alone in the stadium. We have the best seats, right behind our new friends, Mike and Lorna.

5,500 students enter the stadium. PhD's. Graduate Students. Professional School graduates. And then the seven undergraduate colleges. Some students decorate their caps. Some have long selfie sticks. A bunch of guys do a coordinated dance. Others pause for a group shot. Some march by somberly. Others have huge grins. A group of girls all wear similar white dresses. One girl stumbles on her very high heels. But my favorite is a male undergrad who walks on holding his cap in front of him. Printed on the cap, in big white letters, are the simple words,"Thank you mom."

The very last college to march on the field is Arts and Sciences. 

And at the end of the very last college is Alexander and his close friends. Four years of hard work, new friendships, and memories I have no clue about, come down to this.

Immediately following the school commencement, every department has their own reception and ceremony.  There we meet up with Sal and Diane (nonno and lala to Alexander). They have driven up from NYC, just for the day, just to see their first grandchild graduate. 

Even at a school as big as Cornell, when it all gets broken down into college then department, it's like the neighborhoods of New York — warm, personal, and with its own character and charm.

The graduates are presented individually in a thankfully short ceremony.

with other History graduates

Alexander's grandparents are very proud.

Alexander leaves us for an hour to say good-bye to some friends. It's hard to graduate, but I hope these four years have prepared my son well for what comes next — whatever that may be.

When Alexander returns from his good-byes, we do some more walking around the bucolic campus. Alexander reminds us of Ithaca's harsh winters, and the barren trees that populate the campus for most of the year. But all we see today is the school's profound beauty. And its many joyous families.

graduation weekend: day 2 of 3

I wake up to my mother saying, "It's very very cold; they say it's even snowing in places." I think she's joking until I check my phone.

I have no clothes for a temperature below freezing.  

The Senior Convocation begins at noon, with the stadium doors opening at 10:30. My mom and I take an 8:15 hotel shuttle from Ithaca Commons up to campus.  We stop for breakfast at Collegetown Bagels, and then do some shopping at the bookstore. 

I call Alexander who is using my mom's phone. It's nice to be able to reach my son without having to message him on Facebook.

We discuss today's plans, and have a brief argument, summarized as — "Do I really have to sit with you today?" "Yes you do." We meet in the stadium around 11:45. My mom and I have already been there for an hour, and have secured fantastic seats (with backs) right on the field.  The stadium of 20,000 is near capacity.

By the time the ceremony starts, the weather has warmed up, and the sun is shining.

Captain Mark Kelly and his wife Gabby Giffords are the keynote speakers. Mark does most of the talking and totally wins the audience. He speaks of courage and determination, and urges students to follow their own passions. He tells the graduates not to listen to "the advice of others, many of whom are probably sitting next to you now." Even after commanding a successful shuttle mission, Mark's grandmother still used to ask, "Honey, are you sure you don't want to go to law school?" He talks of second chances, and his wife's spirit and persistence. 

My mom and I are on our own for the rest of the afternoon, as Alexander wants to spend time with his friends. I stand in line with other families and their graduates to meet the president. David Skorton is leaving the university to run the Smithsonian Institution. When it's my turn to meet Dr. Skorton, and have my picture taken with him, I explain, "I'm the mother of the graduate. Sorry he couldn't be here." I offer no excuse since I have none and I'm sure he doesn't care. 

My mom and I spent an hour or so playing gin in the lobby of The Statler, the campus hotel. It's here I discover that my photo card has somehow become corrupt and all the photos I've taken today are lost. I buy a new card, then finish and lose my gin game. 

My mom and I walk to dinner at Golo Osteria. It's a long walk down a steep hill, but my mom easily makes it. Assuming my Nike bracelet is accurate, we walk about six miles today.

The restaurant is housed in what looks like a depressing, unadorned apartment building.  

Once inside though, all is perfect.

graduation weekend: day 1 of 3

I get a last minute, perfect single seat on the 11:40 Cornell bus up to Ithaca.

As we get closer to the school, the scenery changes. Even through a bus window, it's clear we're not in Kansas anymore.

The bus arrives on the Cornell campus around 5:15, and Alexander meets me soon after. 

We walk over to his apartment. As we stroll through the picture-perfect campus, Alexander advises me on what I can and cannot say to his eight housemates. He prefers that I say nothing beyond hello. I am on my best behavior, not even asking them to pose for a photo.  Instead, I take one of my son's senior-year house.  It's definitely at its loveliest from the outside.

I meet my mom at the hotel and unpack. We were lucky to get a hotel in town, and the Hilton Garden Inn is welcoming, with the staff all decked-out in Cornell T-shirts. The school colors are everywhere. I packed well, only bringing the clothes I expect to wear — no more than one option for each day. My mom, because she drove up, has clothes for every possible weather contingency.

We walk to the restaurant (Fine Line Bistro) where we are having dinner, and find Alexander waiting for us. 

Dinner is great. And my mom shows absolutely no wear from her long drive, by herself, from the Cape. She is 85, but everything about her says years younger.

After dinner, Alexander and I sit in the lobby of the hotel and talk for a bit.  He says, "Academically, I may have done better at a smaller school, but I wouldn't have had the same kind of college experience as I've had here. I absolutely loved my four years at Cornell." And I can see in his eyes, and in his smile, that he is happy — proof that the decision he made  four years ago was the absolute right one.

happier hair

Lyo is a colorist. Or, more accurately, a magician.

Today I go to see her.  "What can you do?  My hair needs so much help."

"I wouldn't add many highlights. Your hair is too dried out and that will make it worse."

"But I like my hair light around my face; I think it brightens it up."

"Okay, how about this?  Let's add a few low lights near the crown, and then some highlights on the bottom."

If I didn't trust Lyo implicitly, I'd expect black stripes on top and white stripes on bottom. Sort of like a zebra.

Lyo goes to work and does her magic.  She knows her craft well, and is sweet, nice, and incredibly talented. Plus, she gives the best shampoo/head massage in Manhattan. I've gone to many colorists over a lifetime of hair coloring, and Lyo is the best.

I walk out feeling brighter all over.  Thank you, Lyo.