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The City

January 29, 06 //
2

So my brush with the Joys of Business Travel got even better when, at about 8:30 the night before my 6:30 a.m. flight, I got a call from the senior management type whom I was traveling with, telling me that our flight had been canceled and he was trying to get us on another flight that would leave around the same time but would involve connecting in Chicago. It turned out that it was some weird code-share thing that required us to get our tickets from US Air but check in at United. US Air’s Website doesn’t mention the ticketing part, though—they just tell you to check in at United, which is what I did. It’s a long story, but due to the kindness of various airport personnel (a rarity, I know, but Missourians are the friendliest people in the world, I swear. Seriously, even the postal workers. Even the motor vehicles workers. It’s downright weird, in a good way), I didn’t miss the plane, though I came very close. Usually, when I travel on my own, I’m ridiculously punctual, but I couldn’t sleep the night before my trip, and I just wasn’t moving very efficiently on Wednesday morning. I was having horrible visions of missing the plane and losing my job, because I had the presentations that we needed for the meeting, and the guy I was traveling with is a managing partner, and…it just wouldn’t have been good. But all was fine in the end, despite having to walk 90 miles across O’Hare carrying my laptop and all the presentations and my suitcase. Fine for me, at least; the stupid airline managed to lose the managing partner’s bag en route to Philadelphia, and of course we weren’t staying in Philadelphia; in the end, we were only there for about three hours. The partner also told me that he had gotten an automated recording about the flight being canceled, with no other information—not even an 800 number for rebooking. And US Air wonders why it’s in bankruptcy…

Anyway, that’s not the point of this post. The point of this post is that in spite of the unexpectedness of the trip, and in spite of the way it disrupted my whole schedule (meaning this coming week is going to be busier than it would have been if I hadn’t lost two days last week), it was still a very good trip, partly because both clients were good, smart people who know what they want and know what they’re doing, but mainly because I got to spend time in New York, aka home. I’ve gone on about this many times before, of course, but I’m still always a little bit surprised at the effect that just being in the city—even at Penn Station waiting for a cab on a raw, windy night after a long day of meetings and lugging all my junk with me—has on me, instantaneously. It’s home, and as much as I feel settled here in many ways, and as much as I appreciate the low cost of living and easy pace of life here on the Plains, I miss feeling truly at home on a regular basis. I love New York in the winter, too, especially when it’s only mildly wintery, as it was this last week. Just being out and walking in the middle of everyone and everything…it just feels right, just makes sense somehow.

This time around, I met people from our New York office for the first time, and on hearing that I’m a native New Yorker, all of them said the same thing: “We do have a New York office, you know—why don’t you move out here?” And for the first time, I felt that doing so is really what I’m striving for; it didn’t seem quite as far-fetched or improbable as it has in the past. (I’d be the only one doing what I do in the NYC office, which might be kind of isolating, but then again, they have a real need for someone in my role in that office, especially with big, New York-based clients like the one we were meeting with—a lot of the things we discussed with them could be accomplished much more efficiently if there were a user experience person physically present. This new resolve on my part doesn’t change the basic facts of the situation, like having two big dogs who wouldn’t be happy in an apartment, but for the first time, I started to feel like maybe obstacles like that weren’t as insurmountable as I’ve convinced myself they are. (There’s doggie day care, for example, and barker-breakers to make them better neighbors. And so on.)

Plus the doorman in my family’s apartment building, who’s known me for most of my life (literally—we moved to that apartment in 1971, so he’s known me longer than just about anyone that I’m not related to), started talking to me about how he’s seeing my dad show signs of aging, and it’s not like that’s news to me, but it’s a reminder of one of the best reasons to move back home. I know it’s not going to happen tomorrow, might not even happen this year. But I’m going to get there. I feel more certain of that now.

And this time, once I get back there, I’m not leaving again. It’s one of the great ironies of my life—one that I can find amusing if I look at it objectively, even if it also drives me a little bit crazy—that after all the years I spent in Minneapolis trying to persuade my first husband to move to NYC, I left and went back to the Midwest only a little more than a year after finally making it back. (That he’s still there, and loving the city, just adds to the irony.) But maybe you can go home again after all. We’ll find out, I guess.

My blog is being an asshole

November 27, 05 //
0

Last night, I wrote a substantial part of the next (and, I hope, last) installment of my Replacements saga. I was going to make it a page rather than a post (it’s a somewhat trivial difference in the WordPress world, but pages don’t necessarily get featured as the newest entry on the main blog page, which I thought would be a nice way to tuck the saga away for anyone who wants to read it without boring anyone else with it), and when I tried to save it, I got an error message. ARRRGGGHH. I couldn’t face rewriting it tonight, so it will have to wait till I’m in the mood again.

Then, just now, I started and finished a long, quite trivial post about my weekend thus far that was noteworthy only in that it actually discussed knitting—not just knitting in the abstract but my knitting, with links to some scrummy yarn that I just ordered (in the blue color shown, though the photo doesn’t do justice to all the variegations in the yarn) so that I can make this sweater, which will be my first full sweater. (I’ve made a shrug—basically just sleeves and a back—but not yet a whole sweater.) I also went on and on about my acquisitiveness lately, and none of it would have been very interesting to anyone else, probably, but I had fun writing it. And when I went to publish it…yup, error message again.

Sort of a metaphor for my weekend, which as usual has been a story of good intentions and poor execution. I haven’t been completely useless: I did—finally, after over a year of good intentions—start to work on decluttering our spare bedroom. There’s still a long way to go, but there’s something so encouraging about just taking those first steps that I think I can actually envision finishing it now. And on Saturday night, Bill and I did something we rarely get around to doing: went to the movies. We saw “Good Night, and Good Luck,” which was beautifully done, from the cinematography to the performances, and further affirmed my growing conviction that George Clooney really ought to run for president. I also got a fair amount of knitting done. I’m working on two projects simultaneously: a blanket (the first of two) for Siamese Rescue’s shelter blanket program, and a hood/cowl type of thing for the allegedly impending winter weather. (It’s 60 degrees or so here today, so who knows if I’ll actually need the thing, but it’s my first project on circular needles, and I’m enjoyng the process enough that I don’t really care about the finished product.) I’m making the blanket from a pattern that I created myself, something I never dreamed I’d be able to do. I still haven’t done it, of course—I won’t feel proud of it until I’ve actually finished it and made it work. But it’s been fun to try.

To counteract my recent bout of acquisitiveness—I’ve been bidding on eBay for two new objects of obsession: millefiori Venetian glass beads, and a very specific style of Levis that are the most flattering jeans I’ve ever owned—I also put a bunch of CDs and knitting books up for sale on Amazon, and arranged my first ever knit swap, trading a knitting book that I don’t expect to use for a pair of Addi Turbos in an unusual size. So I’m feeling slightly guilty about my spending sprees, but at least I’m clearing some stuff out to compensate. I don’t know where this millefiori obsession came from (“Cash in the Attic,” probably), but I think I’ve satisfied the urge for now, having bought a pair of inexpensive and gorgeous millefiori earrings on my new favorite site, Etsy.com, and a really cheap, beautiful pendant on eBay. The jeans obsession comes from the fact that, just as Trinny and Susannah promised, I put on this particular style and immediately gained two inches in height and lost 15 pounds. I figure once you find anything that suits you that well, you have no choice but to stock up on them. Er, right?

Things I haven’t done this weekend:
1. Gone to the gym every day as planned. I have sort of an excuse there, though: my personal trainer had me try something new at our second-to-last session on Friday, and I haven’t been able to walk properly since, much less exercise. I’m going to try to do some stretching and Pilates-style toning this evening, and maybe walk on the treadmill if I’m feeling ambitious, just to get the kinks out of my muscles, but a serious workout will have to wait until tomorrow or Tuesday.
2. Done any work work. There’s some preparatory reading I need to do before tomorrow morning, so that’s how I’ll be spending my evening tonight.
3. Go to the brand new Ace Hardware over by the grocery store and pick up some wallpaper remover and something to score the wallpaper with. Our house is coated in dated, ghastly wallpaper, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to get rid of it with the nasty chemical liquid remover rather than resorting to the heat gun. Heat guns scare me.
4. Burn CDs for Mark and Ken.
5. Block the above-mentioned shrug and sew up the sleeves so that I can actually wear it.
6. Color my hair…but I think I can get another week out of it before I start getting the skunk-roots effect.

But hey, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, I worked on the spare bedroom, and I did lots of knitting. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? (Doesn’t it? Please?!)

Where have you been?

November 11, 05 //
10

I can’t decide if this is cool or depressing. Both, I guess. On the one hand, it’s a neat idea, but on the other hand, it makes me realize how few places I’ve been. Maybe I should have been more diverse in my travels back when I was younger and had more free time and fewer encumbrances, instead of going to London every time I had enough money to travel. But then again, if I could take a trip anywhere in the world tomorrow, I’d be on a plane to London again. With a detour to Ireland this time.

(My dad’s version of this map would be a whole lot more interesting. He’s been almost everywhere.)




Create your own visited country map.

So what does your map look like?

One definition of weird

November 8, 05 //
0

When I left the office tonight, it was 77 degrees, at 5:45 p.m. In November.

The weirdest part was that I had been wearing my beloved cable hoodie from Costco all day at work, and when I got outside I had to take it off. That’s just goofy.

Yeah, I’m more susceptible to weather than most, I guess. I blame it on Austin—I don’t remember ever being particularly sensitive to weather until I lived there and endured six months of summer a year, an eleven-day heatwave during which the daytime temperature never went below 100 degrees (and I moved halfway through it to an uninsulated house), and the clincher, a week of upper 90s in February. Gak.

Ever since then, I’ve been an impassioned hater of summer. Especially when it reappears in November.

The world at night

November 1, 05 //
1

(I was going to do an NP list tonight consisting entirely of books, but I got sidetracked by work and other distractions, so maybe tomorrow night. For now, I’ll just do one of my periodic plugs for Michael Bérubé’s blog, which was typically, and brilliantly, on target yesterday. Oh, and it’s opening night of the NBA season tonight—yay, Charles and Kenny and E.J. back on my TV!—which means a basketball post is just around the corner.)

So with the clocks falling back this past weekend, it’s suddenly dark when I leave work, around 5:30-6:00 p.m. And when I get up at 5:45 a.m. on Thursday to go meet my trainer for the first of five sessions that I splurged on, I suppose it will be dark then too.

And that’s fine with me. Yeah, I know, most people hate the lack of daylight, but I love it, especially in the evenings. (My eyes don’t entirely love it, because I don’t see all that well at night, and the drive home in the dark can sometimes be a little bit unpleasant as a result…but the rest of me loves it.) I find the endless summer evenings oppressive, much as I find everything about summer oppressive, and the way the lasting light makes other people more public and more visible always annoys me. I’d rather have shorter days and longer nights.

Last night when I left work, the last traces of what must have been a beautiful sunset were still visible, and it was just cold enough, not uncomfortable at all, and the world looked so lovely, even the world as defined by the parking lot behind the old, nicely restored Freight House complex (all restaurants now, and cobblestones and brickwork) and the tracks and the old, also beautifully restored Union Station on the other side. (I love the neighborhood that my office is in; it’s an actual urban neighborhood, not fully gentrified yet and filled with interesting things to look at during those rare lunchtimes when I actually leave the office.)

It’s like a cocoon, this mid-fall darkness, and even more so in a real city. It brings back all sorts of vague but pleasant memories from childhood—driving home from my aunt and uncle’s house in White Plains and watching the scenery gradually change from big, comfortable houses to smaller, more ramshackle ones, to Co-op City and then the smaller buildings of the Bronx, to the decrepit buildings at the north end of Riverside Drive and finally to the elegant townhouses and stately prewar apartment buildings close to home—and all of those different places lit from within and looking like refuges from the windy, chilly outdoors. When I was a teenager, and then much later, when I lived in Park Slope, I used to love walking around in the late fall and early spring and glancing into the brightly lit windows to see the worlds inside of them. (I love it when people in the city leave their blinds or curtains open—not in any creepy way, of course, but just because it’s fascinating to get that five-second glimpse into somebody else’s life.) There’s something ineffably comforting about being outside but surrounded by the indoors, and I feel it most keenly at this time of year. In the heart of winter, I just want to get back to the other side of those windows and warm up, and in the summer I usually don’t want to leave the indoors at all, particularly here in the land of insufferable summers and ubiquitous central air conditioning. But this time of year is my time.

It’s also the time of year when I’m most homesick. New York from September through December is a blissful place to be. It hits me again in April and May, particularly in years when it gets hot in early May here, but it’s most powerful in the last months of the year. Some of it is nostalgia for a New York that no longer exists, but I still love New York, sanitized and chain-stored as it is, in the fall, and most especially at the holidays, when it’s overflowing with tourists and grouchy, weary Christmas shoppers but still beautiful, still breathtaking. Going home at Christmastime this year, for the first time since I left at the very end of 1999, will be bliss. (I hope.)

And yeah, I start to feel a little bleak sometime in January, when I haven’t seen daylight on a weekday for six weeks or so. But that’s the thing about this little cocoon of daylight savings time-deprived darkness: it doesn’t last all that long. By the end of January, the daylight is lasting noticeably longer and the darkness is starting to lift. I think it has to work that way; otherwise, no one would survive February.

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