Happy Halloween?

I used to love Halloween. When I was a kid, I loved the fact that we always got popcorn balls from Mrs. McKnight at the house on the corner. They were home made, but it was safe to eat things like that back then. I loved acting like the bruised banana we got from the Garcias was just what I wanted even though I never liked bananas. I knew they didn't have much money and Mr. Garcia worked for a produce company.

When I was older, I always spent way too much money on Halloween costumes in order to stand out at the round of parties I attended.

As a mom, I think I spent well over a month planning my daughters' costumes. I usually made them and loved seeing how my hard work paid off when my daughters put them on and looked so cute. I tried to create current characters for whom costumes had not been created (Jem, Strawberry Shortcake, Carebears). If that wasn't possible, I tried to be unique (Winter and Spring).

Halloween of 1992 changed the way I felt about Halloween forever. On the early afternoon of October 30th my family made the decision to remove my father from life support. Four days earlier you would not have known he was ill. But he had a malignant brain tumor and never woke after surgery. I have never been able to accept death easily. No matter what doctors say, I always hold out hope for a miracle. Even though if the decision had been left up to me I would never have agreed to remove the machines, I knew he was not going to recover. I also knew that he would hate to live life that held no quality. My prayer as I stood by my beloved father's bed that day was that God would take him quickly once the machines were turned off and that he would not be in pain. As the day worn on and he hung on I began to realize that Halloween was approaching and I couldn't imagine a worse day to die on. I pleaded with God to take him before midnight. When that didn't happen, I pleaded to give him one more day. One hour and 13 minutes into Halloween, my father slipped away.

I have had a lot of heartache in my life, maybe more than most. But I have never felt like God let me down until that moment. It was a long time before I forgave God, before I could find comfort in prayer. I know that God has a plan for all of us. I know that His wisdom should not be questioned. However, even after 16 years if I were given the chance to ask God one question, it would be, "Why could you not have taken him on another day?"

This year my precious granddaughter went trick or treating for the first time. Her mother bought her costume more than a month ago and had practice runs in it. She reminded me of myself when she was young. Maybe seeing Alivia walk out the gate looking like the cutest little lady bug took a little of the edge off the pain, but I don't think it will ever be "Happy Halloween" again. I miss you Daddy and I look forward to the day that we are reunited.

The Reality

Life On The Street


I love New York streets. I don't love driving them, but I love walking them. Tonight we had to run some errands after work and I was starving. On almost every corner is a food vendor. No bag of chips or candy bar when you can get fresh roasted nuts or any one of a dozen ethnic dishes. You can almost buy anything you need in the way of food or clothing without ever leaving the sidewalk. Weather suddenly turn cold, buy a pashmina, hat, gloves, jacket. Sudden downpour, there is an umbrella for sell on every corner. Long before moving to New York I knew that purses, watches, perfume and sunglasses were cheap and easily found on every street. From April through November there are street fairs every weekend. In Texas, where I hail from, a street fair means arts and crafts. In New York it means being able to buy amazing food, fruit, candy apples, knock-off purses, watches, sunglasses, jewelry. There are booths set up to sell socks, sheets, tools and toys imported from China. There's ice cold lemonade, "one dollar, one dollar." There are massage booths and fortune tellers too. Even when I was flat broke I loved being on the street just to watch the sights. There is nothing like a good street performance. The tumblers seem to draw the biggest crowds. I would never walk as far to see, do or buy something anywhere else. It would just be a walk to a destination. In New York, half the fun is getting there.

The Price of Celebrity (or meeting them)

Yesterday Brandon, Anthony and I went to the bi-annual Chiller Theater Convention. The boys are heavy into collecting autographed celebrity photos. Brandon has a collection so amazing that it defies description. I go along because it's a fun day and the opportunity to meet some of my favorite stars from the past.

Yesterday started on a low note for me because I had hoped to meet Patty Duke. She had to cancel this week. The boys have been going to these for many years. I am a novice as this was only my third time. But even I knew that things were different this time. In the past I have played the role of place holder in line. While the boys are getting autographs in one line, I hold their place in another. By doing this, we are out of there within 4 hours of the stars arrival. Yesterday the line to get into the pit which is where the largest grouping of stars is was 4 hours long. Then once into the pit the lines began again. Linda Hamilton's line itself was at least 2 hours. In short, it was 5:00 before we walked out on aching feet in the pouring rain to make the hour drive home. Why do I do this to myself?

As I mentioned before, it really is a fun day out. I met Linda Evans, Morgan Fairchild, Angie Dickenson, Linda Hamilton (truly appreciates her fans), John Schneider, Ralph Macchio, the Sweathogs, Jamie Luner (what a nice person), Barry Williams and Cory Haim (loved him). But I have to say that the highlight of the day was sitting with Ed Asner. He felt like an old friend. I have no idea why he was not inundated with fans or why he would have the time or desire to ask me to sit with him. It really did make my day. Awwww, I love Lou Grant, but I hate the picture.

Laughter Is the Best Medicine

My friend Maria had a birthday last week. For her birthday, several friends pitched in to buy her dinner and take her to a show. We decided to have dinner at Carmines, which is a story itself, and then we went to see "13".

Have you ever been in a situation where you get tickled about something at an inappropriate moment and start laughing? The harder you try not to laugh, the harder you laugh. There is a very serious moment near the end of the show when one of the characters yells something at another character like, "You're stupid!" The man beside Albert. one of my friends says, in a not very quiet voice, "Ooooooooo, not nice." All five of us begin to laugh. Fortunately we are not laughing hard enough for the actors to hear us, but the patrons around us certainly could. As I am just getting over a sore throat, this throws me into a coughing fit. After what feels like a good 5 minutes, Maria takes the bottle of water from me and kind of shakes it in my face. After emptying the bottle, I am finally able to stop. Then another actor blurts out another unkind comment. Again, "Ooooooooo, not nice." That was it. I couldn't stop laughing and coughing and Eric was laughing so hard he hard tears streaming down his face. After about ten minutes with my head throbbing and my side feeling like it was in a vice, the laughing subsided.

As miserable as we were at the time, when we left the theater, we were all in the best mood. I can't remember when I have laughed that hard or for that long. But afterwards it felt good. Laughter really is the best medicine.

I Miss My Mommy

Four years ago, I had a series of back surgeries. I spent four months in bed either awaiting surgery or recovering from surgery. Most of those four months were not spent alone in bed. My mother whose health was not great, made the hour drive to lie in bed with me getting up only when one of us needed something. As we lay there we watched way too much TV, but the Scott Peterson trial was taking place. We did some needlework. We worked on jewelry. We played with our cell phones taking funny pictures of each other. Despite the pain and inconvenience, it is one of my best memories of my mother. We actually managed to have fun. I could write a book about that time.

Tomorrow I will have been sick for two weeks. My throats hurts, my head is pounding, my eyes hurt, my nose is runny and I can't stop coughing. I have been running a fever for the past three days. Since I'm the kind of teacher that seldom takes off when I am sick, I have worked every day. For anyone who is worried about the poor children who are getting exposed I ask, "Where do you think I got it?"

Everyone keeps telling me the secret to getting well. Chicken soup, tea and honey, over-the-counter everything, going to the doctor (hmmm, interesting). I know what would make me well. 1) I have to keep up the fluids 2) I need to get more rest 3) I have to just let it run its course. In a few more days I expect to be well again.

I would have been well a week ago though if I could have picked up the phone and called my mother when I got sick. She would have to me to buy some Contact, Mentholatum, and cranberry juice. Then she would have told me to drink lots of fluids and get lots of rest. She would have reminded me to get my flu shot. She would have told me that I work too hard and worry too much. It really isn't any different from what everyone else said and from what I have been doing. The only difference is that I need to hear it from her. Aren't most people that way though. It doesn't matter how old you are, when you are sick, you want your mother. So I guess the best I can do is to curl up on the bed with my comforter, close my eyes and listen to the voice in my head.

Gee, I really miss my mother.

Class Reunion

Today the W.B. Ray High School class of 1973 is celebrating without me. I have never missed a reunion and would not have missed this one if it had not been for a doctor appointment that I could not miss. Ironically, his office called yesterday to tell me that the appointment would have to be rescheduled. I think people either really love reminiscing about high school or they really hate it. I love it. I don't think that I am the type of person that needs to make sure everyone knows how successful I have become. After all, I am a teacher and I'm not sure that teaching qualifies as really successful. I just love catching up with the people who played significant roles in what is supposed to be the "best years of my life." To say that I was never a serious student would be a gross understatement and I am pretty sure that most of my graduating class knew it. It is made obvious by the looks on their faces when I tell them that I have a master's degree in education and am just a dissertation away from a PhD. Most find it hard to believe that I am a teacher and even harder to believe that I did time as a middle school assistant principal. They are not unkind in their remarks, just surprised. Due to the fact that I could not attend, some old friends have contacted me via email to find out why I am in New York and what I have been up to. After replying to a few, I decided to compose a brief synopsis of my life since high school especially the part about leaving Texas. After sending it out into cyber space I went back and read it. I think I have now told my former classmates that I am doing well professionally, have a wonderful family, a job that I love, live in the most exciting city in the world, and oh yeah I am a lesbian! I'm not a lesbian, but my little essay sure makes it sound like I am.

A couple of days ago I decided that since I could not actually attend, I would send something. I called my favorite bakery in Corpus Christi and ordered a cake to be delivered to the party. When I explained to the salesperson that it was for a reunion that I was not going to be able to attend, she replied, "You know what they say about reunions? If you don't show they are going to talk about you." Well thanks to my failure to proofread, they should have a lot to talk about. I guess the only solution is to meet the man of my dreams and get married in the next five years. Watch out men of Manhattan! I am a woman on a mission.

We're the best you'll ever see. We're the class of '73!

Winter Is Just Around the Corner

Last night we had a significant drop in the temperature. I love winter and all that goes with it, winter coats, boots, pashminas and snow. My students benefited from my good mood brought on by the lower temp. We spent the end of the day sitting on the carpet eating cookies as I read to them and we shared favorite memories about winter. I told them how excited I was about experiencing my first, first snow of the year three winters ago. I also told them about the little rhyme I made up when I learned first hand what happens when you step on a frozen grate. My first winter in New York I was walking home on a cold Friday evening. It was during 5:00 rush foot traffic. I was wearing a dress. Suddenly I found myself doing the splits as two gentlemen rushed to my aid and got me to my feet. I tried to avoid that route for a few weeks lest someone recognize me. Regardless, I still love winter in New York.

Two, four, six, eight - Do not step on a frozen grate

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

OMG! I went to a book signing tonight for Maureen McCormick. As I waited in line, I relayed to my friend how The Brady Bunch helped me flunk out of college. Way back in the 70's I was enrolled in a little community college. I started every day by going to the student center for tater tots and a coke. As I waited in line, I could see reruns of The Brady Bunch. After completing my purchase I settled into a comfy chair to finish watching the episode. Unfortunately the show didn't end until 15 minutes after my class started. I couldn't seem to tear myself away to go to class. After a couple of weeks, I didn't even pretend that I was going to class. I just drove to campus, ordered my unhealthy breakfast and plopped down in front of the television. While I watched the Brady kids making all the right decisions a dutiful child would make, I made the decision to go against everything my parent wanted for me. Soon the school invited me not to return for another semester. Who would have guessed that Marcia/Maureen would soon be starting her days with "coke" too.


The good news is both Maureen and I got it together eventually and are both happy with our lives. So, thanks Brady Bunch where would I be without you.

These Boots Aren't Made For Walking

I love boots. Cowboy boots, biker boots, dress boots, rain boots... Unfortunately, most boots do not love me. That doesn't stop me from owning and wearing them. One of the reasons I love New York is that everyone wears boots.

Monday I began working on my semi-anual clothing exchange. Spring/summer clothes go into storage. Fall/winter clothes come out. As I sat unloading my boots I started doing some math. I put my boots on just before I walk out the door heading for work. Fifteen minutes later I arrive. It takes about ten minutes to sign in, say hello to a few folks, unlock my door, put away my things, pull off my boots and put on my "teaching shoes". By this point I have worn the boots for about 1/2 an hour. At the end of the day, I put the boots back on and unless I am going out, they are off again in twenty minutes. On the average, I wear them about an hour a day.

Tonight I am going out, the boots will stay on for a few painful (stylish) hours. By 10:00 I will work hard to cover the fact that my feet are killing me. I will try to manuver my feet, while encased in their beatiful prison, in an effort to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure. It won't have much affect. Tomorrow and the rest of the week I will wear my comfortable flats while my feet recover. Next week I will return to wearing my favorites boots and I will enjoy looking down, for at least an hour a day.

Alivia Day

I love spending time with my granddaughter but she can be challenging. On Saturday her mother had to work and I had friends in from Texas. I had promised to watch Alivia on the occasional days when Erin works and I also promised to be tour guide. So we packed up everything Ali would need for the day and set out for Manhattan and for what promised to be a long and exhausting day.

Perfect is not sufficient to describe how she behaved. From a trip on the Staten Island Ferry to a walk through the financial district to a trip uptown and to Central Park, she never whined or cried. We ate lunch on a bench and she laughed when the pigeons attacked the fries she dropped. She squealed when the ferry vibrated and did God knows what to her hearing aids. She pointed at things she wanted me to see because she has started to notice things on her own. My only regret is forgetting my camera in the car. Thank God I do not have to regret missing this wonderful day with my beautiful, sweet bundle of energy. It was a perfect first outing without mom. I loved every minute of it. We just may have to do this next week.

The Reality

BEST OF FRIENDS

When I was imagining what my life in New York would be like, it included a gay best friend who would live above me, share my fire escape and know all the best places to shop. Close. Brandon doesn't live above me, but he pretty much fulfills all the other requirements for the perfect New York best friend. I didn't even know he was gay for several months, so it wasn't as if I pursued the friendship to meet the requirement. It is because of him that I know all the best places to shop, see at least 3 shows a month, know how to get cheap tickets and have had over 100 celebrity encounters. Sometimes he drives me crazy, gives me too much information about things I probably don't need to know about and is way to organized. On the other hand, he saw to it that I didn't spend my first Thanksgiving alone and he even got Erin a part time position as a production assistant with his theater group so that she could take a short break from mommying each week and yesterday he turned me on to dim sum. So when you do the math, turns out it's better than I had imagined. Thanks Brandon!








Me and Christine Baranski
We look like we could be best friends

The Reality

THE APARTMENT

The truth is that everything you've ever believed about New York is not true.

It is expensive to live here.

My first apartment was about 400 square feet and cost $2000 a month. It was in Hell's Kitchen. It was a 5th floor walkup. It was four blocks from the subway. You really have to live in New York to understand that one. It was around the corner from where all those clip-clopping horses that pull the carriages in Central Park at all hours are stabled. It was a block from the cruise ship harbor with their bone rattling horns. But..

It was in Manhattan. It bordered the theater district. Five flights of stairs is great for the waistline. Okay there's no getting around the four block walk to the train. But the horse stables were located close to Central Park which means I was too. There was a dog park across the street for Karma and deli on the corner that had the best breakfast for next to nothing.

With all its faults and advantages, the fact is I was just grateful to have it. I have Elyse to thank for helping me return to my dream of living in New York, but I have Erin to thank for finding an apartment. While we were searching I kept remembering an episode of "Friends" when Ross was checking the obituaries for an apartment. I wish it was that easy. I began my search by contacting an agent. He showed me a tiny studio/efficiency for $1700 and wanted $4000 to lease it to me. I decided I could do better with Craigs List, a newspaper and a membership to an online apartment locator. What I found was that in New York, "open house" means getting in line an hour before it starts and knowing that if you are not first in line you will not get the apartment. I couldn't believe what people would fight for; an apartment so small that a twin bed would not fit in the only room, an apartment where you could cook while sitting on the toilet, an apartment where the 15 year old kid on the stoop has a key to every apartment in the building and would be happy to let you in. My daughter managed to talk a maintenance man into showing her an apartment the day before the open house, she convinced me that I should call the leasing agent and tell them that I would take it, sight unseen. I did and truth be told, I wish I was still there. I know I will eventually return to the city and go through it all again. For now I am content with my basement in the Bronx.

Life After 50

It feels like I have lived several lives, but I didn't start living until 2 1/2 years ago. This is how is all started.

Long before I actually left for New York, I was imagining what my life would be like. I thought about everything from where I would live, to what my apartment would be like, to how I would dress and who my friends would be.
I saw myself living in a combination of Meg Ryan’s apartments from Kate and Leopold and You’ve Got Mail. Like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffanys, there would be a fire escape on which I could gain access to the apartment below or above where my gay male best friend lived. I would have a stoop where I would sit on summer days. My apartment would be on an upper floor, because unlike apartments in Texas which are seldom more than 2 stories high, it would have an elevator. It would be located on the east side, midtown, although, Gramercy Park or Chelsea would be okay. There would be a great deli on the corner and a small grocery store with a wonderful produce section across the street. The subway would not be on my block, but not more than two blocks away. A wonderful old couple who had been married forever would live across the hall from me. They would teach me everything I needed to know about living in New York. In exchange, I would pick up a few things for them when I ran errands or help them get to their occasional appointment. They would invite me for dinner once a week, and sometimes there would be a single friend they wanted me to meet.
Due to the fact that I would be taking as little as possible with me to New York, I would for the most part have to purchase a whole new wardrobe. Everything I bought would be totally New York, although I wasn’t sure exactly what that was. When I returned to Texas for an occasional visit I would feel totally conspicuous in my new clothes. I would never wear less than a two-inch heels unless I was running Saturday morning errands or taking Kharma to the dog park. I would of course have a purse to match every pair of shoes. Best of all, I would own multiple coats. I have as most people in South and Central Texas always owned three coats; a raincoat, a long coat and a short coat in neutral colors. My first coat purchase would be either cobalt blue or red.
My new friends would not be unlike most of the friends I have now, but there would be much more exciting things to do with them, going to; the ballet, the theatre, weekend trips, happy hours at places with great atmosphere. As a result of all the evening outings, my evening wear would outnumber my day wear for the first time in my life. I would even find it necessary to own an extensive wardrobe of high-heel shoes and dress coats in an array of colors.
I found it increasingly difficult to fall asleep at night with this romantic vision of my new life dancing in my head. The only thing that stood between my and this exciting new life was 2000 miles.
“Why,” I ask myself, “would a 52 year old woman whose whole life has been lived according to Murphy’s Law want to sell everything she owns and move 2,000 miles away from family and friends. Why move to a place she has only visited twice and one of those visits had been 30 years ago.”
The first time I visited New York City, I was 21 years old. A traveling companion for a friend of my mother’s whose own children had no desire to see the world. Lucky me. I didn’t know it then, but I realize it now, that I was seeing the city, not through the eyes of a tourist, but through the eyes of a future resident. I even told Clara, the lady I was traveling with, that I wanted to live here someday. She responded with something like, “Your mother would kill me.” But anyhow, I wasn’t so much interested in seeing the Statue of Liberty of the Empire State Building as I was in watching the people. Anyone who has ever spent much time in New York or who lives there can spot a tourist a mile away. They stroll. They stop mid-sidewalk. They look up. They walk side-by-side blocking the sidewalk. They don’t have to have a camera in their hand or a subway map to stand out as a tourist. So it was easy to pick out the residents, and to watch them. There was just something about New Yorkers that I was drawn to. I wanted to be one of them.
Almost 30 years later, my youngest daughter gets accepted to Fordham University and the dream was alive again. So I applied for a teaching position. When I told my Elyse, my daughter, that the New York City Department of Education was interested in interviewing me, she told me in no uncertain terms that if I moved to New York, she would stay in Austin. Apparently the reason for applying to schools that are 2.000 miles from home is to be on your own, not have your mother follow you. She did permit me to visit, once. I spent a week in March visiting her. Almost from the moment we set foot outside the hotel the first morning, the old feeling came back. Some people might think that the week’s worth of freezing rain and snow might have convinced me that New York was not such a great place to live. It didn’t.
I was secretly thrilled when my daughter decided to come home after her freshman year. I knew she was miserable there. But, just because she was back in Texas did not mean the DOE was no longer interested in me. In fact they were sending someone to Austin and wanted to interview me. I went. They offered me a job. I accepted it.
A dream 30 years in the making was about to come true. I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen. What did happen was what I should have expected. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. At the end of the year when a normal people would be packing their bags and heading home, I was looking to stay.