Tuesday night we had a number of diners who were decompressing after Day 1 of the NYS Bar exam. It’s always interesting to meet and talk with young attorneys from literally around the world who are seeking credentials to practice in my home state. A table of six the other night really stood out in my mind. The group consisted of Brazilians and Argentinians and they were full of life and appreciative of the hospitality we bestowed upon them. They loved our patio and enjoyed the cocktail of the month and our pasta special and it was great to witness their relaxation.
As they were departing Lark + Lily, they were talking about football. You know, soccer. I mentioned that Albany has a terrific soccer bar, Wolff’s Biergarten, and suggested that they might enjoy visiting there after the second day of the exam. One of the men quickly responded that he planned to come back to my place the next night – and he did, bringing four different test takers with him.
After their meal, we were talking together and they related some stories about their experiences taking cabs in Albany. If you’ve ever taken a cab around here, you know what’s coming next… They were completely shocked by the condition of the cab (“the car looked like it had been in a bad accident”), the rudeness of the drivers (“this is how we do it here. I don’t know what it’s like in your country”) and the practice of picking up passengers all around town (“I used my map app to confirm that we were going around in circles rather than directly to my hotel”). Yes, indeed, welcome to Albany, the Capital of New York State.
I agreed with their assessment and apologized for the wretched cab service available in my city. I noted that it is on par with what I would imagine would be present in a third world country. Laughing, they said that they represented 3 third world countries and that their service is far superior to ours. Wow.
When they were getting ready to leave, they asked if the Biergarten was nearby. Could they walk there? I explained that it was some distance from the restaurant and that the walk might be a little ambitious. Seeing the disappointment on their faces, I immediately made the sincere offer to give them a ride. Their disappointment changed to astonishment. “Really?,” they asked. Absolutely.
My friend, who had just arrived, and I piled them into the car and gave them the 10 minute tour of our city. We drove down Washington Avenue to State Street and then across Broadway, filling them on the architecture and history of what is a lovely, lovely city with shitty, shitty cab service. While I completely enjoyed giving them a ride (I’ve been the recipient of many kindnesses myself while traveling and was happy to return the favor), it sure would be nice if visitors and residents of Albany had available quality transportation. Until then, I’m just glad I have a station wagon.
Filed under Albany, Lark Street, Local, Observations, politics, Rant, Restaurants, soccer, travel, Uncategorized, upstate New York
If by “hot” you mean experiencing hot flashes, that is. Holy perimenopause!
Male readers, be warned. This may not be the blog post for you. Unless, of course, you’re trying to develop your understanding and empathy for the universe’s women. In which case, read on.
The move to what I’m considering my third stage of life, is starting to amp up a bit. The night sweats are more frequent and now even appear during waking hours. The lines on my face are a bit more assertive and the flesh under my biceps seems a bit softer. My cycle is no longer a cycle as much as it is a random moment in time. Things are changing and I’m trying to pay attention without obsessing. Wish me luck with that, ok?
When I attempt to look back on when I transitioned from biological girl to woman, very few memories remain. I remember becoming aware of my need for deodorant and being relieved to find Tickle roll on atop my dresser. I was kind of oblivious about other changes in my physical appearance, you know, the new hair and curves appearing, but I felt males looking at me with different eyes than to which I was accustomed.
I recall receiving a box of maxi pads and a pamphlet from my mother, but it came without discussion. My period started and I used the feminine products without telling my mother. When the box was empty, I requested tampons and that was the extent of our conversation about menstruation and puberty. I wonder how it might have been different if I had a daughter of my own.
Soon, my reproductive system will cease to function as it has for more than 35 years. As my inner feminine systems go out in a blaze of heat and sweat, I appreciate how well I’ve been served by this womanly body of mine. Three healthy children have been conceived and grown within its confines, a miracle by any measure. I’ve enjoyed an easy monthly cycle, never experiencing the discomfort from cramps and extreme mood swings that many women experience, but, I’m ready to close the door on fertility. I’m seriously hoping that this internal furnace of mine directs its attention to something external that is productive – and I’m not just talking about intense perspiration either.
Isn’t it pretty to think so?
If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time or are acquainted with me in real life, you know I don’t watch a lot of television. I just don’t have time for sitting around, especially during the academic year, and really only justify indulging myself with a couple of hours of viewing when I’ve got a basket or two of laundry to fold. Except for last week, that is.
Last week I took solace in the ugliness of methamphetamine and drug cartels and the harsh desert landscape of America’s southwest. I fled our world of black people dying at the hands of police and police officers dying by the guns of black citizens. I successfully ran away from a truck filled with hatred at a time when dozens failed to make the very same escape. I avoided the ugly rhetoric of politics, complete with bigotry and racism and ignorance, by immersing myself in a society devoid of political parties. I chose, for more hours than I’d like to admit, to reside in a place that somehow, perhaps because of its very distance from my own personal reality, seemed safer than the world that I find myself currently living in.
Years after most Breaking Bad aficionados, I watched the series finale. Loose ends were tied up, comeuppance was dealt out, closure was achieved. It was satisfying. I’m going to miss it.
How many articles have you read over the years describing all the wonderful and fun things to do with your children while visiting Cape Cod? Since there seem to be countless opportunities to learn about family time adventures to be had when visiting Cape Cod, please allow me to share some ideas for what to do when you’re without children.
- Ride your bike everywhere. Load your saddlebags or a backpack with a towel, a sheet or lightweight blanket, reading material, sunscreen, a snack and cold drink and you’re ready to hit the road. Don’t forget your helmet!
- Come and go on your own schedule. If you feel like leaving the beach after an hour or two, hop on your bike and go for it. Want to stop for a quick dip at a pond on the way home? Go for it! There’s no one to complain.
- Speaking of the beach – why not bring a book for a change? Without children to supervise you might actually read a few pages before you indulge in a nap.
- Eat ice cream for lunch and whatever you feel like for dinner. There will be no chicken fingers or grilled cheeses consumed in your company for the duration of your getaway.
- Do minimal laundry (because you know how to hang wet towels up and refrain from getting filthy) and sleep in almost sand free sheets.
- Run without the worry of wondering when your phone will ring with a crisis (“Can I have ice cream?” or “Where is my whatever?”).
- Watch as many sunsets and sunrises as you like.
- Go to Provincetown and do adult things like drink tasty cocktails and eat Brussels sprouts and fried oysters.
- Wander in and out of shops filled with fragile and delicate items without fear.
- Enjoy your relative freedom knowing that it is for only a few days and that your children are just fine hanging with their dad.
Filed under Boys, Cape Cod, drinking, Eating, Exercise, favorites, ideas, Observations, Recommendations, road trips, running, Summer, travel, Uncategorized, vacation
Soccer season is nearly over and, for the first time in a long time, it felt like it went by really fast. That’s probably because I’m guilty for making it to too few games for my son who plays travel, and the rec season is actually fairly short with only 6 or 7 weeks games. Either way, when it’s over I will enjoy my Saturday mornings and Tuesday evenings, but they will be lacking in structure without a game to work into the schedule.
Quinn’s spring season was memorable because this was the year that he wore a hand me down keeper’s jersey. Liam and I had brought it back from Germany 3 years ago for my middle son. It was still a bit generous in the sleeve length for my 11 year-old but he insisted upon wearing it each game, regardless of temperature. One week, it was close to 85 degrees and still he wore it – underneath his team t-shirt in case he got called up to play keeper. It was the cutest thing ever.
I swear I don’t know how that jersey can be even close to fitting him. I mean, the shirt looked so big three years ago when my boys were three years smaller. Now, only one son is still to grow into it while the other two are already grown beyond. Just like that. *snap*
As I was mulling over this curious case of time passing quickly and folks growing, I reached for a pair of shorts I bought a few years. They’re blue and white gingham, which, I think, epitomizes summer just like madras and pink lemonade. I pulled them on and up, nervous as always that they would no longer fit for one reason or another. They did. Sort of.
Somehow over the last winter, I grew, too. Not taller or wider or heavier, but a wee bit older. Old enough, actually, to now be too old to wear the checked short shorts that still fit me perfectly – other than the length. I felt absolutely exposed in them in a way that made me uncomfortable. Somehow they had grown too young for me – just like that. *snap.*
Growing up and growing older, that’s the long and short of it.
Monday night I attended a vigil at the NYS Capitol sponsored by the Capital Pride Center. The event, to honor the victims of Saturday night’s massacre in Orlando (not to be confused with previous massacres we’ve witnessed) was organized in the afterglow of Albany’s Pride celebration. How’s that for tragic irony, people?
I gathered with a rainbow of diverse human beings – gay, straight, trans, bi, black, white, brown and yellow, all brought together to acknowledge a tragedy and take a stand. I can’t speak to what may have compelled the hundreds of other attendees to be present, but for me, it was a means of demonstrating that love and unity can triumph over fear and hate, even in dark days filled with uncertainty and sorrow. There were flags and banners and candles that struggled to remain lit on a cool and windy evening and speakers who addressed the crowd to share their thoughts and feelings, each raw with grief and frustration. Aren’t we all at this point?
It seems that many people are interpreting this horrible event as an act of terrorism, but I’m not buying it. The more we learn about the perpetrator, the more it seems that he maybe was a self loathing, repressed homosexual who decided to kill the part of himself that he hated – and take as many others with him. Is that too much psychobabble? I don’t know, honestly, but I do find it more plausible than his having been radicalized by Isis since there doesn’t appear to be any true evidence that he was involved with what is currently the Earth’s most hate filled organization.
While I won’t name the shooter in Saturday’s massacre, preferring to remember those who were gunned down, I have learned a new name that I won’t soon forget – Deborah Glick. When this NYS Assemblymember spoke she didn’t point fingers at Muslims or Isis or even homophobes. No, she railed against the NRA and the culture of guns in our society. Glick matter of factly stated that if the deaths of 20 six and seven year-old elementary students didn’t change the gun possession laws in our country, the deaths of nearly 50 adults in a dance club wouldn’t either. It was a heart-wrenching statement that brought me to tears and has committed me anew to speaking out about the civilian purchase and possession of assault weapons. She’s a new hero to me.
I’ve allowed my personal Facebook wall to become a battleground between friends and former friends about the topic of gun control. I say former friends because I’ve come to realize that there are people I have previously allowed in my life who are no longer welcome – not because our opinions differ, but because we are unable to have a civil conversation about topics upon which we disagree. I just can’t invest my energy or time in debating with people who will not acknowledge that legally purchased weapons are indeed a problem in our country. I’d rather devote my efforts to working for political candidates who favor stricter gun laws and maintaining a distance from the NRA and the influence they wield in our government. How about you? What is the impact of our country’s most recent and deadliest on you?
It’s been a pretty sobering week for me – and I own a wine bar. Watching Hillary Clinton march forward to claim the Democratic nomination has been difficult. Sorry, but I don’t like the idea of her being president. I don’t doubt her intelligence or experience, but her priorities will never be mine and I don’t believe that she represents me as much as she does Wall Street. I don’t trust her and I resent that the Democratic National Committee effectively gave her the nod and failed to provide a level playing field for all candidates. Our political system is in crisis and electing Hillary Clinton will do nothing to correct that abysmal reality.
I don’t need or want to vote for Hillary because she is a woman, just like I didn’t choose to vote for Barack Obama (twice) because he was black. I cast my ballot for the person who I believe will work to improve the lives of the majority of Americans, you know, the 99%. There’s been nothing that Clinton has said or done that has impressed me and I’m seriously considering showing up at the polls in November and simply writing Bernie’s name in – or just not voting at all. It seems like this country needs a wakeup call, and a Trump presidency just might provide the best lesson in civics ever.
A four-year sentence, or Presidential term, may seem excessive, but maybe it’s what Americans deserve for their apathy and lack of involvement in the political process. As the sentence of Brock Turner unfortunately demonstrates, far too often the punishment doesn’t match the crime. Without touching upon the particulars of his offenses, it is painfully apparent that the sentence he received is completely and utterly a result of his privileged ethnic and socio-economic status, rather than a reflection of the crimes he committed. What kind of judicial system finds a potential 6 month incarceration appropriate for a crime which will hold its victim in an emotional prison for the remainder of her life? Brock Turner and his father represent a most despicable sense of entitlement and arrogance – it’s that 1% thing again and it disgusts me.
We are living in a seriously messed up time, people.