Controlled Chaos or Just Plain Crazy?

It’s almost Halloween and this is the season when the East Village most resembles reality. As they say,  “Anything goes in the East Village,” because many characters in this neighborhood look as if they are in costume year round. This time of year the crazy get even crazier.

I don’t know if it’s because we’ve lived here for eight months now and I’m starting to get used to it, but the homeless, drug addicts and crazies seem to be out in full force all around me. Maybe I notice them more now, or maybe my frequent exposure makes their impression on me more acute. Perhaps they notice me as a permanent fixture in the neighborhood that they can engage, rather than a hapless tourist who might actually give them money. All I know is their presence is constant yet nevertheless perplexing to me.

They come in all categories. First we have the artists, then the extremists, the activists, the weirdos, and of course the performers. After you’ve lived here a while you get used to the crazy outfits and the artistic expression of style and realize that these people would really not fit in anywhere else but NYC. They were freaks in their home towns, but they are welcome here. This is what makes the local landscape uniquely wonderful and eclectic. Last weekend Dylan and I tried walking around on a Saturday night in full face make up and people didn’t even flinch. In fact they loved it---we fit right in.

After the Artistically Crazy we have the Just Plain Crazy. These are homeless who roam the streets yelling at themselves, their ghosts and anyone within ear shot. For instance there was the homeless guy who pees on trees and hangs out next to Steve’s work barge on the East River. If Steve happens to walk out of his office trailer to use the phone the guy yells at him from 80 feet away, “Get Back to Work!”  To this Steve, not skipping a beat, replies, “You get back to work! If I see you piss on that tree again I’m callin’ the cops!” Just Plain Crazy.

Then there are the college students who perhaps drank or abused all their tuition and now just party openly on the streets all day and night. Or perhaps they are left over from Occupy Wall Street and have somehow lost their way. I am all in favor of the OWS movement, but it seems some of them have forgotten the movement part and now choose just to occupy the streets and sidewalks that we use everyday. Locally we call these guys crusties because their hair, clothes and animals get a bit crusty after a while. I love the one who was holding up a sign the other day, “Lost all my money. Please spare—what the fuck, it’s only a buck!”  Lazy.

My sympathy and fascination with the homeless is twofold. I realize that many of them have serious substance abuse problems or mental illness, and it is hard to witness that. It’s even harder to expose the kids to it but here it’s inescapable. One week there was a man who was so intoxicated he lived slumped over a car in a passed out state for days on end on our walk to school. About day three he was barefoot and mumbling to us for money. While I didn’t give him money on our way there, I did buy him breakfast and water on the way back. I asked myself if I should call someone, and why this person had become invisible to all who passed him in the neighborhood. Are we all numb to the needs of the mentally ill on our streets? Are we too caught up in our own problems to even notice anymore? She did say.....send me your homeless, right?!

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"	”
—Emma Lazarus, Statue of Liberty,1883

Another time there was a woman who was so strung out she was stumbling on the sidewalk in broad daylight in front of our house. Her friends were clumsily trying to get her to a bus or cab to get home. All at once she fell, hit her head and began bleeding. I was trying to get the kids in the house before the scenario erupted into violence or worse when she rushed over, fell to her knees in front of my daughter Dylan and began to pray. Blood streaming down her face, she rocked back and forth uttering some incoherent verse. I told her friends if they didn’t get her in a cab immediately I was calling the police. Needless to say, we were all a bit shook up over this but hey---it’s just another day in New York.

Then we have the seemingly normal people who have just blown a gasket in the stress that is New York City. These are normal people, going about their lives, who for whatever reason had their limit that day and the stress became too much and they totally lose it. The subway  is always a good place to witness Crazy (warning: not edited). I recently witnessed a guy on the train who suddenly stood up and began yelling at the top of his lungs at the poor guy hunched over quietly minding his own business, “Turn it DOWN, or I’m going to turn it down for YOU!” Mind you none of the rest of us heard anything coming from this man, but he had the omnipresent ear buds and apparently the quiet buzz of music was drowning out the normal voices in the other guy’s head. He got so violent we moved to the next car lest they start throwing punches. My friend with me at the time commented that in the Midwest, like Colorado for instance, guns would have already been drawn and someone would be down. Here in NY it’s quite run-of-the-mill; shouting matches occur here that in any other city or state would be reason to call the cops.  

It is so common that you see people ignoring the outbursts and going about their daily business like nothing is happening. No judgment, no interaction, almost a tacit resignation to the crazy as if to say, “Yup, he’s lost it. Today it’s his day. Tomorrow someone else’s, the next day may be mine.” Sometimes you even see bystanders diverting their eyes, or purposely walking in the other direction as if to say, “Uh oh….here comes crazy! Watch out! It’s contagious! I’m outta here!!”

I admit it’s even happened to me. One week our car side view mirror got smashed, and I think we were on our 3^rd $100 parking ticket and then our car got impounded. When your car is towed in the city you get a parking ticket AND they tow it. To get your car out of hock you have to go all the way to the West side and pay over $300 for release (on top of the ticket). If you don’t release it within 72 hours they put it up for auction and charge you $50/day parking until it’s sold. The system is huge money for the city and it’s a total scam. Needless to say we were not happy.  This city was beating us, and big time.

We got the car out of hock and decided to leave the city behind us for a weekend before we kill someone. Just as we’d packed the car up on the curb in front of the apartment, an oil truck parks opposite blocking the entire street from thru traffic. If you’ve ever been in New York, people don’t like it when you block traffic. So one delivery guy in a van decides he’s going to try to squeeze through anyway and in doing so scratches the whole side of our car and hits our wheel WITH ME SITTING IN THE PASSENGER SIDE.

I roll down the window, my eyes roll back in my head, and I’m pounding on his van and screaming wildly. He gets passed us and I’m chasing the guy down the street dialing the number of his company and screaming a few choice (perhaps four-letter) words. He stops. He gets out. He’s a very large black man. I see this and turn around to go find Steve. Steve is still in the car, to which I say, “Are you going to get out and help me out here?” I get back in the car. Steve gets out. The guy and Steve calmly exchange a “How ya doin.” They look at the car, kick the tire, do the male head shake and say good-bye, as if it happens all the time. Chalk it up to crazy. The whole family drove in silent shock and it was a half hour later before Steve says, “He picked the wrong day to mess with Goldie (our car), huh?” We laughed our way out of the city. Crazy.

So here we live in the land of the crazy. If you’re not crazy when you arrive you’ll most certainly be so by the time you leave. The daily life, the obstacles you face, are enough to make any good person crazy. On a good day you rejoice in the freedom of Crazy. On a bad day you begin to believe everything is rigged to make a normal person give up, fail and go Crazy. There are days when I feel like I’m living out a scene from the movies The Matrix , or The Adjustment Bureau. At the end of the day who is to say what is crazy, really. We’re all a little crazy, or just this side of crazy, or just back from crazy. Crazy comes in all shapes and sizes. To this I say: bring on the Crazy. Here comes a hurricane.......and still we're not giving up on living in New York. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! 

“We’re never gonna survive

Unless we get a little bit crazy……”

-Seal

Happy New Year....and…..Welcome Home?

 “Happy New Year!”

                                    -A new client to me on Friday September 14^th, 2012

Coming to New York began as a dream of adventure early in 2011, and ended as a jump of necessity with Steve leaving before all of us were ready nearly a year ago. One full circle later and we’re here, trying to make this place our home. Some of us are adjusting better than others. I, for one, benefit greatly from getting out of the city for a breather once in a while and recently we got to take a four day weekend upstate because of a school holiday, or as one of my clients announced to me, “Happy New Year!”.

Not wanting to appear clueless, I answered him, “Happy New Year!”, as if I knew exactly what he was talking about (in sales you always play along….), then quickly checked the calendar to make sure I hadn’t slept through a few months by accident. Of course I’m kidding, because at this point I knew it had to have something to do with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish holiday which much of the East Coast celebrated last week by, among other things, shutting down school for a few days.

In Colorado we have plenty of school holidays, although mostly the old standards such as Presidents Day, Columbus Day, Martin Luther King Day (a fairly new addition) and in Denver Cesar Chavez Day. Needless to say, there are no Jewish holidays, so Rosh Hashanah was a new one for us. We found out that this “Head of the Year,” (literal translation) or the first day of the Jewish calendar, celebrates the anniversary of the creation of Adam and Eve, the relationship between God and humanity, and repentance for man’s first sin. Rosh Hashanah is followed shortly by Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, with prayer for a year of life, health, and prosperity. Considering the year we’ve just had, this is something I could get behind. I was all about getting out of dodge and celebrating life, health and prosperity upstate for a few days.

Each time we get out of the city all of us come away feeling rejuvenated and refreshed. The kids get to run around in open nature alongside such Adirondack beauties as  Lake Champlain and Lake George. The adults get to run in wide open spaces and pound on things with tools in a big rambling house my brother-in-law generously shares with us. We get to know our dog again, and we play jokes on the locals.

By playing jokes on the locals I mean attempting to mingle locally without frightening people or causing a scene. Somewhere between leaving Colorado and arriving in NYC our family has, let us say, come-into-our-own, which makes us uniquely country-folk turned city-folk. We still have the open and friendly abandon that is distinctly a mid-west character trait, yet now we also have the devil-may-care attitude of “this is who we are, like it or not!” We’re consistently the loudest and most city-dressed folk at the local mall, and the friendliest and odd-looking people at any retail establishment in the city. We exist distinctly somewhere in between.

When people upstate discover we live in NYC (something I try hard not to point out), it’s pretty much a conversation stopper. Suddenly we are some sort of aliens. People stop just short of asking, “Why would you live there?” For instance, take in point, during a recent evening out with my sister-in-law in the local village, Keeseville, (population 1,815) nestled next to the breathtaking Ausable Chasm. 

When folks here heard I was from the city all six people in the establishment turned silent. She and I tried to continue a normal conversation without feeling like freaks on display and eventually the locals started coming by to observe and possibly over hear anything of interest from these strangers that ‘obviously look like they aren’t from here.’

The questions I got the most include, “Aren’t you afraid to live there?”, “How do you do it?”, “What’s the hardest part?”, “Are the people there mean?” or “Isn’t it dangerous?”  The funniest question that night being, “Does your neck get tired from looking up all the time?” or “Aren’t the tall buildings scary?” and lastly “Will you give me a tour if I come down to visit? I’m too scared to do it myself.” I had to be humble and admit to these people that yes, “This city kicks my ass every day and twice on Tuesdays.”

After this conversation I stopped to ask myself, ‘Am I afraid?’ or more accurately, ‘Why is it I am not afraid?…Should I be?’ To be honest, when I first arrived in the city I was very afraid. Although I had been here many times in my previous life, conquering the city with children proved to be down right terrifying. Getting to the grocery store without getting lost seemed impossible (Which way is uptown?) Walking the kids blocks to school on time and safely put me in a shear panic. Driving around the city to find a parking spot without getting killed was triumphant.

The worst possible terror was unlocking the front door to our building. For the life of me, I could not get the key to work and after 10 or 15 tries I would break out in a cold sweat as my children looked on saying, “Mom, can’t you just buzz us up? Do you need to call Daddy? Let’s just go to the coffee shop!” Meanwhile everyone around us was very fearful that Gavin, following 15 feet behind on the sidewalk, would get lost in the city. As it turns out he hasn’t gotten lost in the city……but he did get lost last weekend in the suburban mall in upstate Plattsburgh, NY. 

The philosophy in this family has become the best way to address a fear is to conquer it. As afraid as I may be, I take a cue from my kids every minute of the day. They look to me and check if I’m afraid, and I have to show my game face. The kids have started a new school year, which comes with new teachers and new friends. For Gavin it’s the first time in a multi-cultural city school with a lot of ‘big kids.’ There were brief moments of suspicion, but I never sensed fear in either one of my kids. Already in the third grade, Dylan is the mentor for her little brother. As of week one, Gavin knows all the words to the songs they sing at school Community Meeting.

“Taxi, taxi…….I think I’ve lost my tractor! And normally that’s bad!

But good thing I’m a New York City kid, ‘cause I can hail a cab!”

-David Weinstone for the Aardvarks

To them, the East Village is One Big Small Town.  A lot of the shop owners on the way to school know our kids by name, nod or smile. This place is their town, there is no room for fear.

According to what I read about Rosh Hashanah, the Kabbalists believe it signifies the “Renewal of the divine desire of the world.” Perhaps it’s the ability to recharge upstate and in turn openly admit our fear that renews our desire to return to the crazy world that is this city. Our gift to leave and return reminds us how lucky we are to live in one of the greatest, if not the greatest, cities of the world. It’s hard to believe that there are people who live in the state of New York who have never ventured to this city, have never conquered their fear to come see.

We may be brave enough to live here, but I'll admit that as it stands now we still don’t know where home is. We’ve left Colorado behind, for awhile. We don’t completely fit in here in the city. We still stumble and trip, we still make stupid mistakes that only a tourist would make. And yet we don’t fit in upstate either. In just a few months it’s like this place has changed us in some silent invisible way. So we’ll continue trying to make our new home, wherever that may be in the moment. I welcome the New Year in our New City, and I’ll still try to conquer this place every day. Meanwhile my record this week is five seconds to open the front door…………

"Settle down, it'll all be clear

Don't pay no mind to the demons 

They fill you with fear

The trouble it might drag you down

If you get lost you can always be found

Just know you're not alone

Cause I'm gonna make this place your home......."

-Phillip Phillips

 -Tiffany

Living the High Life on the High Line...on a Budget

“It’s a great place to visit but I’d never want to live there…….”

You don’t know how many times we heard this when we announced we were moving to NYC. Or something like this..... “Where in NY?”....“Manhattan.”...Pause.  “Really?!” We still laugh at this reaction yet we’re reminded every day why people would be so skeptical.

It is very surreal to live in a city that is a destination for so many tourists and international visitors. On the streets we see people from all walks of life soaking in the city and we hear up to 10 different languages a day. This is especially true in the East Village, or college-life central, where students from all over the world have come to Be A Part of It at such institutions as NYU, Parsons or Cooper Union. We are surrounded by visitors coming to witness and partake in all that is around us yet we are just trying to get kids to school, groceries home, laundry to wash. This is of course both the allure and the challenge of living in the city.

One of the hardest things about being a permanent resident is walking outside and wanting to participate in every single activity you see at your door step at any given moment of the day. We are flooded with chances to spend money at every sidewalk window, observe art on every corner, eat every delicious morsel at each outdoor café.  We'd love to eat out every night and shop at every boutique but this isn't our reality. We are not tourists, yet our kids can't understand, ‘Why Not Mommy......they are doing it?!’ or ‘You said ‘maybe next time’we could go there, that was TWO days ago!’

New York is a difficult temptation when you’re coming off of financial calamity and are faced with a family budget. Coming from Loveland CO, where we were happy if we had a night out at one or two solid restaurants downtown, here we are astounded at the options of food and drink or entertainment and shopping that this city has to offer. Every block in our neighborhood has a local market, a coffee shop, 2-3 retail businesses, salons, laundry, drug stores and bars galore. I don't mean half hazard, I'm talking EVERY BLOCK, BOTH SIDES.  Last night we walked by a new establishment selling WATER. Just water from the tap…..apparently ultra filtered, healthy, organic, vitamized or something….but just plain water. This is not a business that would fly in Loveland. But we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

In order that we don't get too discouraged, we remain determined to find fun inexpensive or FREE ways to explore this city with our kids. Over the holiday weekend we discovered Governor's Island, a fantastic island of 172 acres nestled in  the East River directly off the shores of Manhattan.  Here you can explore architectural and historical marvels galore plus rolling nature at its best during the summer months. One of the oldest US Army installations in the country then transfered to the Coast Guard in 1966, the island was ultimately turned over to local control in 2003 when 150 acres were given to the city of New York. The remaining 22 acres, mostly historic buildings and their surroundings, are designated to the National Park Service and serve as a protected National Monument.

The island has gone through many debates, design competitions and dreams thereafter yet was finally open to the public in 2010. Much of the island remains under construction, but at our visit we were pleased to find the place so open and accessible for all ages. Deemed the "Playground for the Arts," we were thrilled to discover an arts festival in the month of September that involved hundreds of artists exhibiting within the walls of old military barracks, as well as hands-on art exhibits accessible for the kids to explore, participate in, and climb upon to their hearts content.

And alas, as parents always searching for the perfect balance between parenthood and date night in a family outing, here we have the Governors Beach Club, where you can have a cocktail and your kids can get buried in sand at the same time...or you can go back and dance your ass off in the after hours. The ferry and visit to all the island's pleasures is free, and although we discovered it late in the season we found ourselves wishing the island was open year round.

Just this last weekend we discovered the High Line, which is the re-purposed elevated railway-turned-park that runs through the Meat Packing District on the west side.  It’s a fantastic example of urban renewal combined with historic transportation (you can’t go wrong when you mix trains and kids). Although a little crowded and hemmed in for children, we enjoyed the views, the public art, the natural landscape, the music and sunshine. If kids can run free in this city without getting run over it’s always a good outing.

We continued the train theme with a visit to Pier 66, which we discovered with the help of our friend/roommate Adam Brown, who helped conceptualize and complete this great floating attraction on the Hudson River. An old train barge turned restaurant/museum/public park and bar, this spot is great to take children early in the day (before the bar turns into a meat packing meat market in the evenings….although we’ve done that too). There is no cover charge to enter, and it comes complete with a caboose and tug boats for the kids to climb all over while we can sit outside and enjoy water views and an inexpensive meal (we choose hot dogs and beer over cocktails and lobster). If it’s open while you’re there, the Frying Pan, or the tug boat, alone is worth the visit. It spent many years at the bottom of a harbor before being resurrected for its new life and the rusty interior is all still intact and is a great exploratory for the family (complete with bar as well).

On our way back home on the High Line, we were greeted by tents, lanterns, lots of beautiful people and Men in Black wearing ear pieces and looking very official. My suspicion that it was a staging area for Fashion Week was confirmed: Tommy Hilfiger would be staging the first-ever catwalk on the High Line for his Spring 2013 Women’s collection in just a few hours. All of this happening right in our midst…just another surreal moment in NY.

Walking to the subway we happened across this great eye candy: Manhattan Motorcars. I fell in love with a white Porche 911 (only $250,000 pre-owned). Gavin liked the red one, Steve and Dylan the blue one (the orange Lamborghini was nice too).  The Bugatti Veyron (a 2011 for only $1.9 million) wasn’t really our style.

As we’re still paying our parking tickets and tow fees on the Toyota, we’ll pass on the Porche. I guess we’ll pass on the champagne at the bar and opt for the $8 bottle of orange juice at the local market instead. Instead of  "Super Water" I’ll just give a regular bottle of water and sandwich to the drunk homeless guy who asked us for something to eat on our walk to school. Rather than Tommy Hilfiger maybe we’ll go to the Salvation Army again this week. This is Consignment Manhattan style: brand names with price tags in tact and labels if you're willing to look. Just another alternate reality in the reality that isn’t reality that is NYC.

Here are some more fun, free, finds to check out if you visit (thank you to the amazing parents at CWS (Beth & Robert):

Staten Island Ferry (fantastic boat ride and view of the Statue of Liberty)
Ferry to Ikea  (drop kids off while you shop...buy some meatballs and pay for the ferry!)

NY Public Library http://www.nypl.org/

Central Park http://www.centralparknyc.org/

More to come………

-Tiffany

Labor Day: Or the long journey from Cartman to Carmen

It’s Labor Day weekend. Or as we like to call it, Happy Days Are Here Again…..the kids return to school this week in Manhattan. Hallelujah! 

Dylan goes to The Children’s Workshop School, here in the East Village, and to our delight Gavin will be starting in their free preschool this year as well. After touring several schools in the neighborhood last fall we fell upon this one by accident. We were treated to a tour on our first visit and after inquiring about the cost (there is none) and the waiting list (we bypassed that) we got in simply because the secretary “liked us.” How this happened we will never know. All we know is that we were under a lucky star that day. We didn’t realize it at the time, but Dylan’s life at school has largely guided our journey in New York.

Considered one of the “best kept secrets of New York,” The Children’s Workshop School is an alternative public school of “choice”. Coming from Colorado none of us knew what this meant. We were told the school has a focus on writing, art and music, yet we were unprepared for the magnitude. When you enter you are greeted with art everywhere: art from students and art from the community covers every corner of the 100 yr old building. Colorful murals from local East Village street artist Chico line the hallways. The classrooms are immaculate, filled with light and have impossibly tall ceilings. Even the people themselves are like artwork. This is truly Sesame Street: families and children from every color of the rainbow and every corner of the world fill the halls.

Her class was small with fewer than 30 kids. She’s always been one of the tallest, and here again she stood out.  Her first few weeks were rough. She was getting picked on by the queen bees of the classroom. The school Gatekeeper, a towering black man of over 6 feet with 3 foot dreadlocks yelled so loud he frightened her. There wasn’t enough recess. Soon we were getting notes that her dolphin and horse noises were disrupting the classroom. Her report card suggested she be “mindful of her body and language’ and make ‘more appropriate and thoughtful decisions.’ She wanted to come home. Not good.

Gavin and I flew out to visit in mid January. Our mere presence at morning drop off seemed to signal to others that we were in fact for real. Kids were very interested in this white bread family from the Midwest. “Is this your Mutha?” “Is this your brutha?” “Your Mom and Dad look like sista and brutha.” By the end of the week we had all the kids in the vicinity interviewing us quizzically and warming up to the idea of us as actual people even if we were a little odd ball. I watched as Dylan started to slowly thaw with the realization that these kids were just like her: curious, cautious, funny and interesting. We were making progress.

By the time Gavin and I moved here in late February, Dylan had already found her place and made a name for herself. She was the ‘Girl Who Liked to Hug’ and she made great animal sounds. The ‘bullies’ were now her best friends. The kids in her class were from France, Japan, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Guatemala, and Venezuela. Kids came up to us asking for play dates with Dylan at least 3-4 times a week. The Gatekeeper’s name was Gary, and he just happened to be the art teacher (bonus).  Dylan now hugged him every morning and he said, “Hi Honey.” According to Dylan we were going to be O.K. in New York. We’ve basically taken our cues from her ever since.

Gavin adjusted in to NY in his own way. He became fascinated with the street scene. People didn’t know what to make of him. He didn’t ‘walk’ to school, he meandered. He sauntered. He stopped. He went backwards. He went sideways. He flew from his cockpit. He picked up anything and everything he could get his hands on. One day he found a key chain from South Park, the raunchy and hilarious cartoon whose creators are from Colorado. It was a character from the show and we started saying that Gavin was carrying around Cartman (imagine us talking in Cartman’s voice {here}). 

Of course our kids are too young to know the show so Steve began playing episodes off YouTube for them. A few inappropriate scenes later we settled on the Casa Bonita episode, which then became a nice moment of ‘Colorado Art and Entertainment Lesson 101’ for our Colorado kids living in NYC. (This feel good story came to a quick end when a few days later a local New Yorker pointed out the character on the key chain was in fact Stan, not Cartman, and as if I wasn’t embarrassed enough by my mistake, some kid came up and grabbed the key chain out of Gavin’s hands yelling “Hey! This is MINE!” Just another of our many “Go Back to Colorado Losers!” moments).

As the semester progressed, we were not only shocked at how well Dylan was adjusting; we were shocked by the amount of art and music she was exposed to on a daily basis. This school didn’t have normal clubs; they had clubs to rival most art classes in Colorado: she was in Glee Club, Circus Club, Sports Club and Guitar Club. Many of these clubs are run by parents who have full time jobs, but art is a way of life here. They didn't just have fundraisers, they had events like Schoolapalooza where Lisa Lisa (great band from the 80’s) performed and it was written up in the New York Times.

One of our first school events was a live performance by some parents of kids in her class. We were floored at the talent of Marcel Van Dam and Frankie V who performed at The Living Room (seen here at the Sidewalk café).  They were later joined by Robert Figueiredo, another parent who just happened to perform opera at the Amato Opera. Steve and I agreed that these three parents were easily more talented than many professional artists we’d seen live in Colorado. Welcome to the Big Apple baby.

The school year culminated with a field trip and performance. The field trip was the finale to her Glee Club, and it landed us at a famous local recording studio, Tu Casa. Gavin and I watched from the control room as Dylan recorded GaGa's Born This Way in the studio where the likes of Enigma, Smithereens and Black Flag have recorded. It felt surreal to see her singing into a microphone and imagine that perhaps she may arrive there to record again someday.

Up to this point we had no idea Dylan had been in a dance class at school, but we were delighted when she treated us to a rehearsal at home the night before, complete with a fan and a dance that looked a lot like Carmen. The next day we were in the school auditorium, standing room only, surrounded by hundreds of parents and 1^st and 2^nd graders in full costume. This wasn’t just a performance; this was none other than Ballet Hispanico: the New York school of dance. They have an education and outreach program supported by such groups as The Ford and Hearst Foundations, and had been working with the kids all semester. Dylan’s class performed El Son de la Negra. Not only did our girl perform, she radiated. We were stunned.

As Dylan's final report card said, "As we moved into our poetry unit Dylan brightened up and blossomed into an enthusiastic writer who loves to incorporate her ideas and imagination into her pieces." Dylan's school has opened our eyes to what it means to truly LIVE New York. To live here is to live art every day. It’s impossible to walk outside without being surrounded by music, poetry, theater, art and culture and all this on the sidewalks alone.  This city eats, breathes and sleeps art 24 hours a day, and we soak it up like it’s our last meal just in case we have to leave here tomorrow. For now it looks like we’ll stay, and our journey from Cartman to Carmen continues……

Day 1 on "The Big NYC Project"

At long last, we've finally broke the seal!

Learning to Love Limbo

It has been over 2 months since Gavin and I joined Steve and Dylan in New York. The transition has been a challenge since the minute we left. We knew we were in for an adventure, but none of us knew how large and how long this adventure would unfold.

“New York Eats its Young”

-graffiti in the East Village

When we first saw this plastered on a building we laughed. I admit there are now days where I just try to avoid being prey.

Gavin and I had planned on a short detour upstate while we found an apartment in the city to house all of us. More than two months later and we’re still doing the commute back-and-forth. The short stay of two family members in a friend’s apartment in the village has turned into all four of us camping out in his 1 bedroom during the week so Dylan can go to school and Steve to work. We’ve seen over a dozen apartments, been discriminated against as a family, lost two places we loved by about 6 hours each, and finally presented over 200 pages of documents at an hour-long interview of which we have yet to be approved. Getting an apartment in NYC is harder than buying a house. Tables have certainly turned for these landlords.

We keep telling ourselves (and the kids) that we’ll feel settled with a place of our own, but I now why everyone looked at us like we’re crazy when we moved here. This place is brutal. It does one thing for you though: the word can’t has a whole new meaning for our family now. Here are just a few of the “I can’ts” that are now history:

• I can’t have a long distance relationship
• I can’t parent alone
• I can’t let a stranger live in my house
• I can’t find my way around New York City
• I can’t walk another NYC block carrying bags, Gavin, 20 lbs of laundry, …..
• I can’t push my 4 year old in a stroller
• I can’t rely on the charity of family and friends
• I can’t live in 800 square feet
• I can’t share a room with my brother
• I can’t stick up for myself at an inner city NYC school
• I can’t do without my favorite hair dryer, pan, book, computer, picture, shirt, dish, TV, microwave, game, movie, toys, etc, etc, etc,
• I can’t drive in New York City. I can’t park in NYC.
• I can’t manage one of the toughest projects in NYC transportation history
• I can’t do this

None of us are in our comfort zone, and we each want to go home about 4x a week, but we ARE doing it. We’re at this big wonderful camp called NYC, and we’re surviving.

I’m still not working. Gavin is tolerating me at home all day. Dylan loves her school but hates the bullies. Steve is managing one of the largest Department of Transportation jobs in the country----working with multiple teams and departments on things that are top secret tasks known only by the Mayor, Governor and senators for the state of New York. That’s my babe. The reason we’re here.

Who knows where this journey will take us or who we’ll be when we’re done, but we’re doing it. God help us (please)!

“If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere, it’s up to you—New York, New York”

-Frank Sinatra

Our city home:

http://pix.kg/p/405733589310%3A1183062415/scl

Our weekend home:

http://pix.kg/p/503275589310%3A1661849229/scl

Stay tuned!

-Tiffany

Dylan visits the Museum of Natural History

I went to the natural history museum!

First I saw fake dinosaurs. I think it's weird that they are fake. The bones aren't real. There was a T-Rex and an Brontosaurus protecting it's young.

Then I saw the hall of african mammals. I thought it was pretty mean that they killed the animals and stuffed them and then put them in the museum. There were elephants, tigers, antelope and other animals with hooves. I also saw very big lions, alligators, hippos, birds and alot of other animals.

There was a HUGE whale on the top and in the middle of the ocean exhibit. It was 94 feet long! It had ALOT of sea creatures. The whale was made out of concrete. It was just a copy of a real whale. There were sharks, dolphins and even octopi. There was a HUGE clam that I could fit inside.

The space exhibit was my favorite. It had alot of fun stuff. You can even watch a movie about space. As you know, my brother loves space ships, so he was very excited too. There was a cool planetarium too. There was also a big scale where you could weigh yourself on the Sun, Haley's Comet, the Moon, a red dwarf, a gas planet and other planets.

Goodbye guys!

Dylan