Tag: #Subway

  • Learning the Subway

    The kid is off from school today. A teacher in-service or something. She’s getting old enough now that I don’t have to keep an eye on her all the time, nor do I need to keep her entertained endlessly. But I don’t want her sitting around the apartment all day either.

    So, I made her run errands with me. Errands that took us out of the neighborhood. Errands that meant we were going to ride the subway together.

    New York City is not the best place for kids, I admit it. Kids see and hear things maybe they shouldn’t, and it can cause them to grow up a little too soon. But, when that happens, me and the kid have a conversation about what she saw and heard. I mean, that’s the job of being a parent sometimes; talking about uncomfortable stuff. And yes, the subway has lead to a great many conversations.

    And the subway is how the kid will primarily get around in this town. I feel it is my duty as a parent and a transplanted New Yorker, the teacher my child who is a natural born New Yorker, how to use this world famous example of mass transit.

    We started with learning the difference between local and express, followed by what uptown and downtown means. Then we talked about the difference between letter and number local and express trains. Now, we are trying to memorize the stops; 125, 116, 110, 103, 96, 86, 81, 72 and 59. Sure, that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the MTA, but from the kid’s perspective, that’s her world when running around New York.

    I know for her, the City is vast, and these stops really don’t register as distances in relation to being away from home. It’s a little like magic for her. You go underground, get in a train, and come up in a different world, with different places and people. in that sense, NYC can be a pretty wonderful experience for a kid as well.

    (Say! If you like what you have read, please like, share, and leave a comment. It would help justify my existence.)

  • My Little Apartment

    I just might spend my whole life in this little Harlem apartment. As funny as that sounds, this is a new thought for me. I have lived in this apartment for fourteen years, and I have always thought that one day, we would leave this place for another apartment, or miracle of miracles, a house. This apartment was always seen as a stepping stone to something else.

    But you know what… after fourteen years, I think I am coming around to see that this apartment is my home, and I will always have this place as my home.

    Sure, it’s tiny. In fact, it is very tiny. Two little bedrooms, a small kitchen, an even smaller bathroom. Two adults, a kid and a dog live in its confines, and if you add one more adult in the space, the apartment feels over-crowed, like it will explode, but what you are actually feeling is the anxiety of people being on top of each other.

    Yet, we are next to two subway lines. And a park. And a library. The kid’s school is walking distance and it’s a pretty good school. We like our neighbors in the building, and a police and fire station aren’t too far away either. We have made the apartment cozy, and each person has their own space to relax.

    Just wish we got more sunlight in the place.

    Maybe we might get a place upstate. Maybe a small farm house with a root cellar, and a place we can put all of our books. Maybe have enough land for the dog to run, and an old fieldstone wall cutting through the property. Maybe, one day.

    But in my little apartment, we have marked the kid’s height on the wall. The apartment is near a grocery store, and a place where me and the wife can get a dozen oysters on the half shell, and a pretty decent dirty martini.

    Maybe I will stay her forever after all.

  • That Song Triggers That Memory

    I went grocery shopping this morning. It is one of the rare moments in my week where I can listen to music uninterrupted. I take the subway down to the Trader Joe’s on 93rd, and there is a little bit of a walk. Early in the morning, after the kids are in school, and people have left for work, there aren’t many folks on the street, so I can jam out to my music; I can get it.

    And as I was riding the subway home with my bags, my playlist randomly gave me “Bye Bye Love,” by The Cars. I have heard this song since forever, and its hints of unrequited love made it such a wonderful juxtaposition of a song, contrasting with its upbeat rock tempo.

    Not sure why, but I added it to a playlist in mid 2018, and listened to it quite heavily. In September 2018, I was visiting a friend from college and her husband in a rather cool Brooklyn apartment that was in a walkup building, and they had access to a rooftop garden. That kind’a cool apartment, you know? We were drinking, a lot, and started playing a game of finding videos and concerts on YouTube of songs we loved. I picked “Bye Bye Love,” from a club concerts The Cars played in 1979. I liked it, but not sure if it played well in the room.

    But the memory of what I was feeling in that moment is still attached with that song. I felt lonely, because my wife and daughter were 3,000 miles away in California. I felt paralyzed as I was supposed to be packing up our apartment for our move to California, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. I was about to start rehearsals for what would be the last show I worked on, which had me excited to see my friends who I love and I am amazed by. And I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom, as my mother had cancer, and I knew she wouldn’t recover.

    My college friend lost her father when she was younger, and I knew if there was a friend who could understand what I was feeling, it would be her. And I think of her as one of my close friends, but I couldn’t talk about it. I just lied. I said it was looking better, and we have to believe in hope, and all that stuff. But I didn’t mean it. I said the thing I thought was expected. I didn’t tell the truth.

    I don’t hate listening to “Bye Bye Love,” or The Cars. Sometimes that memory and feeling doesn’t settle over me when I hear it. Some days, I’m okay when I think of my mother’s passing. And then one day, I hear a song, and it all comes back to me while on a B train, heading uptown.

  • ODDS and ENDS: The Subway, Aaron Rodgers, and I’m Not Talking About Tottenham This Week

    “ODDS and ENDS” is my continuing series of random thoughts and follow ups…

    Riding on the subway sucks right now. I keep on thinking that I am going to get comfortable with it, but it still makes me anxious. Though I am vaccinated, I still don’t like people getting near me when I am in a car. And I especially don’t like unmasked people being around me. Then, the kappa donna is when I ride with the kid. I become super edgy with people, and try to get as far away from them as possible, in an attempt to keep my kid safe. I know that when she gets vaccinated, which will be soon, some of these feelings will ease up. But as of now, it’s like a necessary evil to get around the city.

    So… Aaron Rodgers was having so much fun because he was fooling everyone. Or he was all hyped up on B-12 shots. Either way, nice try Rodgers…

    Tottenham has a new manager, and barely got past Vitesse in their Europa Conference match. Sure, it was Conte’s first time leading the team, but looks like they have the same old problems that a manager can’t change. Spur’s defense is awful, and that’s where the fix needs to happen. I think between Lucas, Son and Kane, goal scoring is taking care of. They just need to stop the other side, and get the ball back on transition. (I sort of sound like I know what I am talking about.) Tottenham play Everton this weekend, and I don’t see them pulling it off. But… I’ll be there with my scarf on, watching them play.

  • Caught in the Rain

    Man, that was a lot of rain last night. On the UWS, it started around 5pm, and I got caught out in it. I was coming back from a doctor’s appointment, and thought I could out run it. Not so much. Even a ride on the 1 train to get back to Harlem didn’t help, as the rain came down in waves. It would let up, and then come down even harder.

    There is something very humbling with being caught out in a downpour in New York. When a hard rain hits, you can watch as people going running inside, or to the subway, or hopping in cabs or on a bus. Then there are the people who hide out in doorways. Everyone waiting out the rain. You do see people running down the street with an umbrella or a rain coat, because people do have places to be.

    But the saddest of all are the people who are just walking; no rain coat, no umbrella. Just walking like normal, as if it’s not raining. Showing all the signs that they weren’t expecting to get caught out in it, but now that they are, they have accepted the situation.

    Everyone, at one time or other, gets caught in the rain. It’s like a right of passage. It happened to me the first week after I moved to New York. I learned my lesson though. I check the weather and carry an umbrella.