Visiters

My mother and baby sister have been in town for the past week and a half.
I have had my apartment cleaned, my laundry sorted, my fridge filled and pantry organized, my bedroom cleaned and rearranged, and my back massaged. I have sat on both Mom's and Baby Sister's lap (and they on mine).
What is it about Ma being around that makes it alright to be 15 again?
Mostly, it's like a slumber party having her and Sis here; and of course, there is still the heightened sense of nosiness when my phone rings - Ma seems to find things to do in and around my bedroom.   


Inevitably, there have been more family gatherings than usual - the cousins, the cousin's children, the aunts (and great aunts) and uncles (Ma's brothers - she has three) - which, of course, means obnoxious amounts of food and the perfect balance of sound advice, stimulating conversation and bathroom humor. I can always count on the consistent flow of belly laughs associated with every grill-out in front of the pool at one of Uncle Paulie's home, who, out of sheer nonsensical curiosity (and because he's a good "player") attempted to pull his entire rod iron patio table in "little scoots" with nothing but the twine from the canoli box...just to see if he could move it. Maybe you had to have been there, but I was surely doubled over.


It has all been an escape of sorts from the normal anxieties and frustrations of the day-to-day rigmarole , which have seemed to be incredibly overwhelming, lately. 
I get to enjoy another week and a half of all the hullabaloo and will hopefully kick off the second half of summer with new-found energy and...p'raps even a new job.
[Fingers crossed]

Trolls vs. Pixies

I call it...Moo.

Dear New York, 

You, sir, Trolled me pretty unmercifully yesterday. Bad form. I hatelove you so damn much.

I could sense you were in a mischievous mood as soon as I woke up from a terrible sleep, odd dreams all week, and two of them regarding work.

(W)TF brought fresh hell for hours on end. I took a break at noon but only to completely butcher a phone interview. Oh, and nice touch on delaying those plans to unwind at my uncle's house in Marine Park with a last minute appointment for a wedding party...of three. 

Such gentlemen, too.

Oh what's that, Sky? You're going to chime in with your angry, "big ol' fat rain" the moment my feet touch pavement? Alright. I see how it is. And yes, please, pick the day I have no umbrella. 

What's that? A pixie came and brought me a cab? Unheard of, really. Especially in soggy times such as these.

Six bucks to take me eight blocks...pretty trollish, NYTroll, but worth it.

Then you just had to send a legion of trolls down into the Metro, didn't you, NYC? Problem, you ask? Why yes, yes I do have a problem with waiting for a Q train crawling down Manhattan and stopping on your bridge...twice. 

And nice try, but I already predicted you throwing in that sick person at the Atlantic Ave stop (I do hope they were alright though). Switching your routes to travel the R line? Force us all to get out and transfer platforms (see photo above), hmm? Why do you hate me so?

"There are train traffic delays for the B and the Q trains", trolls the dispatcher. 

Huh...yea? Huh...huh.

20 minutes.

Huh...

Theeere's the next Q train. Yes, please, to Kings Highway.

Pixies, thank you for taking over from here. 

The Q travels above ground from Prospect Park to Coney Island. It had stopped raining, and the scenery, lit by dusk, was transcending. 

Tree tops,Victorian homes under a hazey, pinkish, orange sky and the heady, verdant smell permeating the cooled air.

Alexi Murdoch supplied the perfect chill waves for the ride. And how befitting it is the way my Q train gently sways as it cruises along.

I arrive at my stop and stand in line for the B2 bus. I get a seat?? Keep singin', Mr. Murdoch. 

I hop off a few stops early, so I can walk to Uncle's in the last moments of twilight. 

Fireflies guide my way.

I am greeted with hugs and a dogpile seven children strong. 

Problem? Nope.

Relaxation Station continues out on the patio with salad, wine and a bourbon I've never had before - can't recall its name...there was an "eagle" in there somewhere.

So, NYTroll, I believe your pixies have you beat at your own game. They always seem to win.

Tauntingly,

Juliet