Leaky Faucets

In the five-plus years I’ve worked in Jamaica, I’ve been yearning for a decent, healthy (and clean) place to get lunch. No such place has appeared. (I got so pathetically desperate at one point, that I actually hoped the rumors that Applebee’s was opening were true. They weren’t.) Perhaps, until now. A new Middle Eastern restaurant called Falafel Station has just opened at 153-35 Hillside Avenue, just west of Parsons Boulevard.   They deliver too.  I have yet to try it, but I just picked up a menu today. I had planned to check it out this week, but they are closed for a Jewish holiday. Yeah, can you believe it is Kosher? When I passed by in Peter’s car the other day, I assumed it was an Arab-owned place. Never would I have expected a Kosher place to open in Jamaica. Ironically, just as this place is opening, I’m preparing to depart this neighborhood. Hopefully, this new place will help make my last month here more enjoyable. And, as Ellen mentioned, my discovery (I’m good at finding food places because I’m always thinking about food, I guess) will make a nice parting gift to the office. I am also the one who found out about the Japanese place that delivers to the office all the way from Flushing.

“Give me one reason to stay here and I’ll turn right back around.”  That’s Tracy Chapman, and she may be trying to tell me something.  Or not.  On Saturday morning, we were having breakfast with my dad at The Good Egg in Scottsdale, on the way to the Phoenix Airport to head back ton New York at the end of our week vacation out there.  During breakfast, when I devoured one of their killer huge pancakes (you only need to order one) while my dad feasted on his trademark (trust me, dad: no one else will steal this from you) pancake with chocolate chips and peanut butter chips slathered with butter and topped with three eggs over easy, Tracy’ Chapman’s song “Give Me One Reason” played on the restaurants sound system.

I’ve always found Tracy Chapman pleasant and enjoyed this tune, but I thought nothing of it at the time.  Then, yesterday morning, Aya, Ana and I decided to pop into Mark Twain diner, a few blocks north of our apartment.  Just getting back on Saturday night, we didn’t have any food in the house and didn’t feel like cooking.  Toward the end of the meal, I was waiting for the check while Aya went downstairs to the bathroom.  Faintly, I heard a song playing.  Very faint.  It was the same song I had heard the day before at The Good Egg.  For a moment, I thought that it was in my head, it was so soft.  I hadn’t noticed any other music the whole meal-I guess that’s why they call it background music.  Luckily, Aya returned before the song finished.  I asked her if she heard a song, and what it was.  She confirmed what I thought I was hearing.  She didn’t remember it playing the day before.  What a weird coincidence.  What are the chances of the same song playing in two markedly different dining establishments in two widely distinct locales in back-to-back days with the same diners present?  I don’t know. 

It didn’t cross my mind as a symbol at the time, but when I mentioned later that there were signs all over the place that it’s time for us to leave New York, Aya asked if this was one of the signs.  I was referring to other things when I said that, but perhaps, Tracy was asking me to come up with a reason to stay.  Well, I can’t.  Sorry to disappoint you Tracy.

Few non-Filipinos can correctly pronounce the name of the Philippine national language.  Most don’t know the name at lall, but those who do refer to it as Tag-a-Log.  (It sounds like those Girl Scout cookies, Tagalongs, which incidentally were always one of my favorites in addition to the Thin Mints.)  To my surprise, the managers of the International  Center at the library, who are supposed to be experts in all things international (duh), pronounce it this way as well.  Just so you know, Filipinos pronounce it Ta-ga-log. 

I must admit that before I met Aya I didn’t even know the name of the language.  I’m sure, if I had, I would have mispronounced it as well.  In fact, I knew very little about her country other than the Spanish-American War and Imelda Marcos’ shoe collection.

 

We needed a little R-and-R after last weekend’s R-and-R so here we are in Scottsdale, Arizona.  We’re visiting my dad out here, enjoying the pool, the warm (but not scorching) weather, and the food.

To get here, of course, we had to fly, and it was a bit of a concern with Ana.  How would she handle the plane?  I had heard that young children have difficulty with the ascent and descent so we braced ourselves for a lot of screaming during those times.  But it never came.  She barely made a peep.  No crying.  No screaming.  Her head perked up when the engines roared to life, but it was more out of curiosity than any fear.  She barely slept, but the two of us managed to take turns watching the mediocre films they were showing (“Oceans 13″ and “Georgia Rules.”)  These are what I call “airplane movies”-movies that I would never watch outside of the confines of a passenger aircraft.

I’m so glad that Ana was so good on the plane.  I even asked the people behind us, and they agreed that she was perfect.  Before parenthood, I was often annoyed with screaming and crying children seated near me on a plan.  I silently advocated for “special” sections for people with children.  In fact, I still do.  The idea that my child could annoy a whole cabin full of people is mortifying to me.  And, contrary to what I believed before, quieting an upset child is not so easy.

We’re coming back to New York on Saturday, and I just hope Ana maintains this level of serenity.  This was a good test for what will be a longer and certainly more challenging flight to the Philippines in January.  So far, so good.

After washing my hands in the men’s room at Flushing Library this afternoon, I looked for the paper towel dispenser or dryer. I was delighted to see that they had the XLERATOR model dryer. The only time I have seen this dryer previously was at the Whole Foods at Columbus Circle. The damn machine is like a Category 5 Hurricane with gale force winds. It’s the only hand dryer that you can use and actually leave the bathroom with dry hands. At least one other blogger feels the same way as I do about the Xelerator. And, by the way, this dryer appears to be more energy efficient than your average dryer.

So I haven’t posted in a few weeks. I’ve been really busy, I guess. If not busy, then tired. Or Lazy. Or all three.

Anyway, a lot has happened since I last posted. On August 30, I told Peter and Diana that I was leaving the library. Leaving the city. The country, too. I calmly explained that we’re moving to the Philippines. They took it rather well. They weren’t completely surprised that I quit, but were certainly shocked when I told them why. But after I explained the circumstances, they were actually excited for me. The next day I told the rest of my department at an impromptu staff meeting. The prevailing reaction was “Wow!!!” I must say it is a great relief to finally break the news, after keeping it a tightly guarded secret for well over a year.

I’m also really excited to move on. After 5 ½ years doing the same thing, I’m ready for a change. My previous record was about one year and 8 months. That was at McCann-Erickson-the last job that I quit. When I quit McCann in the fall of 2000, I didn’t have another job to go to or anything else to fall back on. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I just knew I hated advertising and couldn’t stand the hellish existence at 750 3^rd Avenue for another day. Three years earlier, in a similarly miserable situation (worse, actually), I quite my slavish job with the marketing research firm Information Resources, Inc. Again, I had nowhere to go. Less than two months later I had relocated from Cleveland to New York, where I was able to land on my feet rather quickly with my first advertising job at Bozell Worldwide. This time, though, even though I’ll be taking a few months off to prepare for this massive change, I do have a job when I get to my next destination.

* * * * *

What else have I been up to? Labor Day weekend, we went to Tita (aunt) Zenda’s house in New Jersey. Ana went swimming for the first time and she loved it. She stayed in the pool kicking her feet constantly for a half hour, laughing the whole time.

That same day, I got stung by a bee on my lower lip while having lunch by the pool. It killed, and was swollen until the next morning. That was the first time I was stung since I was about 12 or 13. That, and the only other time I’ve been stung, also happened poolside. That last time, I was stung on the bottom of the foot at Meadow Wood pool, where I spent much of my summers in those years. It wasn’t so bad being stung then, actually, because it meant that I got tended to by the long and lean lifeguard Millicent, who my friends and I drooled over hopelessly.

On Labor Day itself, we spent the day at the unfinished lake house of Tita Zenda on Lake Hopatcong. Despite, the utter lack of furniture, electricity and stairs, we had a great time. Let my describe the relaxing scene: the soothing breeze through the lakeside screen door, the calm lake waters, the quiet rumble of small motorboats and jet skis, the sun beaming light through the abundant windows. No television. No radio. No reliable plumbing. No artificial light. Just The New York Times Sunday magazine and the simple joy of watching my 7-month-old daughter trying to propel herself across the floor.

* * * * *

Last weekend, Aya and I took a road trip. We left Ana for two days with Tita Zenda, who seemed delighted to have her. This was the first time we left Ana overnight. We rented a car and drove up to Adams, Massachusetts in the Berkshires. It was quiet up there, and a little rainy. But just getting away for a few days was bliss. We didn’t do any hiking-in part because of the weather, but also because of my injured leg and knee. We did take in a couple of museums-the Clark Institute at Williams College and MASS MoCA, the largest contemporary art facility in the U.S. At Clark, there was an exhibit of Monet’s drawings, which I didn’t care for too much. The museum housed a trove of Impressionist works from Renoir, Gaugin and others. MASS MoCA ended up being pretty cool, although I really did not like the main exhibit of artist Spencer Finch. Maybe, I’m too much of a literalist when it comes to art, but I just can’t get into works that are abstract to a comical extent with ridiculous titles to match. (Although, I did like the Finch installation with the stacks of electric fan titled something like “breeze at Walden Pond.” Mostly, I liked it because the fans blowing in my face felt good.) I did enjoy the works by Sister Corita, a nun who did politically and socially oriented pop-art. It was basically more poetry combined with cool graphics. I looked for a book of her work in the gift shop, but they had none.

In Adams, we stayed at an ecological inn called Topia. This was a unique experience. Everything was organic including the bed sheets. Everything was pure. But not all the products they provided complimentarily were effective. When we were saying goodbye to the two women who run the place-a musician and a dancer from New York (sort of)-I whiffed something unpleasant. Later in the car, I still smelled it. It turned out that I was the one who smelled like a dirty hippy. The spray deodorant they supplied was no more useful than water. I grabbed my Tom’s of Maine stick from my backpack and applied it liberally, ending the unfortunate situation. Other than that, we really enjoyed staying in a green lodging. At times, though, I did feel like I was walking on eggshells a bit. Didn’t want to do anything un-environmental like blowing my nose.

One more thought on our trip. Being in a college town-especially one that hosts an elite liberal arts school such as Williams-is very inspiring to me. Just seeing all the flyers promoting concerts and exhibits, and the students leafing through highlighted texts en masse-makes me want do these things myself. I f only I had more time. Being in a place like this also makes me regret wasting my college years not learning. At least, not outside the classroom.