Yesterday, Barbara and I walked for two hours in the park. We stopped at the old Tavern on the Green spot for a snack. Then again we stopped for a few minutes at the top of the stairs by Bethesda Fountain.
This is such a sweet spot. In my writing class, a woman wrote a long essay about the meaning of Bethesda Fountain — how you can forget you’re in a city surrounded by buildings. You can’t see a building when you’re down by the fountain.
I love the way the angel is a part of her surroundings but above them too. In third grade, C. studied the park and told me the name of this sculpture is the Angel of the Waters. She is a celebration of clean water for the city. Thanks to Wikipedia, I learned this 1868 sculpture was the only original work of art Olmsted and Vaux commissioned for Central Park. It was designed by Emma Stebbins, the first woman to receive a commission for a work of art in New York City. Woman power. Water power. New York City power.
Me and Barbara –power walking — A part of it all and above it all too!
On the way into the park, we stepped on De La Vega’s sidewalk art.
A man with a feather in his cap sat near the first chalk drawing, around 97th and Central Park East. H. wondered if that was the artist, Jamie De La Vega. But not all artists hang near their art. Like all bloggers do not hang near their blog.
One message on the sidewalk did not have the silly helicopter or fish image — simply words across the pavement with a message, “It will continue to get better.” That made me happy.
Chalk artists have to know the forecast.
Minutes after we arrived at H’s Little League game, a dark cloud hovered, opened up, and sent me running to the field house.
My first thought was I should not have spent that $25 to get my hair blown out. And my second thought was all that sidewalk art probably did not survive the downpour.
Art is ephemeral. Like the bubbles in George Condo’s paintings.
Life too is fleeting. This applies to My Rules Number 6 and 7.
6. Live every day as if it were your last
7. Embrace uncertainty
And yes, it will continue to get better. But there will be rain.
We were heading to the North Meadow in Central Park to watch a Little League game. The North Meadow is an oasis where white-petaled trees grow out of Ice Age rocks.
We saw these whimsical sculptures in the middle of Park Avenue.
It was hard to get a good picture from the cab window. I said to the girls, "That's New York for you. Look around you. Something new and beautiful every day."
Yup, I stepped in it, more sidewalk art by De La Vega.
On Saturday afternoon, the girls and I were heading into Central Park around 96th Street with our picnic to watch H. play Little League in the North Meadow, 23 acres of fields (thanks Wikipedia). And I saw the chalk drawing beneath my feet.
“Move, girls, I want to take a picture,” I said.
“Of what? There’s nothing,” C. said, shrugging, looking around.
“Look down. See? A little guy dragging a vase.” No, that may be wrong. That might not be the image. Maybe the little guy wasn’t pulling the vase, but the vase was pushing the little guy. As if to say — art propels you, not drags you.
The other two times along with the little helicopter guy, De La Vega had written three words: Become Your Dream. And that was an apt message for me — because the first time, around New Year’s Day, I had been wondering, “What are my three words for the New Year?” And there they were, resting on a pile of trash. Become. Your. Dream. Three excellent words to guide me in 2011. https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2011/01/03/my-3-words/
And then almost exactly two months later, I saw his sidewalk art when I was coming from picking up my number for the 5K Coogan’s fun run at the New York Road Runners office. I took the words — Become your dream — as a sign. I should set goals for myself, like running a 5K, and then achieve them. https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2011/03/04/become-your-dream-part-ii/
When I saw the words on Saturday, it was almost exactly two months after seeeing them on the night I picked up my race number.
I was again committed to a goal. The next day I was going to ride in the 5 boro bike tour. I was going to pedal 50 miles, go over 5 bridges and visit every borough in one morning. http://runningaground.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/5-boro-bike-tour/ And yes, I did it.
The girls and I only stopped for a minute to notice the sidewalk art and for me to snap this picture with my phone. We walked on to meet our friends in Central Park and to watch our team, the Giants, play baseball. They lost, but not by much. There’s still time left in this season for the Giants to become their dream.
I did it. Along with more than 30,000 other bicyclists. The 5 boro bike tour. I can cross it off my bucket list.
I started around 8 am in Manhattan right before Central Park South. (I’d heard the beginning of the tour at Battery Park was a zoo so skipped to the Park.) I finished 45 miles and four hours later in Staten Island.
After a while, all the bridges and boros (boroughs) looked the same. Was I in Brooklyn or Queens? I knew it wasn’t the Bronx because that leg of the tour was brief.
Occasionally a family would be picnicking on their front steps, cheering us on. That felt good. I’d yell to them, “Thanks! We love Brooklyn.” Then I’d wonder, ‘Are we in Brooklyn? Or do I love Queens?’
Although I ride my bike almost every day to work, I’m not a spandex-wearing hottie. In fact, I only just bought bike shorts for the tour. (Still, my tush is a little sore today!)
I usually use my bike just to get someplace. Yesterday, my bike got me to every boro and then at the end, I got to the NYU Hospital. Not for a problem though. It was a celebration for all kids who have had heart problems called the Mend-A-Heart party. My kids love this annual party. And my son is so proud, “Look because of my heart problems, you get to go to this great party!” Yay for broken hearts that are repaired!
Back to the tour — my new bike rocked. It’s a hybrid, not a racing back like most of the bikes on the tour.
I think this was Brooklyn
I was glad I had a basket to throw my banana peels and health bar wrappers into. Also, I could peel off layers of clothing as the sun and exertion warmed me. Occasionally after hitting a pothole, I had to pat down the contents of my basket while riding so my water bottle wouldn’t go flying.
Verrazano-Narrows Bridge
Of the 5 bridges you cross on the 5 boro bike tour, the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge at Mile 35 was the deadliest. It just kept climbing for miles and miles and miles. At several points going up, I had a mirage that there — just ahead — it was about to go downhill. But no. It was completely uphill the whole way. Okay, maybe the last two minutes I hit some down hill.
I was thinking that whole way up — what goes up must come down. Then just when I felt like giving up, I was inspired by my friend P’s text, “Stay strong,” she wrote. “Free massages at the end.”
But I didn’t need one of those free massages, I just needed to lay down in the green grass of Staten Island. Really exhausted and really proud.
While writing at work, I was listening to Pandora on my headphones, Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs. Robinson Live in Central Park came on. It vaulted me back to being in the park that night.
A handful of friends from NYU and I had camped out early in the day and had good sight lines (still, we were probably a football field away). Central Park was seedy then. There were no lush green swaths of grass as there are now. We had spread our blanket in a tawny dry dirt field. The crowd swelled around us. Simon and Garfunkel’s vocals were unbelievable, so casual and so poetic.
Listening to that song yesterday, I felt a surge of nostalgia for that time in my life, for having just arrived in NYC, for having no commitments but to study hard my first year at NYU.
I remember that when the concert ended, we all walked out of the park together, shoulder to shoulder. At the park exits, it was very crowded. But we were so happy. We were smiling, humming, singing. We knew it had been a special night.
Yesterday afternoon, after the song played, I got back to work, back to writing about Dr. Martin Luther King’s legacy of advocating for poor people. I stared out my window towards Riverside Church.
I was waiting for my daughters to finish a math tutoring session at Joan of Arc public school. (Joan of Arc is my hero — I love that there’s a public school in NYC named for her!) I saw this church across the street.
It was Saturday afternoon and a lot of well-dressed people were mingling on the sidewalk. “Goody! A wedding!” I thought.
I entered the church. The sanctuary was paneled and low-ceiling-ed. Empty, except for a couple of girls who plucked keys on the piano. That was a bit annoying.
I sat for a minute, restless. As I was leaving, I heard a party going on in the basement. People sang, “feliz compleaños.”
I have to admit that the language barrier made me feel I wasn’t really a part of the action at this church. I wished I spoke Spanish, but I don’t. Not enough any way.
But then, something happened and for a moment, I felt I belonged. See, this boy ran down some steps, fast like he owned the place. He stopped, stared and smiled. That’s it. A smile. That smile took off when words and language failed. I left uplifted.
I picked up the girls and we met friends. We hung out in the Bramble in Central Park, a beautiful and spiritual place.
The snow is like a soft blanket. It quiets the city. Like White Out erasing my screen, erasing these words as I type them. We have had the crunch of salt beneath our boots for a week. It felt like the salt was disappointed. It did not get to do its magic “make the snow vanish” act. And now the snow is piling up and the salt won’t be enough. It will need additional reinforcements. Poor beleaguered salt, can never win.
I have to run to the store now. To buy more hot cocoa. The kids are waking up. They are looking out the window. Eyes round. “Look out your window!” they call to one another.
I have to put the sleds by the front door. And find matching pairs of gloves.
I want to curl up in a soft blanket of snow. I want to put on a movie, one of those Netflix films I never get to. Make popcorn. But I will be out in the blizzard. By the big hill in Riverside Park, watching the kids. Or maybe we’ll go to Central Park.
And, of course, I will take some runs down a hill too. If I can wrest the sleds from their clutches. Then we will come home and I will make them hot cocoa. I will try to make good memories of the blizzard of 2010. But wait. I am not in charge of their memories. I did not make this storm. The blizzard just blanketed the city. I did not have to do anything. Just look out my window.
I have ridden my bike every day since French class began a week and a half ago. I ride through Central Park with my heavy text books (yes, they’re paperbacks, but they’re BIG paperbacks). Lately I take my laptop in my backpack too so that I can write in the library here at the French Institute.
I love riding my bike in New York City. I love when I forget my helmet and I feel the wind in my hair. I love the beauty of Central Park.
Everyday there is a spot where I have to brace myself for the beauty. That’s when I leave the road and travel briefly on the sidewalk to the exit at 59th. On my right is the pond and I ride over a bridge. Today there was a young Asian woman standing on the slight wall of the bridge. Her arms were outflung and her head was back. As if to say, I own this place. This place of beauty.
Almost every day I ride over that bridge some tourist is photographing a friend on the bridge. It is the spot. And I get to see it every day.
100 Days of Poems and Pics 