My first stop this morning is the dry cleaners. Its starts to rain just as I exit the building and by the time I get there I am completely soaked. For a moment, I entertain the notion of just taking off my shirt and adding it to the pile I've dumped on the counter, but better judgment quickly settles in and I leave fully clothed.
I need to stop back at my building and find the super to let him know the fire department was over last night and that the stove, allegedly leaking carbon monoxide, needs to be replaced. I don't find him, but I do head back upstairs to grab an umbrella. An older gentleman, seeing me in the elevator asks - not ironically, sarcastically, or jokingly - if I happen to know whether it's still raining or not.
Back in my apartment I don't even bother to change out of my clothes, because I am rushing to get to a meeting on time. I head back downstairs, to the station, and on to the platform. It's hot and muggy as usual, and I do not think I will be dry by the time I get to the office.
Sitting on a bench waiting for the train is a young woman in a short gray dress, adorned with flower-patterned lace along the bottom. It makes me jealous that I must wear business clothes on such a hot day. There is a birthmark on her right ear.
On the train there are no seats and it's too tight and crowded to even take out my Sudoku book. Luckily, I have a spot next to the door, so at least I have something to lean on. I look out the glass windows as the train pulls away and then look down at my wet clothes, and I remember an email about the meeting I'm rushing to. It was postponed.
Friday, July 31
Wednesday, July 29
Quiet Time
After a traumatic experience with a palmetto earlier this morning, I am not particularly overjoyed at the thought of yet another morning commute. The mugginess in the air does not help. On the way to the station I walk behind a young Hispanic girl in denim jeans and Ked-like shoes. She's wearing a blue jersey with "Posadas" printed across the back, and I wonder if it's a tribute to the capital city of the Misiones Province in Argentina, or to the famous Trotskyist Juan Posadas.
Inside the station I see Esther B. and Jenny R. talking at the bottom of the steps and join them just as the train pulls in. Rabbi B. is also there and he nods to me when I wave hello. I sit next to Esther and Jenny, and Jenny points towards the other end of the car where Aviel T. is sitting, not far from another familiar neighborhood face. I don't know him, but Esther tells me his name is Ariel. When she says "Ariel," I think she's referring to "Aviel" and I correct her but she repeats "Ariel". His name is Aviel, I say. She says no, the one in the blue shirt is Ariel, but Aviel and Ariel are both wearing blue. Eventually we sort it out.
Jenny asks where I work but like most people has never heard of the company and can't pronounce the name, so I give her my business card. She works downtown on the East side and loves her job. I notice that she is wearing a red headband that nicely matches her red handbag, which is draped over her black jumper. Esther is wearing a black top and a green sweater but I can't see her skirt at all because she has laid several books across her lap. We are not allowed to talk anymore, she says, because she has to study, lest her professor call on her during class. I protest, but she seems exceedingly tense so I let it go and turn to my Sudoku book to pass the time.
I get off at 59th and say goodbye to Jenny and Esther, and wiz by Aviva P. on the platform as I walk towards my spot.
Inside the station I see Esther B. and Jenny R. talking at the bottom of the steps and join them just as the train pulls in. Rabbi B. is also there and he nods to me when I wave hello. I sit next to Esther and Jenny, and Jenny points towards the other end of the car where Aviel T. is sitting, not far from another familiar neighborhood face. I don't know him, but Esther tells me his name is Ariel. When she says "Ariel," I think she's referring to "Aviel" and I correct her but she repeats "Ariel". His name is Aviel, I say. She says no, the one in the blue shirt is Ariel, but Aviel and Ariel are both wearing blue. Eventually we sort it out.
Jenny asks where I work but like most people has never heard of the company and can't pronounce the name, so I give her my business card. She works downtown on the East side and loves her job. I notice that she is wearing a red headband that nicely matches her red handbag, which is draped over her black jumper. Esther is wearing a black top and a green sweater but I can't see her skirt at all because she has laid several books across her lap. We are not allowed to talk anymore, she says, because she has to study, lest her professor call on her during class. I protest, but she seems exceedingly tense so I let it go and turn to my Sudoku book to pass the time.
I get off at 59th and say goodbye to Jenny and Esther, and wiz by Aviva P. on the platform as I walk towards my spot.
Tuesday, July 28
Dry Roll
It's so late, I haven't got the time to put my lenses on, let alone make breakfast or stop to pick anything up. I grab a roll on my way out the door. It's not stale, but old enough to be dry on the palette and as I bite into it, on the elevator, I am infused with thirst. Unperturbed, I am done with the entire roll by the time I exit the building.
Under the scaffolding at 110 Bennett, I see one of my neighbors and he nods good morning. Behind me there is an Orthodox Jewish woman talking loudly into her phone, in Russian. Ruchama J. drives by in her sedan. She slows down to turn the corner, and waves when she sees me.
When I get onto the train a few minutes later I sit next to a pretty Latin girl in a black top with elbow length sleeves. She is wearing jeans, casual loafers, and hoop earrings, and her dark hair is pushed back into a pony tail. The roll I've devoured is just starting to digest and I can still smell the onion and garlic from the everything bagel she is eating. I am jealous of her coffee too, and debate, as I get closer to the office, if I'll risk the extra two minutes of tardiness it will take to get my own little latte.
Under the scaffolding at 110 Bennett, I see one of my neighbors and he nods good morning. Behind me there is an Orthodox Jewish woman talking loudly into her phone, in Russian. Ruchama J. drives by in her sedan. She slows down to turn the corner, and waves when she sees me.
When I get onto the train a few minutes later I sit next to a pretty Latin girl in a black top with elbow length sleeves. She is wearing jeans, casual loafers, and hoop earrings, and her dark hair is pushed back into a pony tail. The roll I've devoured is just starting to digest and I can still smell the onion and garlic from the everything bagel she is eating. I am jealous of her coffee too, and debate, as I get closer to the office, if I'll risk the extra two minutes of tardiness it will take to get my own little latte.
Different
Today is different, as I'm off to the Jersey office. I still need to take the A, but I'm heading all the way downtown to the World Trade Center and from there onto the PATH to Jersey City.
I stroll into the A station and notice right away that the homeless guy, his girlfriend, his cart, and even his chair are all gone. It's probably no coincidence that there is a police officer stationed here today. I walk through the turnstile and down to the platform, and find a seat on one of the benches. There's aren't too many people here, which means I've just missed a train.
Nomi G. walks over to say hi and startles me as I'm typing emails on my blackberry. We chat for a moment but she needs to go say the morning prayers. Headphone Guy walks by just as she's leaving. He's really Eli D. but in my head I call him Headphone Guy because I see him on the subway all the time wearing cartoonishly large headphones. They are noise cancelling headphones, and undoubtedly good ones, but they are too big for anyone smaller than Andre the Giant. I'd like to suggest to him that he replace them with a good sound-blocking headset, which will work just as well and is far more attractive. It surprises me that today he is not wearing his headphones.
I board the train and find a seat. Next to there is a man with a button down shirt and brown pants. His eyebrows are extraneously thick for a man his age. He is holding a newspaper, which he does not read, and a thermos, which is open but from which he does not drink. Only when we reach 125th Street does he finally screw the lid back on, fold the paper, and exit the train.
The man with the thick eyebrows is replaced by an adorable little boy with dark skin and neatly cropped hair. He is wearing a tuxedo shirt, with black pants and shiny black shoes. His white sox, adorned with thin black stripes, would seem out of place on any adult in the same outfit but for the little boy it simple adds cuteness.
I am finally on the PATH train. I like the PATH, even though I often get confused finding the right track, because it is cleaner than the NYC subway and less crowded during my commute. The other thing I like about the PATH is that I've never run into anyone I know on the PATH and it provides 15 minutes of guaranteed solace. Or at least it used to. Headphone Guy, still sans headphones, is sitting just a few seats over.
I stroll into the A station and notice right away that the homeless guy, his girlfriend, his cart, and even his chair are all gone. It's probably no coincidence that there is a police officer stationed here today. I walk through the turnstile and down to the platform, and find a seat on one of the benches. There's aren't too many people here, which means I've just missed a train.
Nomi G. walks over to say hi and startles me as I'm typing emails on my blackberry. We chat for a moment but she needs to go say the morning prayers. Headphone Guy walks by just as she's leaving. He's really Eli D. but in my head I call him Headphone Guy because I see him on the subway all the time wearing cartoonishly large headphones. They are noise cancelling headphones, and undoubtedly good ones, but they are too big for anyone smaller than Andre the Giant. I'd like to suggest to him that he replace them with a good sound-blocking headset, which will work just as well and is far more attractive. It surprises me that today he is not wearing his headphones.
I board the train and find a seat. Next to there is a man with a button down shirt and brown pants. His eyebrows are extraneously thick for a man his age. He is holding a newspaper, which he does not read, and a thermos, which is open but from which he does not drink. Only when we reach 125th Street does he finally screw the lid back on, fold the paper, and exit the train.
The man with the thick eyebrows is replaced by an adorable little boy with dark skin and neatly cropped hair. He is wearing a tuxedo shirt, with black pants and shiny black shoes. His white sox, adorned with thin black stripes, would seem out of place on any adult in the same outfit but for the little boy it simple adds cuteness.
I am finally on the PATH train. I like the PATH, even though I often get confused finding the right track, because it is cleaner than the NYC subway and less crowded during my commute. The other thing I like about the PATH is that I've never run into anyone I know on the PATH and it provides 15 minutes of guaranteed solace. Or at least it used to. Headphone Guy, still sans headphones, is sitting just a few seats over.
Friday, July 24
Missing Breakfast
There's an early meeting at work and so I've made sure to be on time today. On my way out the building a neighbor waves and says good morning, and a few minutes later I see Ezra F. on Bennett Ave. I'm invited to dinner tonight, to some friends who live on Magaw Place, and I know he's invited as well, but not sure if he knows that I am or that I know that he is.
Up ahead at the corner I can see Adam E. walking with his child and a few seconds later I bump into Henry R. Henry was vice president of the local synagogue when I served on its board of trustees. I like him and have a lot respect for him, and I am also very friendly with some of his children. He waves and says good morning as I pass him by.
On the platform I run into Tova K. and for the second time this week, we ride together on the train. As we sit and start to chat, I notice Emily L. seated further up, at least 15 feet away. One stop later Emily sees me too. She shouts hellos and good mornings and what ups from across the subway car. I shout back and we try to converse this way but it quickly becomes apparent that this is painfully irritating to other passengers.
I return to my chat with Tova and we continue the discussion about relationships from the other day, particularly about lifelong decisions and lifelong regrets. We also talk about the recent crime wave in NJ and a girls camp upstate. She tells me she is visiting her brother this weekend, who lives in a 17th story pad, and then asks about my thumb ring. Is it the same idea as a pinky ring? I balk at the comparison. Thumb rings were essential to archery in ancient and middle times, protecting the archer's thumb from the rebound of the bow. She is surprised I am still wearing it after all this time.
When I get off at 59th, Emily and I find each other and we catch up a bit. She looks tired and tells me it's because her neighbors have been noisy and because the sun light creaks into her room early in the morning. I suggest light-blocking blinds and say goodbye when we reach my stop.
Exiting the station at 47th, I go to Milk and Honey for a bagel with cream cheese and my morning coffee. There's a lot on mind today, and its earlier than usual, which may help explain why I've left the store and am already on 5th Avenue empty handed. I've paid for my breakfast but left it on the counter.
Up ahead at the corner I can see Adam E. walking with his child and a few seconds later I bump into Henry R. Henry was vice president of the local synagogue when I served on its board of trustees. I like him and have a lot respect for him, and I am also very friendly with some of his children. He waves and says good morning as I pass him by.
On the platform I run into Tova K. and for the second time this week, we ride together on the train. As we sit and start to chat, I notice Emily L. seated further up, at least 15 feet away. One stop later Emily sees me too. She shouts hellos and good mornings and what ups from across the subway car. I shout back and we try to converse this way but it quickly becomes apparent that this is painfully irritating to other passengers.
I return to my chat with Tova and we continue the discussion about relationships from the other day, particularly about lifelong decisions and lifelong regrets. We also talk about the recent crime wave in NJ and a girls camp upstate. She tells me she is visiting her brother this weekend, who lives in a 17th story pad, and then asks about my thumb ring. Is it the same idea as a pinky ring? I balk at the comparison. Thumb rings were essential to archery in ancient and middle times, protecting the archer's thumb from the rebound of the bow. She is surprised I am still wearing it after all this time.
When I get off at 59th, Emily and I find each other and we catch up a bit. She looks tired and tells me it's because her neighbors have been noisy and because the sun light creaks into her room early in the morning. I suggest light-blocking blinds and say goodbye when we reach my stop.
Exiting the station at 47th, I go to Milk and Honey for a bagel with cream cheese and my morning coffee. There's a lot on mind today, and its earlier than usual, which may help explain why I've left the store and am already on 5th Avenue empty handed. I've paid for my breakfast but left it on the counter.
Thursday, July 23
Lotus
I'm already late when I leave my apartment at 9:00 AM, mostly due to sleeplessness and tardiness. I drop off my laundry and carefully avoid a large pile of broken glass on the way to the train station. Today is another Sudoku day, I've brought with me the book Genna gave me a year and a half ago and I'm determined to finish it. The puzzles get progressively harder and even though I can average 3-4 per ride I'm still in the "easy" section.In the tunnel leading to the station I see Josh S. leaving the train. He doesn't wave or say hello and I continue on to the platform. I have numerous "usual spots" on the platform, depending on whether I'm getting breakfast, stopping at the gym, or going straight to work. I'm going straight today and at this usual spot I see an unidentified Jewish girl saying her morning prayers. Also here, ironically, is Moshe G. who until last week was the rabbinic intern at the local synagogue. I don't think he knows who I am and so I don't bother to say hello.
On the train there a white haired man is meditating. His hands are resting on his knees, palms up, his index fingers touching thumbs. His back is in perfect posture and his eyes are closed. When I sit next to him I try not to disrupt his lotus energy but he open his eyes ever so slightly and turns them towards me without moving his head. When he returns to his pose, I snap a few shots and wonder if he suspects that he is the subject at the other end of the shutter’s sound. He doesn't stir, and I give up and play Sudoku.
Wednesday, July 22
Homeless
Down the stairs I run into my pregnant neighbor. She and her husband moved into the other side of the building about two years ago and I'm sad to say I don't know their names. I walk towards the train station, and am happy to see that it's sunny out despite the forecast.
Jeremy S. is on the corner of 186th and Bennett, talking to someone I recognize but don't know. Turning onto Overlook, I see another person I recognize but don't actually know. She is a short, middle aged Russian woman who works in my building. Formerly, she took care of an elderly man who lived there, but he passed away a few years ago, and I wonder who she takes care of now.
The homeless guy who lives at the station is there today as usual. He has been there for a few years now, always panhandling when he is not sleeping. If a Jewish person walks by, he will ask for tzedaka, the Hebrew word for charity. Occasionally, he will disappear for a couple of days or even a week or two, but most of the time he is there on the way to work and on the way back as well.
He looks different today in that there is a girl on his lap. She is short and looks thin, and like him she is dirty and weathered. His arms are wrapped around her waist, their faces are close together, and they are singing, perhaps appropriately, "Lean on me."
Jeremy S. is on the corner of 186th and Bennett, talking to someone I recognize but don't know. Turning onto Overlook, I see another person I recognize but don't actually know. She is a short, middle aged Russian woman who works in my building. Formerly, she took care of an elderly man who lived there, but he passed away a few years ago, and I wonder who she takes care of now.
The homeless guy who lives at the station is there today as usual. He has been there for a few years now, always panhandling when he is not sleeping. If a Jewish person walks by, he will ask for tzedaka, the Hebrew word for charity. Occasionally, he will disappear for a couple of days or even a week or two, but most of the time he is there on the way to work and on the way back as well.
He looks different today in that there is a girl on his lap. She is short and looks thin, and like him she is dirty and weathered. His arms are wrapped around her waist, their faces are close together, and they are singing, perhaps appropriately, "Lean on me."
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