Spring is Here

For the first time this year, I slept with the window cracked open and didn't wake to frost on the tip of my nose.  I relish these cool mornings, and I recall how quickly the heat of the day invaded my small room when I first got here last September.  Soon, it will be time to put the air conditioner back in the window, and tuck my hat and gloves back in to my suitcase.  

I'm taking full advantage of these cool morning moments, as I know that soon enough the summer sun will cast its relentless rays in to my room and on to my fair skin.

During my walk around the neighborhood this morning, as dusk turned to dawn and the city yawn'd from slumber, three large flocks of Canada Geese arched across the horizon, their calls a gentle reminder to the nine million New Yorkers down here with our feet on solid ground - Spring Is Here!

A Test of Patience

Waiting in line for 45 minutes to mail a postcard this morning is a test of patience.  People come in and then leave; some stay and grumble, while others wait in silence.  There's a cough, a sneeze, the shuffling of feet, a chorus of sighs, indiscernible whispers.  I'm one of those with the heavy sighs escaping my lips.  I've nowhere to be, no one's waiting for me, and this is just a small part of what is to become a full day.  But still, I grow impatient.  Like a pot of soup on the stove, I can feel the frustration turning to anger as it grows from a simmer to a boil.

It's 9:45am and the twelve of us who have stayed the course in this line have been waiting for fifteen minutes for a postal employee to open a till.  Why would they open the doors and then not be available to customers.  "They" know we're here because there are cameras everywhere.  I have the thought to dig out my camera and start taking pictures of the inside of the post office.  When I did this at Christmas, not realizing you're not allowed to take photographs in the building, I was quickly scolded.  I resist the urge to draw attention this way, assuming that someone will appear soon.

Another five minutes goes by, and we can all hear the laughter of a group of people behind the closed windows.  This is when my patience ended.  To know that they're being so inconsiderate is intolerable to me.  So, I step from the line and knock on the window.  Immediately, the blinds are drawn up and a dark, scowling faces stares at me, as five other scowling faces behind him mimic the scowl.

"What do you want?", he yells.

"I want you to open the window and serve all of these customers like you were supposed to do when you opened twenty minutes ago," I yell back.  

He stares at me.  I stare at him.   There's a cough, a sneeze, the shuffling of feet, a chorus of sighs, indiscernible whispers.

As if touching it burns his hands, he ever so slowly, mockingly-so, slides the window open.

"I'll help all those other people, but I won't help you," he smirks, tilting his head to cast his gaze around me, and jutting his chin forward, as if the implication of who those other people are is lost on me.

Before I can catch my breath, three or four people shift in line and shout in unison, as if they're part of a Broadway musical "Welcome to our Neighborhood Post Office" and not here, in this Brooklyn post office, "Just help the young lady, so we can all get on with our day", the choir sings.

Hallelujah!

He motions for me to move the side with that same jutting chin gesture, and rings his bell for the next in line to step up.  No one steps up.  He rings and he rings and he rings his damn bell, but everyone in the line stands still.  And I'm standing still, holding my breath, realizing that I'm being an ass and that I've played my part in this volatile situation.  Silence screams and bounces off the brick walls. Finally, a middle aged man makes a move to step out of line, but his friend pulls him back and chides, "Don't even think about it George".

I want to be back in the line.  I want to be the youngish woman who uses her sense of humor to diffuse the growing frustration of not only her own self, but of the other people waiting.  I want to smile sweetly and kindly when it's finally my turn to get my one postcard stamp, wishing him a nice day, and moving on with the rest of mine.  But it is too late, and this man and I are holding one other's gaze, like the lion and the gazelle.  But which of us is the lion and which is the gazelle?

This entire situation lasts around three or four minutes, but it feels like an hour to me.  At last, he gives up, shrugs his shoulders, and gruffly asks what I want.  I get my stamp.  He takes my money.  I mail my postcard.  And as I turn back to my post office posse, they cheer and whistle and a few even pat me on the back.  Me, the girl from Alaska, being cheered on by these New Yorkers, these New Yorkers with their reputations for being aggressive and for not taking any shit. 

I emerge from the dark building and step out in to the brilliant sunshine.  I feel badly for my actions, and I immediately regret my behavior.  I hang my head and realize that I have much more work to do to be someone living a peaceful life.  Clearly, I'm far, far from peace, love and tranquility.

Postal employees have a rough go of it I know.  I understand that they have to put up with a lot of shit.  I don't know which came first, the grumpy postal clerk or the grumpy postal patron.

Regardless, today is another day and I have more items to mail.  I cringe at the thought of returning to the post office, but know that I have to face it sooner than later.  I could make the journey to the one further away, but I refuse to hide.  So instead, I braid my hair, wear a hat and put on sunglasses in an attempt to disguise myself.

The door creaks as I enter,  leaving the sun-filled street for the darkened cave of this U.S. Post Office.  There's no one in line.  I notice this first.   He's the only postal clerk working.  I notice this second.  He looks up.  I look at him, as I'm still standing just inside the door, frozen to the spot.  He motions for me to come up and for a moment I think he doesn't recognize me, but as I get closer and then am at his counter, his smile gets even larger and without faltering he whispers, "Miss, I'm sorry".  His whisper is so faint that I wonder if I heard him correctly.  His brown eyes are kind and soft and I know that I heard him just fine.  "I'm sorry too," I whisper back.

I get my stamps.  He takes my money.  I mail my letters.  I walk out of the dark building and step in to the brilliant sunshine.

It's not always easy, this being human.

Full Moon View

On this clear, cool evening, the view of the full moon from my second floor window is amazing.  With such brilliance casting its light across my forehead, I'm drawn from slumber, tuck my layers about me, and head out in to the night.

Awakening to Self

My friend Gail posted this on Facebook.  I think it's absolutely beautiful, so I wanted to share it:

"I prayed for change, so I changed my mind.
I prayed for guidance and learned to trust myself.
I prayed for happiness and realized I am not my ego.
I prayed for peace and learned to accept others unconditionally.
I prayed for abundance and realized my doubt kept it out.
I prayed for wealth and realized it is my health.
I prayed for a miracle and realized I am the miracle.
I prayed for a soul mate and realized I am the One.
I prayed for love and realized it’s always knocking, but I have to allow it in.”
- Jackson Kiddard
by Denis Nunez Rodriguez

Hi Peninnah

Hi Peninnah.
I'm so glad  you stepped out of your comfort zone to say hello to me.
Acts of courage take all shapes and forms.
When we risk, we nurture our personal growth. 

 

 

Getting Out of My Own Way

There are days when I experience incredible moments of creativity, freedom, joy and peace.  There are other days when I burden myself with my own emotional baggage.  Can you relate?

Forks in the Road

Always, there are forks in the road, causing us to choose one course of action over another.  Some people find choice freeing.  I find it paralyzing.  And I realize that not choosing is in itself in fact a choice.  With so many opportunities surrounding me, rather than celebrating the bounty, I'm often filled with fear, afraid of what I'll miss out on, by leaving roads not taken behind me...

Monday Musing

The Changing Face of Coney Island

Coney Island has undergone many changes over the years.  Time spent with locals affords me many stories of what the area what like in the 1960's, '70's, '80's through to today.

In just the few short months that I've been here, two significant changes have occurred, leaving me worried for the future of this area that I've come to love.  

The first change was brought on by Hurricane Sandy, flooding not only the businesses on the boardwalk and the boardwalk itself, but homes and businesses beyond Surf Avenue, on Mermaid Avenue, just a block off the beach.  Homes and lives are forever altered...

The second is evidenced in the photos below.  The first photo is iconic of Coney Island and was taken on October 28, 2012.  When I visited Coney Island on January 22nd, this colorful painting still proudly adorned the wooden wall.  The second photo, taken in the exact same spot as the first, was taken three days ago.  Instead of the colorful wall, there's now all-glass front windows - cold, sterile, completely antithetical to its historical surroundings, and, for sale.

Locals tell me that the billionaire who owns much of this land is hoping to build condos here, to attract more tourists.  Hearing this leaves me feeling both angry and sad, as we face the same dilemma in my small tourist town of Homer, Alaska.  There must be a way to balance "progress" with maintaining areas of historical significance.  Can't we revitalize an area without destroying its character?  

With so many businesses and families still struggling to get back on their feet after the hurricane, this blatant, in-your-face "progress" by one individual and his company seem like a slap in the face to all of them, in my opinion.

I admit that I'm a sucker for tradition, and after spending the weekend on Coney Island, hearing story after story after story of people's memories of time spent on Coney Island and what that time meant to them as children, as adults and to their children, I can't help but want to chain myself to the front of this ugly, glass, metal, modern building and cry with every breath in my Coney Island-loving body, "HELL NO!!!"

When I look at these two images, I notice things I hadn't noticed in all the times I walked by this building.  First, the bright wall is paint on top of wood and the glass front, cold, sterile building has been there the entire time, just hidden from my view.  So smitten was I by such a happy, welcoming face that I failed to see the structure tucked behind it, like a tumor waiting to spread.

This has been my rant... 

Coney Island's Luna Park Opens!

Opening day at Coney Island's Luna Park comes upon us, crisp and sunny.  A crowd of hundreds flock to the boardwalk, as the National Anthem is sung and speeches are made, honoring the work of staff, city workers, volunteers and politicians for bringing Luna Park back from the ruins after Hurricane Sandy.  Sandy flooded the park; in fact, the boardwalk that I'm standing on right now was under six feet of water just 146 days ago.

The yellow ribbon is cut and families, friends and couples merge on to the rides.  The longest lines are for The Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel.

The Coney Island Cyclone, locally known as the Cyclone is a historic wooden roller coaster.  Not just any roller coaster, the Cyclone was declared a New York City landmark in 1988 and in 1991, was placed on the National Register of Historic Places.

The Wonder Wheel at Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park on Coney Island was built in 1920 and is a 150 foot tall wheel with both conventional cars (fixed directly to the rim of the wheel) and eccentric cars (not fixed, slide on rails between the hub and the rim).  

As the park overflows with the steady hum, buzz and rattle of rides and the laughter and screams of riders, a handful of individuals walk the boardwalk, carrying signs with the message, "Coney Island is not back yet".

There's much work yet to be done here.  Many of the rides can not be salvaged and some will take a lot more time to repair before they're once again operable.  Even more, houses and businesses alike throughout Coney Island, off the soon-to-be-bustling-with-tourists area of Surf Avenue, remain in varying state of disarray.  Basements are rotting, mold is claiming windows and walls, generators continue to hum as electricity is not yet restored, and water comes in the form of store-bought jugs.

While there is much to be celebrated on the resurgence of Luna Park less than six months after the hurricane, grief and loss, frustration and anger still hang heavy in the air in many neighborhoods.

But for now, for today, for this moment and the next, the sun shines brilliantly, warming our faces and our bodies, and the smell of hot dogs mixes with the sounds of children laughing.  And we sit and we walk and we ride and we play, and we soak up every last bit of innocence and wonder as the magic of Coney Island's Luna Park claims us all.

Flat Stanely visits Luna Park

Crazy for Coney Island

Wandering around the Brighton Beach area of Coney Island the day before Luna Park (the amusement park) opens for the season, and expecting it to be the last quiet day on the beach, I stumble upon Nathan's Hot Dogs annual hot dog eating preliminaries competition.  The contest takes place on the boardwalk for the first time ever, because the main restaurant is still closed from the hurricane damages.

I'm greeted with a front row seat among the many spectators, and I tuck in and watch eight men and one woman compete, shoving hot dogs and buns one after another in to their mouths.  Each has a unique method that works for them. Some dip the meat in to juice or milk or water.  One man seems to swallow the hotdogs whole, while the others chew, chew, and chew some more.

Bob, a big man from Pennsylvania, dunks his hot dogs in to a glass of pink punch, staining his hands, and this strategy proves to be a winner, as he retains his championship title, devouring 36 hot dogs in the allotted ten minutes.

Bloated, full and uncomfortable, a few of the competitors smile weakly and wave at the crowd, as they ever so slowly and carefully take their filled bellies home. Others, the more season veterans, stay and chat with fans and the media. I approach Bob, today's winner, along with Larell the only woman competing today and thereby the winning lady, and Matt, a first-time competitor, and they all enthusiastically agree to share their stories on how they came to be in the competition.  I'll talk with them later this week.  Stay tuned for a 1000 Hot Dogs feature.

The smell of hotdogs hangs heavy in the air, and I move on down the boardwalk, delighted to discover that Luna Park is open for access to the smaller rides.  I spend the sunny afternoon photographing the park and the handful of families, kids and workers making last minute adjustments.   

Tomorrow, when the park officially opens, the larger rides, including the Wonder Wheel (ferris wheel) and the Cyclone (rollercoaster) will open, drawing larger crowds.  I plan to be back early to photograph and participate in the excitement of opening day.

I'm not a big fan of actually going on the larger rides like the Cyclone, I much prefer to photograph other people enjoying them.  But, of the four times that I've been to New York City, this is the first time that Luna Park will be open while I'm here, so... I'm going to go for it - it being the Cyclone.

Just 145 days ago, this entire area was under six feet of water... crazy!