Chronicles Continued

Left home at a random time, to make an 11 am appointment. Arrived at my nearest bus stop, and already sitting there waiting were two ‘older’ women, one with a cane in hand. They were in conversation and obviously together so we nodded our hellos and continued to wait apart. The bus arrived, we boarded and the bus drove on. A dozen or so blocks later, I disembarked to catch a crosstown bus. Crosstown buses run east to west and vise versa while the bus I had been on runs only north. The W-E bus [the car and bus traffic on the cross town streets are two ways] was just pulling away from the curb, and I was on the far side of the street. No problem to wait for the next one, I had allowed time and was on a somewhat irregular schedule. As I stood waiting, the two ladies, slowed in walking by the cane bearer, appeared at the bus stop to wait along side me and others. The W-E bus eventually appeared, we all boarded and I thought no more about them.
Hours later I catch the now E-W bus and must take it to yet a fourth bus for the day, a bus that runs South, to return home. As the E-W bus approaches the South bound bus street, I see the desired bus, at the stop already. Disembarking from the bus, after some delay, I now have the traffic and the ‘don’t walk’ sign forbidding my ever making that bus. I am resigned; the south bound bus can be a long wait. [20 minutes]  As I wait on the other side of the street, the bus does not leave.  Hope.  The traffic stops, the light changes and I run toward the bus that inexplicably still has not moved.  As I approach the bus, a man is picking up the last cards and contents of his wallet. He had dropped it and had spewed the contents all over the entrance floor to the bus and a couple of pieces in the street.  Because he was older and with a somewhat infirm companion, it had taken him longer than a young spry man to gather it all back up.  I made the bus!  I board, pay, and while walking along the aisle to the back, to my right I see the two ladies.  ‘Well,’ I say, unasked, ‘What are the odds?  I waited with the two of you many hours ago for the North bound bus and here we are now.’  “Yes”, replied the cane-less companion, “We are watching you, and know your every move.  You better behave yourself, because we’ll be there.”  I chuckled, and walked to the rear.  Many blocks later at the end of the line, we three exited.  They were first.  As I passed them, I said, ‘What are your plans for tomorrow, are we on for lunch?’   “No,”  said the cane-less one, we’re in all day, so you can have the day off too.”  What are the odds.

That was an eye-opener.  Don’t expect to be offered a seat, or given an opportunity to take one. The men and the young girls grab them before you can rearrange your luggage to get there.  Caught me by surprise, because of the number of times I’ve been offered a seat in the City.  In DC maybe it’s the mix of cultures that eliminates the courtesy.

Two autumns ago I purchased two boxes of bulbs to plant in pots on my balcony. They were standard supermarket quality.  When I opened the box, the little bulbs were dried out and unusable.  I returned the dried up specimens to the New Jersey office of the Dutch grower.  I never received acknowledgement that I had written.  I chalked their customer service up to the same quality standards as the bulbs.  Then this past autumn, one day at the Post Office, I am handed two rather large boxes.  I take them home and open them, and inside is a wonderful assortment of bulbs, high quality, big bulbs.  The New Jersey office is so sorry my bulbs were inadequate and hopes these ‘replacements’ will make up for it.  I wonder why they sent me two boxes, and then I understand.  My name and address is on the shipping label of both boxes, but the enclosed letters, one is addressed to me, and one to Pete Smith, who lives somewhere else, not at my address.  I plant all the bulbs, Pete’s and mine.  I write the company to thank them.  I thank them for my bulbs and for Pete’s, but I enclose in my reply their letter to Pete, suggesting that he would more than likely be as delighted as I am with the ‘replacements’.  I also assure them that I have planted Pete’s share.  The bulbs sit on my ‘balcony/fire escape’ all Autumn and Winter 2012-2013.  February, the shoots start to appear through the potting soil.  March, a bit more growth… but come April, nothing.  All the growth I saw is gone and new growth appears to be stunted.  This I didn’t understand.  Yesterday I brought them in, dumped the bulbs out of the pots, into the sink to see what had happened.  There was good root growth, but the bulbs appeared to have been sheared off.  I replanted them, exposed a bit more to the sun and one that had semi-survived I planted near the top of the rim of the pot.  I set the three pots back outside.  I was working on a script, which I do best by wandering and reciting and as I approached the window, unexpectedly, something moved, fluttered away with haste, a gentle, dainty, graceful pigeon.  How did they find my  pots?  I have watched for the past 24 hours and two or three have been hanging around on the fire escape stairs, checking out the new pottings.  They have been feasting on my tender new shoots.  I will once again have to buy potted, blooming bulbs, foregoing the satisfaction of a do-it-yourself-experience.

At every door step, these telephone books.  No one uses a telephone book anymore. What is this company thinking… Obviously they make sufficiently on advertising to keep producing them, but speaking of a waste of paper/trees etc.; they should be banned.  At the end of the day/week, they all end up in the trash, hopefully recycled.

Sometimes, someone else writes a story that is too good not to share.  If you visit Rockefeller Plaza, ‘ the rock’ you see two small buildings on either side.  These original owners held out and would not sell when the RP was being built.  Here’s the full story.

http://www.scoutingny.com/?p=6495

copy and paste to your browser

This is exciting.  There are two locations in my neighborhood.  And how clever of Citicorp.  And how unhappy some additional car driving folks are going to be — loss of parking spaces is a big deal in the city.  Can’t wait.

Walked by him on my way to the shoe repair shop.  He was tucked into a wedge between two buildings, where there was a small ledge on which to sit.  He was reading a book.  It was the open book on his lap and his toes peeking through his socks that caught my attention first.  The sunshine in which he was bathed was second.  After finishing at the shoe shop, passed by again.  Noticed all of the above once again, and how engrossed he appeared to be in what he was reading.  A few yards further along, I turned around.  I had missed such an opportunity on another occasion and was sorry.  I approached him, and saw that his toeless stockinged  feet were sitting a top a pair of shoes.  “Excuse me, but would you like a cup of coffee to go with that book?”  He looked up with the most beautiful clear eyes, and as he had a cotton in one ear, looked somewhat quizzically and said, “if you’re offering.”  “I am,”  I replied. “That new coffee shop there, shall we give it a try?” “Do you want me to come or…?”  “Of course, please come,” and as we walked the few yards I asked him what he wanted.  “Coffee with milk?  Sugar?”  “Yes, that would be fine, thank you,” he replied . We reached the door and I went in.  Turned around and realized he was still on the curb.  I returned to the open door threshold and said “Would you like to join me?”  No, he said, I’l just wait here.  Given that his clothes were totally street and compared to everyone inside he was ‘underdressed’, I understood his social hesitancy.  Asked if he wanted any coffee cake or something else, but he said coffee was fine.  I returned with the coffee, raw sugars, wooden stir stick, and handed them to him; we walked back to his wedge in the wall.  “What’s your name?” I asked. “Charles” he said, without hesitating.  “You are so well-spoken, Charles,” I said.  “Life does some funny things to us sometimes and well…, you know…”  “Yes,” I replied, “Most of life I don’t understand…” and I too trailed off.  We had reached his perch and I walked on.  He was not what he appeared, but I will never know.  The book he was reading was a Readers Digest condensed version.

Middle in the platform, a long distance from the previous post about the sign about the flashing light is a kiosk that sells what mid platform kiosks in subway stations sell, sugar, reading materials and more sugar in liquid form.  Most likely the kiosk, if being held up, has a button to push which trips the light to flash… but hey, how about a direct call to a nearby police station.  Certainly in this day and age we can arrange that?

Remember a while back, the story of the young woman with baby, begging on the subway?  The comment was that she was nicely dressed and didn’t look distressed in the least, but she had an accent and a cardboard sign saying she needed money for herself and her baby.  Well, low and behold, on the subway today, and she came around again. Her tactic is to stop right in front of a person and say, I need money.  When she stopped in front of me, I look at her eyes and said, ‘I saw you doing this last year’.  She moved on.  It made me wonder if the baby is in fact a doll.  A cabbage patch doll would work, or any other, as the ‘baby’ was the exact same size as last year.  And it’s still cool, so baby is covered, but hanging in a sling facing toward her.  Next time I’ll ask to see said baby.

Last night, attended at the New School – a packed auditorium – the screening of the Documentary: Do The Math.  The film was so well received, it got a standing O.  The film is well crafted and the message is urgent.  Check out the film, the film makers and the message at 350.org.  It was also beyond description to see the director, who is a graduate of the New School/Actors Studio, stand on the stage as presenter and be recognized as a graduate. Those are uniquely special moments of being in the City.