All of Mundane

A theme of the past few weeks has been movement. Moves, arrivals, departures, suitcases, boxes, luggage. Happily there remain a mere 8 boxes in our midst, all of which are heading off to storage. (To those who enquired, there were an estimated 150 boxes, but at some point we simp,y stopped counting! Out target is if we move from here, we will have less boxes!) Sadly, there are a number of suitcases and their owners who stayed only temporarily, but what a difference those visits made.

At some point we pondered whether anyone would visit us in our new digs on Roosevelt Island. Our guess? No. Reality check? Yes! To date we've not been in our new home a month and managed to assemble guests including a pair of excellent Australians, a superb Canadian and my mom fresh off the plane from South Africa.

No pictures though... we still have to figure out where the camera charger is. Two possibilities: 1. It is somewhere among the insane number of chargers and cords that seems to have been replicating exponentially in one corner. 2. Calvin took a liking to it and...

So instead, for your visual delight and care of dear CR, a photo of Calvin from a recent barbeque we attended. (Which I would have blogged about had I invented hour 25 of a day.) Suffice to say, warm summer afternoon, backyard and "Dogga!"

Dogs are Calvin's creatures "du mois." Any sighting of any furry, four-footed animal both real or illustrative solicits yells of delight at a high decibel. For the record, he does distinguish "Gatto" or cats in Spanish, from dogs. Cows, pigs, sheep and such are distinct animals, but not squirrels, mice, or donkeys.

This was his first up-close and personal encounter with a living dog. We helped him gently pat it and... the very next thing he tried to do was ride it. Needless to note, Spike the dog was very affronted and spent the rest of the party studiously avoiding hi would-be rider.

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You may have wondered why the blog stalled for weeks, but I can easily explain with a simple, three-lettered word: box. Or a four-lettered word (now, now): move. Happily, I can also report that all but about 10 of the former are out of our lives and that we have pretty much successfully achieved the latter.

Yes, we've moved. And it would not have been possible without sister-in-law R (seen above with an able-bodied assistant), whose optimism and sheer heavy lifting kept me sane and kept us on track with the seemingly endless packing and unpacking. *PROPS to R!* Thank you, thank you!

As will be revealed over time (and now that our wireless router has ensured we can get online again after 10 days of going cold turkey!), our lives are now filled with twice daily riverside strolls, waking up to the sound of birds tweeting, and being constantly amazed at the size of our living space. Example? Calvin can happily run laps in it, and we even managed to host an impromptu Aussie sleepover this weekend featuring two six-footers.

More later, for now it's time to head to bed without the Ninth Avenue symphont/cacophony of alarms, hooters and sirens. (Though there is much else to evoke Ninth Avenue nostalgia.)

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In between packing books this evening, I've been keeping an eye on my guilty pleasure a.k.a. HGTV (Home and Garden TV.) Between the engaging 30 minute makeovers are a range of home adverts which, this evening, seem to be dominated by a bad smell. Folks, I have to ask: what on earth is this US obsession with fake scents?

The options to assault your airways with all manner of fabricated odors is almost unlimited. I humbly submit the folowing evidence:
* A scented candle craze that ranges from Yankee Candle to uber-expensive designer candles priced in the hundreds of dollars for a single average-sized pillar candle.
* Aerosol scent dispensers that mask smells by spritzing out "nature-like" smells or, even curiouser, eliminating all odors.
* Linen scents that you can dispense by adding balls or sheets to your laundry during drying, and layer it on afterwards with linen spray.
* Oils and fluids that evaporate and carry their nuggets of nose-titillation throughout the immediate environment.
* And finally, power-operated scent dispensers that include fans, heaters, lights, and now, up to three different scent cycles so you can switch from one fake scent to another every 45 minutes.

How about ye good olde fashioned way -- opening the windows, bringing in a bouquet of fresh flowers or a wreath of herbs and lavender? I hope informed consumers are considering the additional air pollutants they're snorting and making the connection between this and the asthma epidemic. FYI, typical ingredients of most of the abovementioned options are formaldehyde, petroleum distillates, p- dichlorobenzene, and aerosol propellants. I think that stinks.

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What has been happening over the past week? Simple... packing. It's amazing how moving 21 boxes to storage -- huge shout out to Jay who did that single-handedly -- can make things seem less cluttered. But more packing looms, this time everything that goes eastwards across Manhattan with us.

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Numbers of various kinds are running through my brain...
* 33 and some number of less than one additional inch = height of C at check up, which puts him in the the 99th percentile for height.
* 25lb 10oz = the little guy's weight at his 15 month check up. Although to pick him up you'd agree he must have the specific density of lead! Imagine if he were heavier than the 75th percentile for weight.
* 1 = Number of weekly massages required by me to ease shoulder, back and elbow tendonitis pain... from handling aforementioned plumbum parvulus
* 14 = number of boxes we've packed
* 126 = number of boxes to be packed
* 15 = number of days we have to get everything packed for our move
* 5.11miles = physical distance we will be moving
* 1,000 miles = psychological distance between move origin (happening Hell's Kitchen) and destination (rustic Roosevelt Island)

And now you'll have to excuse me, we've run out of newspaper so it's time to hunt down some packing material.

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Tuesday 10 June
Target: 130 boxes

Packing goes better when there are two of you with sleeves rolled up.
And moreso, the rational musings on what to move to the new home and what to store. After all, why leave in harm's way (read: a certain exploring toddler) something best retired for a few years and returned to duty later when we can all enjoy it safely?

Packed: 12
To go: 118...

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It's moving time again. This time from West to East. After having leaned on two awesome sets of friends the last move, I vowed never again. That's just not fair. I still don't feel like I've ever fairly expressed my thanks to K&A and S&L for their generosity and mucles!

So this time, we've had three moving companies in to quote on moving us across town. Apart from the astounding cost -- one has to lay down, never mind sit -- the more astounding thing is the amount of boxes involved. Two of the three companies estimated between 130 and 140 boxes.

So far, I have packed 7. No others have been packed. As I'm the kind of person who likes to be well prepared, I am planning to try and accomplish as much as I can incremmentally -- no procastination if possible! So forgive me if the next few weeks bear only a progress count as I try to move the contents of our apartment.

Monday 9 June
Target: 130 boxes.
Packed: 7
To go: 123...

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One of the few pleasures of my parental life is watching TV on occasion. My limited roster of viewing pleasures includes Home and Garden TV, PBS and the odd episode of 'Law and Order.' It also includes catching any flavour of the CSI franchise.

If you're unfamiliar with the latter show, Crime Scene Investigation (CSI) is basically a high tech, who done it with funky production values. Calvin unwittingly constructed the type of scene that might start any CSI episode: Using some new, little minature people (part of a Playmobil set) he placed the man, woman and car upside down inside his toy aquarium. Is this what educators think of when they talk about 'imaginative play'!

What amazed him was the idea that objects other than the balls he is used to placing in the aquarium also activate the splishy sounds and Caribbean tunes. Evidence? The random assortment of objects that quickly joined the crash scene which included lids, a pig trough (did I mention this was a Playmobil farm set?) and a butterfly rattle.

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Sadly it looks like the video isn't being successfully uploaded. Frantic work and home schedules mean I haven't had a moment to figure out why not. But hopefully I'll get that chance soon and will then link to a tested and functional video of you know who on you know what!

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The last week or so have been quiet here on accone.com, but not willingly so. As any New Yorker who experienced the blackout, or any South African who is currently experiencing so-called "load shedding" can attest to, life is different when the plug is suddenly pulled without warning. And that, in a sense, is exactly what happened.

Last week I took delivery of a fabulous Wacom tablet, a sort of wireless, digital sketch pad. The friend and colleague who introduced me to these correctly predicted that I would succumb to a slightly larger model. So it was with great enthusiasm that I extricated it from its packaging and sat down to set it up. The plan? Use it to draw a complete series of animal alphabet cards for Calvin's bedroom wall.

Alas, Bluetooth resisted all attempts to make a connection between laptop and tablet.

The following day I enlisted the help of some folks who had more expertise than I in the hardware. A few hours and numerous calls to IBM tech support later and the situation was akin to one of the serious side-effects of Viagra. "The screen just went blue!" they explained. And that was that. The laptop ceased to function; the data on the hard drive couldn't be retrieved, so we eventually opted for tabula rasa land.

One complete format, re-image and reinstallation later and I am have been happily reunited with my keyboard counterpart. But the break was a worthwhile experience -- evenings ended earlier, I actually managed to get through some of those magazines that have been piling up in various corners of our apartment and I learned that the only one thing I truly, truly missed... was being able to update my blog.

I also figured out that that was the one thing many of you missed too! I have been thrilled to get a few e-mails speculating about my whereabouts. Yes, wish I could report that I was unplugged on a Banyan tree shaded patio, but I've simply been on a suprise tech detox.

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The past two days I have attended training to become certified in paediatric first aid. It seems like a good skill for the parent of a young child to have. The course was good, an excellent initative organized by Calvin's creche.

In addition to covering rescue breathing, CPR, and where to find syrup of ipecac and activated charcoal in a hurry (a pet shop or your unopened and unused Brita filters), we also spent a good portion of the course on the issue of ethics and liability.

Given the profile of Calvin's creche, it wasn't surprising that there wasn't an American among the parent participants. We covered the globe ranging across Asia, Africa and Europe. Despite the diversity of origins, there was a shared disbelief in the results that a litigious society has produced.

It boils down to this: if you come across a child who is hurt, do not administer first aid regardless of having the knowledge and skills to do so and even if it means that child could/would die. Your legal obliation is to call 911. If you directly assist, the liability i.e. likelihood of being sued, are so high and the results so extreme, that it is unwise to do so.

Being people who work everyday with the sole purpose of assisting all people everywere, this was particularly difficult for the group to comprehend. We literally went through dozens of scenarios and were saddened to confront a reality where almost every consideration trumped our shared moral "true north" -- the ethical and moral humanitarian imperative to assist someone in need if we had the skills.

The sad truth, though, is that we realized we were receiving good advice. The legal facts and the non-urban legends bear this up. There is even, we discovered with a added sense of horror, something called the 'Good Samaritan Law,' a law to govern the conditions and responsibilities under which one helps a complete stranger.

Someone summed it this way up as we rode down in the elevator: "I guess it's alright to help someone because it's the right thing to do... just not in America."

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And no, the two have nothing to do with one another. The tremendous tissue usage is a result of a nasty cold/cough/sore throat that struck me a week ago. We've purchased three new boxes of tissues and a bulk load of tissue pocket packs this week. I lost my voice completely for two days and have been croaking a little more effectively each day, but I still sound like I've been gargling with broken glass.

As for HH (His holiness), the closest I came was being at work half a block away. Though there was an opportunity to get a ticket to attend his address at the General Assembly, I was scheduled for meetings at both the time the tickets were available and when he was speaking. So like most people, my only papal experience is a mediated one.

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The run between Sunday and today has been a little crazy. Poor Calvin was battling the evolution of his cold to a truly frightening cough that rattled his body and kept him from going to sleep. But then Jay's first Sunday softball game turned dangerous.

Somewhere around third base, an attempted slide resulted in an ankle that turned blue and quickly swelled to twice its normal size. It turned out to be an ankle sprain and after icing, wrapping and elevating and two days of rest, I'm glad to say that it's improving.

Also on the mend is the littlest member of the household. Some honey-based homeopathic cough soothing syrup plus Vicks Babyrub on his chest and time is helping him heal. More time and patience will be needed to sit out his latest bout of teething -- there are three molars on the move! As one of his caregivers says, "Does Calvin need a person today?" You see, one of the most soothing things to chew in his classroom are these toy figures. The most soothing chew figure is a policewoman who has her arm in the air.

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I had planned to be productive this evening, doing laundry, reading reams of documents for a Monday meeting... but instead, Jay found a weekend trio of Lord of the Rings on TNT, one of my all-time favourite movies. So instead, I am spending the evening happily in the company Aragorn ;0)

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Okay, I'll publicly admit having just returned home from watching the movie 10,000 B.C. It has been soundly and roundly panned by the critics, my personal favourite quote from ReelViews, "It's too dull to involve those who like action-packed, fast-paced motion pictures and it's too dull-witted to engage anyone else." Toss in a few mammoths and it sounded like perfect, 'check your brain at the door' fare for a Friday night. And it fulfilled my expectations.

What I didn't expect was this: if you had to take the lead singer from Just Jinger, toss in the cast from Shaka Zulu, lots of money for CGI and cool locations, but not enough for a dialect coach, you would get this movie. Simply put, the hunter tribe that has the starring role all sounded like people I grew up with in my home town in South Africa. Yup, the actors could not have hit a more perfect rendering of an Afrikaans mother tongue speaker talking English. They're up there with Leonardo Dicaprio's performance in Blood Diamond.

I noted that the flick was partially filmed in Namibia and had a number of SA nationals in production management, location, costuming, horse stunts, not to mention one of the casting directors. Made me feel right at home... 12,008 years in the past. (Go to official movie website.)

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Never mind the ghastly weather we're experiencing here right now, with bone chilling gusts lowering already chilly temperatures. Weather conditions would certainly have given me pause about attending the aforementioned Easter Parade, but the fact is that I am plain sick.

It's been a on and off feeling ill experience over recent weeks. Headaches and body aches, coupled with exhaustion. I'd put it down to a week of hard work or probably a light case of whatever bug was doing the round at the office, but I began to reevaluate my wellness reasoning yesterday evening when I had to ask for help to open the mouthwash bottle, didn't have the strengh to lift my son and had to go to bed fully clothed because I felt so cold when according to Jay I was actually running a fever.

After a stern lecture from Jay on taking care of myself, he dispatched me out the Good Friday door to the doctor. The doctor confirmed the fever, added a throat infection to the mix and ordered up a battery of tests ranging from dengue fever, malaria and mono to something I'm sure he called parvo virus. (However, having checked the web that appears to be something that afflicts cats and dogs, so let's hope I'm not setting a new bar for inter-species infection.)

So looks like the Easter weekend will be bed and bed, with fluids on the side.

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The Easter Parade countdown is well underway in our household, at least as far as I'm concerned. And the pressure is on. It's a mere four days before parade day and all I have so far is an idea and some of the component pieces.

A motley assortment of bits are occupying various surfaces: a green plastic hat to be the basis of one chapeau by the CD rack, peeps and foam core board on the diningroom table, various fixatives from spray mount to double-sided tape securely stored in the craft cupboard, yellow and white felt in the wardrobe.

This year's theme is a riff from the previous year, upping the visual and literal pun quotient, as well as the New York aspects. Don't want to say too much -- counting-chickens-hatching and all that easter-relevant aphorism jazz. But will it all come together to produce three hats in time for this weekend? Keep watching this space!

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Forgive me. It's been almost a week with no post for good reason. On one hand a bundle of work and on the other hand, pain. Actually, it's been aches and pain in more than a hand.

For the past few months I've been bothered by increasing amounts of aches in my joints -- elbows and knees -- and in my back. Finally the aching was bothering me enough that I took a tylenol (not being a fan of pain killers) and then made an appointment with a doctor and physical therapist.

Mystery solved. Apparently I have a whopping case of tennis elbow, an erector muscle in spasm (that's the back) and knee joints taking a pounding during the walk to and from work. In analysing my daily routine they figured out that I have been picking up that cute bundle in an inefficient way -- which takes its toll when the bundle weighs 25 pounds and counting! The 3.2 mile daily loop pushing some 80 pounds of stroller, baby and stuff with my arms in the wrong position added to the irritation and inflammation.

So I'm making changes, including dawn yoga on the alphabet mat in our living room, taking the subway across town to halve the distance I have to walk and paying attention to every bend and pick-up posture. And already I feel tons better! Now all I have to do is work in a few more massages...

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The subject line, "No chicks in Queens," greeted me this morning. That on its own brought a smile to my face. But it's not what you think.

No, not a piece of spam, but a piece of intelligence from my Easter network. If you recall, I had a ton of fun creating Easter chapeaus for Calvin and I last year (seen here). We wandered Fifth Avenue with our egg-themed milinery for the Easter Parade. This year Jay said that he might join us too. So the race is on between now and 23 March to create the chapeaus d'annee.

I have the idea mentally mapped out: three hats, one theme (punny, but I don't want to reveal it quite yet.) But it requires the presence of peeps. For our American friends, not, I am not referring to the puffed marshmellow chickens that are an enduring Easter association to anyone who grew up here. I am referring rather to small, fluffy chicken models. Which I have been unable to find.

Every fake, baby chicken has been gargantuan. Super sized, if you will. Thus I ended up asking a few friends for idea on possible peep sources. That network of peep seekers has checked out most of the five burroughs and not turned up the sought for feathered friends.

Having already virtually trolled the aisles of the usual online suspects -- eBay, Amazon, online craft vendors, Target and Wal-Mart -- Calvin and I took an extended and contorted trip home yesterday, hitting every likely place -- two Duane Reades (like Clicks or Boots), two Hallmark stores (like CNA on steroids), CVS (competitor to Duane Reade), and a 99c store. To no avail.

Finally we padded our way across Bryant Park to resume our usual route home and we saw a Papyrus. For those not familiar with this chain, it's a high-end stationary shop with wrapping paper that costs $8 a sheet and custom printing. They had peeps. Exactly what we were seeking... only about three times larger than we'd wanted. But after so much seeking, I thought a peep in the hand was worth however many might be lurking somewhere we hadn't thought of looking. But I have kept my receipt... just in case a better peep pairing presents itself.

More will follow about the chapeau construction over the next weeks, and if you have a peep lead... post it here please!

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Almost three years ago we stumbled across paradise and staked our little claim on it. hard to believe so much toime has passed. And soon we may have reason to create a whole new category on my blog... our property. Yes, it does have its own mini-section here, but we just received word that the plans were approved by the municipality on Friday. We're excited about next steps, leading us ever close to... breaking ground!

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Nope.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG BROTHER!!!

If you don't know who he is, check out any one of these 1,000+ Google search returns.

Cartoon courtesy of GarfieldMinusGarfield, discovered by Jay.

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As anyone who has ever been a guest at my home in the US can attest, I get an inordinate amount of unsolicited mail. Some would call it junk. I call it amusing. Calvin calls it page turning and ripping fun. But this evening contained a piece particularly nauseating.

When I say I receive a lot of mail, I must contextualize. Whenever I go away, the post office organizes a special concession for me. They don't hold the mail at the local post office across the road. Rather, they set up a bin (or bins) in my building, and start the process of stacking. you see, in an average week, I probably receive about one mail carrying box worth of mail. (And yes, of course I recycle it all!)

The melange of catalogues covers all manner of vendors -- Nieman Marcus and Salvatore Ferragamo, to polyester-only purveyors of the most ghastly any-wear you could mentally conjure; Harry and David fruits; wine; outdoor equipment; adventure holidays; real estate brochures; gift catalogues; craft catalogues and more.

The piece that has me irate is not *another* case of free infant formula (honestly, does this costly marketing approach actually work? The stuff weighs a ton!), but a catalogue for children's birthday supplies. One has to admire the target marketing efficiency of a company who dispatches parents a catalogue of birthday party supplies six weeks ahead of their child's first birthday. But turn the pages and one cannot but be nauseated by the profferings of nothing but franchised stuff.

The usual suspects were there -- poor Pooh bear, the Disney gang, Bratz, Pokemon etc. But also some surprises -- who knew Bindi, the daughter of Steve Irwin, has her own set of 'Bindi, Jungle Girl" plates, balloons, pinatas etc? Or that John Deere has apparently become somewhat of a kid's icon to include party platters, games and pre-prepared favours?

Ah well. It's no surprise that we won't be patronizing any of this, but rather crafting (quite literally) something unique befitting the rather particular heritage of our little guy. A clue? His birthday is also the culmination of Chinese New Year, which ends in a celebration called the lantern festival. Fitting for those born in the once-in-500-years Year of the Golden Pig I guess.

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On this second day of Christmas, a reflection on trees present. This year we have a slightly different take on our Christmas tree, no less fun or festive, and a little avant garde. On our tree are our lightweight ornaments from years past (includng a snowman dating from my childhood), delicious edible chocolate ornaments from K&A in LA, and one new ornament commemorating Calvin's first Christmas.

And adorning our front door, a fresh wreath decorated by Jay, presenting a warm welcome every evening when we return home.

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This just spotted on the online multimedia channel of one of my old employers. For a South African, deserving of at least a minor intake of breath -- R60 million property on ye olde Atlantic Seaboard. Wow! (FYI, no, this is not where our little plot of land is, although it too has a spectacular sea view.)

Brought to you by: The Times Multimedia

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For the past years, Jay and I have held a Christmas Tree trimming party. In the most recent years, we've battled a blizzard, a frozen tree, and a flooded tree, but this year was the most difficult battle of all -- the alternate tree.

This year's tree is somewhat different; comprised of amber twigs in a vase on our diningroom table. (There'll be more about the yet-to-be trimming of the "tree" in a later post.) The real milestone was the amount of enjoyment had hanging out with our friends. This year's party was a highpoint -- a most festive time with friends big and small, full of fun, new friendships and great cheese. (Tail ended after almost everyone had left, with a fever spike for Calvin, but which now seems to be under control... we hope.)

But what of the alternate tree? You see, I'd come rapidly to realize that 2007 was not going to be filled with the festive smell of spruce or balsam fir, the need to water aforementioned tree daily, and being able to amble down Ninth Avenue and glance up at our tree casting a cheerful, decorated glow out the windows.

The reason was simple: any kind of tree this year poses two main hazards. One, the in-house Everest appeal any such tree would present for our budding climber, who cannot yet walk but is steadily perfecting the art of climbing up the Turkish floor pillow on to the sofa; up us; and trying to balance on the giant tennis ball to get on top of the coffee table. It's safe to say he needs no further encouragement.

Two, one realizes that despite being a very child-centric holiday, Christmas ornaments seem to be designed with a single aspect of child safety in mind: to ensure the Emergency Room and pediatricians are kept busy dealing with the unfortunate results of combining small, fragile, colourful and sometimes electrified baubles with uncoordinated little people who like to put the aforementioned in their mouths.

Hopefully our haute (in elevation) tree this year will ensure the appropriate level of festive cheer for Calvin's first Christmas, while avoiding the downside.

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Last Thursday was Thanksgiving, and on the occasion of this adopted holiday, I had a few moments to think about how this would become a family tradition. By tradition I mean something beyond the pilgrim story, and the ritual of the meal and dishes. (Although you can see we enjoyed that part too!)

This was C's first Thanksgiving and hopefully the first of many. This time around found us gathering family and friends around the table for a traditional feast. We, sans chef Jay, kicked off the day collecting a Little Pie Company pumpkin pie and watching the start of the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade pass through Times Square.

Jay meanwhile had done the shopping and cheffing extraordinaire: brining and roasting the turkey (and carving it just the way the NYTimes video suggested), cooking mashed potatoes, sweet Italian sausage stuffing and vegetarian stuffing, and green bean with Marcona almonds. My contribution? Bourbon sweet potato bake with peacan topping.

Apart from the feast, it was both rewarding and humbling to take a day annually to consider the many reasons one has to be happy in one's life. Family. Friendship. Generosity. Health. Safety. Opportunity. Food ;0)

I also wondered; How will we forge this tradition with our unique family twist? Where will we end up celebrating the day in years to come?

The few moments for reflection came thanks to the extra pair of hands and huge heart we had staying with us for the week in the form of my mom-in-law. (Seen here with C at the parade.) She spoiled us all in ways big and small, and now that she's returned home, we find ourselves already missing her in a myriad of ways.

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...digesting a stupendous steak dinner cooked by Jay
...savouring the last drops of our last bottle of '95 premiere cru burgandy, Chateau Trotte Veille St Emillion
...anticipating dessert
...enjoying a mild sense of accomplishment at having *finished* my course on evidence-based social policy analysis, and thus...
...a weekend of opportunity.

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One of the things I love about my Manhattan neighbourhood, Hell's Kitchen, is its strong sense of self and its vibrant community. Take the kid's Halloween Parade and neighbourhood party on Ninth Avenue and 47/48th street this weekend; the community garden barbeque held earlier this summer; the annual block garage sale on 43rd street; and the bi-annual toy and clothing exchange.

The latter never entered my consciousness until, of course, the organizing principle became relevant. This Sunday marks the second one I've attended and volunteered for. Think bazaar for babies and children, a medley of goods crammed onto rows of those institutional folding tables that grace so many church halls across the globe.

During trading hours you could easily imagine yourself in a one-room, western version of Istanbul's Kapali Carsi -- sans traders but with goods aplenty. Chaos appears to reign, but commerce manages to be conducted.

Living in close quarters, the sale makes both dollars and sense for everyone who participates -- who has the space to keep something that isn't useful? Add to it environmental consciousness and a communual-friendly attitude and you have a community of parents who are only too happy to sell their gently used goods and acquire others they need.

The sale has been an institution in the neighbourhood for more than 20 years, and going along with that, there are sellers who are in hot demand. Like "G", who apparently has a selection of the best toys for boys; and "C", who takes such good care of items that they return to the exchange for another cycle of usefulness.

If "it takes a village" to raise a child, then we've got a good start here in Hells' Kitchen!

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Posted by tanya at 11:04 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

Through the windows overlooking 9th Avenue I see the sky cries snow flurries and rain, its face obscured behind a tissue of clouds. It feels like we've been saying goodbye to my mom for a fornight, and then barely said it all.

As I move the tea strainer into the dishwasher I hesitate for more than a moment. For three months this has been one of innumerable symbols of my mom's shared residence with us. Every day, multiple times a day, the question: "Would you like some tea?" If I asked it now, silence would reply. So I stop. And leave the strainer and the still damp tea bag from your last cup to grace our counter for another day.

So many signs: the pair of well-worn madras house shoes wait expectantly at the front door for your return; a trail of crumpled tissues form soft milestones of your pathways through our apartment; the fridge, crammed with home- and heart-made wholesomeness groans.

Over forthcoming weeks, unwillingly, signs of you will be slowly erased: the bed linen and towels laundered and stored; the prepared meals savoured; the hieroglyphic notes fulfilled and recycled. The drawers once full of your clothes stand strangely empty already.

In other ways every inch of our home and haunts are indelibly imbued with momness -- here's the route we walked together to creche and work each morning; numerous favoured haunts for teas and patisseries; and so many, many good memories.

But beyond things and places, it what's in our hearts that can never be erased. So what will remain is what truly counts.

Technorati tags: family goodbye farewell

Posted by tanya at 1:55 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

Ironies in action. A few oddities that struck me over the past few days. (That's what lying in bed recovering from a congesting virus will do to your brain!)

The setting: the south end of Times Square, above the main entrance to the subway.
The scene: multi-storey billboards that wrap around the entire building.
The irony? The billboards are witty adverts for Target. You know, the store that us New Yorkers can buy from if we go online or rent a car to drive to the nearest store.

The setting: A shiny, silver, sidewalk food vendor cart
The scene: A lunch line three dozen deep
The first irony: That line is one of the most democratic and equalizing entity yet; in it are customers with annual incomes that differ by $100,000 or more.
The second irony: There don't appear to be any overtly muslim patrons, but the vendor's unique selling proposition blasted all over the cart, is that this is a Halal meal.
The third irony: Halal food for lunch... during Ramadan? Yup, Ramadan, that time of year when the muslim faithful of seven and older fast between sunrise and sunset.

The bottom line? Commerce rules.

Technorati tags: New York irony

Posted by tanya at 9:11 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

At first glance this little display might remind you of something being spat out from a 'should you change your hairstyle?' programme. But it is, in fact, me. Or rather, insta-avatar with hairstyle options.

Continue reading "Who's that girl?" »

Posted by tanya at 8:02 AM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

If you had the cash, high tea with ex-President Nelson Mandela and Albertina Sisulu is a snip at just over $27,000. And no, I'm not being sarcastic. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Continue reading "Tea for three? Priceless (or $27,100)" »

Posted by tanya at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

Perhaps you're a fan of the TV programme '24' starring Keifer Sutherland as character Jack Bauer. Each season is a day in the life of Bauer, presented in real time. Bauer works with the U.S. Government as it fights threats on its soil, and the show is based in Los Angeles. (You can read much more about it on the Wikipedia entry.)

Continue reading "48: Double the fun" »

Posted by tanya at 9:25 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

Two items recently caught my attention, both forwarded to me by people named Jay :0) Both of them focused on improving or drawing attention to activities that compromise out quality of life. It's all very "glocal."

Continue reading "Qualities of life" »

Posted by tanya at 12:07 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

I've known my buddy P.S. for longer than Americans have known terrorism on home soil. Which is to say, it seems like forever, but in a good way. This evening, as I read his farewell SMS and a flight speeds down the runway at JFK and lifts off, I am torn between sharing my friend's elation and mourning an era that has ended. (This photo from the 'good old days.')

Continue reading "P.S., a pre- and post-script" »

Posted by tanya at 11:37 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks

I've always thought that mascots were the coolest figures on the spirit side of any game. Ever since I saw my first US college mascot in action -- the Maryland Terrapin, back in 1995 -- and the aforementioned Terp took on the rival team's mascot (a bird of some kind), hoisting him/her? and running them into one of the poles of the football goalposts, I was sure I'd witnessed among the worst possible occupational hazards. (In this instance I believe there was some concussion involved. I can imagine bad things happen to good mascots when they're mascot napped by opposing teams -- hence the heavies who accompany them.)

Continue reading "Mascot mourning" »

Posted by tanya at 9:51 PM | Permalink | Add a comment | TrackBacks