The Walk and Talk of It All.

I just got on the express bus into the city on my way to work, took a seat and popped out the laptop.  I realize this is the last Friday that I will be taking this bus, this route….from the place where I have lived for the last 10 months (after relocating back from California).  Another switch.  Another change.  Isn’t that the way of life!  Goodbye Friday!  Oh boy…here comes that sentimental banter that flows through my veins, my feelings….whenever I say goodbye to almost anything that has a bit of consistency in my life. 

Yes, that’s right, I’m moving and yes I’m being sentimental over a day of the week, a bus, the emergency seat row (where I always sit because of the extended leg room so I can pop open the laptop and work or write leisurely with more ease).    Sentimental over….the black man who we pass going through Harlem who does Tai Chi with an asian coach in the middle the courtyard that connects to his project and who just recently had a 2nd person join in with him.  Obviously two people who have not let the ghetto life stop them from trying to move forward and do life.  

Goodbye big blown up rat balloon I see in the mornings as we turn onto and go down 5th Avenue.  The rat that stands tall in front of one of the new construction buildings obviously signaling a protest of some kind-probably against non-union workers. “Scabs” I think is the term used as I heard in conversations growing up in a family of the Ironworker trade.  

You see, to me, it’s not just the last ”Friday” I will ride this bus, it connects to other things….like it’s really the last time I’ll be in this neighborhood, be with these people, be with the memories but more importantly, it’s knowing I won’t be back. 

Although I will not be sad to leave those bugs (I can’t say the name because it will get me skeevy and jumpy) that one sometimes bumps into, ewwwww! on the street when the weather gets hot, or even the human creepy crawlers that you bump into who tend to have the mentality to throw trash on the street or out their windows even.  I won’t miss that….I’ll miss…..oh….who knows….it’s that goodbye process thing with me that gets me into this melancholy boo-hoo wala wala wah wah mode.  This is when I have to get a grip and trigger the “don’t think about it, move on, next! and just move forward” mode.  

Funny, how when you write, things come to the surface unexpectedly.  I had no clue what I was going to write about when I flipped open this rectangular box of technology.    I haven’t really been thinkin’ about the move as I’ve been so wrapped up in work and trying to sneak in as much social stuff that I can so I don’t turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining…..all work and no fun makes…..you know the rest.  But the move is obviously “playing in Peoria” and needs to be addressed (pun intended!). 

I’m excited and scared at the same time.  Yet still la-di-da about it.  I think I’m blocking alot of things and have had an underlying lull going on for some time that I can’t explain.  A sense of feeling misplaced.  Like I really don’t know where I belong so I am just going with the flow until I do. 

It’s really weird and I don’t like it.  It’s not in the forefront of my life but seems to show up many times when I am alone or at times when I end up at a place or with a crowd that lack a certain sophistication or class.  This is when this feeling comes on really strong.  I’ve encounted this a few times lately.  I hate it.  I hate being around it.  I don’t know why it bothers me so much.  It really gets to me.

With that, I have been realizing how important it is to talk things out.  To get to what’s really going on with me.  So, last night I got home around 9pm and what a beautiful day it was.  Couldn’t stay in.  Went to me my favorite little “joint” so to speak, An Beal Bocht in the Bronx (of all places) and of course some of the regulars were there who I really enjoy hanging out with and have started to open up to. 

As with anything, sometimes it’s a spark of a night with good conversation and rockin’ music, and sometimes it’s just sitting around, sometimes even a little boring.  Simple.  But as I’m learning, sometimes simple is good.  

In any case, it’s my little santuary I think where I feel really comfortable and have made some good young and old-timer sort of friends.  It’s a place where on any given night you don’t know what to expect.  One thing you can expect is, always some sort of music.  Could be a one man guitar player or a quieter Irish Quartet or sometimes like on “mic night” on Tuesdays you might get a snippet of an opera singer followed by a 3 piece start-up heavy metal (kind of) band.  Sometimes, it’s an alternative/rock band like the one in from Chicago like last Sunday night - yes, Sunday.

What a pleasant surprise when I decided to pop on up over last Sunday night thinking it’ll be just a low-profile kind of slow night when “SHAZAM” this band was there and rocking the house.  They were outstanding.     

Always an interesting gathering of people and it’s not the beer guzzling college rumble crowd or the missed the boat (rather never looked for the boat) white trash-who think they have class-ding dongs who find recreation by going to the “DR” (Dominican Republic) as they call it here in the Bronx to pay 14 year old prostitutes to be with and come back to high fives with fellow white trashers who look at each other winking as if they are hot ramblin’ players in the groove of being a wanted man with the ladies.  Yes.  This is true.  It is also quite pathetic.  Especially when they give me a look and think they have the goods (now that they are in the groove with the ladies – yes, said with sarcasm) to comment amongst each other and try to be endearing with me.  Ewwwwwwwww.  I think it bothers me because I have to be communicative with these people as they are 6 degrees of separation with some folks I know.  Ewwwwww.  So although everyone has skeletons in their closets, this particular low-life type erks me and you won’t find at An Beal Bacht or at least not on a regulur basis. 

Anyway, the last couple of weeks, I have been opening up and talking about some things that are bothering me.  I’ve noticed that I have developed, in the last couple of years keeping alot of stuff to myself, inside.   I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have the energy to talk about it, don’t find it necessary, don’t want to deal with it or just don’t see the need.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I have seen a tremendous understanding about a few things in my life because I opened up.  Maybe it’s that I am talking to the right people who have the wisdom as they’ve been around.  Whatever it is, I know I have an underlying lul going on.  I also know a few things that help get you through some hard times or just help keep you on track with the good times.  It is to talk to the right people, write and…. take a good hard walk or work out like there’s no tomorrow.  

So hopefully, as I see we are approaching my stop, I will get down to the bottom of this lull one of these days and take it from there.  In the meantime…..goodbye my last Friday on the express bus route to the city 4/25/08!  I’ll be seein’ ya! 

Zippity Zoo Da

 

I had a chance to be a kid again with some friends at the Bronx Zoo’s night light show last night.  We baked marshmallows, rode the Carousel and snuck off the beaten path with flashlight in hand to visit the Birds of Prey.  The big white owl and the vulture scarred the heck out of me and it definitely felt like we invaded on their turf.

Afterward, we landed at Marios on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.  The best Baked Ziti (with added Ricotta) I have ever tasted.  The red cabernet savignon which was the suggested wine by the waiter “Giacomo” was so very delicious and tops my list thus far.  Just have to get the name.  The cappucino, which I was graciously given the service of having mine stirred personally by Giacomo, was served very fancy.   

82nd & 2nd

Well an interesting Saturday night.  First, I realize as I am about to get on the Throgs Neck Bridge heading over to The Bay Club in Bayside, Queens to pick up my friend Nancy for her birthday celebration that I have no cash for the toll booth.  Luckily I realize this in time enough to catch the “last exit before toll”.   I surprisingly end up right on a street that I am a little familiar with at a restaurant in the Bronx called Tosca’s.  A trendy restaurant you would not think you would find in the Bronx that has a great atmosphere and good food.  Nevertheless, I was a little familiar with the neighborhood and found an ATM.  After about 10 minutes of trying to find the entrance back onto the bridge and being a little flustered doing so, I end up in the EasyTrak lane.   But, I don’t have EasyTrak.

As I pull up to the toll both and hold my $10 bill out for the toll man, there is no toll man.  Only a gate in front of my car and a bunch of cars behind me starting to pile up.  Oh, Sh*t.  “Where the heck is the guy?”  I get out of the car, walking to other booths to find someone.  But no one.  All EasyTrak lanes.  Oy vey!   All the while I’m saying sorry to all the cars and knowing that at this moment they are saying “figures” when they see my very blonde hair.   Finally, a police officer shows up and jokes with me a bit, gives me change and wishes me a good night.  Oy yoy yoy.

Nevertheless, the evening went on pretty nicely as I had dinner at a restaurant in Little Neck at a place called Il Bacco.  A very well-to-do Italian restaurant with as equally well-to-do patrons who expect exceptional atmosphere and cuisine.   Ends up, Joe, the owner, use to own a restaurant named Firenze on 82nd & 2nd in Manhattan at the same time I lived there in 1986.  It was that apartment where my daughters father and I lived together and had some of the greatest times. 

Joe, a strikingly handsome man was also a huge flirt (comes with the territory of being the owner).  Of course, I put him in his place a little by mentioning that I thought he was married and “ta ta ta”.   He assured me he wasn’t but I didn’t buy it and he knew it but kept keepin’ on.  Our waiter, who I call “skins” (because he had such beautiful skin which he stated was his third compliment of the night on his skin) was wonderfully attentive and refilling my glass at dessert with Frangelica (my new found favorite).  Although Nancy and I had plans to go out dancing afterwards at Zachary’s, we ended up closing up Il Bacco, chatted up a storm then called it a night not to say that I had a 3 mile hike scheduled the next day in Cold Springs, NY that I had to have at least a little rest for.   

Of course on the way back I was duly prepared with $4.50 in tow.  But as I was crossing the bridge my gas gage blinked on the empty light.  Oh no!  Of course I freaked a little.  I was on a bridge for goods sake.  But…nevertheless got to a gas station thank goodness before Mr. Drip had it’s last stand.

However, the apple martini, the delicious “specialty” red (need to get the name from Joe or Nancy) and the fragelica did aid in a slight headache in the morn.  All in all worth it though.     

Aint No McGraw

So, I’m here at the An Beal Bocht in the Bronx on a late Friday afternoon and it is quite happening. A great buzz of conversation and mix of people. Kind of like professors (from Manhattan College), older students (24 is the age limit allowed here), workmen, computer geeks (like me) and the neighborhooders. An eclectic group. I am pleasantly surprised.

So, I arrive and sit at the bar rather than my usual pick of tables as they are full. I have my regular cup of coffee and do my computer work. Everyone is to themselves or conversing and doing their thing and I am left alone for the most part to do mine. It’s nice.

After a little while, and since now it is after five o’clock, I order my first alcoholic beverage. Something I have never done here at the An Beal Bocht and rarely anywhere in the afternoon. I order, what else from an Irish bar, a beer. I try the bartender’s recommendation Blue Moon. It tastes good and even better once it trickles through my body.

The bartender, who’s accent is right off the Irish Mary ship from Dublin (pun) is a sweet girl and up until now we have basically only said our hellos. Today though, she made a point which kind of binds my thinking lately of where I am going to (or not going) to live. She comes past me and says, “ya know, ah wanted ta tell ya the last time ya wa here, ya remind me of Faith Hill when ya hair is down”. “Well, thank you I say, of course! Then she pauses and says, again with her thick but very sweet Irish accent, “but ya ain’t gonna be findin’ no Tim McGraw in the Bronx.”

We laugh together with a mutual understanding of the territory that surrounds us and an understanding only woman who don’t settle get.

Niche

I’m in heaven. I’m finding my little niches in NY. My little “regular” spots. As much as I am a spontaneous girl, I’ve come to realize I am also a girl who likes a sense of neighborhood or continuity. Go figure. For instance, you’ve got the cafe An Beal Bocht in the North Bronx (pictured above) www.anbealbochtcafe.com. This unique irish pub with coffee in the day (or night) and beer and artists, poets, music and the like in the night. Outdoor picnic tables and a basic casual pub feel. A nice addition to spruce up some character, other than the typical character, of the Bronx…and though it is located right next to Manhattan college, under 23 are not allowed so no dorm room party hardies here.