vinegar hill, brooklyn

i've been needing a little getaway.

in fact, i'm probably about a month past needing-a-getaway-from-new-york.

but it hasn't been in the cards.

however, yesterday, finding myself with the task of revealing the-off-the-beaten-path-new-york, i knew just where to go.

there is something about the tiny neighborhood of vinegar hill, brooklyn that feels undisturbed--old and historic and quiet. an escape. like it's closer to the sky than the earth.

it was just as good as the three of us needed--and hoped--it would be.

(and the company wasn't so bad either. turns out the dutch could teach lessons in what-it-is-to-be-chivalrous).

Green-Wood in shades of white and blue.

When I lived way up north in Manhattan visiting Fort Tryon Park after a snowstorm was one of my absolute favorite things to do. This go round, knowing that Fort Tryon was on the other end of a subway ride I didn't want to take, I thought, what is the Brooklyn equivalent? Where can I go that the snow will still be untouched and lovely and the world, draped in all that white, will breathe differently?

So off to Green-Wood Cemetery I trudged. And catching it as the blue hour fell was quite the sight for my weary eyes.

this new need. a home.

last night i stood with my fingers poised on the doorknob listening for the footsteps to recede into the room furthest from my own.

i hadn't even realized he was home.

the roommate.

just as i'd been about to open my door, i heard the shuffle of his feet and so paused, hand in the air, breath in throat, waiting

we've entered into a dance, both of us, without ever speaking of it or agreeing to it, with no words at all, we've found a way of living in which we shuffle step, one around the other. never occupying the same space, interpreting the music of closing doors, running water, the sweet hum of the kettle.

i'm not proud of this, this way of living. this absence of hello's or how are you's. this passing as strangers on the street. and we are, we're strangers, tied together only by the loose bond of mutual acquaintances and similar schooling. he had seemed the best choice to fill the third and largest room.

and he was. he is. he's fine.

it's not really about him, you know?

this three-room apartment, this once castle-in-the-sky, this once playground-of-open-space, endless flooring, and hudson views, it's--well, it's not enough now.

priorities have changed. values have shifted.

i want my own space. i'll take a closet, if i have to, but i want it to be mine and mine alone. i want to build a home. i want to recognize all the smells, know the hair on the bathroom floor. i want to be sure of who to blame for the over-stuffed and over-ripe garbage (yes, me). i want to be sure the nicks and scratches littering my favorite bowls were the product of my careless fingers--and until the possibility that they were caused by the man i love, by our growing children, well, until that possibility is more than just  hope or passing thought, let me live alone.

i want to know that the next time i share a space with someone the impetus will be love.

this new need is so immediate, so strong. startling, really, in just how physical it is.

i was talking about it at work when another girl said, oh, you're moving, do you need a roommate? in her defense, she had caught the tail-end of the discussion.


no, i replied, taking a deep breath and smiling slowly. i want to live alone. 


alone, why would you want that? 


i gave her a little laugh, oh you know...


the oh, you know was my kind way of saying if you even have to ask, it's not worth explaining. 

perhaps it's age, perhaps it is shifting wants and needs from this thing called life, perhaps it's just part of my makeup. perhaps it's part of my fierce need for independence, product of my believe that space is charged and sacred.

who knows for sure.

all i know for now is, let me live alone. let there be a new adventure, a new experience. for the first time in all my years of new york city living, let me lay claim to a space, let me build a home.

pho in chinatown.

i have reached this lovely little phase in my life in which i'm surrounded by the most amazing women. kim, is one of those women. we haven't known each other terribly long, but i can confidently say, i adore her. she's the best. the BEST. (she's been a showgirl in vegas, a lounge-singer on a cruise ship, and a woman of international intrigue {i imagine}). she loves to travel (and she's good at it) so when we take to the streets of new york we do so with idea that we're visiting--and what i mean by this is--we take it in with fresh eyes and force ourselves to traverse the parts of the city we're not terribly familiar with. we seek out independent book-sellers, eclectic fashion boutiques, bars with dim-lighting and cute bartenders.

kim introduced me to pho (pronounced: fuh) which is a vietnamese noodle soup that will knock your socks off. (add the hot sauce and that won't just be metaphor talk). we went in search of some today since i'm now four weeks in to a chest cough that won't quite budge (my socks needed some knockin').

so if you ever find yourself in chinatown (you can take the N/R/Q from 42nd to Canal) go get your pho on.

did i mention it's all of about 4 dollars?


places to go:

Pho NhaTrang
Pho Pasteur

(they are next door to each other and located on Baxter street, between White and Walker streets)

tip-of-the-tongue.

i got off the A train at 181st street around midnight last night.

from the train platform to the entrance of the street is nine stories. you can choose to take the stairs or long escalator up.

i hurried off the train last night, toward the towering, long escalator, and found myself in step behind a taller man, blond, dressed in an impeccable suit. and walking behind him i thought, this man reminds me of someone.

but i couldn't put my finger on it. couldn't dislodge it from that proverbial tip of a very real tongue.

it started to drive me nutty, who does this person remind me of? it wouldn't come. there were murky images and half-formed thoughts, but still, even now this morning as i sit with my coffee, a lit spiced egg-nog candle just off to my side, i haven't really a clue.

the strongest thought or sense or notion, is more that it's someone i've yet to meet. not the man i followed behind, this really has nothing to do with him, it's that he reminds me of someone i've yet to meet.

nonsense.

and yet.

not.

i don't know.

it's been happening a lot lately. this pervasive feeling that i have exciting news to share and then thinking, well, what is it? and coming up blank.

everything feels so on the cusp. just over the ridge. beyond that next hill. so close--closer than ever before.

but what if it's not?

you know when you've can hear a really great song in your own mind? and it sounds so good rattling around up there that you attempt to sing it aloud. it's clear as a bell to you, perfectly crystallized, but when it comes out, oh dear, hideous. the journey between your mind and the mouth, the surfacing that has to happen, it distorts, mistranslates.

i feel like that's where i am: a song surfacing. coming through water for air. on the way up, so very near to the surface. but what comes out, well, that has yet to be seen.

it could be nothing short of disaster.

or not.

i don't know.

i just feel like i'm nearing the end of this nine-story-long-escalator. and as for my sense of what's waiting at the top when i get off? murky, half-images, at best.