Who Needs Fireworks?

Homemade ice cream. Yummmmmm. I will date myself when I say no longer is it a hand crank away but now an electrical outlet away. The memories of my dad out on the back porch steps cranking the paddle of our old blue bucketed ice maker makes me think of hot Kansas summers. We would travel to a farm to pick up real cream for Mom's recipe and that vanilla ice cream would taste divine.

Last week I ordered an ice cream maker. I had managed to burn up the motors on two before leaving Kansas last year and didn't think I would need one in NY. Wrong. Despite the fact I figured I might have to sleep with the thing on my side of the bed since I have little to no storage room I decided it would be worth it. This time of year, coming up on the Fourth of July, a person MUST have homemade ice cream.

What I didn't anticipate was how difficult it would be to find rock salt. I looked in three different grocery stores and some specialty stores. No luck. Even looking for it under the disguise of Ice Cream Salt brought me no luck. Not a problem, I thought. Why does it HAVE to be rock salt, I thought. Why can't it be table salt, or kosher salt, or sea salt of any of the other exotic salts they sell now days? The first batch using kitchen salt and refrigerator ice cubes turned out too liquid-y. (Hey! I swear I read somewhere on the internet that this would be okay.) The second batch using kosher salt and bagged ice turned out VERY liquid-y and not even mixed up very well. Was I really going to have to order rock salt over the web?

Turns out we just needed to head to the hardware store. The basement of the hardware store to be exact. They had stored it away for bad weather - all twenty five pounds of it. Seems in New York the only thing they use rock salt for is to melt ice off sidewalks. NOT melt ice in ice makers. So bless Mr. Y's heart, he lugged the rock salt and two bags of crushed ice home so we could see if we now had the winning combination.

Turns out we did.  Who needs fireworks for the Fourth of July when you can have homemade ice cream?

Too Much Information?

                                          

Here's the deal. My high school friend, C., and her husband will be living in our apartment for two weeks starting Sunday. I want them to enjoy their stay. We are each typing up pages of information to leave at each others home to encourage hitting the ground running and making the most out of our exchange. My tips include "If you're going to take a taxi make SURE it is a YELLOW CAB". ( I won't even go into my sister's story of taking a "limo" from the airport with a driver who dubbed himself Mr. New York and how much THAT cost.) And "Buy fresh fruit from the bodega on the corner".

But when it comes to the apartment how much information is too much information? At this point I am doing everything I can to NOT put post-it-notes all over my kitchen. My thinking is it will save her from having to rummage through every drawer and cabinet to find a glass, a spoon, the coffee filters, or the tea towels. Is it better to let someone explore by themselves instead of giving them a head start with some type of culinary road map? Do they really need to open all the drawers? Peek in all the cabinets? Look under the sink? Ohhhhh, and what about the TV remote? Do I need a three page document to explain what happens if the cable box doesn't come on at the same time as the TV, or how to work the DVR, or how to find the replay button? What if she needs a hammer, or a light bulb blows out, or can't figure out how to turn on the shower?

Now that I've typed all of those questions I realize I live in a 725 sq foot apartment and in all likelihood it will take her a maximum of ten minutes to go through my ENTIRE apartment and orient herself. Much less time than it would take me to make up a bazzilion post-it-notes. She'll see the extra pillows are in the front closet with the umbrellas, the coffee filters are in the drawer under the coffee maker, and the spices are in plain sight by the stove. If she gets too hot she will know how to turn the dial on the air conditioning unit to deliver cooler air without me leaving detailed instructions. Even the washer/dryer is self explanatory. 

Speaking of too much information, in this day and age of being able to Google, Bing, and Yahoo everything (EVERY. THING.) I guess if she can't figure out the coffee maker, the toaster oven, or even those pesky remotes there is always the Internet. Oh yeah, the computer. Did I remember to tell her how to turn it on and access our WiFi?  

Maybe a post-it-note...............

Coordinating An Exchange

                                     

Me: Are you leaving your hair dryer?

C: Yes.

C: Do you want me to pick up any special shampoo?

Me: Not necessary

Me: Do I have your correct address?

C: That's it!

C: Do I need to bring a swimsuit?

Me: Thinking no.

For the past few days one of my best friends from high school and I have been exchanging e-mails in anticipation of a bigger exchange - our homes. She and her husband live in Alaska. We, of course, are in The City. This weekend we will each fly in opposite directions across the entire continent to spend two weeks sleeping in each others beds, visiting each others neighborhoods, and exploring completely different lifestyles.

Me: Do you have a pair of binoculars that you are leaving? We are leaving ours here.

C: Yes 

Though I believe the wildlife they will observe will be VERY different from the wildlife we will observe, not having to pack binoculars lightens the load. They will be packing hot weather clothing, we will grab the turtlenecks at the back of the closet. They will head for lights in Times Square, we will hope for a glimpse of Northern Lights. I want to hear birds chirping, she will hear saxophone music in Central Park. 

C: Do people dress up for the theater?

Me: Not really, it's tourist season you know. Anything goes.

This is going to be interesting.........and the coordination continues.

Being Bussed the NYC Way

Before I moved to NYC I had ridden on public transportation busses by myself, uh, never. No, that's not true. I took one in New Orleans. I remember it well because everyone looked at me as I boarded and recognized I clearly was not a daily bus commuter. Unsteadily walking down the aisle I quickly found a window seat so I would have a good view of the street signs and started consulting a paper map. I must have looked uncomfortable with my bussing skills because two little Southern ladies (i.e. gracious to the core) took pity on me and gave me recommendations on where I should disembark to tour one of their lovely cemeteries. Now I can bus with the best.

Typically people getting on and off the busses don't pay attention to one another other than to secure a seat, then many promptly bury their nose in the electronic device of their choice. Usually there are earbuds involved so there is no need to look at OR listen to fellow riders. Unlike the subway, no one plays instruments, sings, quotes poetry, or preaches in the aisle during the commute so people NOT on an electronic device are then free to look out the window, sleep (which I find amazing because I know I would end up in New Jersey if I did that), or daydream.

The surprise for me when taking ANY mode of transportation in NYC is how long it takes to arrive at my destination, but that's especially true about bus travel. When you are only progressing two blocks between each stop there are many times when hoofing it will get you there faster. And, bless their hearts, I'm amazed at the number of people with walkers, wheelchairs, and canes who are able to navigate the city with the assistance of the lifts on the busses. 

Being bussed around the city certainly beats the headache of dealing with car traffic, exorbitant parking rates, and hard to find parking spots plus I can daydream with the best of them.

One Elevator Ride Away

Becoming a grandparent is just that. Grand. Being a grandparent in the same building as your grandson is ah-mazing. When we know he is on his way down the elevator for a visit we peek out the door to see him toddle off the elevator and start down the long hallway. His steps are becoming more certain and sometimes he shows he can multitask by throwing in some claps. But always there are smiles and arms extended and he zeros in for a hug before coming in the door.

All that leisure time I didn't have to spend playing, laughing, and making goofy faces with my own child gets lavished on a grand baby times 10. No, more like 100. Everything they say is true, you spend time with them, spoil them, wear them (and yourself) out and then send them home with parents who are young enough to endure the grind of late nights, mood swings, and cutting teeth. 

During my husband's and my time in NYC we have been delighted to be hands-on grandparents to The Wee One. (And no, even though parents are choosing the most outrageous names these days - I'm talking to you Kanye West (North) and Jay-Z (Blue Ivy) and even you Gwyneth (Apple) - that is NOT his actual name.) We even have a designated pick-up day from day care. Every Thursday. On Thursdays we get to see his face light up when he realizes we are there to liberate him from the regime of gym, playtime, arts, and snacks for an evening of silliness, eating frozen grapes with Grandma, and sitting on Grandpa's lap in front of the computer for some Wheels On The Bus and Elmo Slide action.

Living so close to The Wee One we have had ring side seats to the Firsts:  giggles, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, and steps.  We know he loves music, swimming, plunging his hands into glasses of ice, bath time, and being chased. And lights. He LOVES lights, Overhead lights, Digital light updates on the subway, Traffic lights, especially the WALK light. We have already told him he will be thrilled with his first trip to Las Vegas, or Times Square.  

The one aspect of grandparenting I failed to anticipate is the physical challenge of keeping up with the Wee One. Thank goodness we arrived when he was only three months old. That way his slowly increasing weight gains were barely noticeable until one day I realized I was carrying, lifting, pushing, and holding a 27 pound human barbell. Getting down on the floor to play games and chasing after an active toddler are good ways to limber up stiff muscles and work in a little cardio. And if I want to work in some more exercise I can always take the stairs up 4 floors. In the meantime, I know The Wee One is only.......

One elevator ride away.

One Year Down, One Year To Go

Moving In Day

Last year, on the third Friday in June, my husband and I moved into our NYC apartment. All 725 square feet of it. We wondered if we would be able to adjust to not having a car, not mowing a lawn, not having lots of rooms to wander around in. As it turns out Yes We Can.

People ask me frequently what I miss most about not living in the Midwest and owning a large home. What I miss about living in the Midwest are my friends, organizations and clubs I participated in, and quiet mornings listening to the birds sing. What I don't miss is the house and all of the stuff that goes with it. That's not to say we won't own a home again some day but I have a whole different perspective on just how much space it takes to live comfortably.

We had decided before moving here that we would commit to two years and then move on. We don't know what our next move will be but for now we are settled in. I'm looking forward to the next 365 days of exploring the five boroughs of NYC and spending time with my son and his lovely family who live four floors up.

Our living room/TV room/guest room/library/dining room (table not shown)

Goodbye, Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
                                 - Robert Frost

Today was the last day of Spring. And what a spectacular one it has been. I wish it could stay.

I can't remember ever experiencing such a physical reaction to the profusion of daffodils, tulips, pansies, redbuds, and cherry blossoms. This was the Spring that I walked around the city feeling like she was a beautiful young women that woke up one morning and decided to adorn herself with every sparkly piece of jewelry she owned but had stashed away for the winter. She sparkled as if laden with diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, and sapphires. She took by breath away every day with the discovery of new pockets of color at doorsteps, and curbsides, and parks.


I paused.

I sighed.

I admired.

I smiled.

But it wasn't just the city. I traveled to Las Vegas in April and Kansas in May and Spring had blossomed gloriously there also. Cactus in the dessert, tulips in the city, and this year the honeysuckle that I planted on my mom's arbor three years ago decided to go crazy.

On Memorial Day I visited the gravesides of family members and simply could not believe the display of peonies blooming at the cemetery this year. It was awash in peonies of every color and variety. Just as it should be, but so many times recently they had already bloomed and were gone. 

 I know Summer is arriving tomorrow and soon I will close up the apartment and turn the air conditioner on. The flowers outside will struggle with the heat and beg for moisture. But right now I have my windows open and a cool breeze is gently coming in.

Thank you, Spring. It has been magnificent.

Still in the Know at 8-0

Dear Mom,
We celebrated with a family gathering on Memorial Day but today is the actual Big Birthday. Today you have had to "settle" for FaceTime, phone calls, and Facebook greetings from far away. What a difference 80 years makes!

I was thinking that when you were growing up the types of communication we have today would have seemed purely fantastical. From the world of the Jetsons. Then again, you wouldn't even know who George Jetson's family was because he came along YEARS later, after the invention of the television. You and your slightly older sister would have erupted into fits of giggles if you had been told you could someday "visit" each other from a thousand miles apart just by sitting in front of a plastic tablet (no, not a Big Chief) and touching a screen of glass. You might have been mortified to know you could someday keep tabs on old friends, family, or even strangers by depressing buttons on a mouse (a lot of explaining would have been required on that one).  Then more laughter, since you were already keeping tabs on the neighbors, family, and strangers by depressing a toggle on your telephone party line.  And the texting! What would you have made of learning about texting back then? Maybe you and your sister would have looked at each other and started air typing before collapsing with laughter and gasping for breath. I know what those silly-fests look like. You STILL do it when you get together.

Fortunately we all still enjoy the old form of communication. Face to face. Gathering everyone together (except one very regretful granddaughter) for a meal of fried chicken and the fixings to celebrate the entrance into your 8th decade was filled with smiles, hugs, and catching up in ways that, no matter how much bandwidth you have, does not translate over the phone, or tablets, or computers. You were able to embrace your two great grand babies instead of sending kisses over the airwaves. You could touch their sweet little cheeks and hold their precious hands. You could enjoy standing around in casual conversations, teasing each other, and just generally enjoying each others physical company.

We are all so glad you indulge us by keeping up with the latest technology and endure online drop-ins. You keep answering that phone, sending those texts, responding to those e-mails and we will make every effort to show up for a hug.
Love,
Your Oldest

PS I understand your oldest son drove up from his home two hours away to take you to lunch. What a reprieve from all those electronic birthday greetings!