Go

My husband and I enjoy cooking. I am always trying to create new dishes or changing up basic recipes based on ideas I get from watching ‘Iron Chef America’ or from tasting different flavor combinations when we go out to eat. We do enjoy eating out when we can as it allows for a specific time to connect. But it also opens our eyes to the different wonderful foods out there.

We have a couple of neighborhood favorites for cuisine that:

1) Neither of us can cook
2) We want to eat but are too tired to cook
3) We can not match no matter how hard we try.

One of our favorites is Vai (Upper West Side on Amsterdam Avenue between 81 and 82nd).

We have been frequenting the restaurant since it opened in its earlier location on 77th Street. It is a cozy, romantic place with a lovely wine selection and even more amazing food. The first dish that I had there was a crudo of fish and basic salad - both of which were simple in description. However when I ate them, the mélange of flavors lit up my mouth and I had to inhale deeply as I thought I might die from the exquisite dance happening on my taste buds. I was hooked from then on and continue to be. I have never had a bad meal there.

Recently we went and I had their osso buco pasta special. The minute I put the lamb in my mouth, it melted like a fine-crafted piece of chocolate. It coated my tongue and throat and I just wanted to curl up from the warmth and comfort I received from the delicious morsel of food I had eaten. I then combined the marscapone and tarragon quenelle that was on top of the pasta into the dish. I took a bite of it. Whatever I had just experienced, it was obliterated. I now had this fantastic blanket of cream and luscious herbs dripping into my belly. It was as if I had just eaten two completely different pastas and both had saved my life. After a few more bites, I had pretended to cuddle up with my coat because that’s just how comfortable and toasty I was feeling inside my tummy.

A couple of dishes that have always stood out in my mind that are occasionally on the seasonal menu are:
1) Whole Roasted Branzino – the right amount of crispy skin and delicate flesh with a hint of subtle flavors that are light and refreshing and enhance the fish.
2) Creamy Fingerling Potatoes – the first time I ate them, I thought someone had served me cake batter. It was so smooth and creamy that I could eat a pint of them instead of any ice cream that can come to mind
3) Any crudo – the blend of the cold fish, the citrus that accompanies it and the heat and/or cream that is added along is a wonderful blend of textures and/or flavors that the small portion (normal portion) never seems enough. I always either drink the liquid that is left over or sop it up with a piece of bread. I can not give that plate back! It is a waste of savoriness that is a sin.

On top of the magnetic menu, the host/owner is always so welcoming. He greets you at the door with a smile. If he you are a regular, there is a hug involved. He generates such enthusiasm that you begin to glow before you’ve even had a drop of wine or a taste of food. He makes you feel like you’ve returned home after years of being away. It’s a perfect place to go and every time we eat there it feels like we are celebrating a special occasion. I wish that everyone could have the same feeling about a local place that they frequent. It really makes you treasure those moments when you go out for a meal with your partner or your friends. Thank you Vai for so many wonderful meals!

Where the Locals Go

I have had a couple of very tasty meals this year. One of which was at the EN Japanese Brasserie. I was immediately intrigued by the fact that many native Japanese people were walking into the restaurant ahead of me. I thought ‘if the natives come here, then it must be good.’ Indeed it was!

After giving our name the host walked us through traditional wooden sliding doors to our table. I decided to try the Sake flight. I love the sweet and crisp flavors of sake and the three that I got were all amazingly different. We proceeded to order some green clams which were briny and sweet and were enhanced by the light and slightly bitter sake that I was drinking.

My husband went for the sushi while I was intrigued by the Clay Rice Pot. I had to wait a bit before it would be ready but that waiting time was well worth it. When it arrived it was pure bliss. There was very little seasoning except for the fantastic herb shiso. The flavors that melted in my mouth were based on the basic tastes that came from the rice, the salmon and the roe that were blended in the pot. The simplicity and subtly of the dish is what won me over completely. I have been craving this clay pot since I had it a number of months ago.

In addition I have been on an obsessive search for a shiso plant so that I can grow it in my garden. It is a lovely mix between cilantro and dill and it enhances the flavor of the food surrounding it. If I could have it with every meal, I think I could die very happily.

I am looking forward to going to EN again very soon. The ambiance and the food were eye-opening; the service was attentive yet not overbearing. I hope to experience more new flavors in the New Year. I am looking forward to 2012 with an open palate!

Bird Watching

I never paid much attention to birds because the pigeons I frequently encountered freaked me out. They would appear out of nowhere. Then sweep down very close to my face in attempt to either clip me with their wings or to defecate on my hair or jacket.

However a couple of years ago when I was in Vermont, I heard something knocking on the door. I went out to see who it was but didn’t see a thing. Upon closing the door, I heard the knocking again. But instead of opening the door again, I noticed something moving outside the window. It was a woodpecker. It was shoving it’s beak into the bark of a tree and it looked nothing like the famous woodpecker than I knew when I was growing up.

The practical joker that I had met looker more like an oreo cookie – a mixture of black and white - no red or blue.

After that I became more interested in birds – mostly by their colors. I’d occasionally see a cardinal or a blue jay in Central Park during my morning walks with the dogs. While Foxy ran after the squirrels, I was entranced by the flying rainbows in the sky.

This summer on Long Island I saw an two Orioles – one perched on a tree and the other on the roof of my parent’s house – they were engaging in conversations while I moved my head back and forth to figure out who was talking to whom and what they were saying. It was like a tennis match when you follow the ball from one end of the court to the other.

I am pretty sure I’ve seen sandpipers on Long Island as well. The small non-pigeon birds in Central Park are probably sparrows but I have yet to confirm that. While I was in Mexico City, I saw a hummingbird and was in awe of its small speediness. Hopefully I’ll see more varieties of birds in the upcoming year. I do find them fascinating and calming. I guess that’s why people bird watch after all – it’s a relaxing hobby.

The Best Christmas Presents

December has always had a special place in my heart. I tend to love the cold, especially that first snow fall (and if it happens close to the 25th what an added bonus that is). The brisk weather invigorates me and I enjoy wearing all my cozy sweaters. Hot chocolate is the drink of choice and a nice cup of tea can make a great book seem more enjoyable. Of course Christmas is always a great occasion even if my family isn’t always that thrilled with its arrival.

Two of the best things in my life came to me in December. The first was my little (but older dog) Bonnette. She arrived in my apartment on December 1st. She had a lovely red bow tied around her neck and she was just the cuddliest thing ever. Her tiny paws and big eyes won me over from the first moment. She was an early Christmas present that year. She’s since been a great addition to my immediate and extended family (c.f. any of the entries about her), bringing her spunky and loveable attitude with her everywhere.

The other gift that came in December was my dog Foxy. We fostered her a number of years ago after I spotted her after Thanksgiving. But the official adoption date is in December. So, now you can see why December is an important time of the year for me. It’s because I got two of the best Christmas presents ever in this sweet month.

Villains

I’ve been reading and occasionally struggling through ‘Les Miserables’ in French. It’s quite good so far. It’s thought provoking and emotional. I’m enjoying it immensely.

Recent time with the novel has made me ponder what makes a good villain. The hero and villain in this book are Jean Valjean and Lieutenant Javert. As usual, they have a complex relationship and it made me wonder if that is needed for a good book. Obviously one of the basic tenets of a novel should be that there is some tension or an unresolved issue; something that hooks us into reading and, most importantly, completing a book.

But further to that it made me wonder what makes a good villain. When we think of the protagonist, many times we need to feel a connection to them so that we can root for them along the course of the story. And even if you don’t empathize with the main character, we have to be concerned with their plight to some degree. Perhaps it is because we have been in a similar situation and want to see how they will handle it. Or it could just be that we want to step into their ‘footprints’ and live vicariously through them. As long as we have some combination of these items, then we are all set emotionally to follow the hero. But what do we do or feel when it comes to a villain.

I thought to some of the greatest villains that I could think of in recent history and in popular culture - the two that I could think of were Darth Vader of the Star Wars saga and Lord Voldemort from the Harry Potter series. There is an element of fear to both of them. I remember as a kid that I was insanely scared of Darth Vader – not just because he was dressed in black (because that seems common with many villains) but because he seemed so strong and invincible. This is the case as well with Voldemort when I read the Harry Potter books. Yet as the stories developed for both of these arts, the background of each was identified and I was more curious to know how they became evil. I, perhaps naively, believed that they were not born that way. I wanted to know their psychological make-up and to have them sit on a couch with me as I asked them questions to get to the root of their identity and their unresolved issues.

It is this confrontation between the good guy and the bad guy that intrigues us. As we learn about Luke Skywalker and he develops into his full character, we become curious as to why Darth Vader is who he is. This is the same for Harry Potter and Voldemort. In many ways their character development mirrors each other in opposite ways. And they often balance each other out. So we become invested in not only the growth of the hero but in the demise or softening of the bad guy. Can the bad guy be made good? etc.

This same premise has been occurring in one of my favorite shows of the season ‘Once Upon a Time’ as well. As we learn more about Snow White, we wonder why the Evil Queen hates her so much. As their stories are told side-by-side, we become connected to their histories. It also helps a lot that the actress (Lana Parrilla) who plays the Evil Queen is a complete bitch (she’s one of those characters that I love to hate and I think that might be the case with the other examples I’ve provided too). It’s the dichotomy between these characters and the tension that they create that keep us glued to the screen or entranced between the pages. Or perhaps it is something else altogether. It’s definitely up for discussion.

The Coffee Shop

Today I walked past a coffee franchise that rekindled some fond memories. One of the locations for this coffee establishment was located right across the street from the entrance to the main building of my college campus.

It bought to mind the many trips I took there to pick up cups of coffee before long hours of reading. And how the people that worked there knew exactly how I liked my coffee. I found comfort holding those cups while trying to understand Semiotics and Philosophy. They often kept me wide awake while reading the 17th century novels. Many times they just kept me warm during the cold months when I was absorbing French history.

For two of my undergraduate years, I would sneak into the graduate lounge with an extra large cup of coffee. It would last through the many hours of writing or reading I was doing. And the graduate lounge was just so much quieter than the undergraduate lounge! Occasionally I’d curl up on one of the sofas and take a nap. And when I awoke, the coffee had cooled down a bit so I could gulp it and get back to work!

I could spend so much time concentrating in those days. Periods of 4 to 6 hours would be super productive with my cup of joe beside me. Now, despite all the coffee I drink, I can barely concentrate on half the stuff happening at work. I would rather go back to those college days – when I was enthralled by most of what I was doing while traveling the world tasting brews from the coffee countries all over the globe.

A Safe Place

I was recently asked if there was a time or a place where I felt happy and I had to think about it for a bit. The first ideas that blossomed in my mind were from high school. I went to a small all-girls Catholic school and I had always had fond memories of it. When I started to consider what about it made it safe for me, I realized the truly profound impact going there had in my life.

Part of what made it safe is that it was small and by the time you finished your 4 years, you knew everyone pretty well. (That intimate knowledge of people could be why people fell out of friendships in the end but I don’t hold that as a bad thing. We evolve and our needs change.) Many of the teachers always encouraged us to question things and to explore and be curious. Being naturally curious, this freedom was very helpful for me. When I was creative, I was supported. Teachers and other students encouraged me to use my talents.

I spent a lot of time in my high school; not only the mandatory school time but also tons of after school time. I was on the yearbook staff, the literary committee, the drama club and choir (to name the ones I remember most). I really don’t know how I got all my school work done or how I was in all the advanced classes either. Somehow I managed.

One year for the annual talent show, I wrote a one act play and performed it with a bunch of my friends. It was a success in my definition; people lauded it and I felt great for having written something so many people enjoyed.

Often when I think about a time that I want to replicate in my adult life, I think of those four years. I had time, despite what it seems like in my description here, to be creative and to use my talents. After that time, it all went down hill. I used my writing less and less creatively. I didn’t feel supported for my decisions or opinions. It was a good time for me and I am happy to have had it; particularly because I know how many other teenagers had such a horrible time in their high schools.

The Apple of My Eye

My little dog has quite the gourmet taste. She enjoys carrots, lettuce and broccoli. On occasion she will bark if I am cutting up an endive. It’s as though she is asking me to share the deliciousness with her. My whole family thinks she’s quirky but I think it is my influence on her. I always ate veggies around her as a pup and she seemed curious. So I shared.

The other day I was eating an apple when I walked to the bedroom. The bed needed a little straightening. So with my free hand, I did flattening of the bedspread and tucked in a sheet. All of a sudden I heard an immense crunch come from the hand holding the apple. I didn’t realize my little dog had followed me into the bedroom. When I stopped making the bed to castigate her, I couldn’t. She looked so cute chomping into the peel of the apple and chewing away. I continued to turn the apple for her while she finished it. At the end of her snack, she showed her satisfaction by belching.

I know I shouldn’t encourage her to eat snacks. As long as they are healthy for her, I don’t see the problem. The apple of my eye happens to like red delicious and granny smiths; and if her eating one keeps the vet away, then I am all for it.

Bedside Manner

Being sick can be horrible. You feel weak, sniffly or achy. The best recovery is usually time. However, sometimes there is nothing better than a cuddly creature to make you feel better.

I wasn’t feeling very well this past weekend so I decided to spend most of the time in bed. I caught up on some television shows and some sleep. The best part of it though was just petting my dogs. They could sense that I wasn’t feeling well from the moment I walked in from work on Friday. So they followed me around and whenever I sat on the couch, they came by to keep me warm.

When it was time to get a couple winks in, they helped with that too. One of them kept my feet warm while the other cuddled into my side. I got a few hours of sleep and felt refreshed and on my way to recovery.

If only doctors could find a way to make you feel as comfortable and safe.

Chicken Juice

I woke up Thanksgiving morning in a panic because I had forgotten a very important element to the yearly meal. I decided to give my mom a call right after waking up to see if she didn’t have some ideas.

After the usual pleasantries she mentioned that she had ‘Chicken Juice’. Some how I knew exactly what she meant but decided to confirm by rephrasing.

“Mom, do you mean gravy?”

“Yes but it’s chicken gravy not turkey.”

I told her to bring it along when she came over. Somehow she knew exactly what I needed and I am happy that I reached out to her.

Comfort Food

A few weeks ago, when I was without a stove, one of my dogs wasn’t feeling well. Normally under these circumstances, I boil some chicken breast with white rice and give it to her. This makes her feel better almost immediately. But without a stove, what was I to do.

I had to resort to the next best thing – grandma! I call my mom and asked if she would do me this big favor. She agreed immediately and expressed her concern for my dog. I told her I would bring her the chicken very shortly.

After delivering the poultry, my mom got cooking immediately. Within an hour there was a ring at the doorbell. She came bearing gifts (for my dogs, she was better than Santa!). I fed the healthy dog immediately, who was wondering if she had been punished since breakfast was so late that particular morning. I gave some to the ill dog who turned her head as if I were giving her a plate of sewer water. My mom was very distraught by this. She said ‘She really mustn’t be feeling well.’

I explained that it might take a bit before she ate since she had a tough night and morning. A little after my mom left, the dog did eat the food and she kept poking me for more. She had recovered within moments! Just goes to show you that sometimes comfort food is the best way to get better. It might not be chicken soup for the soul. But chicken and rice for the pooch was close enough.

Disturbing News

Today I learned that even after a snake is dead, it can kill you with its venom. For the love of all things, what is wrong with nature? Here I am thinking that if a snake is caput, then I am free. But no! Nature has yet another prank to play on yours truly.

This just doesn’t make sense to me. And in the same time it proves just how awful these creatures are. Sheesh!

My Jewish Grandmother

Reading the title you would think that I’m Jewish but I am not. Although I have been mistaken for being Jewish all my life, I’m a Gentile. However growing up in a very Jewish neighborhood, it is hard to not know a little bit about Jewish traditions.

Part of the reason I know these things is that one of our neighbors growing up was a nice Jewish lady. She used to work in a bakery so she would always give us cakes, bread, and cookies from the bakery. My mom would cook stuff and we’d bring it over to her. She would give us Christmas gifts and my mom would give her something for Hanukkah. It was a really nice relationship, even if she would tell me I was gaining weight or that I looked tired.
In the last year she had an accident while she was outside of her apartment that really freaked her out. She had confined herself to stay inside with the help of an aide. I hadn’t seen her in a very long time until this morning.

I was getting back from running an errand and I saw her walking up the block with her aide. I was very happy to see her. We talked a bit. She asked me a bunch of questions that she knew the answer to many months ago -- she’d obviously forgotten in the time since. She asked me to give her a kiss and a hug. I told her it was great to see her. She informed me that she was going to the beauty parlor. She told me to tell my dad to stop smoking. I said I would but didn’t think much would come out of it. She said I was lovely and wished me a great holiday.

When I was younger I remembered asking my mom if she was my real grandmother. My real grandmother wasn’t that nice. My mom always chuckled probably at the silliness of the question but also for other reasons that are much clearer to me now. She told me that she could be my Jewish grandmother if it made me happy. It did and it was nice to see her today.

Voice Recognition

We recently had a problem with our stove. It would not have been an issue if next week were any other week. But to not have Thanksgiving dinner in the proper way would have been unforgivable.

We informed my dad of the stove situation and he came over to inspect. Despite all my husband had done, there was no salvaging this old clunker. My dad walked over to our sofa and said,“GIVE ME THE PHONE!”

As I handed him the phone, he started to call out a phone number. I dialed the number but the call wouldn’t go through since my number is blocked. So I decided to use my cell phone. I dialed the number and put it on speaker phone so my dad could hear it. He put the apparatus to his ear just the same.

"Hello, XXXXX Company."
“MIKE!”
“Yes, who is this?”
“GUESS!”
“Rocco? Luigi?”
“IT’S LUIGI!”
“What can I do for you,Luigi?”
“I NEED A NEW STOVE – 20 INCHES”
“I can’t hear you so well”
“I’M ON THESE SMALL PHONES THAT I HATE”
“Ok – can you repeat what you wanted because you were breaking up?”
“I NEED A NEW STOVE - 20 INCHES!”
“20 inches?”
“THAT’S RIGHT!”
“What color?”
“MIKE, YOU KNOW I ONLY ORDER THE WHITE!”
“Ok white. Anything else?”
“I NEED IT TOMORROW!”
“Ok."
“AND DON’T GIVE ME ANY TROUBLE!”

We could hear chuckling on the other line.
“Alright Luigi, see you tomorrow.”
“MIKE, THANK YOU!”
“You are welcome”

My dad proceeded to hand me the cell phone and he told me it was a piece of crap. It’s always a pleasure to do business with my dad – at least some people feel that way.

The Family Car

My dad has an obsession with big American cars. I am not sure if he loves our SUV. But growing up, he only drove station wagons.

He looked like a microscopic object in the driver’s seat when compared to the immensity of the car. If you were looking from the outside, you would think the car was driving itself. Occasionally in the days when he wore glasses, you could make out an enormous pair of dense lenses and dark frames above the steering wheel. But only if you were using binoculars.

It was a spacious car without a doubt. My two siblings and I had our own special compartments in the back seat. I loved sitting against the window. I would occasionally open the window and stick my face out to have the wind blow through my hair (or maybe I was in touch with my dog personality back then!). If I decided to read, I felt as though I had room enough to lounge and get comfortable. And the wooden paneling was super cool along the side of the car! Nothing better than that for getting people's attention!

My parents would sit in the front seat at a distance that seemed to span actual states. I think my mom liked it that way. She had her own side to do her knitting. The angle provided her with a good view of my dad – in case he started to fall asleep at the wheel.

Some times I would reach over the front seat to set the radio to real music. And I would adjust the volume so that the music would play only in the back. This didn’t last very long because my dad would eventually change it back to his 1010 WINS. And he would gripe for a few minutes before changing --- how he needed to know what the traffic conditions were, how American music was going to rot my brain, etc.

We never took cross-country car trips. We mostly went to the beach in the summer or to visit family at other times during the year. I remember thinking that we had to fill the tank almost every time we turned a corner, but I did like those cars. For all their cigarette drenched foam seats or the windows that eventually never rose to the top of the frame, it was our second home on wheels. It certainly seemed big enough to be a real home at times.

The Blame Game

Our last night in Dublin was one of reunions. My husband got to see a number of friends with whom he went to university. I got to meet a couple of people about whom I had heard many stories. It was nice to put the faces together with the names after all these years.

Being that we were in Ireland and they are a sprightly bunch, drinking was involved. Everyone wanted to buy everyone else drinks. And so they did. Drinks were had, songs were sung. By the end of the very long night and into the early morning, many of us couldn’t quite make it to our beds.

Later that day we had a flight to catch. While getting to the airport, my husband received a message saying that the reason everyone was more than tipsy was due to one particular individual. A few moments later, he got a text from another person and she too blamed her ‘wrecked’ state on that particular individual. We both joined the bandwagon and blamed our grogginess and lack of clarity on that same person.

I realize he wasn’t as much to blame as we were making him out to be. But it certainly was fun to collude with the rest and point fingers at the poor bloke.

Phone Conversations

On a recent bus trip to visit a friend, I was appalled by the behavior of fellow travelers. The first hour and a half of the bus ride was fine because everyone was sleeping. The remaining time was not so pleasant. The very considerate rider behind me decided it was a perfect time to have an hour long phone conversation with his buddy.

I really wanted to turn around and slap the phone out of the guy’s hand. However I felt that would look worse than his being on the phone. So I tried to make the most of his noise. I tried to fall back to sleep but he kept saying stuff that was so ridiculous and infuriating that I couldn’t. I tried to read but I couldn’t concentrate on what I was reading. Why didn’t I bring my ipod??

On top of it all, he used some phrases that have always bothered me. He really should have just run his nails down a chalkboard. That’s how irritating he was.

But then I got to my destination and had a nice time. On my return trip I was plagued with yet another talker. This one was worse. She sat across and a little in front of me. She must have talked to various people through almost the whole ride. I did get some reading done but it was difficult. I felt better when I hear a lot more people sighing as she talked on the phone. I guess I wasn’t the only one being annoyed by this inconsiderate behavior.

I can seem to understand why people feel it is appropriate to have personal conversation in enclosed public spaces. Maybe if we start slapping people when they behave this way, we can all be spared the insanity.

The Mouth of Babes

As I mentioned in an earlier entry, my husband and I spent some time with his friend’s children. There were three of them – A boy (age 5), a girl (age 4) and a baby boy of 6 months. The two older children kept us occupied with games and stories. They were both very sweet and polite. Most of the fun things that we experienced were what they said to us about daily life.

• We went walking around a place that had many trees. I pointed out to the girl that the tops of the trees were losing their leaves. She informed me that the trees were going ‘bald’.

• When they caught my husband without his wedding ring, they asked him if he was married because their parents never took their rings off. He explained that he often took off his ring at night. They notified him that their parents were married even when they slept. I admit that I thought they had a good point of picking on him about this particular topic.

• One morning I came down the stairs in my pajamas. They asked me why I was still in my pajamas. I told them that I had just woken up. They mentioned that my husband had just woken up but he was dressed. I didn’t explain to them that what they thought was dressed up for my husband was really still his pajamas. I told them that I wanted to take a shower first so that I could get dressed. They seemed a little more satisfied with this answer than with my first one.

• We visited a place where a big stone tower stood in the middle of a field. At the bottom of the tower was a window into which the little girl poked her head and say “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

• My husband was taking a lot of pictures and the boy asked him if he liked taking pictures. My husband told him “No, I love taking pictures. And I hate taking pictures!” To which the boy replied “Well that makes no sense!” My husband enjoyed antagonizing the kids. He often answered all their questions in ‘No’.

• At one point the girl asked me if my husband’s favorite word was ‘No’. I told her yes it was his favorite word. She then questioned me about what his ‘worst’ word was. And I informed her that it was also ‘No’. She made a face and asked rhetorically “No is his bestest word and his worst word?”

• One day the girl was trying to nap. She noticed that I was watching her so she pretended to nap by closing her eyes and snoring. After a while she asked me if my husband snored. I told her that he did and that it was very loud. She persuaded me to ask him on her behalf. She knew that if she asked him, he would say ‘No’ (since this was his bestest and worst word after all). Indeed when I asked him, he replied that he did snore. She had figured my husband’s game out completely!

Kids usually do say the darndest things. And I always love to hear children with accents talk. It’s always great when you can get the benefit of both in your life.

Chirp, Chirp

As you can see I’ve been chronicling (to some extent) our recent visit to the island of shamrocks and Guinness! (I already mentioned the leprechauns in an earlier entry!) We saw a couple of my husband’s college buddies, some of whom I had never met. I had however heard lots about them so it was nice to finally put the face to the stories. One of his friends has 3 children so we spent some time with them too (more about them in future entries). All of it lovely, relaxing and fun.

My one complaint (aside from the small roads, thank you!) was that the grey, drizzly weather did something crazy to my hair. My hair is normally a bit disheveled in humidity. No matter how many products I have used, it’s hard to control certain koala hairs from sticking up. But in Ireland, a lot more of my hair was uncontrollable - more than the normal humidity levels in New York allow.

I would wet my hair; no luck. I would wear a hat; the minute I took it off, I was emulating Einstein’s coif. I kept expecting baby birds to poke out from the top of my head and chirp at me on a consistent basis.

The bird’s nest on my head was huge, after all. At times I thought small birds were the least of my concerns. I had to prepare myself for some ostriches to say hello.

I couldn’t put my finger on it. By the last few days, I gave up bothering. After all, it was a vacation. I didn’t need hair stress to subtract from it.

Temporary Surfaces

Driving through Ireland was a great experience. Seeing green hills and mountains surrounded by stone castles was lovely. Occasionally we’d spot cattle or a herd of sheep grazing as we sped by. It was quite memorable.

My husband got used to driving on the other side of the road quite quickly which was commendable. My only gripe was that many of the roads were far too small for the enormous trucks that occupied one of the mainly two lane roads. Being on the right side, I faced many close encounters with shrubs, vines, trees and cars. We definitely scratched my side of the car a bit but I think that was expected.

During one particular road trip, I noticed some signs that stated “temporary surfaces”. After seeing that sign we would cruise on a very lovely and smooth paved road for a stretch. It made me wonder why the government of Ireland wouldn’t invest in having those ‘temporary surfaces’ made permanent. Or was the temporary surface the gravelly, bumpy and pot-holed one? I do think it was one of those language differences that I might only be able to solve on another trip to Ireland!

The Project Manager

Recently I’ve been working from home for a number of reasons. My next door neighbor has been doing some construction on his apartment so I have to deal with the noise of that work. Normally I’ve been keeping the window closed to drown out the racket. On some occasions though, it is a little harder to concentrate while the work is happening than other times.

Whenever the drills and hammering is happening, it’s not too bad for me to concentrate. However when the construction workers start to talk, it’s very hard. This has nothing to do with eavesdropping or anything. It has to do with one of my dogs.

As long as work is happening, she will sleep through it. Whenever there is talking, she begins to bark at the workers. It’s as if she is telling them ‘Hey, get back to work people!’ I noticed it the other day and thought I was imagining it. I checked with my husband to see if she was doing the same thing when I was not at home. He confirmed my suspicion.

It seems as though my dog got a project management certification when I wasn’t looking. She is determined to keep everyone working and all projects on track!

Pub Songs

While we were driving around in Ireland, my husband decided we needed some music to accompany our travels. We walked into a gift store during one of our many stops and he bought a CD. He picked up a collection of Irish pub songs. I rolled my eyes at his purchase.

He placed the cd in the player in the car. I expected to hear some ‘Riverdance’ type music or a rendition of ‘Danny Boy’. But oh no!! It sounded like Alvin and the Chipmunks dancing through Ireland. I was completely shocked. My husband and I agreed that he could keep playing the music as long as the volume was low. That proved harder than I thought but I enjoyed the scenery and just laughed when each song became more ridiculous than the other. Throughout this my husband kept driving and smiling.

I realized after a while that this was a collection of pub songs. I guess that’s what songs sound like when you are insanely drunk in Ireland.

Leprechauns

On our recent trip to Ireland, I made a discovery that I never thought would be possible. Leprechauns had always been one of those myths associated with Ireland, along with fairies. I saw a few leprechauns when we walked around the streets of Dublin. Mostly they were smaller people with painted faces decked out in green. I did not however see any pots of gold on the other end of the rainbows they held with them. Suspicious to say the least.

However, one day in Killarney, I realized that this was not a myth. We were staying in a lovely bed and breakfast when we went down to have said breakfast. We were presented with a lovely meal which we gobbled up in far less than a half hour – 20 minutes tops!

We returned to our room to find that it was all miraculously neat and clean – sparkling with the sun’s rays even. Not at all how we left it when we went down to breakfast. The bed was made, the room was vacuumed, the bathroom was cleaned and everything was put in its new place instead of strewn all over.

That is when I had the epiphany. Leprechauns aren’t out in the wild of Ireland. They were working in this bed and breakfast! So if they were in this bed and breakfast, they must be all over the Ireland working on keeping the lovely bed and breakfasts clean!

Hey, over time everyone’s roles evolve. Who can say this isn’t the case for the leprechauns as well?

Sad Day

When I saw the headline on the New York Times this morning, I was completely shocked. How could I tell my husband that ‘god’ was dead? No matter how much you can prepare yourself, sometimes there is no way around the stupefaction of hearing that some one has passed away.

Back in the 80’s my first home computer was an Apple 2e. I remember taking it out of the box and playing with or using it almost every day. It was so easy to use. Turn it on, wait for it to load, select a program and there you go. I recall playing games by using simple keyboard functions – arrow keys and space bar - to execute moves on the screen.

How can I not spend time discussing how much I love my ipod? I can barely work in my insanely loud work area without the peace that that little device brings me. If it weren’t for my little pocket protector, I would never be able to clean my apartment or do the dishes or fold the laundry. It is like an electronic puppy –follows me almost everywhere I go. My mechanical shadow.

Steve Jobs was my husband’s hero. Although I never placed him on that pedestal before, now I’m forced to really think about how his ideas have influenced my life. I visit iTunes at least once a week, if not more. I love Pixar movies – two of which I’d say are among my favorites. We know how I feel about my iPod. I am amazed at how he had a thought, saw it through to the end – facing naysayers and barriers galore along the way. Through it all, he had the vision, confidence and determination to tell everyone to shove it; he was going to do what he wanted. A true ‘out of the box’ thinker, a creative mind allowed to express his ideas as he felt…sincerely missed by many.

The Evil Eye

Earlier this year I received an evil eye bracelet. I know the person who got it for me meant well. The hope was that the bad luck that I was having would clear up. Sadly, it worked in the opposite way than how it was intended. I have been dealing with back issues since March and I had some other physical problems earlier this year. All while wearing the evil eye.

Recently someone else got me an evil eye bracelet with the hope that it would bring me good luck and happiness. I seriously wanted to throw it in the garbage.

My mom thinks that having amulets and little sayings can keep things from happening. She has always encouraged me to have something with me to keep evil spirits away. I have never been one to believe in a talisman. I wonder if that had something to do with the bracelet’s ‘power’ going awry?

I wore the bracelet without really thinking anything except that it was a thoughtful gift that someone had given me. I barely even noticed it on my wrist. Am I overanalyzing?

Tons of athletes have good luck charms that they believe help them through tough times. Would a different item have been more helpful? I guess I’ll never know.

Hungry Heart

I’ve always loved music as evidenced in other entries. Today I had a blast from the past when I heard Bruce Springsteen’s 80’s song “Hungry Heart”. It reminded me of how crazy I was and still am over music.

I don’t exactly know how I came to love that song or who introduced it to me. But I know I had the vinyl 45 record of it. I would place the album on the record player, lower the needle and raise the volume. I was insanely obnoxious because and I played it over and over. The repetition was necessary so that I could learn all the words and sing it without the music. Not sure if I was trying to audition for the inception of what American Idol was going to become or what? I was obsessed with the song and with Bruce Springsteen.

I don’t know why my mom never kicked me in the derriere for the migraine I must have given her with loudness of the music. I don’t recall my sister telling me to knock it off with the ridiculous droning of the raspy voiced Jersey native. I chuckled when I heard the song today and yet I stilled remembered all the words. I sang along with the song as if I were still a young adult obsessed with the song. (Though my obsession with ‘The Boss’ has changed a lot over the years.)

I guess a little observation can tell you a lot about how a child will be as an adult after all.

Shell Shock

One of the things that I take pleasure in during the summer is fresh fish and seafood. I try to cook lots of clams and mussels because I enjoy the flavor that those bivalves bring to dishes. Coming from towns just off the beaches in Italy, my parents instilled that appreciation in me and my siblings from an early age.

One day I had made some mussels cooked in a little tomato sauce which were quite the hit. After eating the meat from inside, we collected the shells to toss away in a separate bowl. When we cleaned the table, I tossed the shells into the garbage. I did the dishes and then proceeded to watch some television.

After a while I began to hear a clunking sound in the kitchen. Then it stopped. A little bit later, I’d hear something rattling the plastic garbage bag and then it too ceased. Clunk! Yet again. I got up from the living room to see what was going on and when I walked around the corner to the kitchen; there was Foxy with a shell in her mouth.

‘Foxy?’ I said with a high pitch. Knowing she was caught doing something bad, she opened her mouth and dropped the shell on the floor. She hung her head in shame and then sped under the table waiting for her punishment.

I kind of laughed to myself because I realized that she was biting off the little valves that were left on the shells that we didn’t eat. But I couldn’t have her going through the garbage. So I crawled under the table and asked her “Foxy, do you think you are a raccoon? You can’t go through the garbage for snacks and food!” She looked at me and then again looked down with regret.

I went to inspect the garbage can to see how she had gotten in there to collect the shells. She somehow had figured out that the foot pedal, when pressed, would open the garbage can. I examined the garbage can further. I realized that if I unhooked the top, which had a lever that connected to the food pedal, it would make it harder for her to go through the garbage. Problem solved.

I went back to the living room to read the newspaper. After about an hour, I heard clunking again. I got up immediately to go to the kitchen. Foxy was nowhere to be seen. Clunk! “Where is that coming from?” I asked myself.

I walked to the foyer. Under my mom’s curio table, Foxy was spread out on her tummy surrounded by shells. She had a shell in between her paws which she leveraged open somehow and was scraping the valve out of the shell with her teeth. She looked like she had been stranded on a beach if it weren’t for the linoleum in the foyer. I did get mad at her but I had to give her credit for being pretty resourceful. In a way she taught me a lesson on how not to be wasteful. If I had scraped those valves out of the shells, this incident never would have happened at all.

Colorful People

Occasionally you meet people that make an impression on you from the moment they walk in the door. It’s a very difficult skill to master, I’m sure. However some people know exactly what it takes.

Recently I met a number of my husband’s friends and their parents. One group of parents walked in and was so lively that I couldn’t help but notice. The wife, who was tall and thin, was wearing almost all black and a pair of big sunglasses indoors. She quickly lifted the lenses from her face and greeted everyone without completely knowing who everyone was. The husband, also thin and tall, wore a bright yellow shirt, was bald and had a fantastic Einstein moustache. As the father walked in he exclaimed loudly “WOW! What a ridiculous bunch of unfortunate people!” Normally this entrance would have turned me off. However the energy that he had in greeting everyone was so contagious and genuine that I couldn’t help but see that these offhanded comments were just his little ‘thing’.

As the event moved on I talked to the husband for a bit who was just as enthusiastic as when he walked in. He told me how he knew my husband (from years of his son running with my husband and from riding bikes together on the weekends) and what a ridiculous unfortunate fat head he had become. Later on his wife talked to me a little bit and said she couldn’t believe how %(&^#$%# fat my husband had become. I told her that he no longer runs like he used to. But she did tell me that she thought he was the most *%#&#%# wonderful kid she had ever met. She also told me how she had family in Brooklyn and was hoping to get to New York soon to visit them.

The next day my husband informed me that this couple had invited us to dinner with them the next night. I was looking forward to seeing if these people were the same in their home as they were in public.

My husband rang the doorbell to which the husband replied, yelling from the window, ‘who is there?’

My husband yelled his reply and the man said “WOW!” or some other interjection that I can’t remember now. He raced down and opened the door. He gave me an enormous hug thanking me for coming to his house to which I replied “Thank you for inviting us to your house.”

The minute we walked it I was greeted by the couple’s youngest daughter and her two children, who were already in their pajamas. I said hello to the couple’s son and his son, Santiago, who was very adorable and edible worthy. Then the lady of the house came out of the kitchen. She gave me an immense hug as well. She said how she was so happy we could come to her house and share dinner with them. Yet again, I thanked her for the invitation. She said that I didn’t have to thank her. Having my husband at their house for dinner was like having their own %*^#%#% son to dinner. He was like family to them.

We talked for a while – about how my husband and I met, about my father, about my family’s traditions, about what makes good wine and art, etc. We then moved to the dinner table where we continued our talks. The woman of the house told us how she moved to Mexico from the Dominican Republic in December 1972 wearing very light clothes and being so cold she nearly wanted to turn around. I told her that I had visited in January and I had thought I was getting away from the New York winter only to be greeted with the no head chill of a Mexico City morning. She laughed at my story and said ‘My husband could have told me to bring a ^(&#%%)&*^ sweater!’

She then talked about the differences in culture between Mexico and the Dominican Republic. She said that she was shocked by how cold the Mexicans were when she arrived. They were ^(&#%# stuck up and unfriendly. She also said how she didn’t understand how they drank their coffee. In the Dominican Republic, she would have a small espresso and would be wide awake for days but in Mexico people would drink Nescafe. Her eyes opened wide and she exclaimed “What the ^&(#^&(# *%*% was this Nescafe?” I almost cried because I had the same feeling when I first saw everyone drinking Nescafe. I told her how I thought it was the most insane thing to see people sipping coffee sprinkled water. The first time I came to Mexico, I fell in love with the lusciously smooth and flavorful light brewed coffee. She and I laughed and I could tell we bonded.

As the night came to a close it was time to say good bye and good night to the little ones who were running around upstairs. They came down into the kitchen with their footsy pajamas and gave us hugs and kisses goodnight. One of the children, the only girl, was lifted into her grandfather’s arms where she kept petting his moustache in awe. She finally gave him a big kiss and was off to bedtime in her own house. It was time for Santiago to leave as well. He was very energetic and was talking about his toy while his father zipped up his sweater. His grandfather asked him “Santiago, why are you so ridiculous?” to which Santiago gave a big smile. He then was lifted up and shaken in his grandfather’s arms for a big goodnight kiss.

After the grandchildren and their children left, we were left alone with the couple. While the lady of the house cleaned up, the husband gave us a tour of their house. He really enjoyed doing handiwork and showed us how he made their dining room table. He talked about some of their paintings, which were all from the Dominican Republic and were very bright and colorful. Then he and my husband talked about their bike rides together.
Sadly it was time to leave. They walked us to our car. They told us that they were planning to come to New York and that they would love to see us. We told them that they should definitely let us know when they would be in town so we could get together.

It’s nice to be around people who are exactly who they are. It makes you feel like you can be yourself. I appreciated that about this couple and their family. It’s refreshing to meet people who are straight with you and don’t have any hidden agendas. What’s most fantastic about it is the sense of warmth and friendship you can feel so quickly for people who just don’t care what the rest of the world thinks of them.

In Dreams

Lately I’ve been having some very interesting dreams. Every so often I go through a phase where I wake up completely confused by what I’ve experienced in my sleeping state.

Here are some of the highlights of my recent dreams:

One night I had a dream that I was in a Broadway show. My job in this show was to do lots of different voices that could be heard by the audience. One of my main tasks was the nightly reminder to the spectators to turn off their cell phones during the performance. On the particular night of my dream though, I had a cold. So when I went to make the announcement, instead of sounding like a British person, I sounded like a congested Cartman from South Park. The producer looked at me with disappointment. As I went through the curtain to wait my next appearance, the cast members shook their head in embarrassment. That is all I remember of that dream.

On the subsequent night I dreamt that I had to go to the prom. Every couple was given a color that they had to wear. The color given to me and my date was a satin blue. So I went shopping and I found a wonderful burgundy dress that I bought because it looked super fabulous on me. I figured at the time that I had enough time to get a blue dress because the prom was months away.

Finally the prom rolled around and I realized that I didn’t have a satin blue dress. My date, who I’m pretty sure was my husband in the dream, came over with his satin blue tuxedo blinding me from the reflection of the light. When I went into my closet to show him the burgundy dress, what should appear but a shiny blue dress that I would never ever wear in real life. But I wore it and we went to the prom.

I’m pretty sure the dream I had last night had to do with being in the circus but I can’t remember much of the dream in detail.

What do these dreams mean? I’m not sure right now but once I get to analyzing them, maybe they will help me understand what is going on in my subconscious.

The Treasure of Tomatoes

As the summer come to an end, mutterings of an annual event begin to crescendo. It’s time for tomatoes.

My family has been canning (or should I say jarring) tomatoes for as long as they’ve been in diapers. In my youth my father, mother, my aunt and various other members of the family would attack the field of eastern Long Islands in search of farms bursting with rouge orbs. They would scatter about on the selected farm with the strategy of collecting bushel upon bushel of the fruit to bring home and jar for use over the winter.

Occasionally I’d join my family in their collecting (because it was before the school year started), squatting down amid the myriad plants – poking, pushing at the flesh and then picking a variety of shades from green to orange to bright red. After the assembly there was a sorting exercise that would occur. The green were placed in a basket to await their maturity; the orange ones sat in another basket to be ready for use in a few days. All the red ones would be for immediate preparation.

Back in the day we’d convene at my aunt’s house to fill the jars. We would wash the tomatoes, cut them half and clean out all the seed and then cut them into even smaller pieces. My aunt would occasionally flash steam some tomatoes so we could remove the peel. Some of my relatives had food issues so we had to cater to them and create a set of jars with no tomato skin.
When we had strainer upon strainer overflowing with tomatoes, the filling would begin. There was a very specific technique to pack the jars. We needed fresh basil and parsley on hand and sliced bell peppers to assist with the filling. Once we’d accumulated a certain amount of jars, we’d put lids and bands on the card and we’d boil the jars for a while. Voila a stash of summer lusciousness to have through the winter.

When my husband first saw this tradition, I’m sure he wanted to board a plane back to Mexico. Not only because we looked crazy (although that could have been a reason) but also because he didn’t really like whole tomatoes.

In the last couple of years, I’ve been assisting my parents in searching for good tomatoes as well as in filling the jars. This year my husband has been observing in preparation for our taking over the tradition in years to come. I think he’s beginning to see the joy of one’s efforts come to fruition in our year-round, fresh tomato sauce and in the blooming of our veggie garden. Tasting a fresh tomato while being stuck in a blizzard was quite a feat of nature; I enjoy seeing all the work that we do be available throughout the cold winter months.

Medicine Mom

Moms love to give advice; there’s no doubt about that. Sometimes it’s great advice and sometimes, you just have to laugh at what they say.

My mom means well when she gives me her advice but there are times where I just have to turn away and pretend that I didn’t hear what she said. With all my back problems this year, she told me that if I would just wear a girdle all my troubles would be over. Now as much as I’ve been looking into quick fixes to ease my pain, this one certainly never crossed my mind. The only girdle that could help me would be one that was heated and would give my back electrical stimulation. I haven’t seen any infomercials with those benefits yet! My mom is obsessed with girdles (cross reference blog entry Control Top for more on my mom with her girdles-- http://stratforduponangie.blogspot.com/2010/04/control-top.html). She thinks they can help me lose weight, grow a couple more inches, cure world hunger, etc. I’m not sure how something so constricting could be so helpful but my mom thinks the world of them.

Ocean water is another of my mom’s cure alls. She thinks that going into the ocean can cure cuts, bruises, sprains, repair broken bones, cures infertility, and shines silver as well. It’s the ginsu knife of panaceas. Who would have known?

I won’t deny that when I went to the Dead Sea I definitely experienced some healing of skin issues I’d been having. But that’s the Dead Sea; that is what it’s known for. But the oceans on the east coast with all the filthy detritus, why would I step into that to cure anything? Not to mention that if I were going to try to cure something, I’d probably be bitten by a shark. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

Thanks mom but I’ll have to pass yet again on your girdle cure and on the ocean salvation.

Tea Time

When I don’t feel well, there are certain comforts that I enjoy that also bring a speedier recovery. Tea is one of those comforts. Something about the warmth and complexity of leaves brewing delights my stomach. Wrapping my hands around an enormous mug filled with a lovely white or rooibos make me feel strong and safe.

My appreciation for tea began in London many years ago. I abandoned my daily cup of coffee to experience an English breakfast and it set sail from there. My roommate used t make fun of me because I almost always walked around the dorm with my massive mug of tea. The heat and subtlety helped me concentrate and remain calm during final papers and exam time.

I would visit tea shops after finishing a selection to discover a new blend that would surprise me, inspire me or tempt me. Black and white teas were my main poison then. My trip to Ireland only put more fuel to my obsessive fire.

Returning to the states I was maniacal with continuing my new tradition. But I grew tired of the graininess o the black tea and the white tea was too subtle – more like hot water with a drop of floavor than something adventurous.

I turned to green tea which did nothing but revolt me. The flavor of dirty sock water made me want to retch. But I wanted to give it a chance so I tried different mixtures. Nothing worked until I blended it with herbs to cover the soap taste. Mint, hibiscus and chamomile assisted in making it more palatable.

When I went to Nepal with a couple of friends, we went to a tea shop accompanied by our tour guide. Our guide used to work for a tea company so he educated us on the way tea leaves are cultivated and picked. This instruction enhanced my love of the beverage.

While reading the No. 1 Lady’s Detective Agency series, I was intrigued by the red bush tea that Precious often sipped while resolving mysteries. I located rooibos tea in a number of shops and a new respect for tea arose. So when I am not consuming my morning joe, you can usually find me sipping a splendid demitasse of radiance and solace.

The Project

As back-to-school approaches, I always feel like I should be doing something challenging to replicate those good old school days. I have been giving this some consideration for a while. I decided that I will work on two projects, one of which I will chronicle to some degree on my blog. The other one I will do personally and will keep tabs on at a later date.

My autumnal project is to read Victor Hugo's classic 'Les Miserables' in French. I started the project a little while ago and so far, so good. I've read a couple of books in the tome already and it's as inspiring as I thought it would be.

I expected it to be harder to get through than it has been but I like Hugo's style. He does not use difficult vocabulary which makes my life easier. I do have to look up an occasional word but I don't have to carry a dictionary with me while I read which is a great help. If I had to consult the dictionary a lot, I probably would have given up by now.

There are times when his description is a little long-winded but I just skim those parts. His character descriptions are very distinct and visual. Even if I hadn't seen the musical three times, I would have envisioned the characters very clearly thanks to his detail.

I'm approaching the end to the first section called Fantine. On a number of occasions I've found myself gasping at the action taking place on the page. My eyes have also teared up on two occasions. Let's hope it stays this way.

Sneaking a Sip

Walking to work is not a pleasant experience. As my footsteps bring me closer to the building, the dread and lethargy in my body overwhelm me. Occasionally though I do see some uplifting things on my way to work.
Most mornings there is a canine unit out in the street on my way to work. Just seeing the dogs and them playing with their handlers puts me in a good mood. Yesterday, I witnessed a very cute show that made me laugh for most of the day and which made me rethink my walk to work.

There are benches that line the street that I walk by on my way to work. Mostly there are tourists who sit there and eat or take pictures. The locals occasionally sit there to take a breather or to smoke a couple of cigarettes. A particular local yesterday was sitting on one of these benches talking on her cell phone. Sitting right next to her was a super pudgy pug who had his face in her enormous cup of coffee. While he slurped up the coffee, she continued on her telephone tirade not noticing what was happening to the left of her.

The amusing part was not that the dog was lapping up the coffee but that it was a pug that was doing it. Pugs are generally not an active breed of dog so the fact that he was drinking the coffee made me think this little guy was looking to do some exercise. Pugs also have a problem with their noses. Because they don’t have snouts they tend to sound like they always have emphysema. This puggie was no different. He was sipping and sniffling away. I kept imagining him bouncing off the bench and blazing down the street passed the business people and the brokers. Of course that would be my imagination getting the best of me because I don’t think a gallon of coffee would have propelled this puppy in any way. But darn it, he was cute and the sight was delightful.

Regardless, I give the dog credit for being clever and having initiative. I think he figured that as long as his master wasn’t paying any attention to him, he could do whatever he pleased. Even if it wouldn’t result in much energy at the end of the day, he’s still had a taste of a good cup of joe.

Tremors

As most everyone has heard we had an earthquake in New York City yesterday. This was the first one through which I had ever been awake. The other times I woke up and everything was foggy so I thought that perhaps I was dreaming. This time around, I wish I had been dreaming. It was equally surreal but being startled out of bed and thinking it’s a dream is better than being on the 19th floor of an office building in Manhattan.

I was sitting at my desk trying to finish a deliverable. I had just finished lunch and was getting to a groove, when I began to get very dizzy. I thought it was something I had eaten. I realized then that the dizziness was due to the floor shaking under my feet and my desk bending up and down beneath my arms. I looked around my desk to see if perhaps it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks on me. When I saw the other people on my floor looking as befuddled as I was, I knew something was not right.

I rushed to check NY1 on the internet but nothing was reported yet. I got a couple of Instant Messages from friends asking if I had felt that. I confirmed that I felt the building shaking. I said I thought it was an earthquake. Once I said it and understood, I got up from my desk and waited by the staircase for an evacuation announcement. The announcement never came.

The fire safety director said they were inspecting the building to see if it was structurally sound and that if there were any problems we would be evacuated. And we waited. After about 15 minutes, a number of us returned to our desks to check out the news. It was confirmed that the earthquake was 5.8 and the epicenter was in Virginia.

Another announcement stated that the building was still being checked. (I could have died by now. Thanks so much fire safety director!) I called my husband and my parents to check on them. Everything was fine. I got an influx of emails from friends asking if I had felt the tremors. I spent most of the afternoon checking in with people to make sure they were fine.

By 4 pm I had ensured family and friends were safe and went back to getting my work done. The deliverable was a little late but who cares when it comes to being safe. Obviously some people didn’t care about our safety or they would have let us go home. If I didn’t know who I was dealing with before, now I am certain!

Snuffleupagus

Living in New York City you never know who you will see walking in the street. Just the other night my husband and I saw Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones with two little kids. We both saw them and squeezed each others hand and didn’t say a thing more. We didn’t interrupt them or bother them in anyway. There is an understanding among New Yorkers that you should let celebrities live their lives and not bother them.

About a month ago, my husband and I were going to dinner when we saw someone famous. My husband turned to me and said "It’s Snuffleupagus." I shook my head and said “His name is Stephanopoulus." My husband responded to my correction by saying “That’s what I said." And I just continued to shake my head. As we were walking by the gentleman, my husband proceeded to tell me “Man, he’s short!” To which I am sure I became very red. I’m certain the famous person heard my husband’s comments.

On our way home from dinner, we saw a friend and my husband told her how we had seen Snuffleupagus. She started laughing because she had figured out who he meant even though he was doctoring the celebrity’s real name. My husband continued to mention throughout the rest of the night that the celebrity certainly looked a lot taller on television.

By the end of the night, I really wished we had seen the famous Sesame Street character walking in the street than the poor guy who must constantly be picked on for his lack of height.

The Pest

Going to my parent’s place on Long Island is always an adventure. I never quite know what I will find. A number of years ago we found a turtle in the pool which we kept as a pet. In recent years we’ve had visits by frogs that have been the delight of my dog Foxy’s day. She enjoys trying to bite them just as they hop away.

A few weeks ago, I walked in and said hello and walked to the back yard to see how our garden was growing. I looked up into the tree nearby and saw something that looked like a nest. I told my husband about it and as we looked closer, we realized it wasn’t a nest at all. There was a sleeping raccoon propped in the tree in broad daylight. My husband and I didn’t really care one way or another about the visitor. However when we told my dad, he said we should kill it.

He even told my husband to turn to an informercial channel and see if they don’t sell a rifle that he could use to kill it. My husband relayed this advice to me and I just giggled. A little later on my father told my mom about the raccoon perched in the tree. My mom’s solution to getting rid of the raccoon was to shoot it.

Despite how much they argue, they still agree on some things. Later on in the day, a particularly touching moment, my husband and I caught both my parents sitting outside in the backyard talking. No yelling, just talking. As we eavesdropped we came to understand what was happening, they were concocting plans on how to get the raccoon out of the tree.

As the sun was setting, I was reading out in the backyard. I caught the raccoon climb down from the tree and walk along the periphery of the house to wherever it was planning to spend the night. I told my husband what I had witnessed.

The next morning, just after everyone had had their coffee, we went to check if the raccoon had returned. Nope, our neighborhood pest had decided to hot foot it out of the hostile environment. My mom and dad both muttered something under their breath. What my husband and I had heard as something to the effect of ‘we should have shot it when we had the chance.’

The Return

Yesterday morning I awoke with a great throbbing pain in my back and a cramp in my ribs. It had returned. The pain I had felt for a number of weeks a few months ago decided to rear its head again. Fabulous! I had been having a slight twinge in my back for weeks but the rib crushing pain had decided it was time for an encore. What stank is that I wasn’t that thrilled with the concert in the first place.

I bounced out of bed and started doing all the exercises and stretches I had in my physical therapy arsenal. It felt better after the 45 minutes of exercise. But it left me feeling very defeated. Was I going to have to really deal with this for the rest of my life. And the worst part is that I had no idea what had brought it on, just as I never knew before. Could I really be forced to spend the rest of my life doing 45 minutes of stretches every morning and another 30 or so at night before bed?

I guess this is what happens as you get older. Your body does whatever the hell it wants without consulting you. I’ll figure something out eventually with this pain. The detective work begins.

What's Going On?

Today two interesting things transpired either in my view or were reported to me that led me to wonder what is happening in the world.

On my way to the gym this morning, I noticed a lady on the corner trying to hail a cab. She was on the southeastern most corner holding her hand up waiting for a cab to come southward towards her. She noticed a cab stopped at the light on the same southeastern intersection. She waved her hand at the cab to signal that she wanted him to pick her up. She sighed exasperatedly at this cab as if to say ‘Why haven’t you picked me up yet?’

The cab driver in the stopped car looked incredulously at the lady who was obviously annoyed that he hadn’t picked her up yet.

Two things were astonishing to me about this sight
1) The cab was stopped at a red light
2) The lady was only a maximum of 5 feet away from this stopped car. Could she not walk over to it and get in?

The second item was narrated to me by a colleague. He told me that there was a fire drill in his building. Everyone was required to leave their floor through the assigned exits and to walk down two flights of stairs to ‘test’ the evacuation plan. This happens at least once a year in my company. Occasionally they test where we just convene in front of the exits to prove we know where they are. Other times we do the full evacuation plan and more often we do the two flights down test.

He told me they returned only to find that his boss didn’t do the test. He went into the bathroom and hid there until the fire drill was over. I asked myself what concoction he must have been sipping to think this was a wise decision.

Am I wrong to think that there are indications on a daily basis that things are just getting ridiculous? Or is it me?

On Every Corner

Every major city that I have visited has its charm and personality. Some are more endearing to me than others. What I’ve noticed is that the businesses that one finds on almost every corner of a major city can tell you what that city’s residents find most important.

The last time I visited London there were pubs on many of the corners that I walked passed on a daily basis. Londoners love to enjoy camaraderie and tension breaking over a pint. Parisians frequent patisseries where they pick up their bread or a nice tart or pastry on their way home. The smells that waft through so many of those wonderful bakeries make me wish I could transport myself there as I write. For the French a wonderful piece of food is the epitome of a life well-lived.

Romans enjoy going to their cafes. They sip their espressos while talking about politics or the most recent soccer games. Their need for coffee is more an excuse to catch up with their friends than to get a caffeine rush.

Starbucks and Duane Reades pop up every two seconds on the corners of New York City. This goes to show that New Yorkers need their caffeine to get their jobs done, to get moving in the speed and hustle of daily life in the Big Apple. They also meet their friends there as well. But mostly the patrons rush in and out of their local cafes to rush in and out on their way to work or on their way through their routines. Every Duane Reade shows that New Yorkers love their conveniences. They want a place to go to one place to get a bottle of water, a chocolate bar, shampoo, vitamins, etc, whatever they need to get through the day.

What I noticed in Madrid is that hair salons adorn most every corner. On some intersections all 4 points house a coiffeur. Madrilenos care very much about their appearance and every hair must be in its respective place. If the presence of all these hair salons doesn’t let you in on this secret, you just have to watch the natives to know that it is true. Women decked out with such hair dos that one wonders how long it took them to get ready in the morning. Men’s hair gelled or coiffed into positions that are higher than most skyscrapers. The shine on raven colored thread that could blind you if the sun hits it at a certain angle. The theory is solidified every night when the natives go out to dinner or a party. You know that ‘hair product’ doesn’t even begin to encompass what was used to get these city dwellers to look the way they do. They enjoy the spectacle and expect others to spend as much time on their appearance as they do.

When it comes down to it, I’d rather walk past a coffee bar or a patisserie on my daily treks in my city. Those little treats are so much more satisfying than any show I would put on with my hair.

Puppy # 7

As I walked to my local Starbucks this morning, I saw the most adorable little puppy. The pooch couldn’t have weighed more than 8 pounds. He was jumping up and down against a hydrant trying to bite and untie his leash which was linked to the hydrant. When I saw him, I couldn’t help but stop and say hello.

The doggie was very approachable and started hopping up and down my leg. He licked my hand and then proceeded to bite my shirt with his tiny teeth. I asked him if his friend was inside. He didn’t respond except to jump up and down more. By looking at this little fellow, I knew he was the same breed as one of my doggies.

I remember when I first got her. She was in a playpen with the rest of her litter but I didn’t actually see her. She was playing under a blanket while her brothers and sisters were rolling around on top of the blanket. 11 little spotted puppies frolicking in a playpen. It was a precious sight. Out of nowhere popped puppy #7 from under the blanket, which covered her head like a little bonnet. She had the smallest face but the biggest eyes – orbs that created a halo around her face. She walked her front paws up the playpen to greet me. She licked my hand when I greeted her and I was smitten.

She came home with me that night adorned in red bow around her neck. She was in a little carrying case and she whimpered the whole train ride home. When I bought her to my apartment, I cordoned her off to the kitchen with a wee wee pad and a little bowl of water.

As I tried to fall asleep, I could sense her looking at me. I turned myself to not face her. She then began to whimper which quickly turned to yelps. I decided that I couldn’t have her do this all night and wake my neighbors so I went to get her. She ended up sleeping on my chest that night and that was the first wrong parenting step I took.

She had so much energy back then. She would zoom around my apartment, jumping on my bed, jumping off, running into the kitchen and back, spinning around in circles for 20 to 30 minutes at a time – like whirling dervish. She was a ball of electricity! We’d go for long walks together and I’d occasionally put her in my purse for the longer distances. My little shadow accompanied everywhere I went until she could jump out of the purse and would run into the street to tell the oncoming traffic that she was the king of the world.

She has become a pal to my sister, a beggar/treasure to my mom, the tempest to my dad and a tv buddy to my husband. She often reminds me to quickly close the door to the bathroom. Otherwise, I’ll have a visitor. She often pretends to hate her sister, only to give her a big lick when she thinks no one is looking.

To think this little puppy outside of Starbucks was what my little pooch once looked like. It made me want to get another little terrier to add to my duo. But I know Bonnette won’t be too happy with another sibling.

On Hiatus

I was on vacation earlier this month. Since I've been back, I haven't felt like posting anything. I've been thinking about a lot of things and I'm working through them without the help of my blog.

I'll return soon enough. Just trying to figure out how to move forward from here.

The Bullfight

How could I not go? It would be like going to Rome and not seeing the Coliseum or going to Paris and not seeing the Eiffel Tower. Despite my instinct, I wanted to see this cultural fanfare.

Every Sunday night the crowds gather at the Plaza de Toros. Some people sit in the sun (el sol) while others choose the shade (la sombra). We opted for the latter. Families come together to share this moment – much like fathers and sons watch baseball and football together in the States.
The floor of the stadium was covered in sand. As one of the administrators walked around with white paint creating two circles in the sand, the band tuned their instruments.

As the clock approached 8:30 pm, we could see the matadors convening on the opposite side of the arena from us. The band played music you expected to hear at a bullfight – heroic and patriotic pumping and pounding with drums. The matadors finally entered the arena and the crowd went wild.
The tension in the stadium began to build as the matadors prepared their capes and decided where they would stand. A man stood in the middle of the stadium and presented a sign that I thought was the name of the first bull - Zacarias. It said 502 on it. 502 kilograms? Over a thousand pounds? Was this right?

One of the side doors that radiated from 10 o’clock opened and out races the bull - a chestnut colored, muscular and branded steer with a green and red string falling off its shoulders.

The matadors enticed the bull towards them by waving their pink capes. The bull charged. The matador would hide behind wooden barriers to escape getting gored. Then matadors from another area of the stadium would come out and tempt the bull in their direction with their capes. This continued for a while - each matador saving himself from the bull’s horns behind the wooden barriers.

I connected with my Taurean soulmate. I tried to make eye contact with the bull; trying cosmically to tell him to kill the matador some how.
Out came the picadors – the men holding long sticks with sharp points on them. These men rode atop horses covered on all sides with padding. The picador’s job is to stab the bull between the shoulder blades to weaken the bovine. The matadors tantalize the bull with their capes. As the matadors pull away, the picadors stab their steel pointed javelins into the bull’s body.

As I turned my eyes away, I could sense the commotion that was happening around the bull. Bother bull charged into the horse with his horns but he was lured away by the matadors. One of the picadors pierced the bull one more time with his spear and then all the picadors left the arena; their jobs done.

The next part was just as disturbing. A number of matadors entered the arena with long pointy sticks in each hand. One by one they would call and tease the bull. As the bull charged, the matador would jump in the air and come down into the bulls shoulder with the two points. The bull moved away from the human, injured with blood streaming down its trunk and front legs. Another two matadors succeeded in penetrating the bulls flesh. The colorful sticks moving around the body of the bull with no way for the poor bull to remove them on its own. Oh how I wanted the battled bull to bust lose and lance through the flesh of the matadors with his horns.

My wishes wouldn’t come true on this night. The bull was breathing desperately. The main matador approached the bull with a red fabric behind which hid a sword. His purpose was to tire out the bull and then stab him with that sword. Within a few moments, this happened and another matador stabbed the bull in the neck with a dagger.

The crowd cheered for the matador while the ‘cleaners’ came to take the bull’s fresh carcass away. The cleaners tied a rope around the bull’s horns and their group of horses dragged the dead body along the sandy arena floor. This gave new meaning to the saying ‘dragging the bull by its horn’.

We saw another round with a far more spirited black bull. He gave chase and was angrier. I sincerely hoped he’d hurt one of the matadors. But alas, this match ended exactly the same as the first.

For all its majesty and tradition, I was very angry by this spectacle. I did not think it was a fair fight. Of course the matador with his long sword would be seen as courageous. If only the bull had wounded the matador with his sharp horns, then I would have seen this as a fight among equals. Hand-to-horn combat would have been more appropriate – the only weapons being the ones on the body of the animals themselves.

Flamenco

Spanish guitars -- battling between strings trying to tell two or three opposing stories that converge into one harmony, one novel.

Gypsies join in and wail their laments into the hollow wood -- echoing the sadness of their plight. Occasionally their cries create the same pain in the audience. The spectator feels uncomfortable listening to the sounds and sobs of the singers. One wonders if they aren't really in physical pain during their performance, so visceral.

One by one dancers come out and their shoes clap the wooden floors beneath their feet. Twists and turns of the body - hand gestures followed by finger snaps or hand clapping to accompany the competing guitars.

Serious faces on the dancers. Hair slicked into chignons held tight with small sparkly brushes. Fake flowers embrace their heads either beneath, below or to the sides of the bases of their skulls.

Tight topped blouses or dresses, some enhanced with fringe. Skirts that are equally tight but that flow out on the bottom so that the dancers can pick them up while they pound the floor boards like pistons on a steam train.

When they let their skirts down, tiers of asymmetrical ruffles brush the stage as they exit. Only to return to blasting applause and thundering bravos.

All Over the World

What I've noticed in many of my travels is that not matter where you are or where you go, some things are the same.

*The purest and most adorable form of any language comes from children between the ages of 3 and 7. It sounds so sweet with few, if any, slang words, mumblings or cut off endings. Case in point at the airport in Madrid, I heard a French speaking brother and sister discussing the fabulousness of an ice popsicle in the heat. I also overheard a Spanish speaking boy beg his mother endearingly to get him some candy because it would make him feel special.

*Beggars always feel like getting in your face or interrupting your personal space is the best way to get your charity. I am not sure where this habit was learned. Needless to say, I find it annoying when they do this and I am far less likely to give them any money whatsoever.

*At airport boarding gates, regardless of what instructions are given, people line up and crowd to get into the plane. If the crew tells them to wait for a certain group or or row number, somehow people who have no seat anywhere near that section line up to get on the place. This delays the boarding process yet it happens all the same.

*Trinket and souvenir shops in other countries are intriguing beyond belief. Even when you think they are ridiculous and wasteful things in your own country, Somehow if they are in another country, they are exotic and cool. Despite my saying this, I still come home with so many of these things!

Physical Therapy - Conclusion

The end of an era finally arrived. After three months of continuous physical therapy, Angie's sessions were coming to an end. The last three sessions confirmed that there was no more pain for Angie but still enormous stiffness and tightness.

Last week’s sessions were overseen by Shayna who was taking over for Lily while she was on vacation. Shayna gave Angie some new stretches and exercises to do – many of which included the use of a foam roller. Angie had to use the foam roller to assist in stretching out her rib muscles and her shoulder muscles. Although it was painful to use the foam roller at first, the benefit was immediate. As Shayna worked on Angie’s back, it became apparent that her back was still overcompensating for the tightness in her mid back. Although she was no longer in pain, her shoulder on one side and her lower back on the opposite end were very tight. Shayna warned Angie that she had to be very cautious because this type of tightness could re-activate the pain she felt when she originally came into physical therapy.

Angie knew this was the case as Lily had told her the same thing. Angie wasn’t really sure what to do as she was still doing all her exercises and stretches at home. She couldn’t really pinpoint what was creating all this tension in her back. If only there were some kind of magical mailing that would arrive to tell Angie the exact thing that exacerbated her back trouble. But alas, there was none yet.

Lily showed Angie some new stretches as well. She gave her some new variations to exercises she was already doing. These variations would be more challenging and would aid in strengthening the specific spots that still needed improvement.

At the end of the session, Lily provided Angie with some additional exercises and stretches to what she was already doing. She also gave Angie a sheet on ankle exercises because Angie often complained of wobbliness in her ankles. They hugged and said goodbye.

As much as they said they will keep in touch, Angie hoped it was more as friendship than as a physical therapist to patient. The future remains to be seen but this concludes the saga of Angie’s back pain and treatment. Thank you all for your devotion to the soap opera.

Jury Deliberations and the Verdict

We selected the foreperson immediately upon entering the juror room. We then decided to start fresh the next day.

Upon leaving the courthouse, I knew exactly where I stood on the second count. I felt that the government did a very good job of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant had violated this act. The charge explained what I had already known so nothing new was added to my decision in that regard.

When I went home, I re-read the charge around the first count of conspiracy and the legal language confused me. As it was I wasn’t entirely sure that the prosecution was as convincing on that count; now the charge just befuddled me more.

The next day everyone was just as confused as I was on the first count. We asked the judge for clarification as well as witness testimony transcripts to go over pieces of the case. We read the charge aloud and most of us were confused by it. I think at that moment a lot of us wanted to say the defendant was not guilty on the first count because the burden of proof by the prosecution had not been met in our eyes. After hours of discussion, we took a count. 4 people felt he was guilty and 8 felt he wasn’t. I was one of the ones who thought he was not guilty mostly because I didn’t believe the evidence showed he knowingly participated in the conspiracy.

That night I had trouble sleeping. I really had to follow the advice the judge had given us. If I were in the defendant’s shoes, what would I do? What would I be thinking? And I realized that I wouldn’t be in the defendant’s shoes. I would never have handed over that money as was seen in the video. No matter who was asking me, I wouldn’t have gotten into that car and driven across state lines. There was no denying that he was caught red handed in that video and therefore he was guilty in my eyes. It didn’t matter how much he knew before the money drop or during the drive. The fact was he delivered the money and that’s it.

When we returned the next day, there was a change in the air. We took a vote and it was now 6-6. We circled the table to explain our ideas and/or changes of opinion. I do not know if it changed anyone’s mind or not. By lunchtime, we didn’t seem any closer to a decision on the first count. We spent the morning deciding the second count and that was a little more straightforward.

After lunch, we asked the judge to explain one more bit of legal language and that made all the difference. Once she elucidated, we had the answer in our hands. We returned to the juror room and took another vote. It was unanimous. The defendant was guilty on both counts brought against him.

I can’t say that I felt good about my decision. I certainly didn’t want to go into jury duty to come out finding someone guilty of any crime. I do feel that justice was served though because we discussed and repeated every aspect of the charges in such detail. It became maddening at many points – just going over pieces of evidence, transcripts and the charge over and over.

What I learned, aside from due process and how the system works, is that you have to watch what you do in this day and age. Phones are traced and video cameras are everywhere. It’s important to do what you think is right. If there is any doubt, then you should not do it. Overall, it was a very valuable experience and I would do it again. Now I just have to wait another six years before I get another jury summons.

The Trial – The Charge

When all the witnesses were questioned and the lawyers had completed their show, the judge contributed her part to the trial. She handed out the charge. This document explained the details of both of the counts on which the defendant was charged. It was 46 pages long – a small term paper by my standards.

Each of the counts was explained in both legal language and more day-to-day parlance. She read the charge to us and then we were sent to deliberate. We selected out foreperson and then decided to reconvene the next morning.

The charge in itself was super confusing. What was stated in the legal language seemed to be the opposite of what was explained in straightforward language. I actually read the charge 5 times from the moment we got it until we reached a verdict. Seriously, I felt like I was reading some of the philosophical texts in my college days - reading and re-reading in order to come to an understanding. Needless to say, it was one of the reasons why it took us so long to come to a verdict.

The Trial – The Witnesses

The first person the prosecution sent to the witness stand was the Drug Enforcement Agency’s Case Director. He explained how he was one of the undercover agents for a particular ring of drug trafficking/money laundering. He explained the basics of the undercover arrangement and then proceeded to show us a video of the particular night in question. The video showed the money drop in question. The defendant had no knowledge of the surveillance equipment because the video recorder was hidden from his view.

We also heard recordings and read transcripts of many conversations that happened around the particular money drop in question and others that seemed to be tied to this incident. Under cross examination by the defense, it became clear that a number of methods used in the investigation were sketchy or incomplete. This was something the defense questioned for every witness.

The second witness was an officer who was part of the surveillance effort that tracked the defendant from the money drop back to his place of residence. He explained what happens in general on car surveillance and how many cars track the ‘target’ (the person they are following) and then what happened on the respective night. The defense also tore him down in questioning. I watched a lot of this part of the trial as if I were watching a tennis match – fast serve from the lawyer and even speedier return from the witness.

The next two witnesses were cooperating witnesses (CW). They were arrested for committing crimes and their testimony could be used to lower their sentencing although that wasn’t a guarantee. The first CW seemed to be the master mind of the whole drug trafficking and money laundering ring. He explained how the money laundering worked. All of his testimony was translated by a court interpreter. I found this part fascinating because I was ensuring that the court interpreter was capturing each thing exactly as the witness was saying it and not making any changes. I was satisfied with the translations.
The second CW was linked to the case via a cell phone. The cell phone he used made calls to the cell phone in the defendant’s car the night of the money drop in question.
We looked at cell phone invoices and agreements that 2nd CW signed under an alias (a baseball player’s name). He explained how he used the phone and that he recognized some of the phone numbers.

The fifth witness was the arresting officer. He explained how the arrest ‘went down’. He told us about how he read the defendant his Miranda rights in Spanish. And he clarified what the rights were showing in ‘layman’s terms’. The defendant then began to explain his guilt for what had happened.

The last witness was the paralegal for the prosecution. She explained how she went about gathering information for the whereabouts of the cell phones in usage. She got GPS locations for the cell phone used to do the money drop in question. I found her evidence and presentation very convincing.

As the lawyers made their closing statements, I knew how I stood on one of the two counts. The closing statements were entertaining more than revelatory. I knew I would have to make my decision based on the witnesses and their testimony and how much I credit I gave their testimony.

The Trial - Opening Statements

I should mention that prior to our being sworn in, the judge had specified that we could not talk to anyone or discuss any aspect of the trial while the trial was in progress. No postings on the internet and certainly no research on the internet or anywhere. Those outside sources would influence our verdict and we were not allowed to do any of that. She also prohibited us from talking to any of the lawyers or law enforcement people or the witnesses. She said that it’s best to ignore them as no one could tell from afar what you might be discussing. In addition, the jurors themselves were not allowed to talk about the case with each other until the trial was completed.

The judge described how the United States Government, or more correctly, the lawyers representing the government would have the burden of proof. They would have to produce all the evidence to show beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant was guilty of the crimes for which he was charged.

The prosecution (or the government) made their opening statements. They told us that the defendant was being charged with two items: 1) Conspiracy to Money Launder 2) Violation of the Travel Act. (Both of which was explained by the judge early on and why I decided to disclose the fact that I work in the Legal and Compliance division of my company). They explained briefly what those charges meant and that there would be 6 witnesses from whom we would be hearing testimony.

Then the defense gave their opening statement. The defense council explained that there was a lot of incompetence in the investigation and that the evidence would not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that his client was guilty.