I'm home -- but my suitecase isn't......

Well, my adventure was almost over. I just needed to get home now. When I left, I was half afraid I'd end up staying in NYC. (I guess what I'm saying is that I was half afraid something would tempt me to make a decision between going home or not.) I actually flirted with seeing if I just might be able to work things out and stay up there. I had a potential very potential -- since I didn't fully check it out job offer. But, I reasoned that instead of being my impulsive self and turning my life (and the lives of many others) upside down, I'd go home and think about it. I can always go back and try, right? I've make some contacts, explored what I'll be faced with, etc.

So, home I headed. My flight was at 9:30 A.M. and since I had to leave the apt. clean -- I used that as an excuse to stay in a hotel close to the airport overnight. I mean, how could I have slept on the sheets and then had them washed and dried before I had to leave at 7 A.M. for the airport. There were several little details like that I just didn't feel like worrying about. So I spent the night in a luxurious (compared to what I'd been staying in) room at the Marriott. King sized bed (that I didn't have to wash the bedding and make up), bathroom (that I didn't have to clean), room service (dishes I didn't have to wash).... you get the point. And a free shuttle to the airport. (No worries about car services arriving on time.)

Bright and early the next moring I boarded the shuttle for the airport. It didn't take long before I was dropped off in front of the hell masquerading as LaGuardia Airport. WTF! Eight o'clock in the morning and the lines were out the door. I was surprised, but what did I know? Maybe this is normal, I thought -- untill I started hearing more and more people (some locals who flew regularly) expressing surprise also. The only excuse we heard for the mayhem was that the storms that had blown through the night before had messed up crew arrivals. Whatever!

As I stood in the l-o-n-g line for security I assumed I'd never make my flight. But, I did. The line moved surprisingly fast. Not that it mattered. My flight ended up being delayed 1 1/2 hours. I didn't complain as there were some people there whose flights were delayed more than 4 hours -- there were even some people there who had flights canceled the day before and were back to try again. So, as we finally boarded our plane, passengers and crew were not in the best of moods.

I wasn't bumped to first class for this flight. In fact I sat next to a very disgruntled passenger. Without going into details, she quickly (thank goodness) told me her list of grievances and then went to sleep -- snoring loudly enough to be heard over the plane noise. She would wake herself up with her snoring She would wake up from time to time to express surprise that she had been snoring so loudly or to glare at one of the attendants and tell me she had that attendant's name -- first and last names -- and was writing a letter to the airline about her treatment.

Without going into more details, you can probably imagine how happy I was when that flight ended.

Okay. I'm home. J's at the airport to pick me up. We head to baggage claim for my bag. We wait. And we wait. And we wait. And....

When there are only two lonely suitcases going round and round (neither of which was mine) J. asks for my baggage claim ticket so we can check on my suitcase. Sh*t! What claim? I never got one. Do they give them anymore? J. insists they do, and he storms off to check (after telling me there's no way in hell they'll know what happened to my bag since I have no claim ticket). Wwwwweeeeeeeeell, turns out it was no problem. The computer proves I had checked in a bag and that it had stayed at LaGuardia because the plane was too full to fit all the luggage.

After my suitcase flew from NYC, to Atlanta, then to Baton Rouge, some kind soul delivered it to my back door. Even though the zippers were not closed completely and some clothes were peeking through the openings -- we were reunited. I was glad I'd either mailed or carried on my important stuff. Listen when they tell you to do that.

And my seatmate on the flight home? Turns out she and her husband are from New Orleans but have been living in NYC for several years. They were going to visit her inlaws who lost much in Katrina but have managed to relocate close to NOLA. She and her husband teach drama in schools/camps/workshops. She mentioned how they were thinking about moving back and opening a school but didn't know if it would be a good place for their four-year-old daughter.

It's the comment she made as we sadly gazed over New Orleans while landing that has stuck with me. We had been talking about the governor's race this October and she said, "You know, something didn't change New Orleans. I wonder if someone can change it?"

I, too, wonder the same thing.

Balloons over Broadway......

The last day. Oral presentations ended at 3 pm. Final celebration scheduled for 5 pm at the Amsterdam Cafe. Three of us waiting for someone to meet us and then walk across Amsterdam to the party. While we were in the hall the program director spies us and asks if we would mind picking up a bunch of helium balloons at a little shop right next door to the cafe. "Of course not!" we answered. ....That's how it started.

The little shop right next door to the cafe had the balloons, but not the helium. Their shop on Broadway had them, they said. So....wanting to please, we thought we'd zip through Columbia's campus to Broadway and pick up the balloons. And we did. Problem was, that shop didn't have any helium either. But....a little shop just down Broadway (about five blocks down Broadway) had them we were told. Well, we'd come this far, so off we went.

The little shop did indeed have the balloons, and the helium, so we were set. Except for getting the two and 1/2 dozen floating balloons back to Amsterdam.

That's how I ended my experience at TC. Walking down Broadway and Amsterdam with a colorful bouquet of balloons floating over my head -- as tourists on those big red buses snapped pictures.

Where did dat dream go?

Click for some good music

....and try to tell me you didn't find yourself moving to the beat!


Saints: 0-3


Come on boys!

People here have lost their humanity......

The last week of my stay in NY found me schleping boxes to UPS on Broadway so they could be mailed home -- boxes full of my books and alllllllllll the papers I had accumulated while up there. ....I also managed to mail the kids the stuff I'd bought them my first week there. I was making so many trips because I couldn't carry too many heavy boxes at once. Of course, now I realize I probably could have scheduled a pick-up from UPS, but who had time to think? I did come to my senses long enough to spy the grocery cart push thingy in the apartment. I'd used it back and forth from CMet a time or two. Pefect!

On one of those trips, while I was waiting to cross Amsterdam, there was this lady standing next to me, and....she spoke. And....I answered. And....she kept talking. This, to me, was quite unusual in NY so I tried to sort of avoid her. I mean -- who carries on a conversation on a street corner, waiting on the light unless they want something? (See what the city did to me!)

Well, she was undeterred. She kept right on talking as we crossed Amsterdam, talked all the way up 120th to Broadway, and didn't stop until we reached the subway at 115/116. It turned out that she is French and was in NY for the summer taking dance classes. She was on her way downtown to her class. It was an interesting conversation. She feels that the people in NYC have lost their humanity. Yes, ma'am, yes, sir. That's right. NYers have lost their humanity.

You see, in France (so she said), people don't live as they do in NY. In NY there is poverty and homelessness all around that amazes her. And the noise and the energy -- even up in the Columbia area. She couldn't sleep at night because of all the energy in the air. And she had just been to a dentist who wanted $2,000 to fix her tooth. She was a tourist, she had told him, and didn't have that money. Get out, he'd told her -- and gave her a phone number to call. She'd been to a Spanish museum up around W 128th St. (I could have told her that was not a good idea) and had seen two women fighting -- using their fists like men, she said. She was never coming back to NY. There was no humanity there.

Now, what fasinated me more than what she was saying was that she was so stereotypically French. I mean the rolling of her eyes, the hand gestures, the ohh la la las -- you would have thought you were watching a movie. As we parted ways at the subway, she had asked me if I was from the city. When I said "No," she said she hadn't thought so because my face looked different. She said I had a look of peace and kindness.

Now, I might not have remembered that except she was maybe the third person to tell me the same thing while I was up there. Peace, love, kindness. I'm afraid it was probably just a look of naivety.

Overheard on my tour of Columbia's campus......

As we were touring Columbia University's lovely campus, we walked by two women. As we passed by, one of the women was pointing to a row of shurbs, and we heard her say to the other woman, "That's where I saw it. A rat caught a squirrel -- right under those bushes."

Eeeeewwwwww!

I feel as if I'm back in the 1960's......

"Click here -- Jena Six"



As people are mobilizing, as people are talking of demonstrations, as we attempt to deal with our feelings of deja vu, as I ordered my "Free the Jena Six" tee shirt this morning, I felt a twinge of familiar feelings. Back in the day (the '60s) there was a kind of excitement as we were talking about causes and movements and changing things for the better. But today, I don't feel those feelings. I just feel sad. Very, very, very sad.

Haven't we learned anything?

And, as with Katrina, our state suffers from a lack of leadership. Our duly elected governor, our state's leader is off in Spain -- drumming up jobs. Part of her job, you say? Sure, but after the press we're getting. After Thursday's rally. Can you tell me with a straight face that anyone is going to want to locate any business here? Yeah! Sure!

New York in the Rain......

As much as I love the rain when I'm safe and snug inside, I hate driving in the rain. In the past when I'd think of living in a large city with mass transit, one of the pluses was not having to drive a car -- especially in the rain. Well, I was very blessed during my time in NYC because I was only caught in the rain one (and 1/2) times. The two major storms that blew through during my time there found me in the apartment. However, knowing that rain would likely happen, I did pick up an umbrella at a Duane Reade during my first week there.

So, on the one morning I awoke to some pretty heavy rain outside, I was prepared. I grabbed my umbella and my book bag and off I went -- smiling to myself because I had less than a five minute walk and no need to maneuver a car through the traffic on wet, slick roads. But, the first problem I encountered was....how was I going to hold the coffee I always stopped to buy on the way to class and the umbrella? I'd just have to stand in the l-o-n-g line and buy the overpriced Starbucks at school. Problem solved. Off I went.

Some things you may not know. 1.) Those cheap little collapsible unbrellas don't hold up very well in even the slightest wind. 2.) Gutters in NY collect water very quickly. 3.) Flipflops are not the best shoes to wear in the rain. 4.) The hours it takes to dry out your damp clothes in a classroom that is about 48 degrees can be quite uncomfortable. 5.) Drying out books, notebooks, and other papers that got drenched -- good luck.

So, yes, off I went that wet, rainy morning, smiling because I didn't have to bother with my car. Off I went, slipping and sliding on my flipflops, with my jeans already wet up to my knees -- not to mention the contents of my book bag, and fighting to keep the umbrella from turning inside out. As I splashed in the rain filled gutter to cross Amsterdam, I found myself thinking, "Well, this sucks."

I smiled all the way home......

In NYC I had to constantly self-monitor myself whenever I encountered another human being. Here at home I would normally say Hi! or at least smile at another person as we passed. And if we were in an elevator together, well....we probably would exchange cell numbers. Now, I'm not saying that NYers are not friendly, it's just that they react differently when someone strange speaks to them. I actually noticed a couple of people cringe when I forgot my self-monitoring and spoke to them. I mean, come on now, the aisles in most stores up there are so narrow that passing each other comes close to having an intimate encounter. It just seems right to at least speak as you're rubbing up against each other.

But I learned. And it didn't take long to understand. Space is so precious that you don't want to invite just anyone into your personal space. Actually, is there such a thing as personal space in the city?

But, about half-way through my stay, something extraordinay happened. One evening as I was buying some (more) groceries at AppleTree, as the guy handed me my purchaces, he said, "Thank you. See you next time." Up until then I thought they were fairly gruff people. I didn't take it personally. I thought maybe it was a cultural thing. I felt so silly, but after that little bit of pleasantry, I found myself smiling all the way back to the apartment.

And....after that, I started noticing people speaking to me in the elevator in the apartment building, and even more workers in the stores and delis I stopped in almost daily started saying "Thanks!" and "See you next time." I must say it startled me. Had I changed or had they?

The Jordanians......

There were about ten of them in our group of 41. The State Department held two of them up -- finally allowing one to come a week late, but one they wouldn't allow to come at all. Twelve hours in an airplane had brought them to NYC, to a culture about as different from theirs as day is from night. They were so eager to talk about their country and culture, so hungry to see NYC. It was interesting and enlightening to talk and interact with them.

One Friday night a group of us (including several of the Jordanians) went to a Mexican restaurant -- Zarela -- for dinner. At the end I was invited to go along to a place where we were to smoke the hookah. At the time I didn't think women were allowed to participate in this activity, but....you live, you learn. For some reason we never made it to the hookah place, but our walk through NY and our ride on the 1 train back uptown was interesting. All but one of the Jordian women were covered -- scarfs, long coats, etc -- and I was surprised by the stares we received in such a cosmopolitan city as NY. Maybe it was the difference in dress that drew peoples' eyes -- some of us in jeans or skirts and tank top, and some covered from head to toe.

The Jordanians -- that's what we called them, that's what the program director called them and it stuck. The Jordanians were smart, polite, eager to talk about their country and culture, yet they really had a time of it. Apparently there had been a national competition and the best of the best were chosen to come here, yet they still had their own unique set of problems -- keeping up with the assignments was even more of a challenge to them. They constantly had meetings and dinners that were set up with different dignitaries. It was said that when they met with the president of Columbia University and complained to him about the work load, his response was, "Well, just get with the program." Linda, the director of the program would tell them that American students worked all the time. She kept tellilng them that they weren't here to sight-see and didn't have time for it.

That didn't help much. They were so interested to see NYC. One of them told me she didn't know why she even went back to the dorm. She said she had so much work to do that she should just sleep a couple hours at school and not bother leaving. Another one told me that all over Jordan people said, "Oh! You're so lucky. You're going to NYC!" She said when she gets back she'll tell them, "Lucky? All we did was work, work, work!" It also didn't help that they arrived the day before the program started and left the evening the program ended. I wonder if their country or our State Department set up that time table?

Whatever shocks and surprises NY held for them, they handled them with grace. Only toward the end of the program did I hear stories of how horrified they were on that first day when they saw students sitting with their legs crossed and the sole of their shoes pointed at the teacher. Some said they were so ashamed that they wanted to walk out of class. And I had conversations with a couple of the guys about their reactions to the way some American women dressed.

During one class we were talking about how in some cultures men didn't shake hands, and the Jordians mentioned that that was true in their culture. Linda almost had a meltdown because she had shaken hands with each of them when she met them for the first time. They laughed and assured her it was fine. On the last day the guys were coming around shaking hands with all of us, and the women were hugging us women. The Jordanians. They represented their country well.

School!

After a week of settling in, learning my way around, and already working fairly hard, it was time for Mom's first day of school. I was anxious, but looking forward to it. After all, how hard would they work us during the summer for seven weeks? As I told my kids, I don't think it's going to be that hard -- no papers to write, surely. Absolutely no test -- I was sure of it. ....Shows how wrong a person can be, as I started finding out on my very first day.

Work started with a bang the first morning of the first day and didn't let up until.... well, actually, it didn't let up. I was so busy that I didn't have time to dwell on how busy I was. ....Which was probably a good thing. The thought "I can't possibly do all this" would cross my mind, but it didn't have the leisure of remaining because it was pushed right out by all the other stuff that was constanly being put in my head. I read, I wrote, I listened, I made lesson plans, I taught, I read, I wrote, I listened, I made lesson plans, I taught, I read, I wrote.... Oh, yeah. I also took tests! Yes, ma'am. I took tests -- midterms and finals. At my age! I was so startled when I found out we would be tested, I called my daughter A. in a panic. She was supportive, but I could tell she was surprised and a little worried for me. In fact, I called A. and my sons several times -- learning how to do Word. Sheesh!

There was not one wasted moment in those seven weeks of learning, and everything was so interesting. It was just so m-u-c-h! And linguistics! Oy vey! Let me say one thing about linguistics -- when you transcribe words, your accent can indeed *sound* through. It helps having a professor who tells you as long as you're "accent consistent" there won't be a problem. To give you an idea of how good this guy was, listen to this -- he could (and did) talk for twenty minutes on the consonant 'r' and......it was interesting!

So went day after day after day after day after day after day (including workshops on three Saturdays -- 10-5), and observations during lunch. And, of course, I had to run back and forth to the computer lab at school in the mornings before class, at free lunch hours, and in the evenings to print out all those papers and lesson plans I wrote on my laptop at the apartment. Lord Gawd! Thinking back, how did we do it?

Duane Reade does not sell alcohol......

Wanna know how I know? Because I asked -- much to my chagrin. How was I to know? Every self-respecting drug store I was used to back home sold liquor. But....not in NY. Nope! I had a heck of a time finding a liquor store -- for a bottle of wine(and that necessary bottle of rum -- what else can you do with a Diet Coke?).

One interesting thing is that before I left NY Duane Reade was selling beer. Some native NYers in my classes were amazed. Some who had heard my story blamed it on me. I assume no responsibility for Duane Reade's decisions....

Bus drivers and other kind strangers......

I arrived in NY one week before classes started at TC to undergo some training that was supposed to take place in TX but at the last minute was changed to NY. No problem with me! Well, except one. Each day I had a different schedule -- a schedule that I wasn't privy to until I checked in each morning. This made it difficult to make plans for sight-seeing and such. Actually, it was a bummer. But, since it saved me a few $$ in tuition, I really couldn't complain. Well, actually I could, and did, but....only to myself or one of two others.

So most days that first week saw me on board an M-11, M-04, or M-104 heading downtown to various locations. I usually managed to at least get close to where I was going -- thanks to a couple of friendly bus drivers and the kindness of other strangers. It didn't take me long to realize that NYers are (for the most part) friendly people, willing to give directions, and have an opinion on most everything -and are very willing to share that opinion....

Let's start with the bus drivers. I mostly rode busses at first because they were closest to where I was staying, it was sooooooooo hot and I didn't want to walk any farther than I had to, I could see the parts of NY we traveled past, and I was nursing a sore ankle. I found some drivers to be more helpful than others. I must say I was blessed with some very patient ones as I learned the correct way to insert my MetroCard. Not rocket science, but damn it took me a long time to get it right. One time I actually jammed the entire card into the slot. I partially blame the driver for allowing this to happen because he was muttering the whole time I was trying to get the card into the slot. I thought he was urging me to keep pushing the card in, but in retrospect I imagine what he was really saying was, "She's gonna get that thing stuck!" Which, in fact, I did. Why didn't he speak up?! In case you didn't know, if you ever manage to get your MetroCard stuck in the bus thingy, the driver can lift the top and retrieve it. Duh-oh!

I did encounter some gruff drivers -- like the one who let me off in front of the AppleTree, in the gutter actually, right smack dab in front of a sidewalk full of delivery boxes. He could have rolled a few feet farther and there wouldn't have been a problem, but no. He (or was it a she?) let me off where I barely had room to get away from the steps. I am still amazed the bus didn't roll over my toes as it pulled away. One of the AppleTree employees was there and was quite apologetic. Oh, well.

To more than balance out that experience, were the three or so times different bus drivers allowed riders on who didn't have the correct card or money. Some were obviously tourists who didn't know that busses won't accept dollar bills. Some just got on not knowing what in the hell to do. The driver, in each of these cases, told them they would have to ask the other riders for change. Oh the look on those poor peoples' faces! But, there were always gallant NYers who rose to the challenge and made change or accepted dollar bills and then let their MetroCard be swiped -- or inserted.

I even asked for directions a few times, usually from a policeman/woman or a security person. Everyone was quite helpful. I had employees at Macy's and the Gap actually walk me out to the street to point to where I should go. I was impressed. One thing I did notice was that whenever I asked one person for directions, it wasn't long before two or three others would join in with varying opinions as to what I should do. On occasions like those I would get a consensus of opinions and then quietly leave -- and usually the group of helpful people would still be there arguing discussing what was the best way for me to go....

You've just got to love New York and New Yorkers.

Car services and apartment keys......

Once at LaGuardia I managed to find baggage claim, grab my suitcase and for $3.00 rent a baggage cart. I was set. Now all I had to do was give the car service I'd ordered a call. My daughter A. had told me that last Christmas she and her friends had to wait 20 or so minutes for the same car service to arrive, so I found a bench to sit down and gave Carmel a call. To my surprise the car I'd ordered must have been circling to airport because the lady on the phone gave me directions to find the car posthaste. That's when things started going downhill.

The nice lady on the phone asked me if I saw a red (or blue ??) canopy outside. I explained that I was still inside but I was sure I could find the canopy once I made my way outside. Yeah! Sure! I couldn't even remember the color she'd said. That led to my wandering about (and taking a couple of unneeded rides on some kind of shuttle bus) for close to half hour. In the end, with the help of another car service driver, I found my driver, who was not too pleased at my antics. I think he enjoyed the fact that I was so desperate when I spotted him that I literally stopped three lanes of traffic as I darted across lugging my bright red suitcase.

Once in the car I tried to be very nice so he'd know I appreciated him hanging around until I found him. I don't think he understood a word I said though. We hit another little bump in the road when I thought he was heading downtown and I needed to go uptown. How did he expect me to know he had to get around Morningside Park before he could get to West 120th Street? And then I had to ask him to stop around the corner from my final destination so I could pick up the keys. I'm sure he was glad to get rid of me. But he ended up being quite polite after he saw the nice fat tip I gave him. Whew!

Okay. I have the apartment keys. I found the apartment building. Someone was leaving as I arrived and they held the door open for me and my luggage. So far so good. Once inside the building I couldn't find the elevator. I asked the first person who passed by and they looked at me as if I were crazy. The elevator was right in front of me -- disguised very well if you ask me. It looked like another door. You had to pull it open to enter. Oh well, I got in, rode to the sixth floor, and walked to the apartment I'd sublet for the next eight weeks. Now, just stick the keys in the lock, open the door, and walk in -- right? Not so fast.

I did put the keys in the locks and....even though they fit, I couldn't get the frickin' door to open. I promise I stood there for a full twenty minutes turning the locks every way I could think. There were two locks -- one on top and one on bottom. I must have been unlocking one and locking the other. Then....vice versa. Finally the door opened and I was in the apartment. No surprises (thank the good lord!), the apartment was just as the pictures I'd been sent showed.

So I really had an apartment in New York! No need to find a hotel. I called everyone I was supposed to call to tell them I'd actually managed to make it there and then unpacked some. It wasn't long before I realized I was hungry. The only problem was that I really didn't know how I'd finally managed to open the apartment door so I really, really didn't want to face that battle again. But, the alternative was to never leave the apartment or hire someone to sit there whenever I went out so they'd be there to open the door for me when I returned. Since neither of these alternatives were feasible, and I was really hungry, I decided I'd have to chance being able to open the door after I got some food.

Long story short, I picked up a sandwich and a few other things at a store across the street, AppleTree grocery and deli, and headed back to the apartment and that dang door. It didn't take me quite as long this time -- maybe ten minutes to get in. Sigh! For a couple of days it was like that whenever I went out. I never knew how long it would take me to unlock the f*cking door.

Finally, I emailed the lady I was subletting from (who was in Paris for the summer), and she told me the locks were old and had been used so much that they did stick sometimes. She said I could tell the guardian or just try locking the bottom lock (which is what she does). So, by locking only the bottome lock I was able to start getting the door to unlock with just a couple of turns of the key. Sometimes it unlocked the first time I turned the key.

So ended my first day in the city. My emotions had been like a rollercoaster so I was dead tired. Too tired to think about being afraid or worry about anything. I slept well -- until about 5:15 or so. That's when I realized what direction the apartment faces -- north east. And every morning the sun would wake me as it rose, brightly shining in the window next to the bed, by the fire escape -- the window with no curtain, only blinds that didn't reach all the way to the bottom of the window. Then, after a few minutes of relief from the light, the sun would make its way to the other two huge windows in the bedroom and brightly shine through them.

Let's just say it was the rare morning that I slept passed 5:30 whithout being waked up.