he is, after all, an OCCASIONAL travel companion

Today, Ed set out to hike the Smokey Mountains (in North Carolina) with his buddy John.

Over the years, he and I have struggled to figure out ways of structuring trips and getaways that would please and delight both of us. It's been tough, given that the very first words we ever spoke to each other were around the theme that we have nothing in common.

You want to suggest compromise? Well sure, Ed and I are familiar with compromise: he bends, I bend, neither of us likes it, we sigh with resignation and toddle on. For some things in life there is no perfect middle ground.

I have thought for a while that I should quit trying to like danger and clean water and bad weather and no roof over my head. And so today, off Ed went, to pursue adventure with someone loves discomfort as much as he does.

As we shopped last night for pouches of food that they would eat in the days (weeks?) ahead, I felt both nostalgia and relief. Suckers, I envy you. For the first three days anyway. Not after.

There is another element in the story and it has to do with the fact that Ed and his buddy have both recently retired. Their time is unconstrained. It has been a valuable experience for me to watch what happens to people who retire early and whose time becomes infinitely intractable. (At the same time as I remain at home, with a stack of midterms to grade. No, not jealous. Really. I love teaching. But I also love infinitely intractable schedules. So, more like envious.)



This morning, before Ed’s Great Adventure, he and I went to the Westside Community Farmers Market. There are only a couple of Saturdays left for the outdoor market. How sad. The tail end of anything is difficult. In spite of the fact that the shades of autumn today were so very beautiful.








Purchase photo 2155










Purchase photo 2154





Purchase photo 2153





Purchase photo 2152





Purchase photo 2151



After, I drove Ed to the airport. In Milwaukee (you got it: cheaper airfares!). Originally, we had wanted to stop at the Milwaukee Art Museum prior to departure, but predictably, things got out of control and we barely made it in time for him to check in before the gates closed.

Except that the gates did not close, because the flight was canceled. Here I am, zipping back to Madison and Ed is borrowing someone’s cell phone to call me with the suggestion that maybe we should spend a sweet afternoon at the Museum after all (prior to his now very late departure).

I turn around, pick him up and zip to the downtown waterfront, to the magnificent Santiago Calatrava structure (first one of his to be completed in the US, granting him the “Best Design” award of 2001).



Purchase photo 2150



We saw it with the wingspan open and then, on the way back, because it was so windy today, we saw it closed.



Purchase photo 2149





Purchase photo 2148



And inside, all was immensely sleek gorgeous. What, you doubt me?



Purchase photo 2147





Purchase photo 2146










Purchase photo 2145










Purchase photo 2144



At the close of the afternoon, I grabbed a latte and a cookie, dropped my OTC off for his bold and daring trek and headed home. I’ve learned how to find the pretty way back to Madison. I know when to get off the highway and veer toward the hill from which you can catch a glimpse of the city ahead.



Purchase photo 2143


Closer, I could see the windsurfers do their thing.



Purchase photo 2142


I was happy that they got in a good day of flipping and gliding. It’s getting colder by the hour. I bet it’s warmer in North Carolina. Sigh... Hi, Ed...

thoughts from an afternoon at a café, where laptops abound and the women are serious

Even as I went through a rigorous downsizing three years back, and a significant belt-tightening at the end of this spring, I am forever fighting the urge to grow and upgrade. If only I had the next camera in the lineup of the affordable (making it, therefore, unaffordable)! What’s $100 more when you are investing in years of photo-taking? Say the camera lasts only two years (because then I’ll be fifty-seven and probably doubly clumsy). That’s 14 cents a day extra, no? Most any employed person here, without little kiddies to support and with a good health insurance plan can afford 14 cents a day, right?

Of course, this is the pigheaded way we think. I should get, instead, in the habit of putting away 14 cents a day, just like that, without much thought to it, because, well, I can afford to do it. And then, in two years I should celebrate: I’ll have accumulated $100. How thrilling is that?! It wont buy me an upgrade in my camera (because you can’t really buy an upgrade after you have already purchased the camera), but $100 is good for any number of things. In fact, it is such a fat wad of money, that I may be tempted not to spend it all. Hoarding it, I may become stingy and self-righteous. I may look down on those who don’t know how to save and whose credit card debt exceed boundaries of reasonableness. (Forgetting that, not too long ago, I was one of them…)

That sounds wrong. Perhaps I should purchase the upgrade and also contribute to a political campaign, ensuring that I remain committed to noble ideas at the same time that I am improving my photography.

Why is it that the best solutions are so often the most pricey ones?






UPDATE: Sanity prevailed. I basically got a replacement camera, with a very modest $45 upgrade. Here's why: Mr. Frugal (Ed) pointed out that I had not used half the features of my now broken Sony SLR. One can improve photos through camera upgrades and through learning more about how best to use the camera one has. Mr. Frugal is right. And, in a magnificent gesture of great generosity, he offered to replace the camera. Perhaps a gift for what was, after all, a date that had some significance? He wouldn't admit it, but one can spin nice tales like this on one's blog.

wet

So, eventually, it rained. I cheated and drove to work. I felt like a person on a diet who had just had a triple fudge something or other. The joy did not survive the guilt. At least you’ll get a photo that is different from the typical workday lake shore path and/or bus stop cache. (Note, please, our hardy men with a pizza, but no umbrellas.)



Purchase photo 2141


I was on the path to my parking lot – a path that I only took twice last year. It had been snowy, cold, disgusting, and now that you mention it -- winter day.

I'm right in recalling that today was only October 23rd? I think I’m getting soft.

settling in

When I sent an email to someone describing my day’s highs and lows, she pointed out that my story – or at least part of it – was gross. I suppose she is right. I do admit that teeth sagas have elements of the macabre (especially when they entail such drama as wrestling something loose from a bone it grew to love), but I think there's fun to be had even there, at the office of a maxillofacial surgeon. I mean, the name itself – maxillofacial -- has overtones of something good. It all sounds like biting into the maximally delicious mille feuilles, no?


But really, more significantly, I miss my good camera, the one that shattered on 40th and Fifth.. My little point and shoot is okay for the straightforward photos of fall colors outside.





But it does not inspire me to look for bigger and better things. I’m content writing about the maxillofacial aspects of life in the meanwhile. One could do worse, I suppose.

back home

Last night, I left Ed to the vultures of the New York Bar and flew home.

Apart from the early morning tumble, the day was unmemorable. When I was not at the library, I people watched.



Purchase photo 2140










Purchase photo 2139


And window-peered.



at Tiffany's: taxis, jewels, lights
Purchase photo 2138





at UW: cows, explanations, lights

Ooops, that last was from today, back in Madison. You couldn’t tell?


Yesterday, I had wanted to eat dinner at the Grand Central Oyster Bar – it’s a place where Ed and his dad used to occasionally dine and it’s a place where my dad has eaten as well (though not with me) and I thought it would be somehow fitting. Especially since it also happened to be Ed’s birthday. Normally, Ed would like me to make nothing of October 20th, but I remind him that it is also the date we first became Occasional Traveling Companions (three years ago), and so it’s harder for him to be a jackass about the whole date recognition thing.

The Oyster Bar is so traditional, so old world New York, so old people New York (especially if you’re eating before 6 p.m.), so old habits New York, that it hurts. Have I crossed over to that world? Of hanging on to fading lights and checked tablecloths and waiters who understand that, so often, you must dine alone?

As it happened, on this day Ed was with law types and so I did eat by myself. I at least had wanted to pack some oysters and take them to him, over at The Firm, but New York says No! to taking out raw foods of this sort and so I ate a handful of Long Island blue points…



Purchase photo 2137

… took over some clam chowder for the OTC, and flew home.


At my condo, the heating system has again failed. You may recall that this was a recurring problem last year, but they swore that it was finally repaired and that I should never have to experience the depressing reentry into a cold unit. I know they tried. I know it. Still, it was cold.

This morning I biked to work. Out of habit. Blue skies means bike. So now I am hoping for rainfall for the rest of the week because frankly, I’m too cold to bike out there in the tail end days of October.

On a cheerful note, I also visited my dentist so that he could plug my jaw with additional pain meds.

In all, a glorious day of cold, pain and work. No, I'm not complaining. Life is good.

nyc

This morning, looking for an open branch of the Public Library (I need a quiet space to get stuff done), while also glancing up at the Empire State building, the flags on Fifth Avenue, and the lions of the main library, I fell. It’s not the first time that I have fallen in a city. Curbs and uneven slabs are dangerous for people who think and look in terms of photo angles.

My camera shattered and helpful Australians who had gathered to assist felt badly for me. I felt badly for me as well. My knee is just recovering from last week’s biking tumble. I’m feeling bruised.

As it happens, just this morning, I was thinking about taking care. I do know that I can be both over-attentive and under-attentive, all in one breath. At the b&b breakfast table another group of Australians was asking about safety. I mentioned always feeling safe in New York, even in days when I was in college, riding subways to and from work after midnight. Our b&b landlady confirmed that even in this still poor neighborhood of Brooklyn, she, too, feels perfectly safe. But really, her word is suspect given that she is going to Afghanistan next week to do a story on orphans, and this is not her first and only visit there, and my word is suspect because I also can be not careful enough. For example when mounting a curb on 4oth and Fifth.

Of course, people usually fear other people rather than their own lapses in judgment. The Australians were especially surprised and disturbed when they learned that nearly anyone can purchase a gun in this country. They probably weren't really worrying about tripping on sidewalks. Maybe they are better at navigating uneven terrain than I am



Today, Ed is again conferring with lawyers. We were late for his meetings because there was traffic down below, in the tunnels of the NY subway. The train paused numerous times and I remembered that feeling of irritation that comes to you in New York as you stand still waiting for others to move so that you, too, can get ahead in life. And in traffic.


Yesterday (Sunday), I dragged Ed through Manhattan once more. I proposed several escapes from the city, but he was nice enough to say it really did not matter where we went and I believed him. He has given up on the city and his radius of intolerance extends so far that any quick journey out of the center will do nothing to calm him.


In my youth, I had always hated Sundays in New York. It always felt empty and ugly then. But now, tourists and an influx of young families have given new life to the city on week-ends. As we made our way again to Central Park, we encountered any number of good people watching opportunities.



Purchase photo 2136















Purchase photo 2135



But you can’t just hide in the park for two whole days. In my opinion, it's not beautiful enough. This time the park spit us out on its southwest corner and I gave Ed the choice of staying on Broadway or heading east. He shrugged. We turned east.


The high towers here are cool to look up at. Not all are boring, or even straight.



Purchase photo 2134


We find ourselves admiring these two thin buildings providing the bread to the piece of salami in between (the salami being the Russian Tea Room).



Purchase photo 2133


I lay down on the sidewalk trying to get it all in, but I fail, because the lens does not permit the joining of the red awning and the blue of the sky in one shot.

At times, the stuff on the ground is equally captivating. Somewhere nearby, there had been a costume party for dogs, and this guy was being wheeled home after collecting no prize at all. Perhaps feeling disappointed with his lack of success, he is now unwilling to pilot the plane home. His owner finally gives up. He knows he is almost home, she tells me. Home is the building right next to the Mercedes Benz dealer. Yes, that’s Park Avenue for you.







We stay for a long time on 2nd avenue. No tourists walk on 2nd avenue and so it retains the aura of my childhood (helped by the fact that I lived right by it) – an empty wide street, with dozens and dozens of small neighborhood restaurants. One after another, none of them especially unusual or expensive. It’s like walking through a French city on a day where everyone has checked out with the flu or the plague or some such disease that keeps you off the streets.

Eventually I lead Ed to Tudor City. Even though it’s hard to hide entire neighborhoods in New York, few people knows about this place. It’s a bunch of blocks elevated above the rest, connected to the world with the two prongs of a U shaped street. Built in the 1920s, it was created with the hope of luring the middle class back into this part of New York. Now it faces the UN. Back then, it had the city slaughterhouses below it. The middle class can easily be bought off by decent housing.

These days, you can find quiet here. And views of the UN. And of 42nd Street below.



Purchase photo 2132





Purchase photo 2131





Purchase photo 2130


Ed wants to linger, but I’m feeling cold. I’m often cold when the sun hovers just above my reach. We make our way to Grand Central where Ed proclaims that it looks the same (apparently the huge renovation efforts of the 90s do not impress him; a crowded station is a crowded station). And now I know we have done enough of Manhattan walking.

We take the train back to Brooklyn and get off (along with this well tended duo)…





…just on the other side of Brooklyn Bridge. This is the spiffy part of the borough and only the most difficult to impress (Ed, for example) would not find it charming.




Purchase photo 2129


The promenade gives pretty views of the bridge and of Manhattan. It is a pleasant place to finish up the day.



Purchase photo 2128





Purchase photo 2127





Purchase photo 2126



The walk back to our own neighborhood is long, but it takes us through the gentrified neighborhoods – Brooklyn Heights, Park Slope -- and I am curious to see these well treated parts of a long-ailing borough.

We pass by many pleasant looking eateries and as I had hoped, Ed is tempted. We are intrigued by a place that brags about its cupcakes and posts a news clipping proclaiming it to offer the very best piece of chocolate cake in Brooklyn.





We buy cupcakes for later and settle in for a dinner of soups and salads and sure enough, rosé wine for me and a lovely darkish beer for Ed.






So ends our week-end. Today I’ll be flying home for sure and Ed will be flying home maybe for sure, depending on what the attorneys decide. I have a busted camera and a sore knee, but I really do have to admit that on balance, I sort of like this city. I gave it some good years and it gave me back an interesting take on life. It’s like having a very witty friend who doesn’t make things easy for you but keeps you amused nonetheless. Eventually you may get tired of the strain and stress of it all, but I’m not there yet. Stumbles and falls on crooked curbs notwithstanding.

nyc

Masha Hamilton, co-owner of the B&B where Ed and I are staying, is an accomplished novelist. And journalist. Not surprisingly, it takes us a while to leave the breakfast table. And so it isn’t until noon that we make our way toward the upper east side of Manhattan.

The goal is to go easy on the city parts and emphasize the green, the water, the walking opportunities here. In other words, to placate the guy who refuses to say one kind word about New York.

Except that it sure is more crowded than when he was a kid here.

It is that. You hear French, Italian, Russian, Polish. Tourists, in great numbers. As someone said, the weak dollar has been a boon to New York.

And so here’s our walk, with commentary.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rooftop sculpture garden. Because it’s such a good view toward the south and west.



Purchase photo 2125











Inside the museum proper, Ed starts reading every bit of info plastered on the walls. I tug, he reads. We crawl toward the exit, past a photo exhibit and past the new Impressionist (and early XX century European) art rooms…



Purchase photo 2124


And finally, out the door. And into the park.



Purchase photo 2123


As always, it is a place of calm, even on the week-end. Ed wonders if the horse trails are still there. A well dressed man with a large shopping bag from Tiffany’s overhears and pauses to talk about the trail and whether they have closed all the stables in the park. Ed mutters that New Yorkers aren’t supposed to be friendly.

Toward Columbus Avenue, in search of food. Past Magnolia Bakery (yes, now on the upper Westside)…



Purchase photo 2122


…past endless brunchy places which Ed rejects on the basis of price and pleasant ambiance. I’m thinking hungry thoughts, so we take the subway to SoHo. I am in NY, with a million places to find unusual snacks and all I can think of is that Café Café on Greene Street will probably be an okay compromise for the two of us. I’ve gone there when the chips are down before and it always seems to be okay for fussy types.



Purchase photo 2121


But the blocks in SoHo are dense with crowds. And merchants. And tourists. And shoppers. And families. And the world. And so long as we’ve lost our calm, we may as well plunge all the way to complete madness and cross over Broadway toward Little Italy…



Purchase photo 2120


…and Chinatown, and the markets along Canal Street …



Purchase photo 2119




Purchase photo 2118




Purchase photo 2117



I ask Ed if he ever used to come down here when he was growing up. Not really. Just to get pickles over on the lower east side. Makes sense. People leave their neighborhoods mostly for food, right?

Finally I take pity and we turn toward the financial district. Surely, on a week-end, all will be quiet there.

But no! If you were a tourist, wanting to see ALL of New York, wouldn’t you go here, to Wall Street, to the Bull, you know, to take a photo of how it should be but isn’t, what with the markets collapsing?



Purchase photo 2116


The sun is getting awfully close to the horizon. I think Ed is in a daze. He’s grown awfully quiet, so that even provocative things like “isn’t this great?” aren’t having much of an impact.

I suggest that now is the time for us to ride the ferry to Staten Island. Ed used to do this as a kid. We all did, but he used to do it A LOT. Back and forth, when it cost a nickel. Now it’s free. Life could not get better than this.

We walk toward the ferry just as the sun turns all those golden and orange colors near the horizon. One of those oh say can you see moments.



Purchase photo 2115


At the Ferry Terminal, the crowds are huge. Of course. People do use this boat to get home. The sun blinks, shines and dips below the skyline.

The ride is beautiful.



Purchase photo 2114





Purchase photo 2113





Purchase photo 2112


Not to get too immigrant-y here, but this is the way I first came to the country: through the Verrazano Narrows, before this bridge went up in 1964...



Purchase photo 2111


Ahh, New York...


The return is dark and windy and we stay indoors. Ed reads the rag papers people have left behind. I watch a woman paint her nails as the ferry hums and pushes toward Battery Park.

We take the subway back to Brooklyn. Neither of us feels like hiking for food. Our hosts suggest that we get take out from Homage. It’s kind of skuzzy, but it has good food, we’re told. We pick up a bottle of rosé from a hugely secure liquor store, then some chicken salad and portabella mushroom sandwich with sweet potato fries from Homage, and make our way back to our b&b room. Ed tells me it’s one of his favorite meals. Ever.