Shine On Harvest Moon.
We had a lovely day here in Brooklyn, the kind of day that keeps you wanting to live in Brooklyn.
Somehow we all managed to be up and out the door at 11:00 am on our way to the Greenwood Playground – about a mile away - Harvest Festival. There was a marinate show, music, free pizza and of course the newly refurbished Greenwood Play Ground. Everyone was civil and having a great time as usually happens when you pack about a hundred New Yorkers together. (I am excluding the vicious world of the NYC Transit which brings out the snarling beast in even the elderly and infirm.) Ella was front and center doing an interpretive dance to the band that was playing and it would have been a perfect Fall day if it weren’t for the 84 degree heat and whopping 90% humidity, nothing like sweat running down you back as you try and carve a pumpkin.
After being blasted by the sun for an hour or so we walked over to deposit our change, $150 thank you, at the Commerce Bank where my wife employed her super power of meeting people who need help and then helping them. We meet a lovely gal from Iowa who had just moved to New York with her husband and was looking for work. Persephone sprang into action, there was the taking of emails etc. Jennifer was her name and she was very nice to complement my new Frank Miller Batman t-shirt. After soaking up the blasting AC we walked the three blocks to where Jenifer worked a coffee shop right next to Prospect Park. We sat in the Adirondack chairs right on the street, drank our coffee and ate pastries. Life was good, better than good, it was grand.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
Thank God For Married Life.
You can buy almost anything here in Kensington, food wise that is, provided its fresh produce, pickled, alcoholic, or mineral water so dense in…well, I guess minerals, that it gives your bowels marching orders. Ice cream is not high on the needs of the community it seems. But some pickled beets cold vodka and some mineral water to flush yourself out with and I guess you’re good to go.
I was in a store on 18th Ave tonight to buy fresh produce and beer and thought I would like some ice cream. The frozen case in the Gala Apple International Foods was interesting and mostly in Russian so I looked closely at the pictures. There, in a tub, was what I was after, ice cream. Oddly enough it was “CCCP” brand vanilla. Raised on Regan era cold war paranoia I felt I couldn’t trust this “taste of the Soviet Union,” and back in the case. Begrudgingly I went to our local Met Foods. The Met on 18th Ave sucks. It has a lot of beer and Mexican soda but not much in the way of ice cream, or sanitation. Happily I found some Ben and Jerry’s and went to the register. As soon as I got there a Russian woman demanded to know where the, “Vesson korn oil vas,” and I was left standing there. Eh? That’s life. I did however giver her a look that elicited a “sorry” from the woman. (I’m counting that as a personal victory.)
As I stood there listening to Ella talk about the number 6 she had just seen a man started to unload his basket on the counter:
2 bags no sugar ice pops
2 ½ gal. generic fruit punch.
1 loaf generic white bread
2 bags potato chips
3 diet type frozen dinners
The corn oil problem was solved I was rung up and went out onto 18th ave with Ella. We stopped and looked over the EL at the beautiful setting sun. The soft pink clouds, a gentle breeze, the murmur of the outdoor restaurant. It was a nice moment with my little girl. I told her how I had seen the sun set while camping in South Dakota. “Would you like to go to the Badlands with Dad?” I asked, “Yes.” Said Ella and we strolled home.
I complain a lot here at Brooklyn Dad but not tonight. I’m happy that the days of the sad grocery basket are over. I’m married to a beautiful and vivacious woman, and we have a happy-go-lucky little girl. I may never see the glorious sunsets on The Great Planes again but I’m also not going to be the guy with the generic white bread. Thank God for married life.
You can buy almost anything here in Kensington, food wise that is, provided its fresh produce, pickled, alcoholic, or mineral water so dense in…well, I guess minerals, that it gives your bowels marching orders. Ice cream is not high on the needs of the community it seems. But some pickled beets cold vodka and some mineral water to flush yourself out with and I guess you’re good to go.
I was in a store on 18th Ave tonight to buy fresh produce and beer and thought I would like some ice cream. The frozen case in the Gala Apple International Foods was interesting and mostly in Russian so I looked closely at the pictures. There, in a tub, was what I was after, ice cream. Oddly enough it was “CCCP” brand vanilla. Raised on Regan era cold war paranoia I felt I couldn’t trust this “taste of the Soviet Union,” and back in the case. Begrudgingly I went to our local Met Foods. The Met on 18th Ave sucks. It has a lot of beer and Mexican soda but not much in the way of ice cream, or sanitation. Happily I found some Ben and Jerry’s and went to the register. As soon as I got there a Russian woman demanded to know where the, “Vesson korn oil vas,” and I was left standing there. Eh? That’s life. I did however giver her a look that elicited a “sorry” from the woman. (I’m counting that as a personal victory.)
As I stood there listening to Ella talk about the number 6 she had just seen a man started to unload his basket on the counter:
2 bags no sugar ice pops
2 ½ gal. generic fruit punch.
1 loaf generic white bread
2 bags potato chips
3 diet type frozen dinners
The corn oil problem was solved I was rung up and went out onto 18th ave with Ella. We stopped and looked over the EL at the beautiful setting sun. The soft pink clouds, a gentle breeze, the murmur of the outdoor restaurant. It was a nice moment with my little girl. I told her how I had seen the sun set while camping in South Dakota. “Would you like to go to the Badlands with Dad?” I asked, “Yes.” Said Ella and we strolled home.
I complain a lot here at Brooklyn Dad but not tonight. I’m happy that the days of the sad grocery basket are over. I’m married to a beautiful and vivacious woman, and we have a happy-go-lucky little girl. I may never see the glorious sunsets on The Great Planes again but I’m also not going to be the guy with the generic white bread. Thank God for married life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
