NY night

I once went to a black tie affair at the Plaza Hotel in New York. It was a formal gala, honoring Philip Johnson, the renowned architect. It was in the Grand Ballroom. The same room where Truman Capote's Black and White Ball was. It was really something to attend such a grand affair. Brooke Astor was sitting at the table with Philip Johnson. It was really magical.

I wore a long grey, wool silk, slip dress, with a matching evening coat. I had on black pointy toed stilettos. I carried a small, jeweled, evening purse. I must have been about 26. My hair was up, and my eyes were smoky. I felt wonderful.

The night was filled with dancing, and champagne. Lots of champagne. The dinner was delicious, and the candlelight made everything glow and sparkle. The gold walls reflected the light. It was an honor to be a part of it. I felt like an impostor.

But I had one too many glasses of champagne. And then I believe we wound up in the Oak Room at the Plaza. After a blurry cab ride home, I remember spilling the contents of my little jeweled evening purse onto the seat of the taxi to pay the driver. I thought I had collected everything, but apparently, my apartment keys drove off into the night. Did I mention it was winter, and freezing out?

I became a bit panicked. I was unsure what I was going to do. I walked down the block toward my building. It must have been about 2 a.m. I buzzed the apartment of the man next door to me. He was in his twenties as well. He and I had only exchanged brief hello's, but I knew my window was open, and we shared a fire escape. This was the only way I would be able to get in without paying a locksmith.

He took a while to answer, and his voice was both sleepy, and angry when he finally picked up the intercom. I, was of course, over served, so I must have sounded goofy, to say the least. I explained that it was me, his neighbor. I asked him to buzz me in, and could he please open his apartment door. The buzzer sounded, and I pushed the leaded glass door open, and clicked my way down the hall, to the back stairwell, and hiked it up the flight of stairs. He slowly opened his apartment door, unsure of why I needed him to do so. Do you know, I smiled, said hello, and told him that I was going to need to go out his window, onto the fire escape. As I was telling him my plan, I walked right into his apartment. Totally breezed right by him. I didn't even know his first name. This was the most we had ever spoken to each other. He looked shocked. He looked a bit annoyed. He even protested, but I insisted everything was fine, and I walked right into his living room, threw the window open, and in a long gown, and matching coat, climbed out of his window, carefully balancing myself on the grates of the fire escape, hoping it would hold, as it was over 100 years old, and told him, thank you and goodnight. I opened up my kitchen window, which was always opened a crack, as the steam heat in the building made my tiny home hotter than hell, and I fell onto my kitchen floor.

I saw that man just a handful of times after that. Sometimes, I would be about to leave for work in the morning, and I would hear his door open, and I would wait to leave, watching him go down the stairs through my peep hole. I kind of felt silly. Like he thought I was wacky, or something. Maybe I was. I mean, I must have been.

But do you know, whenever I think of that night, I still crack up to myself. And I know, somewhere out there, that man must have a memory of me, crawling out of his living room window, in a gown, and stilettos, into the winter night.

Enough

Sitting at the bus stop this morning, the car began to make a bubbling, gurgling, noise. The temperature gauge shot up to Hot. I started shaking. I was afraid something was about to happen, like the car was about to die. I drove home, and called David. He too, is now filled with stress about this. I went on-line, and googled what it could be, and of course, a million scenarios came up. Some with a small price tag. Still others that we cannot afford. I am so worried about this, on top of everything else that I am worried about. Layer upon layer of worry. Like a stinky onion.

I have to see the goodness in my life. In our life. Someone is providing Christmas for my children. Without this help, there would not have been much for the girls. I will never be able to explain what this has meant to us. I am overwhelmed with thanks. I feel undeserving. There are no words.

Our tree is up. It is beautiful. I kept tearing up as the girls put ornaments on it, and Molly removed them. Where will we be next Christmas? Here? Will we be happy? Will we be OK?

I can't worry about the car today. I have to just focus on what we have.

 We have enough.

24

Tonight, I would like to be 24. Just for the night. I would like to still smoke too, just for tonight. I would like to stare at the clock longing for it to be 6:00. I would like to take my familiar route, up Madison Ave. to 78th Street. Walk over to York Avenue, and peek into brownstone after brownstone's ground floor kitchen's along the way.
I would like to make my way, all the way to the river. #539. Key in front door, up the one flight of stairs, and unlock the solid wood door, installed many moons before I was even born, and enter my tiny apartment. I would like to throw down my stuff, change my clothes, freshen up my makeup, and hair, check my messages, and decide on which plan that I made, with numerous people, sounds like the most fun.
I stop to pick up two packs of Camel lights, and hop in a cab.
I am young.
I am beautiful.
The possibilities are endless.
What will I have? A beer? A cocktail? Start off with a smoke. Definitely.
Tonight, we are heading to Arlington Elementary school. It is the annual spaghetti dinner, and gift shop. The girls are really psyched.
The PTA mom's really don't know who they are dealing with.
Inside of my mind, I am still 24.
Sometimes.
Just for tonight.

Part I

I asked David a few weeks ago why moss was growing on the roof of the house next door. He said that when a house sits empty for a long time, with no heat on inside of it, moss will grow on the roof. Nothing is warming the roof from within. That struck me as sort of spooky. It also made me sad. My neighbor Barbara, who used to live right next door to me, lost her home to foreclosure. She had been unable to keep her head above water after her boyfriend moved out, and she then lost her job. She had stopped paying the mortgage over 4 years ago. She stayed in it for a bit, and had to move out only because she could not afford to keep the utilities on. She had no water. She packed up her things, and took her teenage son, and left. She gave us the keys, and told us to take whatever we wanted. I took a cake stand. She had always made us the best coconut cakes, and always brought them over in a glass stand, with a cover. I loved it. She left it behind, so I took it. I felt bad walking around her empty home. She couldn't afford movers, so she left everything behind. Furniture, and dishes. Rugs, and candles. Everything that makes a house, a home, was abandoned. David and I didn't feel right about taking anything. It made us uncomfortable. But when I saw the cake stand, it reminded me of too many good things. I proudly display it, and love when I bake a cake, and place it under it's domed cover. I think of Barbara.

I see her house everyday. I can see it from Charlotte's bedroom. It sits, empty. Moss is covering the roof. Weeds and baby oak trees are growing from the gutters. Feral cats come and go from under the deck. There is a black one, with yellow eyes, that I see, daily. We exchange glares. I dislike that cat. He is sneaky, and up to no good. He has run across the street, in front of my car on more than a few occasions. David found a dead squirrel last week, with it's eyeballs missing, right by our front deck. I don't feel compelled to put food or water out for that cat. He can take care of himself just fine.

I see Barbara's house everyday. When I see it, I get angry. It has been empty for years. No one from the bank has ever come to look at it. No notices posted. No padlocks. I often wonder how long she could have lived in that house for, before they came and made her get out. I think she would still be there today. Yet it sits. It is quiet all day, and it is hauntingly dark at night. I think about what it looks like inside the house now. Spiderwebs, and probably mice. Maybe the cats have gotten in by now. Has rain water come in? How do the rays of the sun look, in each room? I often find myself following the sun around my own home. The light here is brilliant. It rises and shines in my kitchen windows, and splatters it's squares of light everywhere. I follow it from room to room sometimes.

I have begun to think about what my home will look like when we are gone. Sometimes, when it is just Molly and I here, and she is napping, I listen to how quiet it is. I look at the light, and where it lands around the house, and think about how it will always shine in these various spots around the house, long after we are gone. I have begun to notice all the things in my house, these last few days, that have made it a home. It has made me angry, because I don't want to be forced out of here. It has made me wonder how much time we have here. It has made me question why the bank just won't work with us, and take a payment we can afford, instead of eventually allowing moss to grow on the roof.

It has made me want to appreciate every little nook and cranny of it. Floors, walls, doors, and all. My life became whole here. I don't want to forget any of it.

Part II

Butterfly

Sleep finally arrived close to 3 a.m. last night. Just as I dosed off, David woke up. I smiled to myself and thought he was taking over my stressing shift. I know he was waking up, and getting out of bed, because of worry. I was happy to be relieved.

I had a dream that I couldn't sleep. It was the oddest thing. And just as I dozed off in my dream, I woke up, at 6:54 a.m. ready to begin my Monday. I saw Olivia's shadow in my doorway. I motioned to her, but she left the room. I got up, and followed her. She was in her room, with the lights on, her bed made, and all of her animal friends lined up, just so. I think she was coming to wake me up. She is such a good girl. You have no idea. I cry some nights, just thinking about her, and how deeply she feels. She is me. I know when and what she is worried about. I see her constantly trying to make everything better for everyone. Some people tell me that we have done such a "good job" with her, but I have nothing to do with the way she is. She is a flower, opening up, right before my very eyes, and each and every day, I am startled at what I see. She is amazing.

I kissed her good morning, and she held me tightly. I could smell her scalp. I could smell my girl. We walked out into the kitchen together, and it had snowed overnight. It was so pretty. The early morning light made everything look blue. Olivia was so happy to see the snow. I was so happy to see her happy.

Today, I am thankful that I got to go to the grocery store, and get fruit, and vegetables and all the things that my family needs. I am going to make Swedish meatballs for dinner. I am going to keep thinking about the new position David is beginning, and the opportunity it means for us. I am going to keep thinking about the kindness given to me last week. I keep smiling every time it comes into my mind, and I feel grateful.

My friend wrote something to me recently. I keep reading it, because it is one of the most beautiful things any one has ever said to me.  Here it is:

"To my friend Erin:  we never know what the year will bring. We start off with daunting things --too much, not enough, too far, too short--but we finish the year, no matter what, as if our feet were on a conveyor belt pulling us toward December. You said that I landed in your life like a butterfly. Yours is a mind that thinks of fluttering, cellophane wings wringing blue and red stains from sunlight like colored glass. Your hands drag a plain, stiff brush through ordinary pigment to make soft petals and glistening stems. Your girls are beautiful. These things are yours. Every single day. No matter what."

Middle of the night

I have been unable to write. Mentally unable to. My mind has been racing. Each time I sit and try to type, my hands cannot keep up with my thoughts.

It is after midnight. I am lying in bed, and the baby is curled into the small of my back. She is so warm. David is sleeping. The house is still. I have been lying here, listening to my heat, just running and running. It makes me so stressed. I am afraid that something will break. I am terrified about something that hasn't happened. I wish for one consecutive week, I could just remain positive and happy.

I have received a kindness this past week that has moved me beyond words. I will never be able to express how it has touched my life. So I will simply say thank you.

David learned this week of a job that he is being detailed into starting tomorrow. The pay will be more, starting in the new year. The news is amazing. It is answered prayers.

Yet, I lay here, and worry that a machine cannot last forever. I keep thinking that my thinking about it, will doom it for certain.

Tomorrow, I will try for a better week.I have so much to be thankful for. Far more than what I am worrying about.