It's a White-Out!

January 23, 2016 – It’s a White-Out! 

  

I’m sitting at home in a cozy pair of pink plaid flannel pajamas, looking out my windows at the swirling snow.  We already have at least 18 inches on the ground, and the snow is still falling.  Unlike my neighbors, I am not going out to start shoveling my driveway.  In fact, I have no plans to leave the comfort of my house.  I’m perfectly content to wait until our trusty snow removal crew appears, whenever that may be.  In the meantime, I have plenty of books, food and wine. 

Earlier in the week, as I listened to the weather forecasts for a major weekend snow storm, I was so worried about what we’d do if we lost power since Elliott’s oxygen concentrator runs on electricity.  As it turns out, there’s no need to worry.  You see, with his exquisite sense of timing, Elliott managed to get himself admitted to Fairfax Hospital shortly before the blizzard began.  Actually, his latest medical crisis started a few days ago, less than 12 hours after I posted my previous blog post.  Although he seemed to be feeling fine on Tuesday evening, he began experiencing sudden breathing difficulties shortly after he got up on Wednesday morning.  His blood oxygen level dipped frighteningly low and I couldn’t get it back to an acceptable level.  He was extremely agitated, and after consulting his primary care physician by phone, I had no choice but to call 911. 

Our wonderful Fairfax County EMTs took Elliott to Fairfax Hospital’s emergency room where he was diagnosed with pneumonia and congestive heart failure.  This development took us by surprise because we’d been monitoring his weight and fluid retention and had no indication that anything was amiss.  Fortunately, he was able to start intravenous antibiotics immediately, while we were waiting for all of the test results to come in.  Sitting there beside him in the ER, I had a feeling of déjà vu because this is the same scenario we faced last April.  This time, however, his overall health was more fragile to begin with.  We weren’t at all certain he’d be able to pull through this and we had some sobering and heart-rending talks over the course of the next few hours. 

Early in the afternoon that day, he was taken up to the Acute Pulmonary Unit.  When I left the hospital around 5 pm, I was drained emotionally and consumed by worry.  I fell asleep hoping I wouldn’t get a phone call from the hospital in the middle of the night.  As soon as I got up the next morning, I spoke to him on the phone.  Although his voice was very raspy, I was relieved to hear that he sounded better.  When I got over to the hospital, I found him looking and feeling much better than I expected.  He was still unable to eat and drink (only ice chips were allowed) and was hooked up to IVs and high-flow oxygen.  He told me that his pulmonologist had already been in to see him early on Thursday morning and gave him a very encouraging report.  While I was there, the cardiologist came to examine him and echoed the positive sentiments. 

On Friday, I got to the hospital before the anticipated blizzard began.  I was pleased to see that Elliott really looked and sounded like himself again.  However, he needed another blood transfusion on Friday afternoon to increase his red blood cell count.  Since I won’t be able to get to the hospital for a couple of days (it’s still snowing and it may be a while before the roads are cleared), we’re staying in touch by phone.  He’s eager to get moving again and was hoping for a visit from the physical therapist this weekend.  Of course, his radiation treatments, which were originally scheduled to begin next Monday, will be postponed for now.  All of his doctors are coordinating his care and we’re confident that he’ll be able to begin treatment in a week or two.  I still don’t know when he’ll be coming home. 

While this setback was a shock, I can only marvel at Elliott’s remarkable ability to overcome this latest challenge. 

We're Still Here!

January 19, 2016 – We’re Still Here!

I want to start by reassuring everyone that Elliott and I have not relocated to another planet.  We are still here, and expect to be here for quite some time.  I’ve been feeling too overwhelmed to keep up with the blog, but I’ve continued to put thoughts into words on scraps of paper which, until recently, were scattered around the house or stuffed into my purse.  Phrases seem to pop into my head when I’m waking up in the morning, or taking a shower, or driving along Route 50.  However, whenever I considered writing a post, I found that I lacked the ability to concentrate for a long enough period of time.  As I remember telling my students on numerous occasions, writing is hard work.  It takes a lot of time, effort, and focus – which I haven’t had lately.  Honestly, I’ve been so distracted that I haven’t accomplished much of anything, with the exception of reading – six books finished since the beginning of January. 

Since mid-December, Elliott and I have been dealing with a new reality.  First there was the waiting and imagining, and trying to avoid fantasizing about the worst possible scenario.  In addition, while we were waiting for more information about the tumor on his larynx, Elliott was facing a second medical problem, i.e. severe breathing difficulty that was robbing him of his energy and the ability to do more than lie in bed all day.  The reason for this drastic change in his condition remained a mystery.  

After several tests in late December and early January, we finally got some answers.  On January 6, blood tests showed that Elliott was suffering from severe anemia, which accounted for his shortness of breath.  In this type of anemia, his bone marrow wasn’t producing enough oxygen-carrying red blood cells.  The hematologist recommended a transfusion of two units of blood.  After Elliott received the transfusion in the hospital a week ago, he started to feel a significant improvement in his breathing and energy level.  In the future, he will probably receive injections of a hormone medication to stimulate the production of red blood cells. 

As for the tumor, the biopsy results came back on January 7, and they showed that it was indeed cancer.  We met with the radiation oncologist the day after Elliott’s blood transfusion and discussed various treatment options.  After careful consideration, Elliott chose to go ahead with a full course of radiation therapy, which will have about an 80% chance of completely curing the cancer. 

Last week, radiation therapists made Elliott a custom face and neck mask that he’ll use during his treatments.  Next Monday, January 25, he will start the six-week course of targeted radiation.  During that time, he’ll be going to Fairfax Hospital every weekday.  The possible side effects should be minimal, and include sore throat, skin irritation and fatigue.  He’ll also be receiving speech therapy services to ensure that the radiation to his throat doesn’t affect his ability to swallow properly. 

This week, before the daily radiation treatments begin, we’re enjoying a bit of a break from medical appointments.  In contrast to a few weeks ago, our mood now is quite hopeful.  Before we reached this point, the stress of the uncertainty, plus Elliott’s increased dependency, had turned me into a person I hardly recognized.  From one minute to the next, I could go from feeling numb to feeling on the verge of a meltdown.  There were some really dark times when I couldn’t help screaming – and then I felt so guilty afterwards.  Mostly, though, I built a self-protective bubble around myself to avoid acknowledging the fear and worry and the very real possibility of loss.  I guess it was a defense mechanism that allowed me to go through the motions of everyday activities without falling apart.  Now I’m feeling an enormous sense of relief as well as hope for a brighter future. 

Elliott shares this positive outlook.  He has faced innumerable challenges in his 103 years, and time after time, he has summoned the will and strength to tackle the obstacles in his path.  I have no doubt that he’s ready to face this latest test.  I’ll keep you posted on his progress in the coming days. 

The Waiting Game

December 23, 2015 – The Waiting Game

Okay, I’ve procrastinated long enough.  I’ve been working on this post for several days, waiting for something good to happen, something that would lighten the gloomy tone of what I’d written thus far.  So now I can start on happier note because today, December 23, is my mother’s 90^th birthday.  Matt and I went over to see her at Greenspring for a low-key celebration.  We brought along birthday cards, take-out Chinese food and a chocolate babka, which is decidedly more delicious than a traditional birthday cake.  Katie was very pleased with the special attention.   

With my 90-year old mother on her birthday

This is supposed to be a joyous time of year, but I’m not quite feeling the holiday cheer.  Today’s weather matches my state of mind.

Several factors contribute to my non-festive mood.  First of all, I’m still waiting for my foot to get better.  Walking with a limp is exhausting.  Obviously, neighborhood walks, Zumba classes, and sessions on the treadmill or elliptical are out of the question, and the lack of exercise just exacerbates my feeling of malaise.  The strange thing is, my foot feels fine – until I start walking.  Since an x-ray ruled out a stress fracture, it’s either a sprain or arthritis.  I suspect it may be arthritis, which would be much, much worse than a sprain.  A sprain heals; arthritis is forever.  Arthritis is for Old People, and I do not want to be an Old Person.  Depressing thought.  

What else?  Well, after agonizing for several days about my upcoming trip to San Francisco, I finally called United Airlines and cancelled my reservation.  It wouldn't have been much fun if I couldn't walk around.  I’d been anticipating those five days of total escape, and now I’m faced with a continuation of the daily caregiving grind.  Big disappointment. 

But the major reason for sadness concerns Elliott.  His voice has been getting raspier and raspier over the past couple of months.  About a week ago, he went to see the ENT doctor. This is the same doctor who treated him with an injection to his vocal chords when his voice was raspy about ten years ago.  However, this time, the examination revealed a mass on his larynx.  Of course, Elliott was pretty shaken by the news.  The doctor stressed that we need to have tests done in order to make a full diagnosis.  So far, he’s had a CT scan of his throat, which showed a small tumor.  The next test, an ultrasound-guided mapping of the lymph nodes and fine needle aspiration of the tumor, is scheduled for December 29.  Our appointment with the ENT doctor to discuss the results is scheduled for January 14.  Another waiting game. 

On top of the tumor worry, Elliott has been experiencing more back pain, even with increased medication.  As a result, he’s been spending a good part of each day in bed.  He didn’t even have the energy to go out for lunch on our anniversary (32 years) last Friday.  I’m hoping things will improve for him.  We’re waiting, patiently, because we have no other option.  While this is a difficult time, we’re both trying to banish negative thoughts, which is easier for me because I can fill my days with a variety of activities. 

Since I won’t be going out of town, I’m finding other ways to make this winter break special.  Despite my difficulty walking, I met up with two friends in DC last Sunday for a visit to the National Gallery of Art.  After a leisurely lunch in the museum’s garden café, we enjoyed the new exhibit of Hellenistic bronzes.  I’m also setting aside time for my own personal film festival.  So far, I’ve seen three excellent new films, Suffragette, Spotlight and Brooklyn.  Reading is another way of relaxing, and I brought home a big stack of library books.  I recently finished the latest work of fiction by one of my favorite writers, Geraldine Brooks.  The Secret Chord is a beautifully written historical novel about the biblical David.  And of course, there’s cooking and baking to occupy my time.  At least I can enjoy a pumpkin muffin and a good book while I’m waiting. 

On the Fourth Day of Hanukkah

December 10, 2015 – On the Fourth Day of Hanukkah

Hanukkah caught me by surprise this year.  I hadn’t quite recovered from Thanksgiving when the holiday started this past Sunday night.  I finally got around to making latkes on the fourth night:  crispy corn pancakes, enlivened with the flavors of ginger, garlic and cilantro.  My Old World bubbie (that’s Yiddish for grandma) would have eyed them suspiciously.  The only latkes she knew were the potato variety, the type traditionally made by Eastern European Jews.  

Sizzling corn pancakes - yum!

The holiday doesn’t have the same feel of excitement as it did when the children were young.  We never made a big deal about Hanukkah presents, but for the first time in many years, I decided to give myself a gift:  a guilt-free day off!  After a busy few days, including subbing yesterday, I’m going to forego today’s scheduled activities (Pilates and jazz class) so I can simply take it easy. 

Actually, I have a valid medical excuse, i.e. the pain in my right foot, which has been troubling me since last Saturday.  The pain came on quite suddenly, about four miles into my five-mile trek around Washington, DC in the company of my step-grandson, Darren.  I didn’t let it interfere with our day, which included a visit to the Botanical Gardens, lunch at the American Indian Museum’s Mitsitam Café (I tried a delicious new dish from the Eastern Woodlands, Suppawn, boiled stone ground maize with roasted garlic), a quick tour of the Hirschhorn’s sculpture garden, a walk along the National Mall, a detour up Seventh Street, coffee in the courtyard of the Smithsonian’s American Art Museum, and finally a long schlep back to Union Station.  

Orchids in the Botanical Gardens

At first I ignored the pain.  I went about all of my regular activities and assumed it would heal on its own in a couple of days.  Unfortunately, my foot didn’t get any better and the constant limping was taking its toll on my energy level.  On Wednesday, before I went into AHS to sub, I decided to swallow a couple of ibuprofen.  Even that didn’t bring any relief.  I’m discouraged and baffled by this mystery pain that won’t go away, so I figure giving my foot a rest is worth a try.

When I got up this morning, I was very excited about my gift to myself.  I plan to spend the day staying hydrated, catching up on my writing (hence, this post), reflecting on my role as caregiver (an assignment from my therapist), organizing my notes from my two George Mason classes, sketching out my next fused glass project, reading The Secret Chord (the latest book I checked out of the library), and practicing the Torah and Haftarah portions I’ll be chanting on Saturday.  If my foot permits, I’ll go for a very short walk in the sunshine this afternoon.  And lastly, early to bed, because I’m subbing again tomorrow. 

Call Me Coach

December 1, 2015 – Call Me Coach

Four generations at Thanksgiving

Yes, this post is about Thanksgiving.  But first...

Anyone who knew me in high school can attest to the fact that I was not a jock.  I dreaded gym class (memories of those one-piece blue gym suits still make me cringe) and I’d use any excuse to avoid it.  For example, I claimed that I had severe menstrual cramps that lasted from September through June.  Not surprisingly, I didn’t participate in any college sports, and during my four years at the University of Wisconsin, I never attended a single sporting event.  If Wisconsin had a winning football or basketball team during that time, I was totally oblivious to the fact.  In my twenties, I made a short-lived attempt to learn the game of tennis.  I could volley reasonably well but never mastered the serve.  In my thirties, my athletic activities consisted of climbing the hills of Fayence and chasing after toddlers.  I blossomed as an athlete at a relatively advanced age, learning to ice skate when I was in my forties.  Alas, for the past twenty years, my skates have been hiding at the back of the closet. 

So you may be surprised to hear that I readily agreed to sub for a PE teacher at Annandale High School last Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving.  I’m not even sure myself why I accepted the job.  True, I’ve been trying to work more, but the day before Thanksgiving?  What was I thinking?  I guess I just wanted a new experience.

I discovered that a lot has changed about PE since my high school days.  First of all, these are coed gym classes.  When I was a teenager, it was bad enough being in a girls-only gym class.  I can’t imagine the psychological trauma of having PE with the opposite sex.  A second difference was the gym uniforms, which were identical for boys and girls – red shorts and white t-shirts with a red Annandale logo.  These were marginally more attractive than the vintage blue gym suits. 

On the day I subbed, I was determined to get into character and I chose my outfit with care:  gray jeans, gray sweatshirt jacket, and a purple top to match the purple shoelaces of my black athletic shoes.  I brought along my sunglasses, of course, thinking we would spend the day outside.  The one accessory that I forgot was a whistle, which would have come in extremely handy since I don’t have a booming coach-like voice. 

Last Wednesday was a bright sunny day, with relatively mild temperatures, so I was quite disappointed to find that my first period PE 10 class would be staying in the gym to play something called KanJam.  KanJam???  I remember being subjected to basketball, volleyball, softball, and an excruciating form of torture known as tumbling, but I don’t recall a game called KanJam.  Fortunately, the students were quite helpful and didn’t require any guidance from me.  Although I don’t understand all the rules, here’s what I observed:  in the middle of the gym floor, Team A, comprised of 3 students, stands in back of a “kan” (a piece of plastic that’s rolled into the shape of a cylinder).  Opposite them, Team B stands in back of an identical kan.  The two kans are separated by about 15 or 20 feet.  A Team A player tosses a Frisbee toward Team B.  The Team B players try to knock the Frisbee into the kan.  If it goes in, Team B gets a point.  Then a Team B player tosses the Frisbee towards Team A.  Team A players to try to knock it into the kan.  Exciting, huh?  Each game lasts five minutes.  And since the game involves only six players, the remaining twenty-something students are supposed to participate by cheering on the sidelines.  A few resourceful students started shooting baskets.  The majority just stood around talking.  And this is supposed to keep the younger generation physically fit.  

For the next two periods, I was in a classroom teaching health classes.  I showed a movie about a youth soccer team whose members wore green uniforms.  I think they won the game in the final seconds.  I also had to do a binder check, making sure students had all the handouts on male and female anatomy, alcohol use, and sexual behavior.  The curriculum was impressive, but many of the students in these classes were still in the ESOL program and didn’t have the English language skills to comprehend the material. 

Overall, my first day as a jock was an extremely enjoyable experience.  Would I sub in PE again?  Absolutely, and next time I’d bring a whistle for those exciting KanJam games. 

As soon as I left school (it was an early release day), I had a pre-Thanksgiving lunch date with Matt and Elisa.  For nostalgia’s sake, they had decided to go to the local Pizza Hut for the pizza buffet.  This tradition goes back to the time they were in elementary school, when Matt would get a certificate for a free personal pan pizza for reading a certain number of books.  I agreed to join them because I wanted to see if the pizza was as awful as I remembered.  It was.  Ditto for the salad bar.  Despite the food, we all had a great time.  Of course, Sylvie accompanied us.  I wonder if she was confused because the Pizza Hut pizza doesn’t look at all like the New York pizza she’s accustomed to.

And then there was Thanksgiving.  Actually, it seemed like most of the past couple of weeks was devoted to Thanksgiving.  Before the actual holiday, so many days revolved around menu planning, house cleaning, coordinating with guests, and grocery shopping.  There was the last minute news that Elisa’s in-laws would be driving up from Yorktown for lunch on Tuesday, our Baltimore relatives would be joining us for an early festive meal on Thursday, and that Elisa, Christian and Sylvie would be arriving the Sunday before Thanksgiving day.  Many years of experience have helped me learn to cope with this kind of stress.  The key is advance planning and organization.  I make lists of daily tasks leading up to the big day and I focus on one activity at a time. 

Having Elisa here for several days before Thanksgiving was a big help.  She stepped in enthusiastically to assist in any way she could.  Of course, having Sylvie in the house meant extra work for everyone, but it was such as joy to be with her that we were willing to overlook our exhaustion.  I made sure to fit in some form of exercise everyday.  Since the weather was delightful, we took long walks in the neighborhood with Sylvie in the stroller.  I also took my favorite walk through the woods on a couple of occasions.  I realize how important it is for me to have time outdoors.  Just 20 or 30 minutes of fresh air everyday keeps me happy.  

Elisa and Sylvie helped make the cranberry relish.

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme for the turkey

 We had two seatings for Thanksgiving dinner – one at noon, the other at our regular dinnertime – with different guest lists.  The meal turned out very well.  The turkey with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme was, well, turkey.  I find the side dishes much more exciting.  The mashed potatoes with herbed goat cheese were creamy delicious.  My new recipe for whole grain honey cornbread muffins was a big hit.  Everyone loved the roasted Brussels sprouts with pomegranate balsamic glaze.  The fresh cranberry relish is always a winner.  True, I was overly ambitious and prepared too many different dishes.  So while we were at the table, I did an informal survey, asking everyone for his or her favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal.  Now the trick will be to get each person to prepare and bring that dish next year! 

Elliott was marvelous throughout the days of entertaining.  He remained in good spirits even though he experienced intermittent episodes of severe pain.  He was an adoring grandfather with Miss Sylvie, eagerly holding her and talking to her.  He and I even babysat for a few hours last Friday afternoon while Elisa and Christian went out to the movies (their first movie date since Sylvie’s birth).  It took a little while to get Sylvie to stop fussing.  I walked and sang as I held her and she eventually quieted down and fell asleep in my arms.  Then I was afraid she’d wake up if I stopped walking.  Finally I took the risk of sitting down in the rocking chair.  Fortunately, she didn’t open her eyes, but for the next hour I was a virtual prisoner.  However, I’m hardly complaining.  The surge of love and protectiveness Elliott and I felt when we cared for Sylvie transported us back to our time as new parents after Elisa was born. 

Now the house is quiet again.  All the laundry is done and the extra chairs are put away.  Homemade turkey stock is in the freezer.  I’m back to my regular routine of classes (Zumba, Pilates, jazz and art history).  I promise more information about performance art, body art, and feminist art in my next post.  I already have a few more sub days booked for December.  The days are turning colder, and definitely more winter-like, but the warmth of Thanksgiving is still with me.

Tears and Smiles

November 19, 2015 – Tears and Smiles

It was nearly a week ago.  It was an ordinary day.  Elliott was taking his afternoon nap, and I was working on a new blog post, a light-hearted entry I was going to call A Reason to Smile.  As usual, when I’m writing, I lost track of the time.  Around 5:00 p.m., I decided to take a break.  For some reason, maybe to catch the local weather report, I flipped on the television news.  And that’s when I learned about the attacks in Paris.  One horrific detail after another, one disturbing image after another – part of me wanted to shut it out, but instead, I stood transfixed in front of the screen. 

I tore myself away to wake Elliott and we sat together, stunned, listening to the news coverage.  It would be terrible anywhere on the planet.  Yet Paris holds a special place in our hearts.  It’s the city where we met.  And now our beloved Paris was reeling from this savage attack.  We felt a certain numbness, similar to what we felt at the time of the 9/11 attacks in 2001, when we wondered if life could ever return to “normal.”  Although the obsessive worry subsided over time, our sense of security was shattered, never to be completely regained.  This is the world we now live in, a world where random acts of terror threaten the lives of every man, woman, and child.  Yet we learned to go about our lives, as we must, and eventually we learned to find joy again. 

In the last couple of days, when I thought about going back to my writing, I knew that A Reason to Smile was no longer an appropriate title.  However, I still want to share with you some of the brighter moments from the past week or so. 

First of all, Elliott is smiling again.  That’s because he has his lower teeth back, and they’re even better than before.  No more mush meals!  He’s relishing “real” food, and he’ll be ready to chomp his way through Thanksgiving dinner next week.  In addition, his new hearing aids are working out extremely well.  Also, in a recent marathon of medical appointments, Elliott got a good report from his ophthalmologist.  His eyes are stable and he’s experiencing less bothersome irritation since he started using antibiotic eye drops and ointment on a daily basis.  Finally, Elliott’s pulmonologist is extremely pleased with the condition of his lungs.  We’ve set up Elliott’s next appointment for May of 2016, the same month he turns 104. 

I’ve had reasons to smile as well.  I’ve done several days of subbing at Annandale High School, which requires me to get up a little earlier than usual.  While working takes a big chunk of time out of the day, it has certain advantages, such as allowing me to witness the sunrise.  Of course, there’s a financial benefit (paychecks!), a social benefit (seeing old friends), and a psychic benefit.  After much reflection (and a few good therapy sessions), I’ve come to the conclusion that I retired a bit prematurely.  Teaching was a huge part of my life and I really wasn’t ready to give it up four years ago.  Although caring for Elliott takes up much of my time and energy, I realize it’s important to continue working in a way that’s useful to society.  Already, I’ve noticed that I feel more content. 

I’m even feeling good about the shorter days.  Strangely enough, I’m looking forward to a few months of evening hibernation at home.  However, if you’re craving more afternoon daylight, did you know that you don’t have to wait until the winter solstice for the sun to start setting later?  It’s true.  I just discovered that, in Washington, DC, the sun will begin to set later on December 14.  On the other hand, the sun won’t start to rise earlier until January 12.  This is due to several factors:  the elliptical shape of the Earth’s path around the Sun, the axial tilt of the Earth, and the latitude of the particular location.  You can read more about this at the time and date website where I found this information. 

 

And for your edification, here’s the quote of the week from my art history class, where we’re studying Post-Minimalism:  “The tautological play in Conceptual Art is a linguistic play on Modernism’s emphasis on art being self-reflexive and self-referential.”  What fun! 

Last but not least, I get my daily dose of smiles by looking at Sylvie pics.  A big thank you to Elisa and Christian for the wonderful photos and captions.  It’s hard to believe my adorable granddaughter is four months old.  What joy she brings to our lives!

Playing Catch Up

November 9, 2015 – Playing Catch Up

It’s time to stop being so busy, busy, busy so I can catch up with my writing.  This seems like the right moment:  a drizzly fall afternoon, while Elliott naps.  Wrapped in a cozy sweater, I’m sipping my cup of vanilla almond tea and watching the gray sky darken.  Sometimes, it’s just good to be home.  I haven’t had that opportunity very often these past few weeks. 

Shortly after Elliott and I returned from our road trip to Orange, VA (which I wrote about in my previous post), I packed up for a 4-day trip to New York.  As usual, I had a whirlwind of activities planned.  First stop, Brooklyn, for some fun time with Elisa and Sylvie.  (Sorry, it was a workday for Christian.)  Activities included reading books, giving Sylvie a bath, and taking a walk in the neighborhood.  My granddaughter is bigger, more active, more alert and communicative, and, if possible, even cuter than before!  

with Sylvie (3 1/2 months)

It was hard to tear myself away but my next stop was Manhattan for a long-awaited reunion with two dear friends from my school days on Long Island.  I re-connected with Sherry, who was visiting from California, and Hilary, who still lives in the New York area, through Facebook.  We had a lot to talk about after more than 46 years, and I must say that the three of us looked great!  We’ll definitely plan another get-together in the coming year.  

with Hilary (left) and Sherry (center)

Next stop was Greenwich Village, where I checked into the Washington Square hotel and met up with my longtime friend Gale, who relocated to Florida after she retired from teaching in Alexandria, Virginia.  Thanks to Gale’s research, we had made our reservations well in advance to coincide with the famed Greenwich Village Halloween parade on Saturday night.  We may not have been the oldest spectators lining 6^th Avenue, but members of our generation were certainly not in the majority.  It was fun to watch the colorful, noisy spectacle making its way north, although the crowd was so dense that it was hard to see many of the participants.  After an hour standing in one spot and craning our necks to get a glimpse of the parade, Gale and I meandered back toward Washington Square and Eighth Street, admiring the costumes of the revelers.    

In addition to joining the Halloween festivities, we found time to see two Broadway shows over the weekend.  The first, Something Rotten, is a wildly clever, witty and high-energy musical set in Shakespearean London.  The outrageous storyline centers on a not-so-successful playwright who’s looking for a way to compete with the Bard.  He consults a soothsayer who tells him that in the future, plays will feature characters bursting into song and dance.  There are numerous references to past musicals, and if you’re a fan of the musical theater like I am, you’ll find this show extremely entertaining. 

The second show we saw was the Tony-Award winning musical, Fun Home.  This was a beautifully constructed, staged and performed show that is based on the graphic memoir of Alison Bechdel.  Although it’s a musical and has its funny moments, Fun Home is primarily a serious piece of theater about growing up in a dysfunctional family and dealing with gender identification issues. 

Of course, there was time for eating.  Before the Friday evening show, we had a very tasty Greek dinner (lots of mezze) at Dafni Taverna in the theater district.  And since it was unseasonably warm, some frozen custard from Shake Shack was de rigueur on our way to the theater.  After the show, Gale had her obligatory slice of Junior’s cheesecake while I munched on my customary evening chocolate.  (I never travel without a bar of Trader Joe’s 85% dark.) 

On Saturday morning, we took a quick subway ride up to MOMA to see the Picasso sculpture show (and to shop at the gift shop).  The exhibit showcased Picasso’s range and development as a sculptor over more than 7 decades.  Some of my favorite pieces were the assemblages he did in the 1950s while living in the South of France.  By the way, we had very good quick lunch in the museum’s café.   

I spent my last morning taking a leisurely walk through the Village right after breakfast.  Barricades still lined many of the streets.  In Washington Square Park, most of the evidence of the previous night’s events had been cleaned up.  The only people out at this early hour seemed to be runners, dog walkers, and a few neighborhood children with their parents.  

Washington Square Park, Greenwich Village

My thoughts traveled back in time to the late 1960s when Greenwich Village was my escape from suburbia.  In those days, a wave of excitement would sweep over me as soon as I exited the subway at West 4^th Street.  On sunny afternoons, I’d sit on the ledge of the fountain in Washington Square Park, talking to strangers (don’t tell my parents!) and listening to scruffy boys playing guitars.  The sweet smell of marijuana would fill the air.   Picture a girl 17 or 18 years old, dressed in bell bottoms and a flowing Indian print top, with long brown hair rippling down her back.  That was me.  Now, on this grayish morning, the once familiar streets – 8^th Street, Bleeker, Macdougal – conjure up memories, but they don’t hold the magic they once did.  I’m not a teenager anymore, but it seems impossible that I’m 65 years old.  Somehow, when I’m in Greenwich Village, I always feel young and free.  

Even though I had a wonderful time in New York, I looked forward to getting back to all the good things that awaited me at home.  Also, I was eager to show Elliott my photos and to tell him all about my trip.  I was disappointed, but not surprised, when Elliott welcomed me with a harsh statement about "abandoning" him (his words).  It turned out that he had a couple of problems while I was away.  The first problem, with the remote control for the TV, took me only a second to fix.  The lack of heat in the house, however, was a challenge I couldn’t overcome.  It took a visit from the heating repair person to pinpoint the cause of the problem:  a bat had gotten into the heating system.  Once he had extracted the bat (fortunately, deceased), our heating system worked perfectly once again.  And Elliott gave up his grumpiness, too.  Good news – he can hear much better now, thanks to new hearing aids.  Bad news – he dropped his lower dentures on the floor and they broke in half. 

After my New York getaway, I plunged right back into my regular round of activities (exercise, concerts and lectures, Elliott’s medical appointments, classes, etc.).  I even did a couple of days of subbing last week, which left me exhausted.  Over at George Mason, in my jazz class, we’re learning about bebop, and in art history, we’re studying minimalism.  The reading for art history isn’t getting any easier to understand.  Here’s an example from an article by artist Robert Morris, written in the 1960s:  “The trouble with painting is not its inescapable illusionism per se.  But this inherent illusionism brings with it a non-actual elusiveness or indeterminate allusiveness.”  Got it?  Want to hear about gestalt, the known constant and experienced variable, phenomenology and embodied perception, relational composition and serialization?  No, I didn’t think so. 

A three-dimensional piece by Robert Morris

At least I’m having a great time with my fused glass.  I wish I had more time to spend at the glass studio but I’m pretty much limited to one day a week for the time being.  However, I’m sketching out lots of ideas and experimenting with materials and techniques.  And at the Mantua Made Market last Saturday, I sold quite a few pieces.  

My table at the recent Mantua Made Market

Some of these pieces are still available.

Somehow, I’ve been able to find time for reading and have enjoyed two excellent books.  Night in Shanghai by Nicole Mones is a novel set in Shanghai in the 1930s, Shanghai’s Jazz Age.  It has an international cast of characters, including an African-American musician as the main character.  It’s a very atmospheric novel, full of music, nightlife, organized crime, and political strife (Nationalists fighting the Communists) at the same time Japan is taking over China city by city and establishing its brutal rule.  There’s an interesting subplot that features Jewish refugees who have found a safe haven from the Nazis.   Next, The Marriage of Opposites by Alice Hoffman is a work of fiction based on the life of Impressionist artist Camille Pissaro, in his birthplace, St. Thomas, and later in Paris.  It provides fascinating insights into the small Jewish community on this Caribbean island in the 19^th century.  

That’s all for now.  As I wrote this post, I realized how these recent days and evenings have been too full of scheduled activities, and I will try to reserve time for reflecting and writing more often.