Loss and the City

“Roll up your windows! Lock your doors!” my dad whisper-growled to us as he made the exit off the expressway and deep into the heart of the 1980’s Bronx. Unlike roaches that scatter when light is turned on, the squeegee cleaners espied our station wagon and invaded from every direction. ‘Clean’ was now fair game.

Even as my dad made very obvious ‘no’ signals with his head, hand and mouth, they swooped down with their makeshift soapy water dispensers and sponge sticks to muddy the windshield.

“Jesus Christ! I said no! You mother guy” my dad howled.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned to the passenger seat and asked me, ‘Do you have a nickel to give them?’

At that young age, I knew a nickel wasn’t much money.  Most certainly not enough to split amongst the 6 cleaning people I could see. (Were there any people under the car?) My eyebrows took residence on my forehead as I looked at my dad and automatically dug into my coin pocket. Whatever coin I pulled out, I relinquished it to my dad. I was NOT going to crank open the window and give the vultures my precious hand.

My dad cracked the window enough to push the width of the coin through the slot he created. The main entrepreneur looked at the dime and scowled.

My dad screamed “I told you I didn’t want you to clean my window so that’s all you get!” He then pressed his heavy foot onto the accelerator. The behemoth screeched and careened as it turned tossing me against the door. Good thing, I had locked that door after all. For a brief moment, I imagined myself rolling out of the car, being beaten on the same road where we gypped the squeegee guys of their deserved pay.

Back then there were so many suspicious characters, like the squeegee people, who would menace ‘The Big Apple’ and its 5 boroughs. You devised various techniques to dodge bad deeds or unsavory people. You would chant the very useful ‘make no eye contact’ mantra to yourself as you proceeded with your plans. My dad always had an arsenal of comments to recite for any given situation. As they ‘cleaned up’ the city and it became less dangerous, there were fewer incidents with the likes of the squeegee people and panhandlers on subway platforms and cars. My dad however would still have a token term for any ‘riff-raff’ he saw regardless of whether they were threatening or not.

In recent years, all the efforts to ameliorate the quality of life in the city are vanishing. The singers, beggars and squatters are back in full force in subway cars. Groups of homeless people dance, sing and urinate in front of subway entrances (not necessarily in that order). There’s even a group of 5 who I have christened the ‘bad street boys’ that I see most mornings on my way to work. I’ve begun to repeat my ‘look down’ chant numerous times daily. While this makes me sad for the state of the city, what saddens me most is that I can no longer partake in these observations and complaints with my dad.  I’ll no longer hear the audible outburst “You mother guy!” from my dad’s lips, except in my own head. 

Priorities

Back in the day I had a profile up on a popular online dating website. I occasionally went on a date. I was even set up on blind dates by friends who meant well but were obviously not paying attention to my likes/dislikes. All good times, I can assure you.

The other day I walked by a restaurant where I went one of those grand dates and was reminded of how painful those events were. We determined to meet up in the Rockefeller Center area and that we’d see how the encounter progressed – deciding to play it by ear with the rest of the evening.

Things were moving along nicely – discussion flowed relatively easily, the guy in question (I can’t remember his name or what he even looked like) wasn’t too painful on the eyes – so after a long time in the chilly weather, we thought dinner would be a logical move. Given that it was around the Christmas holidays, many of the places we check into were booked solid for the evening. We found one place that had space and were seated at a table in the back. The restaurant was structured in such a way that there was a bar in the front section and the formal dining room in the back. Like any good bar, there was an enormous television set. I happened to be sitting in the dining room facing the aforementioned humongous set. I will add that it was Sunday night.

Back in those days Sunday night was prime and pretty important television time. (It still is now to some but not so much for me.) At the time I was OBSESSED with the show ‘Alias’. OBSESSED doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt about that show.  I dreamed about the intricacies of that show. It just so happened that the screen at the bar was showing ‘Alias’ and despite the fact that the volume was nt on, I was entranced by the show. I could no longer pay attention to a single facial expression on date boy’s face, much less take in anything he was saying. I just couldn’t focus on anything but what ridiculous situation Jennifer Garner’s character was in and how she would get out of it.

And that, my friends, shows you what I ultimately thought of the guy. ‘Alias’ was far more important to me that night than holding a conversation or impressing my date. Needless to say, I don’t recall hearing back from him but I can’t say I blamed him. To this day though, I will admit that there are some guilty pleasures that I will never give up…I can’t think of them now but that thought pattern was true back in the days of ‘Alias’.

The Cloud

Aromas that we smell can evoke memories from our youth or remind us of special people long since gone. The science behind fragrance is a profound one – the right balance of bases and top notes can create a complicated scent that can either entice or overwhelm. I never thought, however, that perfume could be used to kill others until I went to Mexico City for the first time.

One of the first things I enjoy doing when I visit a new place is to go to the market or grocery store and see what people value and what they buy. The prices of food alone can assist you in comparing one culture to another even if only to equate the new place with your everyday experience. It’s an incredibly eye-opening experience in many ways.  In Mexico City it was more than eye-opening, it was suffocating as well. 

The women at the grocery (the majority of the population were female) were decked out in outfits that looked like they were planning to dance choreographed cha-chas down the aisles. Primped to the nines in makeup and hair-dos pinned and sprayed up to ensure not a single strand was away from their scalps. High heels that raised the women up to precarious heights that baffled observers (hi, that would be me) especially those waiting to see how they could manage to not teeter with bags in their hands (or sprain ankles!). As if this visual spectacle weren’t enough, the senses were provoked even more by ‘the cloud’.

If you paid attention to the first paragraph, you already know what the cloud is. But let me throw some more information at you. Having lived in New York City for most of my life, the suffocating smells of urine and garbage greet me regularly on my wanderings. My gag reflex is used to being able to switch on within milliseconds – shoulders pop up to the ears automatically as if to create a stink-proof barrier. Your feet speed up to propel you out of the stink-zone. Within seconds you move to another odor, usually a neutralizing one, and you are safe. No such thing happens in the cloud. 

You bob and weave in an attempt to avoid the fog in front of you; only to find there is another cloud to your left, to your right, in front and behind of you. This is because everyone wears a diluvial quantity of perfume. Even if you somehow get out of one person’s cloud, you unknowingly move into someone else’s cloud.

I believed this was only something that happened in public in Mexico City, but I was wrong. Family members were often the worst offenders of the cloud. What do you say to someone who wants to greet you with a kiss on the cheek and you feel like you’d rather lick a skunk? You move in quickly and hold your breath in the hopes of avoiding as much damage as possible. But no, you come away smelling of the cloud. Then you move on to the next family member, hold your breath, hug and cheek kiss and you have now unwittingly obtained a portion of their cloud. This continues until you’ve greeted all the relatives and you walk away with a horrific and putrid combination of everyone’s cloud. My eyes are tearing up just thinking about it.

Oh and the crazy thing is that recently I thought that if I avoided Mexico, I’d avoid the cloud. One morning on my morning walk to the gym, in a haze of sleep, I was startlingly awoken to the smell of someone’s cloud. A neighbor came out of his building a few minutes before I got in front of his building and his cloud was coming downstream into my nostrils. I didn’t need coffee that morning to open my eyes and I mean that in more ways than one. It was also the moment when I realized why so many tourists often wear masks when they travel. It’s not because they are worried about catching SARS or the Swine flu. They definitely are trying to get away from the cloud. 

58 Degrees

You are waiting for a description of the new boy band, I know. You are imagining the screaming tweens crying and sometimes fainting as their ‘imaginary singing boyfriends’ hop on stage. But nope, it’s not that at all. It’s about temperature. You are perhaps wondering if this is the perfect cooking measurement for a steak tartare. Not correct on that one either.

58 degrees is the ideal temperature. It was what the thermometer read this morning as I pounded the city streets on my way to work. I had on a light sweater and a light jacket and the wind blew on my face (I don’t have much hair for it blow through since I keep it quite short).  My coffee was enjoyable and not used to keep my hands or insides warm. It was my companion on my trip.

When I was younger I always said that 58 degrees was my favorite temperature. It was an arbitrary selection but I knew it was in the general range of light sweater weather. I knew it signified cooler temperatures where a brisk walk was feasible and not something to be avoided. As the temperature decreases over the coming weeks, so will the possibility of walking to work or enjoying the outdoors without looking like I am hoarding tires around me based on the number of layers I have on. Trust me, I do this and look like this.

However this morning, perhaps in a moment of self-fulfilling prophecy of yore, it truly was the best weather. If only there were more days like this in the stars. For now, I’ll enjoy this the best way I can, by taking a walk outside. 

Hard Decisions

Life is a series of choices. Someone, although I can't recall who, said that you are defined by who you are and the choices you make. Of course making those choices comes down to weighing different options and making that ultimate decision.

In the last few months I have had to come to terms with the old age of my first baby, Bonnette. I have had her since she was 8 weeks old. How I got her and why are not even relevant to the story but it helps to clarify that our teamwork together to get through a relationship is what makes our bond even stronger. She is 16 years and 4 months old today. Luckily I have had friendships that have lasted as long as (and even longer than) my relationship with her. I am blessed to know true enduring friendship (both human and canine). It is a considerable amount of time to love something/someone. Let's be real here, most marriages don't last that long. And oddly, Bonnette has been in my life longer than my husband and he and I have been together for a long time. This detail is really to put this all into perspective.

People don't understand why some people love their pets as much as they do. That's not me - and not just because I'm a pet owner.  I have never been one to dress Bonnette up and prance her around the neighborhood. I have simply enjoyed her company, her love, her spunkiness - what makes her Bonnette -  over all these years. Am not entirely sure why I have accepted so many of her quirks and idiosyncrasies when in a person I wouldn't tolerate half of it. There is an innate relationship between human and dog that they accept you for you and you reciprocate without it even being spoken or barked. I suppose that is where the bond is formed.

Maybe the bond is formed in the exuberance of their mood when they see you first thing in the morning and when you come home after a long day at work. They don't care how your day went because the most important part of their day is that you are finally home. They know when you are sick and how to nurse you to good health. They seek you out and want to cuddle even if you don't know that's what you need. They share their small span of time with you in the sole hopes that you will drop some table scraps in their direction.

In these last few days I have had to grapple with the injustice of their short life spans. Why can't she be here with me for as long as I am here on this earth? Why has all the joy I've experienced with her come to so much pain and sadness? So much of it is due to not having spent more time with her up to this point due to work, school and other committments. So much more of it is due to knowing I have very little time left with her. It is these moments of eventual loss when our priorities become crystal clear but I don't know why they aren't more evident beforehand.

With all this comes the overwhelming guilt that I will ultimately have to decide when she goes onto puppy heaven. Although I might not do the actual work, it is my command that will be followed. This is the one command that I truly hope you, Bonnette, will not obey (and you have been quite defiant, by the way and I still love you sometimes even more because of it) but I doubt it. I love you so much wiggle pickle and don't want to see you suffer anymore. I wish I could bring you the same comfort that you have brought to me all these years. But I wish I could bring it to you in life and not in death.

Passing Notes

I believe that people don't really evolve very much after high school. I am fairly certain that I have even discussed this in earlier blog entries but I digress. So many of the behaviors and actions that are prevalent in high school might be muted as adults but the tendencies are always there.

One aspect of those bygone days is note passing. Let's really think about this for a moment. Isn't texting just another form of note passing? You want to talk to someone or you want to talk about someone to someone else then you send a text. Instead of secretly passing a paper through the aisles, you pick up your device, fingers move quickly to express thought and voila...note sent.

But again, I digress. The reason that prompted this entry is due to some incidents in the past few months that I have encountered in the work place. Sadly these incidents all revolve around women so I can't begin one of my sociological experiments but hear me out nonetheless.

In many meetings a colleague or a senior manager will take a pen and write a note to me either directly in my notebook or on a piece of paper and pass it to me. I find this behavior to be very peculiar because as a sometimes teacher, I would immediately notice this comportment in a classroom. I find it hard to believe others would not but it is the teacher in me to look for these transgressions.

What I also find odd in this note passing/writing is that it is often accompanied with an explanation in a whisper of what the note means. I ask myself when this happens "Then why write or send the note anyway when you are going to explain it to me? Just say what you need to say!" I usually nod and try to get back to paying attention to the meeting or to continuing to present the meeting materials.

And here's where the difference is between high school, I don't remember this accompanying explanation. There was just a note and you understood or you didn't. If you didn't, then you'd meet up with the person in the hallway between classes or call that person after class. Perhaps I am forgetting what it really was like because I have such a distance from those times. Occasionally there was the ever covert hand cupping against the other person's ear maneuver to explain. Mostly this was used in urgent situations such as in "that person likes you" or "can I copy your homework"? Rarely was it used to annoy you while you are trying to do something serious - like pay attention in a meeting.

Perhaps I'm waxing nostalgic and should take a time machine back to those days and see myself during those moments of surreptitious communication. I doubt that even if I did, I would notice behavior that's evolved much over time.

The Hawk

There are always people who know nothing more than to be in other people's business. They always want to know what other people are doing and need to be a nuisance. The description of this person fits my mom pretty well. Now, I love my mom, I really do. However, there are things that she does that make my kettle boil tremendously. One of those things is how she insists that my daughter eat at all hours of the day.

My mom grew up during the Second World War. Food was scarce to the point where she and her brothers often had to split one meal or one glass of milk between the four of them. Babies in her time were scrawny and often did not live very long after birth. When I was growing up, I was constantly reminded of how the children in Africa didn't have any food or how she barely had food growing up. I was supposed to be thankful for all the food I had and eat it all off my plate. This logic was faulty in many ways.

It led me to have a strange relationship with food. I did not always see food as fuel but as either a way to gain praise from my mom or to avoid being on one of those commercials on tv where the kids had extended stomachs and flies circling all over them. I often ate more than I really wanted and never understood when I was satisfied. The feeling of not knowing when my stomach had enough was not something I wanted to pass down to my children. So I didn't.

My daughter knows when she's hungry. She tells me when she's hungry or goes and gets something to eat herself. She nibbles (not devours, like her mom) as much as she needs and no more. She has a better idea of portion control than I do. I do not force her to eat because I did not like being forced myself. I see her grazing through the day - a banana here, a yogurt there etc. She's healthy and active and eats to keep herself satisfied.

But don't show my mom this picture of independent grazing or tell her that her granddaughter noshes when necessary. She thinks my daughter is thin. She should be a super fat child like I was. One of my mom's main tactics in getting my daughter to 'mangia' (eat) is to consistently poke food or a cup of milk towards her face. One thing my mom does not lack is persistence. At any given moment if the crew from 'Wild Kingdom' were to eavesdrop on a room with my mom and daughter, they would hear the word 'mangia' at least 70 times.

Regardless of how many times my sister or I tell my mom 'stop it' with the food, it never really settles in. Even my daughter's insistence and repetition of  'no Nonna' doesn't seem to make a dent in my mom's fortitude of food forcing. In spite of my mom's ceaselessness, my daughter often will refuse to eat in front of her. We can sit at the table together and if my mom is watching her, my daughter will show the food on her plate no attention whatsoever. This just raises the stakes. My mother will insist even more and my daughter will walk away from her plate (Score one baby). My mom will attempt to win her over to the food in any way possible and my daughter will ignore her (score two baby).

It's so bad that on two separate occasions my daughter showed her defiant nature. We were eating spaghetti with clams one night and my mom was not in her line of vision. A few weeks later the meal was the same but the seating arrangements has changed.  My mom stared at my daughter like she was going in for the kill, my daughter refused to eat a single piece of spaghetti in front of her. Once my mom left though, she ate a nice portion of the meal.

What this entry is trying subtly to express is that I get a supreme thrill when my daughter sticks it to my mom. I'm pretty proud of her for being able to know what she wants at such a young age. I'm also happy she knows how to do it in her own special way.

The Grass is Greener

A number of months ago I made a job change. Most of the people who know me are aware of this change - the fact that it happened at least. It was prompted after being at a company for many years and not advancing very far despite having stellar reviews year after year. After numerous other factors began to influence my overall well being, I decided to make the move.

Most of my elation was due to the job location being back in New York City. This would make my commute easier and I could get to the gym again- two factors that were incredibly high on my list. On top of those criteria, I was going to get a salary bump and a title upgrade as well. Things seemed great! Until about a month in when they weren't. A month was a very quick amount of time to observe and realize that things were not rosy or green on the other side of the fence.

I will not get into the details of what led me to wake up to the corporate caffeine. Let's just say that a couple of things reared their head such as too much work, no plan to hire additional people to keep up with the workload, and no work-life balance.

I, then, went on a much needed vacation and had a very relaxing time with family and quality time with my daughter. When I came back to the office, it was even clearer as to how unsustainable the model would be if I didn't take more frequent breaks. However the amount of work consistently piled up to the point that a break would not be feasible without incurring double, even triple, the work in the time off. Something was completely wrong. Danger! DANGER!

I am not one to keep my mouth shut about inefficiencies or wasted time. I definitely voiced my thoughts, but as has been so often the case, no one was listening - too many people just expected the job to get done no matter what. Any one else smell this catch-22 here?

Needless to say, idioms such as 'the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence' are truths we say. It often comes to that moment in time when you realize that you often need to be grateful for what you have before you go looking elsewhere for satisfaction. And here's another one for you 'too little, too late.'