From Skilled Hands » New York City

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

fromskilledhands — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 01:59:03 +0000

Tomorrow my oldest daughter will leave this old house to embark on her new adventure. Her roots will now extend to her other home in New York. Bags are packed, laundry is being finished one last time in this place. Tonight the sisters and a friend are paying homage to the local ice cream parlor for one last ice cream—where they split the scoop so you can get 2 flavors.

I went to the store yesterday and bought staples and sundries at Ohio prices rather than New York City’s. Those items are lined up on the table, waiting to find their places in the bags that will take the trip.

There is a sweetness to these days, when I see my daughter ready to once again spread her wings and take flight. This will have been her last summer here; her apartment in Brooklyn will be her new home. It warms my heart and being to see her make choices that guide her in her adult life. She turned 21 this summer, and she is gliding toward her future, EYES. WIDE. OPEN. And it is good.

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Taking Flight

fromskilledhands — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 04:03:58 +0000

For the first time in nearly 21 years, there will be no children in this old house for the next 3 days. #2 daughter is visiting her sister in New York City this weekend.

The flight was delayed by over an hour, which would have made the off-Broadway play for which a friend of #1 had tickets impossible. #2 and I hot-footed it to the airport, and a very helpful ticket agent found the last seat on an earlier flight—-also delayed, but still earlier. She gave me a pass so I could go to the gate with my daughter. Once we were at the gate, and the agent there gave us up-to-date information, #2 said, “You can go now, Mom. I’ll be fine.” A quick hug, and I made my way back to the parking deck—-alone.

The house is strangely quiet this evening. There are no beeps and ring tones that signify teens in touch. There is no fiddle playing and no one telling me about her day. She is off on her first real Great Adventure, sharing it with her sister, who, not so long ago, took her first flight alone.

The words, “I’ll be fine, Mom.” echo in my memory, and I smile, knowing it is so. She is fine, and so am I. We have shared our roots and now we are sharing our wings.

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One Question, 50 People

fromskilledhands — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 12:59:20 +0000

My good friend Larramie posted a video that was made in the Bronx, asking 50 people one question. I was intrigued, and found this video by the same people.

Fifty People, One Question: New York from Crush + Lovely on Vimeo.

What do you wish would happen by the end of the day?

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Touchstones

fromskilledhands — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 17:48:02 +0000

It was shortly after September 11, 2001. The busy-ness of my day to day life left me feeling ungrounded. I rolled a small piece of porcelain into a lucky stone-shaped orb. And I wrote p-e-a-c-e on it. I inlaid a blue colorant into the carved letters and put it in the kiln. It worked. I had a stone with an important reminder. I kept it in my pocket and rolled it between my fingers. I began to make more of these “touchstones.” Reminders of things that seemed to get lost in the shuffle of life. They said things like dream, hope, believe, compassion, justice, peace, love and other words that touched a chord for me. We began to sell them—and give them away.

Right before the first anniversary of 9/11, a couple came into the gallery. We began to talk; the woman told me that they were in our area from New York City. They were planning on walking at dawn on the morning of the first anniversary from Battery Park to what we now know as Ground Zero, accompanied by a group of bagpipers. The woman wanted to buy a few Touchstones that said PEACE on them. We had just fired some of the stones. I selected the ones that said PEACE, and gave them to the couple, asking them to pass them on as they wished.

Several days later, I received an email from a man who had been in one of the buildings in the area on September 11. He wanted me to know how much it meant to him to receive a Touchstone.

It is important to remember that the power of One is immense, and that we can create change, one pebble at a time. Pass it forward.

The Power of One.

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Roots and Wings

fromskilledhands — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 00:25:50 +0000

I’ve been feeling on the edge for the past couple of days, knowing that today #1 daughter would return to New York City, where she is a college student. I’d shopped for groceries so she wouldn’t have to deal with that upon her return to the City, and helped her with some of the other things she needed to do.

She’d been gathering her things and packing them up for the past few days; I knew this. And when I went upstairs last night to chat with her, I was struck by the beauty of this whole process. It is fitting that she was leaving Labor Day weekend. This is a labor of another kind—not so dissimilar from that which brought her into this world.

When she and my husband took the last of her things out to the car, I told her not to forget her towel, and gave her a small square. I asked if this was where we hug and cry. It was.

And then they drove off, just like that.

And tonight, #2 daughter and I are eating convenience foods and chocolate ice cream as we watch cheesy movies together. Roots and wings.

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My Town Monday: Home Travels. Part One

fromskilledhands — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 22:42:09 +0000

I have come to realize that home really is where the heart is; and that the cool thing about this is that it travels.

I have, in the past year, left my heart with my daughter in NYC, and in the mountains of Black Mountain, North Carolina and Blue Mountain Lake, NY.

I have discovered so much about my town, the Village of Peninsula, Ohio, population 602; its rich history and colorful stories.

So this week’s MTM post is a scrapbook of sorts, photos in which, if you look closely, you will find a wee piece of my heart, nestled in the sweet softness of lovely memories.

In April, I traveled by train to visit my daughter in New York City. I learned so much about my wise and wonderful daughter, and left a piece of my heart in the Avenue B Garden.

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Number 2 daughter and I traveled to the Adirondacks in July.

As my daughter and I traveled along the highway, we passed exit signs for towns and cities large and small. And then there was one sign for an entire country. Go figure…

A rock along the roadside. Shortly thereafter a sign hoped we had had a nice visit in a town (we both forgot which town), and wished us Toodle-oo.

The road to Blue Mountain Lake. Where you begin to feel your muscles relax…

After a 9 hour drive, we were greeted with this. Sunset at Blue Mountain Lake repeated it’s glorious self each night.

My daughter and friends kayaked across crystal clear Blue Mountain Lake; then they kicked off their sandals and climbed Castle Rock.

We were staying next to Prospect Point Cottages. Prospect Point Cottages are on the grounds of the grand old Prospect House Hotel, one of the original Adirondack camps. Carol, the innkeeper, is gracious and hospitable. We attended a talent show and donated items to their “kitchen library,” where guests can borrow items they may have forgotten. Carol and her staff were also hosts to Lucy, a homing pigeon who showed up one day. She was offered food and water, and she stayed until she was ready to move on.

We also hiked up the beautiful Goodnow Mountain. Bare-footed kids beat adults with shoes without a problem!

It doesn’t get much better than this.

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Next week: Part 2: Black Mountain, NC and the Village of Peninsula.

As always, the amazing Travis Erwin, who celebrates his 25th (count ‘em) MTM post this week, is the founder and main MTM guy. Take a trip on over to his site. You’ll have fun and learn something, too. Then visit my other My Town Monday Marauders. I promise you won’t regret it.

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My Town Monday: the Village of Peninsula, Ohio

fromskilledhands — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 02:01:16 +0000

Fr. Bernard Cook wrote, “We need to have people who mean something to us; people to whom we can turn, knowing that being with them is coming home.” I have learned that home travels. I have found it in the mountains of North Carolina, in New York City, in Cleveland, Ohio, in Blue Mountain Lake, NY (of which I will write later) and in my town, Peninsula, Ohio.

The folks of Village of Peninsula, Ohio, population 602, pull off some pretty amazing things, from the Harry Potter Fest of July, 2007, to the Peninsula Python Festival of last week.

Ronda, the proprietor of the Downtown Emporium tells me that over 100 names were entered into the Name the Peninsula Python contest. Most were alliterative, some playful, some mythological in nature. Most folks seemed to assume that the python was a male. Ronda says that the official gender-neutral name of the Peninsula Python is Penn.

The world, including the Great Dane on Main (Street), passes by Ronda’s porch:

Here are some more photos of this year’s Pythons of Peninsula and the people who made it all happen.

Cuyahoga Valley Historical Museum

Lily’s Python

Music at the Log Cabin Gallery

Peninsula Library Python

Fisher’s Restaurant Python

Flowers and bikes on Python Day

There is something special about my town, its people, its heart and spirit. Something that truly is like coming home.
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Post a comment and I’ll enter you in the Python Posse Giveaway–and you could win cool stuff, too! You can join the latest member of the Posse, Amy, and her cohorts:Terrie Farley Moran, Sam, Travis, Barrie, and Eryl,
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**As always, My Town Monday is brought to you by Amarillo, Texas’ own Travis Erwin. Take a trip on over to his blog, One Word, One Rung, One Day, and you’ll travel to Cimarron Canyon in northern New Mexico. You’ll also find links to the blogs of other My Town Monday Marauders.

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My Town Monday: Home is Where the Heart Is

fromskilledhands — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 19:03:15 +0000

Over at One Word, One Rung, One Day,Travis Erwin has graciously invited bloggers to share their towns on Mondays. I’ve learned a lot about a lot of places by visiting those who have posted. My daughter, a college student in NYC, taught me about home this weekend.

I boarded the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited at 7AM last Thursday. It was the first time in 20 years that I have done something totally by and for myself.

Train travel is just that—travel. On the 12 hour trip, I saw the backyards and junkyards of America, junked cars and buses and mountains of tires. I saw lakes, rivers and the foothills of the Adirondacks; cities and towns, farmland, and an incredible variety of styles of houses and barns. Trees were leafing out, and spring flowers were abundant, from marsh marigolds to trillium to skunk cabbages.

Public art abounded, brought to us by talented graffiti artists. These emerging artists adorned sides of buildings, water towers, and rail cars with their means of self-expression.

I had never realized just how much train traffic there is in this country—from passenger trains to freight trains to scenic excursion railroads. It was a little disconcerting to be the train in the middle, with trains on either side hurtling down the tracks in the opposite direction. This is when I closed my eyes.

I sat by myself most of the trip, musing, looking out the windows, chatting with other passengers, and letting myself relax, lulled to sleep by the sound of the train. I had decided to leave my computer at home, and left my iPod in my bag, next to my book.

I learned how to walk from car to car, first for coffee that was even too weak for me; later for lunch in the dining car. The dining car was full, so I joined two delightful young women at their table. We were joined by a 4th woman named Sue. Canadian college students on vacation, Kate and Leah were wonderful companions. We shared a bottle of wine, toasting my adventure and theirs.

As the train chugged along the track, I dozed and mused, drinking in the scenery. The changing topography was fascinating as we passed through different regions. As we traveled along the Hudson River, I noticed a rocky island that seemed to be topped by a castle-like structure. I made out the word Arsenal on the front of the building. This Gothic structure is the Bannerman Castle. The Canadian students emerged from their car and we talked some more, this time over soft drinks and my $2.00 bottle of water. Note to self: don’t leave food and water bottles on the kitchen counter next time!

Text messages and phone calls began arriving from #1 daughter as we approached NYC. The train was nearing Penn Station, over 12 hours after I had boarded. Wishing my traveling companions a great vacation, I left the train and climbed up the stairs to the baggage claim. My phone rang. “Look straight ahead,” said the voice on the other end.

Carrying an empty suitcase (so I could fill it up and bring things home), and a duffel bag, we hotfooted it to the hotel. My daughter immediately flopped on the bed, stretching across the entire king-sized mattress. We talked and then walked to find something to eat. I fell asleep in the chair, then stumbled to bed.

Friday morning, my daughter asked me what I wanted to do. I responded that I wanted to be with my daughter rather than to find things to do. So we walked—first to her residence to drop off some stuff, then off to Cafe Grumpy for an incredible cup of cafe au lait—fixed until this very fussy coffee drinker was grinning because it was so good.

My daughter showed me her other home, from the park bench in Tompkins Square Park to the Union Square Greenmarket. We shared an incredibly beautiful day, exploring my daughter’s new world. We came across the 6th and B Garden, an oasis or green quiet in the middle of the city; we ate lunch at the Atlas Cafe, a tiny amazingly good restaurant. We wandered in and out of resale shops and fashionista hangouts, trying on things for fun, relishing each other’s company.

Then dinner with my daughter and a friend of hers. We chose Le Grainne Cafe, a French restaurant nearby. Delicious crepes, salad and a bottle of good wine served in a leisurely fashion made for a satisfying evening. No dinner would be compete without dessert. We decided to go to Billy’s Bakery, where we chose a small but mighty chocolate cheesecake to share. It was indeed as good as it looked.

Since the train arrives in Cleveland, Ohio at 3:00am, I decided to fly home. On Saturday morning, we walked to a block or 2 so we could hail a taxi to take me to the airport. “Is this where we hug and cry?” I asked. It was. The ride to the airport was a bit harrowing and ended with the driver taking me to the pick up for arriving passengers rather than the drop off for departing ones. Rather than risking any more delays, I hauled my now full suitcase and duffel up a very long flight of stairs.

Some folks have left their hearts in San Francisco. I left part of mine with a wonderful, talented, kind and adventurous young woman in the heart of New York City. There is no place like home.

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