the hudson (from where i sleep)

i have a skewed sense of money. i'll pay four bucks for a cup of coffee with only the slightest twinge of regret, but i absolutely refuse to leave the refrigerator door open for one second longer than necessary. don't get me started on running a half-empty dishwasher--i feel bad enough running the full one.

and then there's air conditioning. my guilt at turning on the small window unit in my room knows no bounds.

my stomach is in knots just thinking about it. actually, come to think of it, my stomach may be in knots because i just broke one of the keys on my brand-spankin'-new-macbook-air...sigh. kerfuffle. splat. {feeling like a bit of a disaster today. most days, really}.

but that's another story for another day.

back to the air conditioner.

when new york got hot this summer and the heat rash broke out on my stomach i swallowed my guilt and started pressing that glorious little button of that cooling machine. at first i'd pull my reading chair right up to it and let it blow over my face. i'd close the doors to my room and create a little ice box: air conditioner, fan, closed windows, closed doors, and me in the corner--a greedy little kid stealing cool air from the pantry and hoping not to be caught.

from there my idea of it expanded. i'd turn it on and walk about the room, unapologetically. i even took to sleeping with it on at night (though usually i'd wake sometime just after three to turn it off in a half-wake/half-sleep/half-guilt stupor.

and then new york got hotter. and these old buildings--these buildings that have seen it all and tell countless stories began to take that heat on and in and i started to lose my mind.

and just as the mind went, clarity arrived (go figure). why not move my bed as close to the window unit as possible? why not switch my room around for the sake of the practical.

when i took this room--this room with two separate window looking out over the hudson--i knew one thing: my desk would sit between those windows. and mornings would be spent there with coffee in hand taking in the water's gleam and getting work done.

from there i arranged the bed. the bookcase. the dresser. and it was just right. just as it should be.

but having flipped the room, for the sake of the practical, well, i can see the hudson and the green of the palisades when i wake in the morning (from my bed). gone is the image of the red building across the way--a building who's facade i loved and was always glad to greet upon rising. turns out river and trees trump red brick, every time (go figure).

i'm not sure why i'm writing about this this morning. i think because there's a metaphor in it.

i didn't want to move my bed. i thought it was in the perfect spot. but i did because i knew i'd be cooler at night. turns out, the air conditioning isn't even what i most love about the shift. it's the view. the view i least expected. the view that i'm not quite sure how i didn't work out months ago was best seen from this position.

my mind is in a fog this morning. what i'm getting at (and what i need to take away) is that shifting one's perspective can illuminate a lot more than you bargained for.


hmph. something like that. and because i always like seeing people's space and home and such, i give you some of mine:

my manhattan: and summer rushes in.

{i am a terrible person in this heat. it turns me into an utterly horrible human being}.

for anyone who wishes to enjoy the real new york i invite you to come stay in a prewar apartment--an apartment without central air. let's make it a sixth floor walk-up, shall we (just for kicks)? sixth floor walk-up means no elevator.

now i invite you to bring your groceries up those six-flights into your non-airconditioned apartment. keep in mind it's 100 degrees and new york humidity rivals the very best (i'm from houston, so i should know). remember that in order to get those groceries you had to head into the bowels of the city and travel on a steal contraption (the subway) with countless other terrible human beings (made so by the heat) where you fought tooth and nail to get a small basket through narrow aisles and to not be run over by women half-a-foot shorter who've lived in new york so long they give the word entitlement new meaning.

this is just a slice of life right now.

winter here is long and hard. and i always suffer a little bout of sadness. the thing is, i'm starting to think the heat has the same effect.

the texan in me knows little more to do than pray--pray for the sweet release of a thunderstorm.

thank goodness for sunday brunches with the best of girlfriends, friday night viewings of harry potter, and thai papaya salads to keep me from all-together-falling-apart.

here's to hoping this next week the rain comes, things cool off a bit, and my friends continue to tolerate my changing disposition.

minehatten: the summer edition

rob spent some time doing a show in germany last year and shared with me that they often refer to frankfurt as mainhatten because it's the only city in the country with skyscrapers (and because it's located on the main river). i think it's a tremendously clever play on words so this edition of my manhattan will be entitled in that same spirit. 

wednesday night found the two of us swing dancing (where i was too busy doing the lindy hop to snap any photos) followed by a lovely walk in riverside park. the weather was heaven-sent: cool and crisp-- one could smell the lushness of the northeast. it was one of those nights that reminded me why it is often in the dead of summer, late in the evening when the city has thinned and settled, that i am most in love with new york and all its offerings. 

my manhattan: the one with my mother in it.

the best thing about having my mother in town are those moments when sailing in a cab up the westside highway she points out the pier where she and my father had their first date. and then launches into the story about how they thought it'd be a small private party but it ended up being six thousand people (six thousand very lush people). or when walking down madison avenue she notices the william greenberg bakery and suddenly she's a kid in a candy shop (or quite literally, bake shop) remembering how when she first married she took a baking class where they worked through mr. greenberg's recipes and the cinnamon buns! she surely remembered the candy that is those cinnamon buns! 

there are other good things too. little things. shared subway rides. lovely meals. a respite on a park bench. 

the problem is....well, when she leaves...or after my father has visited, or when i've spent some time at home in texas, or in coming back from a visit with my brother in boston...

the subway rides feels longer. the bags that i tote around all day feel heavier. work is a bit less important. everything feels just ever so much harder.

but that doesn't mean i'd trade the visits and respites and vacations for anything in the world. 

the fat radish. (and on my manhattan).

in figuring out what to do this go round (with my mom in town) my mind immediately went to the new leaf cafe. 

(let it be known, my love for the new leaf knows no bounds).

but it was my mother who pointed out that we first fell in love with new leaf two years ago when we went in the spirit of trying something new--expanding our own idea of new york.

so with this in mind, we tabled new leaf (after all, i can pop up to fort tryon whenever my heart desires {and my wallet allows}) and went in search of new restaurants. (recommended restaurants).

both peels and the fat radish were suggested by a co-worker and i must say: she done good. they both pleased and tickled my aesthetic sensibilities and rustic palate.

but more than the wooden tables, and farm-to-table food--more than the downtown-chic-beard-wearing-men or the beet chips and butter biscuits--more than any of that, what i really loved was that both restaurants got me to take in parts of manhattan that are foreign--foreign, to me, i should say. parts that i rarely see, rarely explore. but parts that when i do take the time to wander about fill me with a deep, rumbling satisfaction.

the reason i entitled the series in which i show photos of manhattan, my manhattan, is because manhattan is so many different things--so many different things to so many different people. it wears many masks, changes by street and neighborhood. one could live here their whole life and still not know all of it. 

manhattan is experiential. and it is because of this that so many come in search: in search of the city, in search of themselves. it is this that entices and excites--allows new yorkers to overlook the day-to-day grind that makes city living quite difficult. 

so for all my hawing about how much i dislike the city at times (and i do. dislike it. often.) that's on me. because that dislike can be changed, transformed--by simply changing my attitude, my perspective, or walking a city block. by taking a train to a new and foreign neighborhood and finding a new part of myself in what the city offers up in that small nook.

so here's to the rest of the week. and as many new moments i can unearth in this (mostly) concrete jungle.