Here was my internal dialogue: “Wow that lady looks my friend Jenny! But her hair’s a little too blonde. Maybe it’s Geraldine Ferraro? No, couldn’t be. Ferraro’s no longer with us.”
Then I scanned the text: “Gynecologic cancer….”
“What the –That sounds like Jenny – her one-woman show, I Got Sick Then I Got Better!”
It was my neighbor and fellow writer Jenny at my bus stop. Still I prefer the real Jenny. Lucky me, I get to see her IRL (in real life) around the neighborhood walking her one-eyed dog.
But if I ever miss her ’round the hood, I can see her at this bus stop — bigger and blonder than ever!
At the Yankee game the other night, I spotted this young woman with the sign. She was just standing there, a bow in her hair, hoping to help. I wished I needed help, but I didn’t need it then. It was pretty clear to me where the beer line was and that’s where I was headed. Nothing more needed.
Lately I have felt that I need a lot of help, but the kind of help I need is complicated. I need help getting motivated to work out. I need help with the kids’ homework. I need help with my husband’s care. I need help meeting work deadlines. I need help with my dwindling, mixed-up stock portfolio. I need help getting out of bed on cool mornings. I need help getting published.
I don’t know if this Yankee employee can help me with these things. It looks like she can help with directions. Heck, I can do that.
Fella, the beer line is this way! You’re right behind me.
Out the window of the Amtrak train, I just saw an eagle soar above the Hudson.
But I do not see the soaring eagle as a symbol of our country. We are too divided, rancorous, and the eagle is too beautiful, wild.
The bird soars. It is so elegant and at-peace. Yes, I hate when people anthropomorphize animals (especially dogs!) but I can’t help this metaphor. It just came to me and I have to go with it.
This current US political and economic scene is way too vitriolic and fluctuating to be found in nature. While the stock markets jump, the politicians pounce, the eagle soars.
In soaring there are lessons or rules for living. Worried about your portfolio? Retirement? Millionaires getting a free pass? Get out! Get into nature!
Watch a squirrel or a fluffy cloud.
Sit on a park bench.
Drink some cold water.
Smile at a stranger.
Pet a neighbor’s dog (but don’t anthropomorphize it.)
Breathe fresh air.
Find yourself in nature and you will get a breather, a respite, a grounding. It’s why prophets trekked to the desert, corporate execs went on Outward Bound, (although money for corporate bonding has probably dried up.)
Looking for epiphanies? Looking for meaning? Try looking for real life eagles.
the view from my Amtrak seat
Or go somewhere on a train. I just finished writing this and looked out the Amtrak window again.
I saw a hawk up high and a heron down low.
God, nature is amazing! New York State still has a lot of wildlife, and I’m not talkin’ bout City Hall or Wall Street.
Big metal bumps into big metal. There is a satisfying clink. Almost as good as the dink of cold beer bottles as we toast each other after a hot work day.
Every time I take the train from New York City to Westport, NY, the train stops in Albany to get a new engine. And so I hurry from my seat to the platform with the other train enthusiasts (12-year old boys, pot-bellied men, tourists from Japan) to watch the new engine back in and clink against the train.
Why is this moment of impact such a thrill? Because the engine is small and the train is heavy. Because the elegance and engineering of rail travel still amazes me. Because there is a satisfying clink. Cheers!
I’d seen the walkway across the Hudson at Poughkeepsie every time I took Amtrak upstate. I wanted to walk the longest pedestrian bridge at 1.25 miles, but never thought I’d make it to Poughkeepsie. But I did (the night before, I’d had dinner at the CIA).
On a Friday afternoon in August, I realized my dream: I strolled the promenade.
I always hope for a big epiphany when I walk. But from 300 feet above the Hudson, all I noticed was the beauty of the river that runs both ways. I noticed the fluffiness of the clouds. And I noticed that other people walk at their own pace. Maybe those are epiphanies.
Nice wide walkway. You can bike across too!People of all ages walk across the bridge.
With a view of the kitchen, eating at the American Bounty restaurant at the Culinary Institute of America (the CIA) in Hyde Park is like watching a cooking show on TV.
The student waitstaff is super nice. And I love nice.
At dinner the other night, I liked the duck, but I loved the strawberry-rhubarb tart-y thing for dessert with fresh strawberry ice cream. The drink of the day was a Kir Royale knock-off: Prosecco sparkling wine with an orange liqueur or citron or something yummy. The drink looked like champagne and tasted like baby aspirin. Yes, I find orange baby aspirin yummy.
‘Tis the season — fresh produce at fresh restaurants.
Let the stock market slide, I’m eating out. I had it and I spent it on sparkling wine.
I spotted these ladies at the Marina in Westport, New York the other day. When I’m a bit older, I want to wear a red hat and a purple shirt. I want to share a laugh and a cocktail with other silly ladies. I want to sit with a gaggle of women.
They looked like they were having a heckova lot more fun than the married couples who’ve eaten together so many times they’ve run out of things to say.
A couple of years ago, I arrived in Miami before the rest of my book club. I sat in a café and watched the South Beach vacationers. Near me sat a group of women. When they talked, they looked in each other’s eyes. They touched each other’s shoulders like comrades. They talked over each other. The married couple stared out at the ocean; they complained about the waiter’s service.
When the group of young women got up, they walked down the street and bumped into each other. They bent over in laughter. The married couple walked in single file, not talking. The man walked in front; and the woman, behind.
In South Beach I noticed all of the married couples looked miserable. The groups of women looked ecstatic.
And that’s why I’d rather wear a red hat on a hot day as I sit near the water.
This board is from the Museum of Modern Art exhibit on typography.
Here’s why I prefer train travel to plane travel with kids.
No security line.
The conductors’ uniforms. The Amtrak conductors just look official and yet like normal people.
I like that you don’t have to wear a seat belt.
I like that you can see the terrain you’re traversing.
I like that there are smart older folks, volunteers from the National Parks Department, giving juicy lectures in the food car about the history of the Hudson River and the region. (Can you imagine anyone getting in the food galley of a plane for a lecture on the region’s history by plane?) Here are some facts from today’s lecture:
Did you know that National Geographic called this Northeast Corridor rail line from NYC to Montreal one of the Top 10 Most Scenic Train Rides in the country?
Did you know Bald Eagles are no longer endangered?
Did you know that this rail line was created in 1851?
Did you know Franklin Roosevelt had a secret ramp in Grand Central Station to board the train and presidents still use that secret passage today?
I like that you can move around the car (not the cabin).
I like that there’s never a time when you are forbidden from using electronic devices.
I like that you can plug your computer in.
Leg room.
I like that just before you reach your station, you’re encouraged to stand up and move towards the exit. (Unlike on a plane, where you’re told to stay seated until the plane has come to a complete halt.)
I am thinking about this because this week I flew to and from Chicago with the kids. I would not want to take a train with them to Chicago.
I’m writing this as we travel on Amtrak to the Adirondacks for summer camp. Six hours on the train is perfect.
The train conductors are service people who do not check their personalities at the door. You get to know them when you take that seven-hour train up or down between NYC and the Adirondacks.
One conductor had a plate of homemade cookies from a station mistress.
I was ogling them, smiling.
“Do you want one?”
“I’m on a diet,” I said. “I shouldn’t.”
I got up to use bathroom.
When I returned to my seat, there were two cookies beside my computer.
They were seriously the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever eaten.
I love the Amtrak conductors. The guy then railed (!) at me about how some people spread out too much on their seats when new passengers need those seats, then he started spouting how too many people are politically correct and he’s a huge fan of Rush Limbaugh’s. Okay, I tuned out on this last part of his diatribe.
I am a huge fan of political correctness and common courtesy. And you’d think the conductor would be too, especially if he wanted passengers to share their space well.
But I didn’t get into it with him. Not with the sweet taste of chocolate chip cookies still melting in my mouth.
On the way back from a mani-pedi and on the way to pick up the girls from Monte Carlo (the movie), I noticed our neighbor was waiting in line for Harry Potter (the movie).
She’d gotten there at 5 and the movie starts at midnight. It looked like a fun, festive scene. But I’m glad I’m in bed and not waiting in line for two more hours.
“It’s going to be amaaaaaazing,” our neighbor said.
100 Days of Poems and Pics 