inauguration

sweet relief

the blurry brown part in the back...that's people
the dc train system is totally star wars
the cute lori, girlfriend of jj
laura stein lindamood, the master organizer
Don't worry...there are 1.75 million people behind me and I got to walk through the car-less streets of the capital with all of them, surrounded by military police in fatigues, of course. Frozen toes, tons of layers, obama keychains, marching bands, blissfully happy. There were many highlights...too many to name. What a day.

Yes....a busy month. Here's a little blow by blow:

1. Mock food co-op in classroom with first graders. Created jobs, designed logo, made t-shirts, assembled all of the items that we sold (trail mix, cookies, play-doh, muffins), etc.) and invited parents to shop. Parents were wildly excited - and so were the kids - except for the kids working in 'produce', because "nobody wants to buy healthy food."

2. Got engaged! Dove quickly into the wedding insanity (of which I said I would never step foot) and experienced true family drama (not the first and not the last).

3. Went to Chicago for winter break. Saw 75% of the people that I wanted to see.....not 75% of their bodies....just 75% of the total people. Hard to really enjoy time with friends when I see them for two hours every six months, but I'm trying. I miss everybody.

4. Came back to New York and had an impromptu engagement-celebration, bar hopping adventure with Scotty and his girlfriend Sharon. Hemorrhaged money.

the infamous roman through a dirty cab window

5. Booked a location for the nuptuals. Hemorrhaged more money.

salvage one


6. Started school again and realize now that January is the true beginning of the school year. September is adjustment, October is sugared frenzy, November is too many days off to be consistent, and December is Santa Claus. January is normal, sweet, six year olds who are calm and focused and lovable. This is why I am a teacher. Thank god I remembered.

the big apple

this is a bit from our boat tour of manhattan. the tour guide reminded me of frankie avalon if he never made it in show business...

subwoofer

The other day, Dave and I had one of those weird New York experiences. We decided to meet in Manhattan - Dave was studying at NYU and I had just gotten home from school. It was a Friday night.

One of the gifts that I received when I left Chicago was a dual membership to the Guggenheim. The first Friday of each month, members can get into the museum for free and they stay open late. Nifty, we thought. Let's go. But first, let's meet in midtown (a.k.a Times Square-ish), look at the Christmas decorations, then dinner, then museum. I keep thinking that New York just isn't that cold.

In the bitter, frigid air we searched for Bergdorf Goodman...this block, no....this block...no. Oh. Here's Bergdorf Goodman. These windows are so lame. But wait! Rockefeller Center and the looming, glistening, mammoth tree and lots and lots of people with "I heart New York" T-shirts stretched over their jackets! We stuck around for the light show projected onto Saks Fifth Ave. It was totally worth Dave's acid dance...make sure you watch until the end.




So after the family-friendly fun, Dave and I took a cab to the Guggenheim and arrived to see a line around the block. At first glance, it seemed like hordes of posh, young New Yorkers...perhaps celebrities. Leaning in and squinting, it was clear this was a group of tourists from Tennessee and the Ukraine wearing new outfits. I was wearing a huge wool coat, cardigan, a thrift store dress over pants and pinchy boots, but with our member cards, we were swept into the museum past the line. We were easily the oldest people there and wandered around the portraits of transgender people and performance artists and giggled.

thank you parents

Dinner on our extra dining room table shoved into the living room, between the TV and the couch. No matching plates, paper napkins, only a couple of wine glasses, but lots of wine.


The parents came in droves for Thanksgiving. I was the most thankful that Dale and Mom didn't wear matching Cubs hoodies.

This one, on a boat tour around Manhattan, goes a little like this..."Dave? What's that tall building with lots of windows next to the tall one with less windows? Have you been there?"

Dave and his mom singing together. Adorable.
A cold, cold walk in Prospect Park. I mistakenly thought
I had thick skin from Chicago and wore only a trench coat.
We went to a wine bar, one of the best pizza places in Brooklyn, a cabaret show sung in five languages, gliding around Manhattan on a boat, and walking through Bryant Park. It was family bonding at its finest. And we got a Christmas tree with tinsel.

i'm supposed to be doing report cards.

wait until the camera sniff at the end

under the sea

From inside my apartment I can hear the cars and trucks driving on the BQE. Sometimes I can imagine that the gentle, but consistent whoosh is the sound of ocean waves coming ashore. When I try to sleep at night, the sound creeps in through a small crevice above the window...where the sash doesn't meet the frame. The sound washes over me as I try to muffle it out with talk radio. The jabber of late night news in an exaggerated monotone, crackling on top of the sea.

Sometimes I can hear children shouting in the courtyard behind my kitchen and I wonder if they are swimming in the water...isn't it late? Are they dreaming or playing? Shouldn't they be curled up in pajamas, teeth brushed, eyes closed?

The backyard garden, in the courtyard, is full of drifting leaves and vines, swaying in the wind like sea anemones, seaweed. Some yards and patios have little rusty grills or white plastic chairs like relics at the bottom of the ocean. If you close your eyes and listen you can hear groups of men bursting out together, cheering, booing. Pirates?