That’s what I was thinking when I was riding to work yesterday. But I couldn’t think long, because I kept stopping to snap pictures of peonies.
I played tennis two nights this week. And thus, my energy for blogging has waned. I’ve been waking up all creaky from the tennis, but then anxious to play again. Last night Dan invited me to play for the third night in a row (Thanks Dan!). But instead, I chose sangria and soul food with girlfriends (Thanks Angelique & Cindy) at the fabulous Melba’s in Harlem (Thanks Larry for the recommendation).
I discovered when we walked back to unlock my bike after Melba’s that Harlem was spinning and there was something stronger than white wine in those white sangrias! So I stuck to biking through the safety of Central Park not the mean city streets.
And even though I didn’t play tennis last night, I woke up today, again, all creaky and achey. Tennis or sangria? Pick your poison. You’ll pay in the morning.
My number one rule is pile on people. I like to pile on activities as well as people. It is my way of coping. I like to say yes to every invitation and expand on every good idea offered — lessons I learned from performing improv.
Calder's Red Mobile, creative commons
Families are like fine art mobiles — when one member swings one way, the others move another — compensating, balancing, attempting to maintain equilibrium. With Chris’s increased slowness, I take on more. Like the arm on a mobile, I swing faster. I fly one way, while other pieces bounced along. Life swings every one. With Chris away with siblings in the Adirondacks this weekend, I did more. And I liked it.
When he’s gone, I depend more on friends.
Here was my Sunday. I got up early.
journaled
blogged
cabbed to pick up Charlotte from a sleep over
brunched at friends’ — lovely — bagels, lox, whitefish
dropped Hayden at church
napped for 20 minutes
got the car
picked up H. from church
dropped one child off at Randall’s Island, Icahn Stadium
drove to Cold Spring to get Kate from her sleep over
walked around with friends and K. in Cold Spring
watched the people fishing
chatted, picnicked by the harbor with friends
ate yogurt at a yummy yogurt place
picked up K.’s things from Garrison
drove K. and myself back to Randall’s Island
cheered H. and his team at track and field events
drove friends and kids back to city
parked the car at a lot
made dinner — chicken, rice, broccoli, strawberries
helped H. pack for 5-day bike trip
cleaned
sent myself and the kids to bed at 10:30
In a family, there are tons of ways to cope when a spouse is out of town, sick, or just unable to deliver the goods. People tell me, “You do too much.” Yet I would rather pile on people, activities, work, exercise, kindness than pile on resentment, solitude, inertia.
I’m sure there’s a lesson in how to balance your life based on the image of a Calder-type mobile. Balance is not part of my vocabulary.
Enthusiasm, passion, friendship, too many activities? That’s the way! Pile it on.
There was a message on Twitter from Judy Blume to me. My breath caught in my throat.
I had been walking on Broadway for 30 minutes, heading to work yesterday morning. I stopped to check my phone. I was super excited to read what she, one of my heroes and the author of Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret, wrote to me.
See, on Monday I’d written to Ms. Blume:
@judyblume we have a mother daughter bookclub in #nyc Could you stop by #uws Sun, June 4? we are reading #Deenie THANKS SO MUCH!
Ms. Blume’s message said, “– love mother/daughter book clubs but won’t be NY then. Say hi to readers for me. Parental expectations-should be interesting.”
So I emailed the “Hi!” from the great author to the mothers and daughters in our book group. And now I pass on Ms. Blume’s hello to you, blog readers. And rest assured, we will discuss parental expectations — and much more — at our next book group!!!
With no fanfare a bike room opened in the basement of 475 Riverside Drive, the Interchurch Center.
Bikes now have their own bright room. (Thanks, I think, to the Rockefeller Brothers Foundation and Bike New York who have both moved into the building within the last five years.)
Bikes used to live in a corner overshadowed by the exhaust fumes of the cars. The bikes knew they were second class citizens to the cars. Heck, I knew. And I didn’t really want to admit tell my bike.
The bike racks were in a dusty corner. On more than one occasion, I bumped my head against the fire alarm and knocked my shin against my pedal getting the bike in or out.
I know I shouldn’t anthropomorphize my bike any more
But I can’t stop. My bike is my child. As my real children get older, I still have my good old bike. It will live with me always. It needs its own room. As a teen it needs privacy. But, as a parent, I still need know what it is doing in there.
Like children, biking in New York City has grown up without me noticing. Mine used to be one of a few bikes in the basement. But now there are more than a dozen — more fun for my bike to play with.
Yesterday was Bel Kaufman’s 100th birthday. I met her at the Dutch Treat Club, a luncheon club for people in the arts at the National Arts Club. The woman is an inspiration. She’s funny, smart, honest and beautiful. Bel is the author of Up the Down Staircase and a recent hire, the oldest ever, at Hunter College.
Just the other night at dinner, H. said, “My next girlfriend will be a model.” (I didn’t know he had a last girlfriend.)
“There’s too much emphasis on physical beauty,” I said. “Look around you and find beautiful people in your real world, like your Uncle Brendan or Laura from church. They’re beautiful. Make them your idols. Not models or superstars.” Like the rest of the world, my kids are way too in love with celebrities.
The great thing about living in New York is that there are so many amazing, old people. And Bel said, she prefers the term “old people” to “seniors” which sounds like they’re still in high school.
She’s my role model. I love the way she looks and commands a room. I hope that when I am 100, I will be so fabulous.
In this blog, I’ve written a lot about New York’s natural beauty and art. But there are many beautiful people too — as many beautiful people as flowering trees in spring and paintings in the museum.
One performance artist was painting, the other was ironing; they wore crochet.
We met our guide, a curator and art dealer, Jonathan, at the New Museum on the Bowery.
From the museum’s top floor, there are fantastic views — in the distance, the bridges and buildings of Lower Manhattan and right beneath us, the Festival of Ideas for the New City — sidewalk exhibits on community supported agriculture, art in the parks, children’s centers, new kinds of energy, just way cool stuff.
My Number One Son and I were at the museum for the last day of the George Condo exhibit, Mental States. Jonathan knew a lot about Condo. He showed us Condo’s work from the early days — when he hung with graffitti artists Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring. His work was displayed vertically, as in a salon.
Jonathan told us that Condo is prolific. He is both derivative and original. His work is an homage to art history and a contemporary take on cartooning and art on the streets.
This is the clean version of Condo's art for the album cover.
My son said one painting reminded him of the Kanye West album cover, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Jonathan was impressed. “Yes, that was his work.”
Just then, a guy who looked like a handsome version of Al Pacino, slapped Jonathan and hugged him.
“Hey man.”
“Hey man.” They hugged in that downtown-cool-guy kind of way. It was George Condo, the great man himself. He smelled of cigarettes. He was with his wife, a gorgeous filmmaker. We chatted a bit. They wandered off.
We were impressed. But no one in the big gallery paid the artist any mind.
“They don’t know it’s him,” Jonathan told us.
But we did. And it was cool. Just way cool stuff. Hey man.
I got this guided tour of contemporary art through the school auction. I was glad that I redeemed it and that H. joined me on the outing. We left the museum and headed to Astor Place.
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.
There are so many flowering trees on my path. I don't think Riverside Park has ever looked prettier. I was down, but nature lifted me up.
The gardens are bursting. It's possible to believe the flowers have feelings and they feel joy in the sunshine.
Sometimes when I am on my bike, I am annoyed by the dogs that run wild off their leashes in the park. But they are, in their way, beautiful too. And dog walkers in the the parks have made the parks safer. So live and let live.
And just because this is my blog and I can post whatever I want. I posted this before, but it bears repeating -- a few weekends ago in Washington DC when the Cherry Blossoms bloomed, my sister and I went out to breakfast. Just the two of us -- without our 6 kids. I ate this waffle. The strawberry was cut like a rose.
On one corner there is Magnolia Bakery. Aross the street one way is BookMarc, a Mark Jacobs bookstore.
Kittycorner is Marc Jacobs store. Always with the trendy windows.
And just because this is my blog and I can post whatever I want. Last weekend in Washington DC, my sister and I went out to breakfast and I ate this waffle. The strawberry was cut like a rose. Yummy.
This is my least favorite part of the day, waking the children. It’s drizzling and it’s Sunday. They’re not excited about today’s 5K at 9 am. A part of me does wonder, Why am I making them and myself run? It’s a huge hassle and I’d rather stay in bed with the New York Times.
I want us to run, because I know we will feel euphoric when we finish. We will have set and then exceeded some small goal. Life rarely offers opportunities to chart your progress.
I remember the first time I took my son ice skating in Central Park. The first time he went around the rink, he fell eight times. The second time around the rink, he fell two times. And after that, he hardly fell at all. That is how it goes. Take them out and let them fall. And soon they will stand and even skate and run on their own. And there’s some pride in that.
Wish me luck in waking my darlings, in finding running shoes, and in getting to the race on time. It’s not easy, but I believe, somehow, it will be worth it. If we just cross the finish line, we will have won.
I love biking, tennis and soul food.
That’s what I was thinking when I was riding to work yesterday. But I couldn’t think long, because I kept stopping to snap pictures of peonies.
And even though I didn’t play tennis last night, I woke up today, again, all creaky and achey. Tennis or sangria? Pick your poison. You’ll pay in the morning.
100 Days of Poems and Pics 