The complete photo tour begins here...

This morning I dreamt that a party, to which I was uninvited, came up and enveloped me. I wandered the place, seeing more and more of my former friends and peripheral players in my drama give tribute to the king and queen of the party. Even the dead were there to give their toasts to the happy couple. Even the dead got their invitations.

This was almost the exact reverse of our vacation to New York. The city may not have sent us an email requesting our presence, but we were definitely welcome to be there.

August 1

HEY HO! LET'S GO! (written on the road)

"You were right about the hotdog." - my capitulation on who vs. whom

I've spent this entire weekend moping about the end of my AQ course. Thank heaven we're going to NY today. I need a complete change of scene. We're traveling in the lap of luxury: the Purple Lassitude is filled with treats and diversions, from novels to cheddar crackers shaped like bunnies. I've packed 4 skirts and no fewer than 3 knitting projects (and the pattern for a 4th if I finish the first 3).

("You should do that competitively," Rob observed. "It's the performance-enhancing drugs that keep me out of the running," I replied.)

We've got travel insurance, Diet Coke, a big teddy bear & some Canadian groceries for Preacher & Martha. I think we're set.

I have 2 goals: to write for at least 20 minutes a day & to listen to only NY artists. (ed. note: meh.) The Ramones are obviously receiving heavy rotation.

<<<>>>

Our lives become a text adventure

You eat lunch on a PICNIC TABLE next to the NY State Tourism Authority (NYSTA). You see A SET OF STAIRS and A COMPASS.

>PICK UP COMPASS

Your WIFE yells at you for wearing trash you find in PARKING LOTS.

>GO DOWN STAIRS

You see your BABY. He has crawled down the STAIRS. He is closely examining STICKS, LEAVES and CIGARETTE BUTTS.

>PICK UP BABY

He cries and struggles.

>GO UP STAIRS

Your WIFE offers juice to you and your BABY.

>DRINK JUICE

You enter the NYSTA. Your exits are SOUTH and DENIS. There is a MAN giving directions to other TOURISTS.

>TALK MAN

He is busy giving directions.

>TALK MAN

He is busy giving directions.

>TALK MAN

He is busy giving directions.

>GO BACK TO WIFE. DRIVE.

<<<>>>

Dinner: Lo Cascio's Gourmet Foods, Liberty, NY

Thoroughly dispirited after 1 hour and 3 towns full of closed restaurants, we pulled over quickly when the Boy thought he say a sign for a family diner. Turned out to be a Family Dollar. We trekked across the street to the Health Food store, hoping to score some nuts or sustaining biscuits. Blake was about to explode with pent-up energy; he vibrated like a woofer at a Ministry concert. The nice people at the health food store directed us to go up a block for sandwiches. Numb, we did as we were told.

Sweet Cottony Jesus -– we died and went to heaven. I had a rib-eye sandwich that was so moist and thick and marinated that it started to fall apart as I ate it, spilling onto my hands and shirt. Messy, but I didn'’t mind smelling like a steak all over my face. Next time I have to try the olives.

Blake tried his best to destroy the joint, but we managed to fit some pasta into his gaping maw and some yummy meat as well. Thank heaven the staff were nice as well as talented, as the Boy & I were scraping the bottom of our strength and Blake was just discovering his.

N

Our first night in NY was scary. After the note-taking ended, we managed to get lost in New Jersey. Bayonne After Dark just about made me crazy: we were lost, we had no map, there were crowds of people drinking in the street and everything looked boarded up & derelict. As soon as we found our way across the bridge and into Preacher & Martha's parsonage, everything got a whole lot better. The house was freakin' huge, with a genteel aura of shabbiness. Their furniture was lost in the rooms, tiny islands in a vast ocean. Still, it was reasonably familiar; I recognized icons and art from Edmonton, including the "hey Martha, nice rack" CD rack. Two cats prowled the estate, aloof and regal.

There was so much space that the third floor was closed off, its door a mute throwback to every horror novel I've ever read. Preacher admitted that the floor freaked him out and he told me that he'd show it to us the next day. I was reduced to hoping that my sweet baby would resist the evil call from that creepy storey, and that I wouldn't have to rescue him from a bathtub-sodden corpse. 'Cause that shit? Was not part of the relaxing vacation I had bargained for.

There was also no central air-conditioning. Not that I need that to be happy (see "first 3 years of marriage," and "my summer in res"), but in recent months I've been spoiled by my parents' luxurious AC. P & S had installed window units in two of the bedrooms (including the one next door), so we made sure to direct that "arctic chill" through the connecting door by way of a handy fan. (It seems weird to spend time writing about it now, but the Boy & I spent a significant amount of our vacation routing cold air into our immediate environs, so it's not entirely out of place that I should describe it now.) Ultimately we were not terribly put out by this necessity, as we were suitably grateful for any kind of AC whatever (especially considering the bathrooms were only wired for electrical sockets this year).

August 2

Staten Island Local

When we woke up on Tuesday, we puttered around a bit, getting Blake used to the house (and getting ourselves used to the new dangers he sought out with diabolical speed). Preacher took us to see the local beach, which reminded me a lot of Schevenigan because it's city city city sandy beach big sky! The day was so hot even in the morning that walking barefoot hurt my feet. A lot. We regretted not bringing our swimsuits.

When we finally bestirred ourselves and decided to head into Manhattan, we decided that our first stop should be Central Park. I wanted to wander around and take pictures of Holden landmarks, not to mention visit the famous Children's Zoo that was immortalized in a treasured Golden Book (one that Blake also knows and loves). I figured that Blake may not be impressed by anything in New York, but that he just might recognize (and therefore enjoy) the Children's Zoo.

Can I make a comical understatement? Central Park is real big. We got lost a few times because I wasn't used to the idea that busy roads would cut through a park, rather than stay out of it. I was able to find a few ducks, lots of sunbathers (some stranger's thonged ass is going to enliven my 11 Faith class this year), and - eventually - the literary mall. This long shady avenue was Blake's favourite part, as we were able to let him out of the stroller to terrorize the townsfolk. He became particularly enamoured of an accordion player, standing in front of him with big solemn eyes, trying to figure out exactly from where that music was issuing.

I was similarly entranced by an opera rehearsal as we made our way to Bethesda Fountain. Normal-looking guys in khaki shorts and huge curled moustaches skulked on the stage, while groups of what looked to be middle-aged tourists advanced majestically en masse, singing in chorus. It was awesome. The only reason I left was that Blake was getting restless and I'd run through every trick in my toolkit. I guess I can't expect a baby to watch an opera rehearsal when few adults would wish for the experience.

Bethesda Fountain gave me exactly what I needed: a place to sit quietly and think about Death while I recovered from the blazing afternoon. ("Look kids. A bench.") My boys indulged me, and we pressed on to Strawberry Fields in reasonably good spirits. The only problem was that SF sucks. If I want to watch hippies burn incense around a plaque, I'll...yeah, I don't have an end for that sentence. I like John Lennon as much as the next girl raised on Beatles music, but the only reason we took so many pictures was to show my mom upon our return. Maybe now she won't feel the need to visit and she can keep that 20 minutes for more meaningful pursuits.

We came home, ate a very late dinner, put the baby to bed, and stayed up smoking cigarettes (Preacher & the Boy) and drinking moderate amounts of beer. The Boy & I soon staggered off to bed, done in by the disruption to our orderly life. Even eating so late seemed unconscionably hedonistic, let alone drinking on a weeknight. Ah, but the downward slide was quick...

August 3

1: Broadway-7th Avenue Local (That's why I'm in hell too)

Earlier in the week, Preacher & Martha had separately expressed their enthusiasm for babysitting Blake "on their own." Martha in particular had told me that she wanted a chance to problem-solve with no one else around. Wednesday seemed as good a day as any for this experiment; the Boy wanted to see the Pollocks in MOMA and while we'd toyed with the idea of taking Blake (I really think that he'd've got more out of the art than I), we decided to take up those crazy folks on their offer and see MOMA without the baby.

I was feeling more or less passive about the whole thing. I didn't mind going to MOMA, but I didn't mind either that the Boy wanted to see Times Square. So we got out, wandered around, & found a place to eat. (The restaurant was pretty awful-their sandwiches managed to be greasy & dry at the same time, and their prices were outrageous. Never again, Times Square Deli.) Times Square was interesting, but not overwhelming. This being my first time, I had nothing to compare it to other than my brief glimpse of Piccadilly Circus in '97. I can only take it on faith that it used to be totally wild, dangerous, freaky place because now...eh.

We walked down Broadway, past all of the fascinating marquees. The Boy pointed out the theatre showing "Avenue Q," the musical about which I had made vague statements of intent. (We couldn't figure out the babysitting and I forgot about it in the rush of my AQ course.) He led me down so that we could see the posters; then surprised the hell out of me by walking over to the window and picking up 2 tickets for the matinee. Happy Birthday to Me!

"I saw that." - the box office's response to my thank-you kiss.

With over an hour to kill before the play, we went wandering in Times Square. I got to relax over a big ol' smoothie before heading into the garishly-signed Hershey's store. It was the kind of thing that my mom would enjoy, and just like our visit to Strawberry Fields yesterday, I felt the need to take a lot of pictures for her sake. Everything in that store was so EXREMELY HERSHEY'S that it kind of scared me; I thought about bringing some silicone bake wear home, but in the end I chickened out & got a big Hershey's bar. The Boy & I also checked out a kitchy t-shirt place, where I was finally able to get a destination sticker for our hard suitcase. You have no idea how much I want a brown leather suitcase covered in destination stickers, like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. This was the first day in all my recent travels in which I was able to find something suitable for the suitcase.

We got to the theatre in plenty of time, and hung around outside for awhile, just buzzing on anticipation. Lots of people passed by, many of whom had seen the show and took the opportunity to enthuse to their friends. I also liked seeing that the crowd was across the spectrum; I had underestimated the amount of success this show has enjoyed as I just think of it as something that Ayun Halliday recommended in the EVI.

As for Avenue Q itself, I enjoyed it, but I have to say that it wasn't as exciting as Urinetown. When it was over, the Boy & I looked at each other silently, wondering how to break the news. I think we were both relieved that the other wasn't too thrilled with the production. The really interesting thing is that a few days later all of the rough edges were sanded off, and all I can remember now is a really good time. I suppose that if I saw it again, I would know the parts to laugh and the parts to sit back and think about knitting.

We rushed home after the show so as not to presume on Preacher & Martha's good graces. (Stopping only for a quick pressed sandwich because I'm not a robot, okay?) The home trek from the ferry terminal was a bit of a nightmare: we'd missed the cab-stand, and so we decided to catch the bus. As bus after bus failed to appear, as we walked into the hot setting sun, as we slowly realized that no one else was walking around save for homeless people with shopping carts, and as we went just a little further...just a little further...the joy slowly slipped out of our day. We came home to an empty house. Lazarus (Martha's brother) explained that Preacher & Martha were out doing a last-minute pregnancy thing, and they'd taken Blake. I was embarrassingly grateful for the chance to recover from our long walk home without also having to be a mom.

Preacher & Martha eventually returned with tales of the Staten Island zoo (Blake almost lost a shoe to a pony; there were many animals but Blake would only hiss like a snake when prompted to remember each variety) and a Poopy Diaper of Ultimate Horror. Blake also found out some important secrets about the upcoming baby, none of which I am at liberty to share. Just because my baby's got a big mouth doesn't mean I have to have one. (ed. note: due to the lateness of this entry, I can now safely share that the baby is a boy. He was born more than a month ago, so I guess the secret's out.)

August 4 - Greenwich Village

In keeping with our low-key ambitions, we decided to wander around Greenwich Village instead of paying big bucks for a museum experience. I was unutterably cranky on this day for no reason I can now isolate, and given this grumpiness it was probably a good idea to keep my expectations low.

We stopped for lunch at Go Sushi, a restaurant recommended by the guidebook as both cheap and good. I probably would have savoured the food more if the Boy & I hadn’t found it necessary to run after Blake while the otshoveledlled it in. Blake had a grand time running to & fro, and was only convinced to sit down when we bribed him with the hospecialtylity: fresh brewed ginger ale. He was a howl; every sip made him first grimace with the sharp taste, then dive back at the straw for more. He was addicted. It was awesome.

After lunch we went to Washington Square Park and discovered the excellent toddler park. The Boy took pity on me and offered to run around with Blake while I read my new Bust magazine. This was bliss: we both got to soak up the local colour, the Boy enjoyed every bit of the park, and Blake got to run his pent-up New York ya-yas out. Then, when we got too hot, we soaked our feet in the fountain.

Bliss.

August 5

Staten Island Local

Dirk was scheduled to come shortly after noon, so Preacher & Sally sent us to the Children's Museum for the day. (They had received passes from a friend, and since they were a few years away from using them with their own family, they passed the savings on to us!) This Museum - and the adjacent Snug Harbour - was probably my favourite part of Staten Island. It was definitely Blake's favourite: he took to the idea of a huge play place with scary intensity, from the fire engine in the first room to the wee playhouse in the last. He was a bit young to really understand all of the different costumes and displays, but he certainly loved trying to figure it all out himself. His favourite room was Block Harbour, where a huge ship is built into the wall. Wooden puzzles! Bells to clang! A galley full of plastic food! Blocks! Ramp! We stayed in that close, windowless room for hours, finally hauling him out in our arms after all our attempts at persuasion had failed. To this day he still talks about Block Harbour.

There was also a substantial outdoor portion dedicated to boats and water - definitely the last stop on the tour for any self-respecting parent as only the fussiest children will remain dry with so much temptation. Blake was wet in seconds.

When we got back, I was dispatched with Martha for some retail bonding, specifically over baby clothes. We hit sale after sale, looking for perfect ensembles and comparing notes on furniture and accessories. That girl is one tireless bargain hunter, I'll tell you that much. By the time we got home with groceries, I was exhausted and the boys had already gone shopping. Suddenly all my happy thoughtful surprises were poached (goddamn it!)

The meat and beer and cigarettes marked the end of the 5th day. And we saw that it was good.

August 6

Q: Broadway Express (We can hitch a ride to Rockaway Beach!)

This was, by all accounts, our best day. Martha stayed at the Rectory to finish her sermon and rest, so we decided to make a day of it. Preacher, Palaver & the Boy wanted to go to Ground Zero. I, while I would have no compunctions about taking Blake to see a graveyard, felt this trip a little morbid for a toddler-so I decided to go back to Central Park. We'd missed the Children's Zoo on our first day in the Park, and due to our many readings of this storybook, the zoo may have been the only attraction in all of NYC that Blake would know and remember after. The Boy was nervous about letting the two of us go off on our own, but 4 days of sun and reasonably friendly people had succeeded in lowering his guard. (I still had to endure a last-minute safety grilling worthy of my father; we went through every scenario from 'late' to 'all money & ID ripped off.' Preacher's contribution was my favourite: "if you really get stuck, go to an Episcopal Church and tell them that you're my friend and you need help. If they refuse you, I'll tear them a new one." (Tearing churchfolk new ones seems to be a large part of his job in NY.))

Blake fell asleep on the ferry, prompting me to wild fantasies of visiting famous delis with my sleeping child (I had yet to sample a good NYC bagel and desperately wanted to compare it to The Main in Montreal.) Unfortunately, there was something thoroughly confusing going on with the subway line, and after 20 minutes of going up and down elevators (one of which contained an eye-watering pile of poop that woke the baby with its foulness), I decided to go back to Plan A: Central Park.

As soon as we reached the surface, I felt better. Just picking a winding path up the park consoled my frustrated deli-cravings. Compared to our first day in the Park, it was a delightfully shady n' breezy morning, and I began to enjoy pushing the stroller up hills just to run down the other side. On our way into the middle, I was able to take a few more pictures of the pond for my evolving Catcher in the Rye collection (tho' the shade meant fewer sunbathers and no ass-tastic displays to enliven my future 15-year-old male students). I was also stopped by no fewer than 5 people, who seemed to think that because I was a mom on my own, I knew how to navigate. My response became standard: 'No, I don't know where _______ is, but I have a map. Do you want to see?' And I would pull out my Let's Go NYC to the increased puzzlement of all. Hey, no one ever mistook me for a navigator before; I had to try it out.

Blake & I stumbled upon the zoo shortly after I pointed out the skating rink ("That's where Holden had a date with Sally Hayes. He proposed to her, but when she said no, he told her that she gave him a royal pain in the ass.") We sat outside the gate for a few minutes while I fed Blake melon chunks and wrestled with my conscience. Should I pay 6 bucks for a zoo? He's already gone to the Staten Island Zoo, and he won't remember. But it's the Children's Zoo, I owe it to him. While this was going on, Blake ran off to the entrance on his own. Considering the matter settled, I packed up our stuff, dug out 6 dollars, and tried to take a few pictures of his solo adventures in Central Park so that I could give my parents an aneurysm apiece when we returned home. (The key word is "tried," as Blake had darted out of sight by the time I was able to get the camera to work. Stupid 3-seconds-behind-the-fun camera).

We very much enjoyed the high-speed penguins in the regular part of the zoo, but Blake's love was reserved for the Children's Zoo. Although nothing remained of the Storybook-type zoo enshrined in the book, there were logs to crawl through and goats to pet. Blake was over the moon with joy, even when we were snubbed by the standoffish alpacas. For awhile he tried to establish a base right in the middle of the logs, but when other children started stepping on him deliberately (W!T!F!?) I hauled him out bodily and took him to the next section. We had so much fun that we had to leave for our lunch date before we were through with the animals.

We spent the next half-hour walking downtown. This was my favourite part of the day: I had successfully navigated the famous NYC subways with a toddler, an umbrella stroller and a backpack; I had found the elusive Children's Zoo and the madcap penguins; I had given other tourists misleading directions; and I had walked the shady avenues of Central Park with all my gunna unmolested. As we walked downtown, I talked to Blake about the displays and streets we passed to keep him interested. The day had become so blazingly hot at this point that I began to take my straw hat on & off: on when we crossed the streets to avoid the hot hot sunbeams, off when we made it to the shady sidewalks so that the wind could run through my short short hair. I felt incredibly happy, incredibly centred, incredibly powerful. Not only had I a great morning under my belt, but the afternoon promised more delights.

I met up with 2/3 of my Angels (and a very relieved husband) at Burger Heaven on Madison Avenue. The Boy was only too happy to wrestle with Blake while I ate probably the best burger of my adult life. Blake fell asleep in the stroller shortly after we left, but we decided to tour FAO Schwartz anyway with an unconscious toddler. It was a frickin great decision: the eye candy of the toys translated into literal candy when I won a prize during the floor piano show. Free candy! New York was clearly trying to spoil me.

We hopped aboard the Q to Coney Island just as Blake began to stir. By the time we made it to Brooklyn, he was fully awake and roaring for his lunch. We had no choice, therefore, and were forced to visit Nathan's for dogs and lemonade. (Best. Hotdogs. Ever. Or, as Preacher put it, "so-di-yum.") The Coney Island midway was everything I had ever wanted it to be: hot, loud, busy, & musical, with lots of goods for sale, drinks to pound, food to chomp and games of chance for anything left over. (I knew I wasn't at the CNE when I saw the "Shoot the Freak" booth, where one could pay $5 to shoot paint at a human target. Brain...hurting...) As the wave of humanity crested around us, we looked at the beach with longing and immediately vowed to return with a full picnic and swimsuits. In the meantime, we went on the rides. Both the Wonder Wheel and the Cyclone were awesome (although the Cyclone took at least five years off my life. When I went up I was unutterably cocky, thinking I gave birth without anaesthetic. How bad can this be? I forgot that birth - like the Cyclone - caused me to scream uncontrollably. It's the most roller coaster I ever hope to experience.) I bought a few souvenirs and then the boys pleaded for a return - something about liquidating their spines on the rollercoaster. Hee. Babies.

We came home, cooked dinner, and flopped around in the Holy Hot-tub until the beer ran out. I came to bed after having brushed the now-customary taste of beer and cigarettes off my teeth, knowing that it had been the Best Day Ever. Maybe not for Preacher's spine, and it would've been better with Martha along for the fun, but these are only small quibbles. God Bless Coney Island.

August 7

Goethals Bridge

Our last day in NY began poorly: Blake was extremely restless and his two adults were up most of the night, inefficiently dealing with him. It was a humungous drag, as he'd been sleeping through almost every night since we arrived in Staten Island (or, as Blake puts it, "StatEYElan") and we were a little spoiled & overextended. Let us, dear reader, draw the curtain over what was said before church that morning, other than to say that several extremely emotional arguments occurred. It all came out in the wash: church + after-church fruit + the promise of Murphy's Oil Soap + a big greasy diner lunch at "the Arms" fixed most of what was wrong. By the time we started packing, we'd pretty much agreed to forget about the previous 8 hours.

Unfortunately, our voluntary amnesia meant that we kind of forgot that the drive home was so damn long. We dawdled around: cleaning up, eating chips, scanning funky guidebooks for attractions we would miss this time around, sitting in chairs, and generally acting in a way that would have driven my father berserk were he there. Blake fell asleep while we wasted time, so we were reduced to tiptoeing around his play pen and packing in silence. In retrospect, this was a blessing in disguise; all of our usual packing spats were on hold and ultimately evaporated without the chance to come to light.

We finally got into the car at 3:30 (ouch). This meant that we didn't arrive home until 1:30 in the morning. Lo Coscio's was closed (no rib-eye sandwich sequels for me) and I was reduced to peeing in the bushes. Not our best drive. And yet it was fine: we listened to music; I knit; we shared the driving; Blake babbled, snacked & slept. I can't quarrel with any of that.

"Trogdor be with you." - preacher's parting injunction

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/07/2005 10:55:00 a.m.