First Day in New York

My body clock is skewiff. I wake at 4am. As I lay in bed on my first morning in New York, I resolved not to spend my first day sleeping. I rose at 7am and ate breakfast in the hotel dining room. Out of the window I looked down over Broadway. Two large screens competed for my attention. On one a singing cowboy wearing only wire fronts and on the other a group of four rappers. The images were soundlessly demanding. I resented their continuous presence.

It was minus one degrees celcius outside. I wrapped myself in my sheep skin coat, alpacca felt beret and rabbit fur gloves and stepped out into the street. Walking briskly I warmed up slowly. I was heading towards Union Square following advice from the hotel concierge that the shopping was great at DSW (a designer outlet bargain store).

It was a half hour walk. Joni Mitchell’s song was never far from my mind. There are hundreds and hundreds of yellow taxis here! I passed a shop front in an art deco building that said ‘Fresh Food Market’. It drew my attention. The promise of fresh fish of every variety, fruit and vegetables had to be seen to be believed. The shop front looked like any other I had passed. I entered and the Fresh Food Market opened up after I passed through a narrow barricade. I felt as though I had discovered a secret.

I wandered past the fresh food to where you could buy ready made salads from a large salad bar. I was tempted to purchase a selection for my lunch but I couldn’t work out the rules. Where were the containers, and how many salads could you put into one serving and how high was it acceptable to pile it. While I was grappling with these questions, I noticed brown rice sushi rolls made with large pieces of tuna and salmon and avodado. I took a prepackaged box of this instead. Beyond the salad bar were rows of supermarket produce on wooden shelves with small selections of quality produce. I found a natural museli, some fresh plain yogurt and a long life container of soy milk in one aisle. Amongst an exceptionally large tea selection at the end of the store I found some red and green rooibos tea.

There was a three way queue to pay. I watched other customers and worked out that the protocol was to attend to the order at which people made it to the front of their respective rows. It was this order that was naturally followed when the number of a check out was called out electronically. The check out chick was a young black woman. I greeted her but she just started scanning. I paid in cash and said thankyou to her but she did not respond in any way, almost as though she was automated. As I left the store I laughed to myself. Her obliviousness to me was truly a New York experience and I was glad to have had one.

With my recycled paper grocery bag in my hand I continued down to Union Square, counting down the streets as I went. Finally at fourteenth I found DSW and their shoe outlet on the fourth floor. I left the store ninety minutes later with four pairs of shoes and a hot pink Donna Karan coat.

I did not have time to stop to eat my sushi in Union Square as I had planned to do. I had booked a ticket to see the matinee of Chicago and was suddenly pressed for time. The streets had become more crowded and my shopping bags were heavy. I made it back to my hotel room with only ten minutes to spare. Luckily the theatre was next door to my hotel. I scoffed the sushi and made it in time to take my seat in row K.

During the second act, I felt the pull of sleep from my confused body but I did not have time to lie down afterwards. I was due to meet four colleagues at 5pm. I waited in the lobby of their hotel but they were late, so I went searching for a hot chocolate. The hot chocolate quest I will save for another post (it was a complicated process of rule following, and spillage).

With my colleagues we caught a taxi to The Gotham Bar and Grill on East 12th Street. In this ambient and austere restaurant we had the dining experience of a life time. Not only was the food exquisite but the service was the most friendly and attentive we had ever experienced.

We partied on to Bleaker Street, singing Paul Simon songs as we walked there. We found The Bitter End and watched a young local soul band playing original music. At twelve o’clock midnight when my head hit the pillow, I went out like a light. (And I woke again at 4am).

Shopping with Girlfriends

Hello Possums. I have been collecting information from friends and strangers about what to do in New York. I have had some super suggestions! Some of them have been detailed and specific. There are the obvious ones like visiting well known land marks but I have also been told to “experience Times Square by entering it from below ground”, go and see a particular stage show and where to obtain half price tickets for it and go for a drive around Manhatten. However, the most frequently suggested must do in New York is “shopping”. Why does everyone else seem to already know that you can buy anything and everything in New York cheaply? Is it really true? Should I set aside half a day and shop ’till I drop? Is it really that good?

One thing I would love to do is to find the place where the Great Gatsby was set. I want to see the east and west banks that Fitzgerald conjures in his classic novel. Unfortunately I probably won’t have time. I am in New York City for only a week. My main purpose there is to attend a five day conference.

Last year Libby and I flew up to Sydney from Melbourne to spend the weekend with our dear friend D. She lives near the Harbour. In Melbourne, I rarely shop with friends. I often shop with my daughters and that’s lots of fun, but I hadn’t shopped with friends since I was a teenager. We spent Saturday browsing around the shops and lunching in one of the many quaint bayside presincts. After lunch we went into a clothing shop that had a very comfortable back section where you could try on clothes. There were three curtained-off changing cubicles and a wall mirror in a cosy shared space where you could sit on comfy round cushiony chairs. We had a lot of fun choosing clothes for ourselves and for eachother, trying them on and modelling them.

I chose a skirt for Libby that I thought would look great on her, but with her runners she looked like a bag lady in it. Libby came out of her cubicle laughing so much she couldn’t speak. Her laughter was contageous and she did look a scream!

I tried on a red top. D liked the look of it. She asked me to pass it into her cubicle after I’d taken it off.  She looked great in it too, but unfortunately there was only one left in the shop! After I bought it I asked the woman in the shop to cut the tag off so I could wear it straight away. For the rest of the afternoon D eyed it off saying, “I want that top”.

Libby chose a beige wrap for me to try on. “Oh no, I regret beige”, I told her. “What do you mean, you regret beige”. I can’t wear it. I like the idea of it. I think beige things look okay on a coat hanger. But as soon as I try anything beige on I know it was a mistake. Beige is not my colour. It makes me look like a corpse. Libby and D laughed when they understood. Libby said she regrets lacy knitted cardigans. She said she always liked the look of them but not on her busty frame. What do you always regret trying on Possums?

D couldn’t decide whether to buy a low cut wrap top. “Does it fill a gap in your wardrobe?”, I asked with the intention of being helpful in her decision making process. She laughed. I don’t know why she found that question so funny, but she used it for the rest of the day.

Yesterday I was speaking to D on the phone. She was excited for me about going to New York City. “Let me know when your next conference is”, she said, “I might come along!”. What a fun shopping spree I could have if Libby and D came with me!

A Sunday Cook-in

Hello Possums. We ran out of bread today. It was too hot to bother leaving the house so we made bread instead. Kathleen likes to make bread rolls in the shape of snails and Sally’s bread rolls are made as round faces with extra bits of dough to make the smiling features of the face.  I made a loaf much to the children’s surprise. I don’t think I have made a loaf of bread within their living memory. My loaf tin has been sitting unused for as long as we have been living in our current house (which is eight years). I took the loaf out of the oven and began cutting it while it was warm. The smell lured the children back to the kitchen. “Hey, that’s the best thing since sliced bread”, Kathleen quipped as she entered the room. She stood at the bench watching and smelling as fluffy warm pieces of bread fell away onto the cutting board. “Wow, that looks vaugely edible!”, she remarked with genuine surprise. 

Its up to you, NY NY!

Hello Possums. I’m heading off to New York in just over a week. Here in Melbourne we’ve had quite a hot spell. I spent the weekend practising catching waves on my mini malabu while the kids frolicked in the surf and mucked around on boogie boards. I can’t quite get my head around my recently searched-for information that it is currently only nine degrees celcius during the day in New York. I have my case out. I started to pack short sleeved shirts. I don’t think I have suitable shoes. Perhaps I’ll pack the court shoes I bought in Paris and purchase some sturdier shoes in New York… I’ve had to pull out my coat, gloves, beret and scarf, and I’ve been sifting through my jumpers (‘pullovers’ if you’re not from Australia) for one that goes with the woolen skirt and pants I’ve chosen to take. I’m considering packing thermals, but most of the time I’ll be at conference sessions in hotels… I can’t imagine needing any of this stuff when I’m sitting here at eleven o’clock in the evening in a singlet and shorts! I’ve chosen the conference hotel with the biggest swimming pool. I intend to swim laps as often as I can to break up the frantic conference pace.  I’m starting to get excited. I combed the preliminary program today and I’ve printed out my preliminary schedule. It looks exciting. Already three dinners and two breakfasts have been organised. I haven’t heard about any receptions yet, but I’m hoping some of the universities who invited our group from Melbourne last year will come through for us again. Last year in Chicago, I was even invited to a private condo for a party! Oooh I wonder what New York has planned for me?

Why do people eat Special K?

Hello Possums. I rode my bike into work yesterday and the day before. The weather has been stunning: low thirties with a soft cool breeze. In between riding in the heat two days in a row, I went to the Opera (La Boheme sung in English) with seven girlfriends and had a late night chatting over drinks afterwards. Last night, I went to Layback Club.  I left early because I was feeling tired. I did have some wonderful conversations at Layback, but when I found myself zoning out and staring whistfully at the young black bar tender with beautiful arms I figured it was time to head home. Layback kicked on until at least one thirty I have been told since.  I missed a big night. At work today I finished my classroom transcripts! When I came home, after making myself a cup of lemon sage tea, I realised I had a craving for chocolate. The kids had eaten the chocolate cake I made yesterday and there was nothing else sweet in the house to eat at all. The best I could find was the honey and almond packet of Special K, that Rosie likes for breakfast. I have poured myself a bowl of it and am eating the flakes like miniature biscuits as I type. Two things have come into my mind: 1. I must be just about due (bummer). Tiredness and chocolate cravings are a dead give-away. 2. My Nanna used to eat Special K. My Nanna had the best shape for a Nanna. She was short and widely set. If you have ever been to Cornwall and seen women in their sixties to eighties there you will know the shape I mean. She was not slim and her shape never changed. I wonder why she used to eat Special K. Was she hoping to regain her figure through discipline? Was she hoodwinked by the commercials of the day depicting the perfect house wife who still fits into a mini skirt and looks hot? I wonder how the makers of Special K can take a grain and make it have less calories than the whole grain. What is left in the grain after the process? It tastes like a piece of cardboard. Why does anyone eat it?  Well, the honey in the Special Ks has satisfied my craving for now, but the other questions remain unanswered.

Anticipation of the sweetest kind

My youngest daughter, Sally, is excited about the approach of Easter. Generally in Australia, Easter has lost a lot of its religious significance. An old school buddy of mine, who is now a poet, father and garlic farmer in Mulumbimbi, describes Easter as “The Pagan Chocolate Festival”.  

Sally made a little basket over the weekend and decorated it with Easter symbols: coloured eggs and a rabbit. She enlisted the help of her oldest sister, Kathleen, to ‘blow’ the contents out of one of our free range eggs. She decorated the empty shell with her window art paints. Once it was dry she placed it in the basket and brought it to me. “Look what I’ve made, mummy. Do you think the Easter Bunny will like it?”.  

Lately in the car driving to and from school or to and from her activities, she has been asking me questions like, “Why does a bunny bring us easter eggs when rabbits don’t even lay eggs? Chickens lay eggs”, and, “Was there some sort of saint like Father Christmas who had something to do with rabbits?”.   All I have been able to respond with is, “Well the eggs are probably to symbolise new life because Easter is when Jesus came back to life. I don’t know what the rabbit has to do with it!”. This did not satisfy her. On another occasion she persisted, “Why does a rabbit bring us eggs at Easter time?”. Inadequately I responded with, “Probably because rabbits can hop”.  

Every day she has been asking me, “How many days before Easter now mummy?”. This morning in the car she actually remembered for herself what the count-down was. She announced happily from the back seat as I merged into a lane of peak hour traffic, “Only sixteen days to Easter. I can’t wait. I just can’t wait!”. Her older sister, Emma, who was in the front next to me muttered under her breath, “I can”. Emma is in grade six this year and a bit too cool to be anticipating Easter with any visible sign of excitement. However, when Sally asked “How does the Easter Bunny get into our houses? Father Christmas comes through the chimney, what does Easter Bunny do?”. I suggested, “It probably comes through our cat flap”, but Emma turned to me with a sly smile and responded to Sally with, “I think he must have a master key that opens the door of every house”.  

I have to admit though, Sally’s count down is making me excited. At Easter time, I will be flying off to New York for a week-long conference! Before I go I’ll have to purchase four chocolate treats, one for each of the girls. I’ll have to wrap them and entrust them with their father. I feel a slight pang that I won’t be there to put the chocolate on the kitchen table on the eve of Easter Sunday. But I feel equally as sure that the children won’t need me to be there for them to enjoy their chocolate!

Sweet Dreams

Dear Possums, this is not a usual blog post by me. Its a little bit self indulgent.

Whilst riding my pushbike to work this morning the Euythmics song, Sweet Dreams, came into my mind. It is such an apt song for me to be singing today. The lyrics mean more to me now than they did when the song first came out. I tend to enjoy songs for their lyrics. “Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree. I travel the world and the seven seas. Every body’s looking for something”.

I like to trust and see the good in people. I have learnt something about myself recently. I am at a loss as to how I am able to live with this fault more wisely. Is it practise? Do you have to throw yourself out there to practise being cautious. Or do you accept the fact that you tend to find good even when it is not there, write yourself off as a danger to yourself and stay indoors and out of circulation for the rest of your life?

Everybody’s looking for something. I thought about that. Its not just other people who are looking for something from me. What am I looking for? I think I know. But what I’m looking for is simple. I think I may already have what I’m looking for. Life beyond my boundaries can seem enticingly exciting, but I think I have learnt that what I’m looking for is probably not out there. And those out there are looking for something different to me.

Nature’s Way

Hello Possums. Those of you from Australia, we are a month into the new school year and I hope all of your children have settled in well. 

Sally, my youngest, adored her teacher last year. A young gay man, many parents last year including myself believed he was the best teacher in the school. He was nurturing yet firm, had high expectations yet provided essential encouragement and support. He was always happy and always had time to listen to the children. He treated them like active agents in their own education. It is a special person who can connect like this to seven-year-olds.

Sally was devoted to him. When her older sister teased her saying, “Your teacher has man-boobs”. Sally calmly replied, “That’s just nature’s way”. This, of course, left her sisters in hysterics. But she did not laugh.

I wondered how she would go with her new teacher this year when I picked her up from school on the first day back. I expected her to complain that her new older, female teacher was not a patch on Mr Grey. Driving in the car on the way home Emma was in the front and Sally in the back. I peered into the rear view mirror to ask her what she thought of her new teacher. “Oh I’ve got the best teacher in the world. You’d love her mum. She’s old like you and she has a daughter in grade three just like me. You should come into our grade and meet her”. The positive response surprised me. Emma and I exchanged bewildered looks. “What about Mr Grey?”, I enquired, “I thought he was your best teacher in the world!”. Sally made a face. “Well no”, she said with a grimace on her face, “he’s got man-boobs”.

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