Chronicles Continued

It was HOT! Walking down 42nd Street away from Times Square, navigating bustling groups of tourists, I was early for my next appointment and seeing a 7-11 decided I had time to pop in to get some cooling seltzer water. As I pull on the door handle to open the door, I look to my left. Sitting on a duffle bag is an attractive 30 something man, with a paper cup in hand, asking for donations. At that split second, just adding to his cup didn’t feel like help in fact felt futile. So as I held the door open, feeling the cooling from the AC inside, I asked him if he wanted something to drink. He looked at me with a surprised smile and said, “Yes. An Arizona tea with Ginseng and Honey”. Something about the specifics of his request, caught me by surprise, but all of a sudden, I felt directed on a mission. Entering the store, I easily found the selzer water for myself but now to find the tea. There it was: Green Tea with added Ginseng and Honey and a special price on each can. I picked up two. Before approaching the cashier, I returned to the front door, opened it and held up one can, “Is this what you wanted?” I asked. “Yes”, he replied. At that same moment, I heard a bit of chatter at the cash register, the clerk being unsure if I was attempting to leave without paying. I joined the line at the cashier, paid for my choices and went out the door. As I handed him the cans, which he took one in each hand, the wondrous look of delight on his face was a generous gift to me. “This is really my favorite”, he said. “Enjoy”, I replied, as I walked away, unscrewing my bottle of seltzer to have a refreshing sip.

Arrived in the ‘country’ early evening and guess what!  Again, Nooo water!   Sooo, I checked all the usual things, levers, fuses, handle on the pump in the basement etc and everything fine. Took a breath, and then went out and moved the leaden lid on the pump house and as it is still daylight, saw the yellow lever was once again in the pushed down off position.  This could only mean, said porcupine had been at work, and I could see a multitude of chewings and shavings. I went back inside, waiting for the caretaker-person to answer my text to tell me that indeed it was the yellow lever that needed to come up – but no answer from him forthcoming after waiting an hour. So taking my luck in hand as well as a swifter, which has a long handle and a circle at the end of the handle – most likely for hanging up, moved the incredibly heavy lid even farther away from the top ledge of the cement housing just to make certain there were no other levers or choices for turning on and off.  It was then I saw him/her — all hunkered down in the bottom of the pump house. Thank god it was too deep for me to have instinctively jumped down into or he/she and I would have been side by side and me adorned with some ankle ornamentation.  I put circle at the top of the swifter handle, around the yellow lever and pulled up.   Returned to the kitchen to see if water was available from the faucet, or was now the whole thing going to blow. Had water.  I once again went outside because the housing needed to be recovered to protect the exposed wires from rain.  But he/she is in the bottom on the floor.  I cover the pump side, as all the electrical boxes and wire are fastened to the east wall and left the other side -a jar.  Propped up the lid with two logs from the wood pile, so that when he/she decides to come out, he/she won’t stand on the lever and cut off my water. [Googled to find out if the beast in nachturnal  but have no answer.] The joys, once again of country living.  At least I am not having to be vigilant as the two prison escapees have been accounted for and the latest one from Mexico, should he decide to cross the border, is going to pay a visit to The Donald, before he wends his way upstate.

The Pump House Resident

Dog watching: one of my least favorite activities in the City.  One has to leash them, then follow up by collecting everything they ‘drop’; there are so many other dogs that have to be greeted, and so much sniffing.  My god, the stops and starts.  I call it dog google: every pillar and post has to be nosed and peed on or near. It is the most jerky walk experience.  Got up early, very early to take them out, as it was the weekend, and I figured if I was out early, there would be fewer dogs, fewer people in general and I could be lax about my appearance.  I walk the jerky walk for 3/4 of a block.  Cross at the intersection light and begin the jerky walk on the next block of sidewalk.  I walk to the end of the block, which in the village are small blocks, and all of a sudden, a very clear realization, that I do not have my keys.  I had hooked the keys into my waist band, and I feel instantly: they are gone.  Now, I have not gone far.  I immediately turn around to retrace my steps…not to be found.  No where!  I can not imagine that someone else has picked them up so quickly.  What are they going to do with them?  The key chain is from Australia and distinctive seed pods, three of them roped together.  Also on the ring is my aborted seaplane ride – indicated by a seaplane charm hanging with the keys.  For the rest, no name, no number.  Why would anyone want them?  I trace and retrace so many times, I’m wearing grooves in the cement sidewalk.  Finally decide I just better get on with it, as I have a “scene due” in class in less than 2 hours.  But of course, I am locked out!  And the best part is: the inner door, had been defect for all the years I live here.  I did not know it until a new tenant pointed it out last week and suggested it should be fixed.  He was absolutely right, so the super it fixed, yesterday!! By chance, just now on exiting, I had left the ‘outer door’ ajar.  So I could get in to the entrance hallway.  But the next door, was now fixed and not accessible. Had I been able to get in the second door, as I could have the previous day, I have an apartment key hidden in the building, so I can always access that and my apartment.  Of course, I am outside sans phone, so can’t call the super.  Don’t know which apartment is his, just know it is in one of the buildings but with a phone, I can text him.  There I stand.  Dogs in hand, looking, well, less than stellar, and no way to open the door. There are 8 units in my building.  Who do you buzz on a weekend morning?

This is about the retired/empty TWA terminal at JFK airport.  In between my junior and senior year of University, worked for TWA London, and flew through here, coming and going!  Later, many a round trip to Europe. Oh the memories. So long ago.  Wanted to post the pictures to here, but the article below is so good with pictures, you will want to see for yourself.  TWA is pronounced ‘t-waa’ [short ‘a’] if you are a child from Holland who flies it for the first time when two years old.

http://ny.curbed.com/archives/2015/06/30/explore_the_twa_terminal_a_pristine_time_capsule_from_1962.php

 

Thank you for reading my posts.  I realize how much I like living here, by my daily determination to share with you my experiences.  I feel so at home in the City and feel privileged to be able to live here.  It suits my mental and physical needs in a way that only a few other places do.  Thank you.

The Documentary.  It is here in the City.  Seven children held apart from society in a 4-bedroom public housing apartment.  When you watch the film, which is deeply disturbing on so many levels, you can see the exact location by the views out the window.  The contents of the film have stayed with me for days.  When you read reviews, look for the ones from June of this year.  The film debuted in January at Sundance and at that time, everyone was in awe of the subject matter alone.  Now six months later and it’s coming to theatres, the questions are many.  All in all, I feel the young film maker made some good decisions given the gravity of the subject.  It begs however for a follow-up document of some sort, as the questions asked and unanswered are numerous.  A must see with someone, because of the inevitable ensuing discussions.

He boarded the subway train, one stop after I did.  The car was sparsely populated, but he sat opposite me. He wore a headset and had a coke can and candy bar wrapper in his hands.  He sits, and immediately drops the wrapper on the floor between his feet.  For 5 stops it lay there.  I was getting off on the 6th, so I stood, approached him and as he was listening to his head phones, softly touched him on the knee to get his attention.  He looked up.  “I’m getting off at the next stop,” I said, “And would be pleased to take your wrapper and put it in the trash.”  A second’s pause.  “Oh” he says, “I work for MTA*, and I am going to pick it up when I get off at the next stop.”  We exchange surprised looks.  We both exit at the next stop with a “Have a good day”, sign off.

*Manhattan Transit Authority – oversees subways, buses

This happened in California, according to the article in the paper.  A reporter on the street, asked citizens what the day was commemorating ?  Too few knew.  The answers ranged from Civil War victory to… having no idea.

http://www.infowars.com/video-americans-have-no-idea-why-they-are-celebrating-the-4th-of-july/

The way some live is changing: Western states have pockets of cancelled fireworks due to drought.  Here in the City, life goes on as is.

The fun, was watching the cars circle the block time and time again, for the takes.  The un-fun was the anger of some locals on being held back from walking down the sidewalk while the filming was happening. “Not my movie, not my problem” was clearly the attitude. “Let us pass”.  And the reality is, there is no legal way to forbid their ‘present day’ presence in the shoot.