Chronicles Continued

Today, the sidewalks of the UES* were decked out – as if one was walking among easter parade participants or a christmas day event [for lack of a better comparison, for those of us not celebrating Rosh Hashanah].  Everyone we passed on our way to a non-celebratory rehearsal lunch was dressed in their finest, or, at least one of their finest.  The girls- linked together by arms, the fathers hovering proudly and protectively to the side, the wives pushing carriages of all types and the grandmothers proudly clutching the arm of a grown grandson or an available son.

 

*UES = upper east side

… that a specific sector of the population influences much that takes place in the City.  Today, there are no street sweepers, the ones for whom signs are posted and folks must move their cars from north side of the side, to the south, or east to west in order to accommodate these tank like trucks that sweep the street with regularity. Today is Rosh Hashanah – the Jewish New Year and it is a holiday for many departments within the City.

.. not so sure about the eyeglasses.

Seated at the theatre, behind a woman, I judge to be in her 70’s.  She has a great head of white curly hair and has made a bold choice in her sundress and many ringed fingers.  She is with a friend and they chat.  I notice that she has, not one but two pairs of almost identical wire rimmed glasses stuck in her hair, on top of her head.  I am curious.  Has she put one there, forgetting that another is already there?  Why doesn’t her friend say something?  It seems forward to tap on her shoulder and ask.  And clearly no one around me is at all curious.  So, I mind my own business, but continue to watch.  Her friend points to something in the program, and woman-with-glasses reaches up for a pair and grabs  the more pinkish frame.  She brings them down and dons them.  Immediately she removes them, reaches up with her other hand, brings down the more purplish colored wire frames and with the other hand replaces the pinkish frames back in the bed of curly hair.  The purplish ones remain on her nose.  Obviously she has two pairs, because they are different strengths!

This is just one small piece of beauty known as the Oregon Coast.  Try to equate that with life in the City.

The City that Never Sleeps… Could be the mattress!

Now that tickles my funny bone.

Returning to the City on a red-eye flight from Portland, Oregon means I land at JFK at 6 am on 8/20.  By the time I am home to my abode, it is time for a nap and after that I get up and go to the Post Office for the gathering of my mail-on-hold.  As there is a bin full, I stop at one of the counters, to sort: toss and save.  As I am nearing the end of the weeding, I look at the sole piece of paper, lying next to my stack.  And then I look more closely.  Now what are the odds that someone, just ahead of me, that very day, the time is within a few minutes of my sorting, mails a small package to Portland, Oregon and leaves the receipt.  I have no idea if there is any meaning, but  it certainly is noteworthy!

{from the new york times.  their words, my pictures}
Ms. Genger, 34, has delivered her largest and most labor-intensive work yet, a public sculpture in Madison Square Park called “Red, Yellow and Blue.” On view through Sept. 8, it’s made of 1.4 million feet of hand-crocheted lobster-fishing rope, which she has used to create three towering enclosures, each painted a different primary color.  Covering three separate lawns in the park — some 4,500 square feet —Ms. Genger has handled practically every inch of its materials herself. For the last two years, she and a team of assistants, have spent almost every day in her studio cleaning lobster claws and fish bones out of the rope and crocheting it into the chunky scarflike strips, some 150 feet long, that she used as building blocks.

Am sitting in a car on the subway train that is being held at the station.  While a train is being held, the doors are always left open.  This allows for comings and goings as folks change their minds about being delayed.  It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, and after reading all the signage above my head and looking at the stops to come, posted in neon, I look out the open car door.  Across the platform is another train, also being held in the station with open car doors.  I look.  There appears to be a young man, fellow actor, sitting on that train.  But he is a bit too far away for me to be quite certain.  I try to look more keenly.  At the same moment, he looks up, and apparently feeling my stare, sees me and waves.  The next instant he springs up out of his seat, dashes across the platform toward my open car door.   I jump up and as he enters the car, hug him, while we both exclaim about this chance meeting.  Now what are the chances of that in a City of a few million.  Why I love this town!