Author: Michelle (page 9 of 15)

At the end of April, our good friends Julie and Brendan came for a visit. I’ve written about these two in an earlier post, and it is my absolute pleasure to write about our friendship again.

Julie and Brendan shared the experience of living in Berlin with us. We met them regularly for Frühstück at different cafes around Prenzlauerberg. We enjoyed fancy displays at Anna Blume, hip decor and varieties of spreads at Suicide Sue’s, homemade, make-it-like-you’re-from-New-York bagels at Shakespeare and Sons, greasy American fare and drip coffee at Nalu Diner, and my personal favorite, with the best buffet, a quaint cafe simply called, Butter.

We drank Moscow Mules with Julie and Brendan at Scotch and Sofa, frozen margaritas at Maria Bonitas, and I believe we finished a bottle of Laphroaig with them one particularly festive evening. They prepared an epic Mexican feast for us too. This meal involved running around the city all day trying to find ingredients. It was hands down the best homemade Mexican food, (next to my students’ of course) that I have ever had. Their guacamole was better than Benjamin’s. Fantastic!

Also that night, their kitty, whom I love and consider my fur nephew, got stung by a bee. I watched my two friends spring into emergency care for Nico, as they held him tight and removed the stinger. In that moment, I saw two loving parents. That night, I shared inspiring conversation and a meal worthy of fine art. That night, I felt at home in a city that wasn’t mine.

After we said goodbye to J&B, I wasn’t sure when we’d see them again. It’s funny how things turned out. All four of us ended up back in the States, and now they live only two trains away from us, about an hour or so commute.

Some friendships are meant to be.

This spring, as they were standing in our living room, here on this continent, I teared up. I know how nostalgic this sounds, and I don’t care. We crossed an ocean. We learned new words in new languages. We lived among a culture simultaneously deep in its history and scratching its way toward new identities. Germany is an easy place to love and an easy place to feel completely frustrated, and we did this together.

So as we sat there sipping Guinness and talking, I felt lucky. My friends are honest, reflective, loving, and funny. They have sharp, witty senses of humor. Brendan speaks like a sage, and Julie makes ceramics that look sweet enough to eat, like cinnamon ice cream. Similar to many of our lovely friends, we can talk to them about art, politics, cultural trends, books, etc., but we shared a lifestyle with Julie and Brendan. We made a choice, like they did, to throw ourselves into something new. We made the choice to return. At one point, Julie asked something like, “So how do you explain to your friends here about Europe, how it was there, and how it feels to be back?”

I know I tried to answer her, and I know my answer didn’t feel complete. I still can’t fully describe our time there, my time there, what it meant to me, how it changed me. Benjamin and I are composing an album to honor the experience. Each time we talk through a song, something else opens up. Every time we talk, it’s hard to find the words. Maybe we left a part of ourselves there, and we will have to go back to find it. I don’t know. Maybe there’s no such thing as complete descriptions of travel…it’s all a cycle of wanderlust and change.

One thing is clear… friends make your life fuller. Cheesy as it sounds, it’s true. Seeing Julie and Brendan again was energizing, like packing for a trip, and it was comforting, like sighing after a good, long day.

When a reptile crawls across the top of your foot, it’s a new day.

Some may recoil from the thought of this, but I liked it. It felt soft, it even tickled, and because the reptile was a box turtle, it was a rather sweet moment.

I met him in Brooklyn (of course I met him in Brooklyn) in my friend Jocelyn’s backyard. His name was Hercules. Joce taught me how to feed him carrots. If you think those claws on your skin would feel weird, imagine a tiny beak nibbling on your finger. Again, it tickled. I think I fell in love with Hercules.

I also fell in love with the household’s tom cat. His name was Bodhi, and he was a gorgeous tuxedo with a nice, big face. Of course, he preferred Benjamin to me, but this was only because Benjamin petted him with his special kitty mojo that leaves all the felines dizzy.

It was cool under the trees in Jocelyn’s patio garden. We were all feeling pretty mellow, after our collectively celebratory Saturdays, but we still managed to share stories and art. Joce sang her new song for us, a funky piece with room in the middle for a bass solo. Nice! Thank you, Jocelyn! Dara caught us up on some big changes she’s making in her life. We love it when friends take risks to further their creativity, and Dara, you have our full support!

Our Sunday in South Park Slope was relaxing, slow like a turtle, and lazy as a cat…my kind of day. We look forward to visiting again!

When it’s hot in New York, a dark pub is a welcome retreat. Who am I kidding? A dark pub is ALWAYS a welcome retreat, and a few weekends ago, we frequented one of the best in the city—The Old Town Bar and Restaurant on East 18th in Manhattan.

I came across this lovely joint as I searched for places to write near Benjamin’s office and places to meet friends for food and drink. I loved that it was described as “a haven for writers both accomplished and aspiring.” Poets, novelists, and playwrights hung out at The Old Town. Yes! I loved that it was described as having “unique character, reasonable prices, and a casual and unpretentious ambience that has outlasted every trend and fad…” In a city with two-hour waits for brunch, and items on menus a little too ‘fusion’ for this girl’s tastes, these words were welcome.

So we ventured to The Old Town to meet Ben, Rachel, and Jane. In the past, we have had great discussions with Ben and Rachel about things like “Deadwood” and how it was truly one of the best television series ever. We have enjoyed ourselves at one of their back yard BBQs, where Ben grilled some delicious fish, and Rachel and I discussed the few merits and many pitfalls (so many pitfalls) of Fifty Shades of Gray. Between the four of us, there have been margaritas, (many, many margaritas) and when we left for Berlin, Ben and Rachel gifted us with a lovely back roads travel book. When you meet good people like the two of them, it is a fortunate thing. And when they introduce you to a woman like Jane, well, the world just seems smarter and funnier.

We sipped Augustiner beers from Benjamin’s favorite Bavarian town. Yum! So flavorful and creamy! For me, these were the closest thing to the tank beers we drank in Prague. The Old Town felt like the old country in another way too—no screens. Ok, yes, there was one television mounted in the corner of the bar, but it was not turned on. Imagine! Conversation without competing noise! Yay!

We had quite the conversation too. The three NYC tourists graced us with tales of Coney Island, where Ben’s wallet and phone fell from a rollercoaster and questionable hot dogs were consumed. We heard about some late night roof top antics in their Air B&B, and we saw some bar napkins with lists of celebrities that our travelers fancied for various reasons. We all agreed that it is never a good idea to marry your cousin, due to the potential of developing, as Jane put it, an ‘octopus beak.’ Heh heh…Yes, this was after the second beer, which I think hits you faster in the heat, but this tasty quote was also indicative of Jane’s sense of humor. Her wit was fantastic! Like Ben and Rachel, she was good people.

After the pub, there were other adventures in libations, including a bit where I performed a miracle, turning my water into wine, but I’ll refrain from those and keep the focus on 18th street. We look forward to seeing our friends again- in D.C., Irvington, or Manchester, and we will certainly make The Old Town Bar and Restaurant our regular New York City haunt.

When I attend really good poetry readings, I let the words wash over me. I don’t mind that I forget specific phrases. It’s enough to hear the sound of the readers’ voices, to know that what they’ve written came from the gut.

With modern dance, it’s similar. I know each physical phrase is as carefully constructed as every written line in a poem. I can catch certain movements, but I really experience the dance piece as a whole. It’s intoxicating to see the human body move in contemporary dance, to see how it becomes this breathing art form.

Benjamin, Kate, and I went to see Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on June 6th.

Some shows stay with you, and this one definitely will.

The night began with “Indigo Rose” choreographed by Jiri Kylian. In this piece, there were playful interactions between the dancers, shadows of figures cast behind a diagonal white screen that challenged our perceptions of scale, and repeated sequences that were stunning in physicality, in how difficult they looked to achieve. We were close enough to see the dancers smiling at each other, and this was endearing. The whole thing felt like a celebration.

The second piece was “Ten Duets on a Theme of Rescue” by Crystal Pike. Wow! In one duet, dancers tapped the insides of their calves and thighs with their feet to create a percussive sound that corresponded with the music. Another duet began as a solo, and instead of another dancer joining in, the light became the partner. The most powerful duet for me featured a dancer walking slowly across the stage, looking forward but with one arm extended behind her, hand open, ready to accept the struggling dancer who followed her. He was running as if a strong wind were forcing him back, running desperate to grab ahold of her hand. In moments, they made brief contact, but he always slipped away. After each slip, he’d try again, running painfully. Because we were so close, we could see the anguish on his face and hear him breathing hard.

The third piece, “Necessity Again,“ by Jo Stromgren was sexy and vibrant. It involved 1940s swing costumes (which of course I loved) and a lot of props. Dancers moved with book pages scattered across the stage, in and out of clothesline, on and off of chairs, and one dancer gradually titled upside down on a heavy table that she held as she moved. Let me repeat that… upside down on a heavy table that she held as she moved. She was so strong! This part of the dance ended with her sliding off the table, neck first. Neck first. I love it when the head and neck are used in contemporary. It’s vulnerable and communicative. Hands too. In one phrase, dancers put their thumbs together and their fingers flat, as if creating a frame. Then they “fanned” their hands above their right hips as they strutted and repeated a word within the song. The word was ‘esperanza’ or ‘hope’ in Spanish. Given the challenges I face with my hip, this small phrase made me cry. Strong art always makes me cry.

After the third piece, we thought that the show was over, but we were treated to a rare and powerful encore by Ohad Naharin. The curtain lifted to reveal the ensemble, all decked out in black suits and hats, standing in front of a large semi circle of chairs. The dancers stood perfectly still, as we listened to a woman’s voice reciting a French poem. As the poem subsided, drumming and deep chanting began and the dancers sat down slowly. Then, beginning with the first dancer, each of them rose in stunning sequence, each of them bending back, until it was the last dancer’s turn. He bent back and fell forward onto the floor. Words can not fully describe this. It happened over and over. The dancers repeated a sequence of moves, then they did that cascading motion, over and over, and that last dancer fell each time. Everyone shed their clothing too, one article at a time, throwing shoes and pants and shirts into the center violently. Except for the last dancer. He remained fully clothed, falling and falling until the end.

Word can not fully describe this incredible company. To see the snippets of the first three pieces, watch this:

And to see the encore, go to 3:30 and enjoy here:

Sadly, this was Cedar Lake’s final bow, but we’ve saved our programs, and we are keeping mental lists of the choreographers and dancers, in hopes that they will regroup and resurface where we can see them again. So good, so good, so good!

Cold Spring, New York is an antique lover’s dream.

A couple of weekends ago, Benjamin and I spent a few hours there, and I am ready to go back.

Here’s a short list of first impression highlights:

1. quaint, inviting little shops where every owner was generous with their time and recommendations for places to have a quick bite

2. science drawings, an old timey microphone, a vintage sewing machine, and lovely tea cups at Bijou Galleries

3. vinyl collections and antiquated books in every shop…always good

4. the ambience of Le Bouchon French cafe and their generous pours of Sauvignon Blanc and Guinness

5. the fact that this little town does their own Shakespeare by the river series, and this July it’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”

Counting the days until we can head back up there!

Near Storm King Art Center is a great B&B, appropriately named Storm King Lodge. Benjamin and I stayed here for a night, and we had a really good time.

The proprietor of the lodge, Hal, was a fascinating man, a retired professional trombonist. He told us some of his stories about touring with the New York Metropolitan Opera and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He also showed us his son’s sculptures, which were these really nice combinations of glass and metal, shaped into stacks like spinal bones or arranged as full skeleton cowboys. I loved them. And as all good B&B owners do, Hal shared the history of the house… it was originally a Dutch barn built in the 1700s. Swallows inhabited the back porch rafters, and every window pane was graced with their beautiful nests. We woke up to the sound of them fluttering outside our window.

At breakfast, we met a former CIA agent, who shall remain purposefully nameless. He was really into music and had a lengthy discussion with Benjamin about the joys of attending good shows and the differences between the various musical decades. Agent X was with his friend, who shall be called 002. She was an interpreter in a particularly dicey place during the Cold War. I liked that 002 was reading J.D. Salinger’s short stories. We also met a young woman getting her PhD in Psychology, and her Software Engineer fiance, who was really an aspiring science fiction writer.

I do love the people that you meet at B&B’s, and there were other things to love about Storm King Lodge.

Jacque and Lucy were the resident’s furry canine friends. Jacque was an elderly pup who looked like a big, pretty wolf, and Lucy was a Chow mix who entertained us by stalking a bunny. She was unsuccessful, but we admired her determination.

The outdoor pool was phenomenal! Hal painted it black to naturally keep it warmer, and it worked! It also made the water a gorgeous navy blue. I loved the feeling of stepping in, being able to see my feet, and then having them disappear into the deeper water. It was so nice to swim outside in fresh air surrounded by a mountain vista.

I must end with a few more words for the barn swallows. I loved their cobalt blue wings and their forked tails. I loved how their nests were like little hives. Most of all, I loved how they remembered that the lodge was once a barn, and therefor, they belonged there.

Storm King Lodge was lovely and we hope to visit again soon!

A couple weekends ago, Benjamin and I took a little trip to Storm King Art Center.

Storm King is a 500 acre sculpture park with more than 100 sculptures and installations. It’s located in the mountains surrounding New Windsor, New York, about an hour north of us.

We rented bikes and pedaled around to see the art. Among my favorites were:

Maya Lin’s “Storm King Wave Field”—I’ve been in love with Maya Lin since I watched a documentary about her. From the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, to the Civil Rights Memorial, to this piece, I am always struck by how she pays attention. Her work is thoughtful, quiet, and specific. On this site, her waves added subtle beauty to the already present hills. Lovely. Just lovely.

Alyson Shotz’s “Mirror Fence”-This piece charmed me like a picket fence should. Yes, there could be a deeper statement, maybe of suburbia/Americana imposing on a natural landscape or some art school comment like this. But I was on a bike feeling 12 years old. I liked the shine, and I wanted a popsicle.

Roy Lichtenstein’s “Mermaid”-Because… pop culture… and because his work always makes me want a new coloring book. There was a fuzzy duckling swimming beneath his giant gal canoe, and I liked this sweet little scene.

Andy Goldsworthy’s “Storm King Wall”—Wow! Like Maya’s work, this piece speaks with the landscape. Such a pretty snake of a wall meandering up the hills and even down under the little pond. Beautiful!

Johnny Swing’s “Nickel Couch” and “Butterfly Chair”—First of all, how about the name Johnny Swing? I want that name. Epitome of cool. These pieces were just fun. A chair and couch constructed entirely from nickels or fifty cent pieces. Oh yeah.

And last but not least…

“Five Stone Columns” from the Danskammer mansion- Because these were not attached to a building, they looked like ruins on those sweeping hills. I imagine this was a purposeful choice on the part of the center. Nicely done. We snapped a photo for my Dad, the retired Latin teacher. He used to have paper columns like these in his classroom. Enjoy Papa!

My one critique of Storm King is that they need to splurge for mountain bikes. I understand that they have to make money, so they don’t allow you to use your own bike, but c’mon. The nice attendant told me their bikes were “all terrain.” Um, no. They were beach cruisers—no tread on the tires, only 3 speeds, and only front brakes. These were not made for uphill climbs. I’d gladly pay a fee to use my own bike for a smoother ride. Just my 2 cents.

Other than this, Storm King was a fun place to spend a morning, and we hope to return someday to see more of it.

This weekend’s magic discoveries included: a farmers’s market, a bookstore, and a state park.

I think I’ve been waiting for a trip to a farmers’ market since February. This is when I usually daydream about vegetable gardens and spring flowers. So it was lovely to wake up early and finally wander among the vendors at the Patriots’ Park Farmers’ Market in Tarrytown/Sleepy Hollow. We found an excellent baker, who sold healthy, organic whole wheat bread and decadent, delicious strawberry rhubarb pie. Strawberry rhubarb pie! Our favorite summer treat! We were so happy. Next to the baker, there was an olive and pickle booth that offered a great selection. We chose a mix of Greek olives and our buttery, meaty favorite, Castelvetranos. Yum! Best of all, we met a nice couple of farmers who are willing to take our vegetable and fruit scraps every week! Yay! We can finally compost with a conscience.

After the market, we drove up to Pleasantville to check out The Village Bookstore, one of the last remaining independent books stores (selling new books) in the area. Such a nice place! This shop has a great variety of my favorites- fiction, poetry, children’s books, and cookbooks. The owners, Roy Solomon and Yvonne Van Cort, are charming and funny. I chatted with them for a bit about the literary salon series, Spoken Interludes, and I learned that they are the official book sellers for this event. They advised me on how to order rare and out of print books, and they even gifted me two free copies of a local literary magazine, The Westchester Review. I am officially a card carrying member for The Village Bookstore, and I will be returning to support this fine establishment.

Benjamin and I concluded our weekend adventures with a trip to Rockefeller State Park. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I love my country’s state and national parks. I always feel at home, most comfortable in my skin when I’m in a big ol’ park. And Rockefeller is huge—over 1400 acres! The trail possibilities are endless, and I look forward to discovering all of them. For our first stroll, we chose the walk around Swan Lake, as it was a relatively easy path for my cane. Slowly but surely, I am adjusting to walking in this new way. It’s painful at times, waking up all my muscles, but I’m getting stronger. And I’m pleased to report that I made it around that 1.8 mile loop! It was gorgeous—-sparkling lake, lush old growth and flowering trees, croaking bullfrogs, wading herons, and scattering chipmunks. It was worth every step, and we can’t wait to visit again!

Happy, happy weekend indeed!

A few Saturdays ago, I stood in line at a local church awaiting the opening of the doors for its annual thrift sale. I was excited to go rummaging! It was 9:15, and the sale didn’t start until 10:00. I was advised to go early, and I’m glad I did. The line formed down the church parking lot to the sidewalk and around the block. This was no ordinary sale. This was a community party.

A lot can happen in 45 minutes, and I was lucky that day. I met two groovy women who recently opened an antique shop in Tarrytown. Our conversation began with small talk about the sale but quickly moved into a discussion about art. I learned that Mercedes plays several instruments (guitar, banjo, ukulele, upright bass, and mandolin), and Katy has acted in Shakespearean plays with such roles as Viola in “Twelfth Night.” Impressive! The sisters are from North Carolina, and it was comforting to hear a familiar, pretty Southern lilt in their voices. By the end of the conversation, Mercedes said, “I think we’re gonna be friends,” and Katy said, “ Yeah. We like people who think.”

I agreed, so I decided to call my new friends the following week. I invited them to the poetry reading, and to my pleasant surprise, Mercedes made it! Yay! Katy would have come, but she was feeling a bit under the weather. I know she will attend one eventually, and it is my not-so-secret hope that she will do some sort of dramatic reading…oh, how I’d love to hear the bard in that venue! And maybe Mercedes will play a little music there too. She enjoyed the reading and was even able to network with some other musicians afterwards, so who knows? I sense some future reverie!

The day after the reading, Benjamin and I visited the The Thrifty Squirrel. What a fun place! It’s above an iconic vintage shop called Hank’s Alley (another very fun place to peruse) on Kaldenberg Place, just down from the Tarrytown Music Hall. Mercedes and Katy started their business recently, this past February, so it’s still growing, and I am confident that it will flourish. The sisters have a great collection of lovely jewelry, tea cups, knick knacks, handkerchiefs, buttons, accessories, etc. I scored a pale pink bud vase, a sugar bowl and creamer set, and a 1920s long, beaded necklace. I will definitely be going back for more treasures and more conversation.

Thanks to The Thrifty Squirrel, I’m slowly getting the stuff I need to form my artists’ tea party salons. Thanks to the groovy sisters, I am readying my flapper costume for my friends’ wedding, my literary field trips with Joce, and my candle lit walks through cemeteries or haunted writers’ houses. Thanks to Mercedes and Katy, I have made new friends in my new home.

In my new home, I often wake up to the calls of Canadian geese. This is a comforting and familiar sound.

When I was a kid, every Fall, flocks would land in the cornfield across from our house in Wisconsin. My brothers and I used to hide in the tall grass bordering the corn and wait for them. We’d watch them graze for a while and then, on the count of three, we’d run out, whooping and screaming, our arms flapping wildly, just to hear them sing and watch them all take flight again. In retrospect, it wasn’t very nice of us to interrupt their dinner, but maybe the farmers were glad we did it, because it helped to get more corn to their pigs and cows. Regardless, we loved doing this. It was almost like being geese ourselves, part of the flock taking off, taking off…

And their call was our concert.

Some people describe the sound that geese make as ‘honking.’ I disagree. Whenever I hear it, I think of rivers or creeks. Their voices are water and the air above bodies of moving water.

I think of the call of Red-winged Blackbirds in a similar way. I’ve described their songs in poems as ‘water coming up through cattail reeds.’ These handsome birds carry stillness in their throats, the water of ponds, soft ripples. The other night, Benjamin and I went up to the marsh in the nature preserve to watch and listen. Early Summer is mating season, and the boys were definitely putting on a show for the girls… flitting from reed to reed, flaunting their wings, and singing full-throated into the dusk. It was beautiful.

Another group of wet-voiced creatures joined the mating chorus— the tree frogs. Oh my! I have read that where there are frogs, there are robust ecosystems. Well, I am happy to report that our nature preserve has a clean bill of health. One little guy was crooning on a branch that hung over the pond, and he was so close, just under our feet that we could see the expand and contract of his throat. Take a listen:

At the end of the performance, we ambled back to the car. Just before the parking lot, we ran into a young doe. She spooked us more than we scared her. She stared at us long enough for Benjamin to take a picture, and then, quickly sensing that we were not a threat, she continued chewing as we walked past.

Ah, nature! We walk to it, and it takes us in every time.