Leaky Faucets

If I have to be locked inside the trunk of a car-and I hope I won’t be-it wouldn’t be so bad if it is a Chevrolet Impala.  I rented one last weekend, and the trunk is quite spacious.  I think I could fully sprawl out in there.  Again, I hope I never have to find out, but…all new cars have a latch inside the trunk so one can open it if ever locked inside, right?

I started writing this post while we were in New York last week, but things were so hectic and stressful that I did not have the time or energy to finish it.  So here is my attempt to wrap this one up while I’m relaxing in Cleveland.  I apologize if it seems scattered and chronologically jumbled, but I’m writing much of this a week or more after the events took place.

We got to New York late Thursday the week before last after about ten days vegging in the Pennsylvania burbs at Maki’s house.  Ana had a lot of fun playing with her cousin Chloe, although there were a few moments of tension mostly caused by Elmo-sharing issues.  I’m sure this question has been posed numerous times in the blogosphere, especially on blogs written by parents of toddlers, but I have to ask anyway: what is the deal with Elmo?  Why are kids so crazy about him?  Chloe, almost 2 1/2, is a total Elmo addict.  She listens to his songs, watches the show every day, reads Elmo books and has about ten Elmo related stuffed toys.  Ana only saw Elmo on TV for this first time last week, but she already knew Elmo from the one doll she has in Cebu.  Every time Chloe was playing with an Elmo doll, Ana grabbed it from her.  We tried to offer her one of the other 9 Elmo options, but she would only want the one Chloe had.  Naturally, Chloe wasn’t too happy with this situation but all she could do was scream; she was not willing to try to take back her toys by force.

During our five days in New York we were as exhausted as we’ve been since we left the city.  Ana could not be contained there and she is not happy spending her days in small spaces such as Nancy and Richard’s apartment.  This was her first time back in the city of her birth since she started walking, and the problem was that she couldn’t walk enough there; we couldn’t let her loose on the sidewalks, could we?  We did get to spend a few hours in Central Park on Friday afternoon and she had a grand time.  But we were exhausted, chasing her around the vast Sheep Meadow as she invaded one toddler and Caribbean nanny picnic blanket after another searching for toys or food to confiscate.  Still, it was fun being in a spacious car-free place where she could roam.

Our first morning, I was reminded of how obnoxious people can be in Queens.  It was 5 am and we were sleeping with the windows open.  The breeze was nice, but along with the fresh air you get all the sounds of the street below.  Often 73rd Street is full of honking horns and loud buses, but this time it was the drunken inane musings of an inane drunk.  There was a guy and a girl but the guy was doing most of the talking.  And all he was saying over and over again was “what happened.”  It sounded to me like a couple fighting possibly (probably) fueled by alcohol.  His repeated question reminded me of the obnoxious and scary but hilarious maniac from QPTV he fills a whole program ranting with the phrase “what’s next, what’s next, I’ll tell you what’s next.” The sound of couples fighting was not that uncommon when we lived on the first floor of this same building.  Fights over parking spots were commonplace too but lovers’ quarrels were much more interesting and usually lasted longer.  At 8 o’clock at night it is not so bad, but when your sleeping toddler is awoken prematurely you need to suppress the urge to tell them to shut the f*** up.

The day we arrived I dropped off the rental car near LaGuardia and then waited for the MTA bus back to Jackson Heights.  The Q47-which goes directly to our block-was taking too long so I started walking down 82nd Street hoping to catch the Q33 which stops at 35th Avenue, a short walk from the apartment.  After I had left the house I realized that I didn’t have a MetroCard, and there was no place to buy one on the bus, unlike the subway stations.  I was hoping they would accept $2.00 in cash.  I had never tried to board a bus in New York without a MetroCard (I always had a monthly unlimited card when I lived there) and wasn’t sure what would happened.  The driver said he could only take cash if I had $2.00 in coins.  I didn’t.  He suggested I ask the other passengers if they could make change.  “You should know by now,” he chided me.  He was right.  But I was in a cloud that day. The other passengers ignored my query.  Maybe I wasn’t loud enough.  The bus was already moving when I told the driver I couldn’t produce the appropriate coinage.  He shrugged, obviously unpleased.  “Should I get off the bus here?” I asked.  He didn’t say anything.  I sat down again.  I guess I was getting a free ride.  As I disembarked in Jackson Heights I tried to give him two one-dollar bills (this is how things would work in the Philippines), but he refused it.

Walking down the streets of Jackson Heights that first day or two, I felt like a ghost.  I didn’t belong there anymore.  My former life there had passed on.  It was eerie.  It was like there was a sign on my forehead announcing to the neighborhood that I didn’t belong anymore.  I didn’t see anyone I knew at first.  Then, later I saw my former upstairs neighbor Elaine outside of Trade Fair.  She graciously invited us to dinner at their house a few days later.  (By the way, I notice that Trade Fair changed their bags from white to yellow during the six months I was away.  You notice little changes like this when you are away for a long time.  The other major grocery store in Jackson Heights-Met Food-moved the milk section.  Most of the stores in the ‘hood are the same except for the arrival of Starbucks.  Of course, I continued to only patronize the locally run coffee shop Espresso 77 just around the corner.)  I felt better, but still not really part of the scene anymore although part of me wanted to belong again.  It’s hard living with your mind in two different places at once.  It’s better to commit to one place, even if you change your mind later.

My feelings of nostalgia, both for the people and places of New York, were strong, but they were overwhelmed by feelings of stress brought on by Ana’s complete and utter unhappiness to be there.  On one occasion, Aya had back-to-back meetings in Connecticut, so I was charged with watching Ana for the entire morning and much of the afternoon.  It was a nightmare almost from the get go.  I wanted some company so I made plans with my friend Mary to go to MOMA with lunch afterwards.  On the E train to Manhattan Ana launched into an endless screaming fit.  The entire car–which was full but not rush-hour full as it was already 10:00-was looking at me, probably wondering how a father could be so inept with his kid.  Someone offered me her seat so I could hold Ana.  It didn’t help at all.  I tried giving he milk, a snack, but she refused all offerings.  It was her teething, I was pretty sure.  (With only six teeth at 17 months, it was time for the rest to come in.)  I tried some Baby Orajel but she just screamed louder.  And louder.  Like a couple of cats in heat.  (If you’ve heard it, you’ll know the sound I’m talking about.) It was a small amount, but I think she ate it.  I got off a stop earlier at Lexington instead of 5th, hoping the movement of the stroller would calm her down.  It was raining lightly but I didn’t care.  I had to get out of there.  I hated everyone look at me either in annoyance or judgment or pity.  Walking down 53rd Street was no better.  The screaming was just as audible and the stares on the sidewalks did not cease.  Some people laughed sympathetically, as if to say “I’ve been there too” or “what can you do?”  When I got in front of the museum, there was a line of about 50 people waiting to get in when it opened at 10:30.  I was on the guest list, but Mary was not there yet so I had to wait for her.  Then I smelled something awful.  Ana had vomited all over her shirt.  It was horrible.  It might have been the Orajel that she swallowed, or maybe it was just the stress.  This only compounded my problems, as I had to change her outfit now in the middle of the sidewalk.  There was one dress in her bag but I couldn’t figure out how to get it on.  There were no sleeves.  I’m a guy, what can I say.  When Mary got there, she helped me get Ana’s dress on.  She also got some ice which Ana sucked on.  It seemed to calm her down.  We went into the museum and within a few minutes Ana feel asleep in my arms.  I carefully placed her in the stroller and she slept the whole time we were at MOMA.  She exhausted herself from her tirade.  The feature exhibit was on Dali, one of my favorite artists.  But I really wasn’t in the mood to stay long or to spend too much time reading.  I had already been to the Dali Museum in Florida so there probably wasn’t too much new for me here.  I just wanted a dose of culture since there aren’t really any good art museums in the Philippines that I know of.

After the museum, we took the train downtown for lunch in the Village.  Ana was still sleeping until we got there.  We went to a burger place called Rare on Mary ‘s recommendation.  I had some milk for her, which she didn’t want.  She had some sweet potato fries, pickle and a little of the tomato basil soup I ordered for her.  But none of this pacified her fragile emotional state.  The screaming started again, as loud as before.  There were only a few people in the restaurant, but I took here outside across to the little park by Joe’s Pizza.  I set her down thinking a little walk would calm her, but it didn’t.  She wanted me to pick her up, but that didn’t help.  I went back and quickly finished my burger. (which was pretty good but a little too rare considering I ordered it Medium.  Not sure if they are trying to live up to their name.)  Then I left and walked with Ana to Union Square to meet Aya. I thought she would fall asleep again, perhaps, but the shrill screaming started again, so I picked her up and carried her in my left arm while pushing the stroller with my right.  It was like this all the way through Washington Square Park.  Then I put her in the stroller again and she was quiet but awake.  She was happy to see her mommy and to be let loose in Union Square Park.

During this ordeal I had placed several frantic phone calls to Aya begging her to help.   At one point I left a desperate message (with Ana screaming in the background) saying to come quick before I do something bad.  I wouldn’t really do something bad to myself or Ana, but I admit the thought crossed my mind of running in front of a car.   I longed for a self-destruct button a la James Bond.  I know that is horrible but I was just in such a state that I couldn’t take it anymore.  This all happened on Monday.  That evening, even with Aya around, she had other bouts of uncontrollable crying.  I decided to leave her at home on Tuesday when I visited my old office, and we decided to cut our New York visit short by a day and leave Tuesday afternoon for a brief visit to Aya’s cousins in Nutley, New Jersey.  The traffic was surprisingly light crossing midtown on 57th street and arriving in Jersey was a welcome relief.  New York was not fun for Aya and I.  Or Ana.  She was not used to that lifestyle.  We were reminded of how difficult it could be there with a small child; for that reason alone, I’m glad we made the visit.  We also had a lot of tension with our hosts and we clearly overstayed our welcome and will not be invited back.   We’re okay with that.

While in New York, and in the U.S. in general, I’ve made it a goal of eating at all of my old favorites and gorging myself on the foods that I can’t get in the Philippines or are not near as good over there like pizza and burgers.  We had breakfast at La Flor in Woodside with Jenn and Peter on Saturday morning.   I got my usual Puebla breafast (eggs, chorizo and potatoes) and of course we got the amazing bread basket.  We also went to my favorite Japanese, Ariyoshi in Sunnyside.  I tried to go to Café Henri in the Village but it was crowded and they didn’t have a high chair.

Some other thoughts on our New York visit:

–I was happy to be reunited with the wondrous strength of New York water pressure.  I’ve never encountered this kind of perfect force anywhere else.  Some places (Arizona, suburban Pennsylvania) it is too weak; in others, it is way too strong (Moscow).  In NYC, it is perfect.
–I realized how much my carbon footprint has mushroomed since relocating overseas.  There is no citywide recycling program that I’m aware of and I’ve replaced mass transit and walking with the necessity to drive everywhere.
–I got the chance to relive some old nightmares such as racing to make a Metro-North train.  When we lived there, we almost always caught the train no matter how little time we gave ourselves.   It just worked out.  With a toddler in tow, you need to give yourselves more time.  I couldn’t run up the escalator with the stroller.  We missed the train to Riverdale, where we were attending a brunch given by Aya’s former client, by less than five minutes and had to wait an hour for the next one.
–I was reminded of how annoying it could be to have to push a stroller through the city, always getting out of someone’s way in a store and not being able to maneuver around people on the sidewalk.
–I miss the people of New York more than anything.  I haven’t really met anyone I can connect with in the Philippines.  Our backgrounds and cultures or so different.  The expat community hasn’t thrilled me either.  In New York, the people are so interesting and diverse and many have similar interests as me and are politically progressive.  We like similar music and can have long conversations about things other than sports, business or material things.  I miss that.
–It was nice to see our favorite homeless crazy guy at the entrance of the Jackson Heights subway.  It’s nice that some things don’t change.  He seems as delusional as ever.

Our arrival in Cleveland led to a rapid and complete change in Ana’s behavior.  She has been so happy here.  She’s with people who really want her here.  There’s a lot of space for her to run around and lots of toys.  We’re much more relaxed too.  Gotta go now.  More later…

Running has not been a very pleasant or inspiring activity for me lately.  My capacity both for distance and pace has drastically diminished since the start of the year.  Yeah, I’ve had a lot of major changes in my life.  I’ve switched from all outdoor running to almost exclusively treadmill running.  I’ve also battled injuries, which kept me from running for a cumulative total of about three months since January.  But these excuses don’t add up to a 3-mile maximum and a 10:00 per mile pace.  I haven’t run this poorly in years.  I know that I’ve said in the past that I want to diversify my workout routine.  And I’ve been swimming a bit and still plan to take up tennis.  But nothing gives me that high like running, and the way it’s going now, I’m feeling pretty low about it.

I hope consistency can help me gradually increase my endurance and speed until I can at least finish a 10k race in under 1 hour and a ½ marathon with no time goal.  Right now, both goals-which were incredibly easy for me just a year or so ago-seem like a major challenge.  But at least I have something to work for now, even if my ultimate goal of another marathon could be years away.