Category Archives: Summer Streets

Traveling, Week Thirty-Two in the No Longer New Abnormal

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This weekend I walked in the steaming heat enjoying Summer Streets while traversing Park Avenue without cars.  I will miss the next two Saturdays, so it was a pleasant reprieve to have more than enough room while walking among pedestrians, runners, and cyclists.  I am going away.  Initially I packed for a hot summer, but according to the lower temperatures in Dublin I was ill prepared.  Following my lovely and tiring walk, I  unpacked and repacked for a ten-day trip to Ireland.  Instead of tank tops and sandals I’m bringing sweaters and socks.  

I am very excited.  Reading Edna O’Brian and Roddy Doyle, starting in high school, have instilled in me a love of Ireland, though I’ve never step foot on the Island.  It was my college friend, Shawn Wilson’s idea.  We had been trying to get together for years.  We both have busy professional lives with very different schedules.  Shawn threw out the idea and the trip was planned within a day.  Not only did we agree on the one week that was good for both of us, but she found an amazing local tour that appealed to both of us.  Since I am usually the planner in my family, it was an extra luxury to have my friend take care of the details.  

We’ll meet up in Dublin and go from there, probably taking too many pictures.  In the meantime, I have a few off-the-beaten-path pictures of New York City, pre-vacation.  

Self-Care Tips:  

  • Hugs.  If you know a good hugger exchange a great hug.  If you are on your own, wrap your arms around yourself for a self-loving embrace.  
  • Seek out something unusual for you.  Read an article from another point of view.  Look up an unfamiliar country and find out about its culture, foods, landscape and customs.
  • Enjoy in-season fruits and vegetables.  The peaches are divine.  The strawberries and blueberries are at their peak.  And summer squash is sweet and versatile.  

Beneath the Facade, The Thirty-Third Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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Growing up my mother and her mother were sticklers for good manners.  I made a point of saying please and thank you.  I was afraid they would view me as rude, and I didn’t want that moniker.  My grandmother would point out other children who might have been louder than us, or publicly whiny, and she’d use those children as cautionary tails of behavior we were to stringently avoid.  

I appreciate good manners.  Things can be pleasurably orderly when people stick to the rules, when the rules make sense for all.  And I am always grateful for good manners.  Yesterday, when I once again rode Park Avenue for Summer Streets, I made a point of thanking the police and the Department of Transportation volunteers and temp employees for being there.  I was so grateful and happy to share that gratitude.  All but one smiled back, and they were nice exchanges along the beautiful ride.    

I was grateful I started out early so that the roads weren’t crowded.  I was grateful for the cool morning air, a rarity in August.  I had filled my tires so my ride was smooth.  And to those that I thanked I may have seemed nice.  But lurking underneath the gratitude and manners was a highly judgmental, cranky older woman.  For the day I had become an architype.   I was mad that some cyclists were in the right lanes, while some runners were in the left lanes.  There was clear signage.  Had I not been a shaky rider, I could imagine myself raising a fist each and every time I noted an interloper.  I also wasn’t pleased when motor bikes vroomed down the supposedly gas-free streets.  

In hindsight, I think these things scared me.  I’m a tentative cyclist.  I like empty roads without ruts. Smooth riding feels safer to me.  If I give myself grace, I can now see that my righteous anger was a defense of my fears.  And perhaps my fright isn’t specific to my bike ride.  Maybe it’s global warming anxiety.  Or a world in which people act out their fury in arbitrary ways.  Or fear of an unknown future.  Whatever the case I will do my best to ease my fears while living fully.  I’ll continue to have good manners, a multigenerational practice.  And I’ll check myself with care when my anger, judgment, and cantankerous nature peak out.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • When angry, check to see if the strong emotion is protecting a more vulnerable part of you.  If so, see if you can soothe yourself making room and a safe space for your frailer nature.  
  • Challenge yourself in small ways by doing things that feels doable even if you’re a little bit afraid.  It can be as small as a public bicycle ride in a busy city, stating a preference when you’re usually agreeable, or stepping out in a way right for you
  • Try reading or watching a genre that is new or different for you.  I came to appreciate graphic novels, even if it’s not my go to.  See if you might come to understand what others see in another genre.  

Lost in Brooklyn, The Twenty-Ninth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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I set out to go to The Brooklyn Museum to see the Africa Fashion exhibit.  I had intended to see it twice before but got waylaid, so my determination to get there yesterday was fierce.  My plan was to slowly jog in Prospect Park getting out at the arch and walking the few blocks to the museum.  Once I made it to Prospect Park at an unfamiliar entrance, I opened up Maps on my iPhone and set off.  

I had slung a string backpack over my shoulder with my knee braces for the run as well as an umbrella for the unpredictable weather.  After securing my knees in place with the braces, I left the bench and turned back to the Maps app.  I was curious. Though not so familiar with Brooklyn, I would have thought I should go right on the drive rather than the left the app instructed me to take.  With a momentary pull of doubt, I started off on my slow jog, sun unexpectedly shining, bearing left on the path towards the drive. 

In just over a mile I was instructed to leave the park.  I was surprised I had been so close when the app indicated that I was miles away.  When I exited, I was nowhere near anything familiar, but I ended my run and continued on my journey walking to the museum.  Ninety minutes later, past a huge cemetery, on the edge of Prospect Heights, then into Fort Greene, ending in Gowanus, right by the newly constructed business area by the Gowanus Canal.  This was nowhere near the Brooklyn Museum.  Perhaps there was a Brooklyn Museum section of the Design Within Reach store that was where the app stated was my destination.  Ah, the limits of technology.  

I enjoyed seeing the new construction and the warehouse spaces that were a contemporary take on a Brooklyn aesthetic.  There were places to shop, and places to eat.  Young business people came and went, coffee in hand, trying to finish out their work week.  By the time I sat in an industrial style courtyard there, I wasn’t sure if I should just head home, or if I should circle back and view the exhibit.  

Hot, sweaty, and tired, I trudged to the closest subway station, still uncertain whether I was returning to Manhattan or finally seeing the month-old fashion show on display.  In the end I transferred to the IRT 2 train and got off in front of the museum.  I was disheveled yet determined.  I showed my ticket and made it in.  

It was less crowded than expected.  Good for me, as I could take my time and enjoy the beauty of the craftsmanship and the artistry.  I was not disappointed.  It spoke of history, joy, and cultural pride with all 54 African countries represented in one or more ways.  And, though my tour through Brooklyn was two hours more than expected, it is true of this weekend, that all’s well that ends well.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • The next time you get lost, rather than spend your time trying to get back on track (unless someone needs you to be somewhere on time), look to see what is around you and take in the unexpected surroundings.
  • If you’re in or around Brooklyn, take a look at the Africa Fashion exhibit.  It is inspired.  
  • Try something new.  It could be listening to a new artist, trying a food or dish you normally don’t eat.  It could be meeting someone new, reading something not familiar to you.  Whatever it is, see what you learn about the subject, and/or about yourself.  

Happy Jewish New Year, Week Thirty-Nine in the New Abnormal

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The Hebrew Year 5783 is upon us.  It’s a celebration of new beginnings.  Sometimes called the great reset.  We have a tradition of bringing bread crumbs, which symbolize our sins, down to the river to release them so we can start anew.  For me the letting go of the recent past to move on is an unburdening.  It’s a kindness we can give ourselves in letting go of what we deem to be opposed to our values.  It’s a personal forgiveness so we can live better lives through right action.  

I love the symbolism in this act.   Not only do I affirm the wrongdoings of this past year, but it holds me to a higher standard, which I appreciate.  Even if I lose my cool when I get upset and don’t take a moment to pause, or I unintentionally hurt someone, I am still one step closer to learning from my missteps. 

Life is filled with lessons.  I have a friend who always reminds me when I get frustrated or upset with someone, that they are my Buddha.  That person is there to teach me if I’m willing to learn.  When I just want to be right, I have the opportunity to bring compassion for myself and others.  In those moments, I’m not so thrilled to embrace the lesson, but with time, especially on the eve of this New Year, I am motivated to try again.  

Self-Care Tools:

  • Find a way to let go of things you’ve done that you have a hard time forgiving.  Create a ritual that will assist you in forgiving yourself while learning from what was done.  
  • In place of being hard on yourself, or justifying hurting someone else, be gentle and kind to yourself, and in turn, to others, easing any internal criticism. 
  • Dip apples in honey.  The apples symbolize hope and abundance, while honey symbolizes sweet possibilities for the New Year.  

Scaffolding, Week Thirty-Four in the New Abnormal

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Pre-Covid, I took a wonderful writing workshop with Emily Raboteau at the Key West Writer’s Workshop.  Not only was it a beautiful setting, but the guest speakers and the workshop itself were invaluable.  One thing Professor Raboteau taught us was the necessity of proper scaffolding to support the writing.  It took time, but I built my scaffolding.  It’s been more precarious than proper, but I worked with the materials at hand and I’m finding my way.

In terms of all types of scaffolding, New York City brick buildings must be inspected every five years.  If they need to have new bricks to replace the old, scaffolding goes up and the work begins.  Such is the case for our apartment building.  It’s a messy job that clogs air conditioners and gets dust between closed windows.  Nonetheless, safety comes first.  I’m hopeful the scaffolding is safe for the workers and protective for pedestrians.  Though It adds a dark, ominous feeling coming from and arriving home.  

Even so, as the many workers toil in the August heat laboring their way around the building, it has brought to mind the importance of creating scaffolding, not only for writing and edifices, but for our lives.  Supportive friends and family are great members of our scaffolding.  But the care we can provide ourselves is essential. Sometimes I do a better job than when I’m avoiding my feelings, or caught in anger, resentment, or victimhood.  Walking, meditating, reading, delicious, nourishing meals, are some of the nuts and bolts of my scaffolding.  Writing has become part of the foundation.  Laughing is a daily essential, though I forgot my sense of humor last night.  

I’m glad I noticed that so I can fix it today.  Just as the buildings in the city need inspection and improvements, my precarious scaffolding requires daily upkeep. Perhaps after a good cry, I’ll dance today bringing in music, while laughing aloud.  My scaffolding makes room for emotional variations.  Feeling those emotions is a crucial element of my scaffolding.   Let the progress continue…

Self-Care Tools:

  • List what elements of scaffolding you already have in your life.  Then add small supports that will augment your list.  
  • Remember to laugh whenever you can.  And, if you lose your sense of humor, do whatever helps to bring it back.  It will lighten your perspective
  • Thank workers for what they do.  Our lives are supported by all those who successfully do their jobs.  

A Good Morning, Week Thirty-Three in the New Abnormal

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My short bob is all over the place.  I remember a time my mother would claim, “We have to tame your hair.”  I still hear you, Mom, but I am wearing it untamed today.  Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it was a deeply satisfying morning, but I’m feeling a bit untamed myself.  Today is one of three City Streets in which Park Avenue is open to cyclists, runners and pedestrians.  I took out my low bicycle and headed west to Park Avenue at 6:45 for a 7 a.m. start.  I trudged up a small hill, understanding this was the only practice I’d get before riding on the northern hills of Park Avenue.  

My helmet was on, my fanny pack in place. My curls sprouting from said helmet.   I have been inspired by Jennifer Weiner’s long-distance rides, though this was not nearly as intrepid.  I took off, surprisingly less judgmental about runners on the left where bicycles were directed to go.  The slopes, which seem less of an incline when walking, felt particularly high when seated on my bicycle.  I silently chanted from The Little Engine That Could, a childhood favorite, “I think I can, I know I can,” while trudging up the hills.  It felt like one minor accomplishment after another enjoying my seven-mile ride.  

I dropped my bike off and Lucy and I went off to the local farmer’s market.  I had passed by on my way home while they were setting up, though when I returned the lines were long.  I waited patiently.  While I meditate to have patience, and I work on having patience, long lines and my precarious patience are not always a good match.  Today, though, I easily had patience.  Even when a woman claimed to have a spot in line in front of me, though I had never seen her before, I just let it be.  Clearly getting to the register first mattered in some way I couldn’t understand.  

When I got home I made gazpacho.  I followed a simple recipe with the vegetable I procured from various farmers, and enjoyed it for a non-traditional, late breakfast.  I had forgotten how much I love it.  And, if that weren’t enough, the weather is beyond splendid.  It’s cool with a breeze, something more akin to May than August.  But I’ll take it.  Lucy seems happy with it, too.  She wasn’t clamoring to come back home as she often is in the sticky humidity.  

All in all, it was a great morning.  I’m grateful for days like today.  This week was strenuous.  A lot of tough emotions in and around me.  This unexpected break has been a gift.  Perhaps a nap today?  Why not? 

Self-Care Tips:

  • Stand with your feet apart and stretch out your arms so that your fingers are pulled out to either side.  Take up space.  Affirm your place on this earth.  
  • Challenge yourself to climb a metaphorical or actual hill.  What would have you enjoy a feeling of accomplishment?  Can you take a step to get it done?  O do you have the time and energy to complete it?  Once done, acknowledge yourself for what you’ve undertaken.  
  • Take a short summer vacation with a Jennifer Weiner book.  Her latest is: The Summer Place.  I’ve enjoyed her stories and books since Good in Bed in 2001.  

It’s Hot! Week Thirty in the New Abnormal

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Heat waves are oppressive.  I’m walking slowly, drinking more water, and commiserating with everyone else who is melting in this humid weather.  I have always preferred hot temperatures to cold, but sometimes it’s just too hot.  As a child I’d ride my Schwinn to the Haddontowne Swim Club and cool down swimming and playing in the chlorinated water.  Today, I can ride my bike, but I’m going to opt for the indoor version in my air-conditioned apartment, going nowhere, and enjoying the solitude.   

In heat like we’ve seen I think less is better.  Less activity, lighter meals, simple plans.  I have a lot of writing ahead of me this weekend.  It makes it easier knowing that I would probably be uncomfortable outside.  So, I’ll hunker down, laptop securely placed on my lap, and a cushion to lean upon.  Simple, though perhaps not easy.  Nonetheless, happy for the space and time to get it done in the cool air.  At least for now.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • Hydrate.  Cool yourself off with water or a cold beverage.  I suggest freezing a bottle of water (give it enough space on top) and then let it melt as you sip it through the day.  The iced bottle can also cool you off on the back of your neck, your wrists or anywhere that needs it.  
  • Play some Motown Summer music.  Suggestions are:  All Night Long, Lionel Richie; I Need Your Lovin’ Teena Marie; Inner City Blues, Marvin Gaye; Heatwave,  Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
  • Learn a new word.  It’s a simple task that can be enjoying.  Of course, it’s educational.  My new word today is: Emolument.  I had never heard it before.  It means a gift, whether cash, an item or a privilege, one receives because of one’s work title.  

Happy Pride! Week Nine in the Time of Coronavirus

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Happy Pride Day.  Today our trans son is celebrating.  24 years ago we unwittingly scheduled our wedding on Pride Day.  Some friends fittingly missed our straight wedding to celebrate their identity while they marched for their rights.  Others gay friends were generous to give up their place in the parade to witness our wedding.  And everyone had to deal with the traffic that was rerouted to accommodate the crowds and the parade.  Larry and I realized then the privilege we enjoyed by being able to get married in 1997.   

The world has come a long way since then.  It took another 14 years for same sex marriage to be legalized in New York state.  Yet in many ways we have a long way to go.  I see this as Alex enjoys the freedom to be himself among his friends, however, he gets judged in others’ company.  Not all, but some. 

When I was young, I naively believed love would heal all.  I am a true believer in love.  And I believe we all have the right to love.  But healing often takes love, respect, compassion, listening, non-judgement, hard work, and much more.  Love can be a foundation for change, but it’s not a one-word solution. 

I hope I see a time when all will enjoy the undeniable rights of living freely in an accepting world.  One in which expression and personal sovereignty are available to all.   

Self-Care Tips

  • Take an action for pride month in a way that supports LGBTQIA movements, organizations, groups or individuals
  • Celebrate summer.  Eat seasonal fruits and vegetables, have a BBQ, take a nature walk, or enjoy summer in any way that you like. 
  • Enjoy a summer nap.  There’s nothing like taking a break in the heat of summer. 

I Went All the Way

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Sometimes something so simple can be hard.  I had the idea of riding my bike on the last Summer Streets on Park Avenue down to the Brooklyn Bridge.  I keep my bike in my office.  It’s a short folding bike, allowing for both my feet to touch the ground when I stop. It’s in my office so I can get out when the impulse strikes.  It rarely strikes.  I call myself a wimpy rider since I want to easily touch the ground, and I am not skilled enough to weave in and out of traffic.    I will only face the streets to get into Central Park or ride on the East River promenade to Randall’s Island where there are few if any cars.  Sometimes I lack the gumption.  I have to fill the tires with air days before a ride since I’m not even sure what to do should I find myself with a flat.

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I was out of town the first Summer Street week, and last week I thought I might, but my timing was off. The trick is to go early before the crowds.  It’s not so bad riding on Park Avenue, which is wide and has separate sides going in either direction.  But once we head around Grand Central Terminal and pass Union Square, we squeeze together on Lafayette Street, unable to pass slow cyclists, and the inevitable joggers in the wrong lane.  (It is also true that certain cyclists ride on the jogging side.)

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There was one cyclist on a Citibike chatting with her friend.  I was on her left, when she veered to her left almost hitting me, and I yelled “On Your Left!” She was startled.  I couldn’t believe that I reacted with such verve.  Sometimes I think I’m fine only to have an innocuous moment force me to see how stressed I am.  That was such a moment.  It was contrasted by a lovely biker passing me on my way uptown simply stating in a warm, soothing voice, “ On your left.”  I could move incrementally to my right to let her pass.  It was an easy moment that juxtaposed my rash reaction.

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I was excited and scared to take my bike on the ride.  I liked the idea of being able to move easily through the streets of Manhattan.  I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. I love this city, and taking part in something like this elicits an inner thrill.  But I am not great in terms of being part of a crowd. I’m a defensive rider, with a bit of anxiety thrown in to make it interesting, well, more like marginally stressful.   I’m better off on an empty path speeding up and slowing down based on my own estimations, not on the precarious bicycling of strangers.

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I didn’t wake up early enough to leave at 7 AM when the streets were wide open.  Instead I ventured to Park Avenue at 10:30 AM, with all those tourists and New Yorkers on a pre-bunch ride. Nonetheless, I was set to go down to the Brooklyn Bridge and back again to Yorkville.  I’m proud I made the ride, but I went for a slow jog today. I had enough of my bike for the weekend. If I can, perhaps I’ll make it to Central Park during a break this week.  After all, my tires are filled with air.

 

All images were stock from the internet