Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: New York City—it's always a good time!
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: New York City—it's always a good time!: Living only fifteen minutes from the City via the George Washington Bridge, you'd think I'd get in more often. Yet the truth i...
New York City—it's always a good time!
Needless to say, it turns out our girl is a great teacher. I had already preset my own standard of her abilities as a first-time instructor and she passed the test with flying colors. Because of my recent diagnosis, I need to be careful about venturing into anything that may make things worse. The message on Emily's top, which read, "Take me to Nirvana" was definitely a precursor to putting me (and everyone else) in a positive frame of mind.
 |
| Emily in front of giraffe with Victoria on left and moi on right |
 |
| another shot of the group..... |
Because the yoga class was held on Chrystie Street, a mere steps from Canal Street which leads right into the classical Manhattan Bridge Arch and into the Manhattan Bridge, after our class I invited the girls to tour the area with me. As I'm sure often happens with most folk who live so close to any famous city, I am totally guilty of not taking full advantage of what this exciting city has to offer.
 |
| Posing in front of the Manhattan Bridge Arch |
 |
| Our yogi |
 |
The renovated Manhattan Bridge |
Upon my recommendation, after our sojourn through probably Manhattan's most colorful neighborhood, with Emily leading the way, we walked in a northerly-western direction in search of healthy fare. After all we had just done yoga and were in a healthy-food state-of-mind. We passed on pasta at Little Italy and continued up Bowery to Kenmare to Spring, where after careful consideration we decided on Spring Street Natural Food on the edge of Soho. This is, without doubt, one of the best natural food offerings on this side of the island. Emily has brought several out of town guests here and they have all loved the food. Although the pictures don't do the dishes much justice, take my word everything was superbly fresh and delicious, from the carefully stacked beet salad in a ginger-honey dressing, to the veggie burgers and the roasted chicken salad.
 |
Roasted Chicken Salad |
 |
| all natural veggie burger.... |
 |
Beet Salad..... |
 |
Clean and aesthetically pleasing atmosphere.... |
All in all, the day trip was perfect from beginning to end. No, I didn't end up driving Emily home to Brooklyn, but she got herself home on the subway even before Victoria and I got back home.
-
Spring Street Natural
62 Spring St
New York, NY 10012 b/t Mulberry St & Lafayette St
SoHo - Get Directions
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Paradise or Purgatory?!
The town we live in is not entirely flat as it would appear. Midway and through the center is the highest part of town—right on Manning and Fifth Aves.—exactly where our house sits on somewhat of a promontory.
Because of the unique layout(?) of our property, the neighbor to the left is higher, while the one to the right is lower than us. For reasons unknown to me, it's much easier to maintain the left side of the property (the higher side).
Yesterday I was working on pruning our rose bush that sits on the much favored side. As I have the tendency to do whenever doing yard work, I got so into it that the pruning of the rose bush led to more pruning of a neighboring bush. From the pruning, I jumped over to raking under both bushes and to the under the small deck, giving the a area a full sweeping, then transferring some old planters from the left to the right side of the property.
When I turned the corner, I almost dropped the heavy planter I was carrying, as I unexpectedly came upon a dead animal on the ground--I almost stepped on it, had a bird not suddenly flitted out of nowhere and immediately flown away. In the area which I had nicely cleared off only three weeks before, a faithful friend, lover, or relative had lovingly kept watch over what was obviously a bird.
I'm always upset when discovering a dead animal, more so if I find it on our property. I tend to feel responsible for its death. Either it died from ingesting lawn chemical, or it flew into the picture window, as has happened before. The last time a bird crashed against the window, I felt so bad I immediately called the county animal rescue team, who came and after much effort to retrieve it, took the bird away.
I don't handle death well (then again who does), yet it's not so much the death itself as is handling or rather disposing of the body that bothers me. Burying anyone or anything is final!
I put the heavy planter down and in a somewhat robotic way found my way back inside the house—a feeling of sadness and helplessness. Fortunately, while our Victoria might be deathly afraid of any flying bug/insect, she's somehow not afraid of burying a dead bird. When she saw how distraught I was, without my asking she immediately volunteered to take care of it. In no time, after specific instruction on how and where, the unfortunate bird was laid to rest.
The story should end here, but it doesn't. You who have followed me, know about my misadventures with the infamous poison ivy in the back. After over two years of unceasingly going head-to-head literally with the damn vine, it's back—standing quite smug and upright, and seemingly sneering at me. It's obvious that it's back to wreak havoc on my life. Just the thought of it, sends chills up and down my spine and all-over body itch.
Now I'm up all night trying to figure (go figure) how I'm going to nip this monster bud once and for all.
Just the day before, Juls looked out the same window and brought to our attention just how blessed we are to share our backyard with so many different creatures. We have the usual suspects—squirrels, birds of all kind, a groundhog or two, chipmunks, a family of rabbits, and the occasional skunk. You name it, we have it. All of which have made our property their home. And I'm okay with that.
But, as for the poison ivy, that's where I draw the line! Poison ivy is no friend of mine and must be gone! I work very hard to maintain the yard at an aesthetically pleasing level (I would love to say, paradisiacal level). And I'll be damned if poison ivy is going to cheat me out of this pleasure.
Because of the unique layout(?) of our property, the neighbor to the left is higher, while the one to the right is lower than us. For reasons unknown to me, it's much easier to maintain the left side of the property (the higher side).
Yesterday I was working on pruning our rose bush that sits on the much favored side. As I have the tendency to do whenever doing yard work, I got so into it that the pruning of the rose bush led to more pruning of a neighboring bush. From the pruning, I jumped over to raking under both bushes and to the under the small deck, giving the a area a full sweeping, then transferring some old planters from the left to the right side of the property.
When I turned the corner, I almost dropped the heavy planter I was carrying, as I unexpectedly came upon a dead animal on the ground--I almost stepped on it, had a bird not suddenly flitted out of nowhere and immediately flown away. In the area which I had nicely cleared off only three weeks before, a faithful friend, lover, or relative had lovingly kept watch over what was obviously a bird.
I'm always upset when discovering a dead animal, more so if I find it on our property. I tend to feel responsible for its death. Either it died from ingesting lawn chemical, or it flew into the picture window, as has happened before. The last time a bird crashed against the window, I felt so bad I immediately called the county animal rescue team, who came and after much effort to retrieve it, took the bird away.
I don't handle death well (then again who does), yet it's not so much the death itself as is handling or rather disposing of the body that bothers me. Burying anyone or anything is final!
I put the heavy planter down and in a somewhat robotic way found my way back inside the house—a feeling of sadness and helplessness. Fortunately, while our Victoria might be deathly afraid of any flying bug/insect, she's somehow not afraid of burying a dead bird. When she saw how distraught I was, without my asking she immediately volunteered to take care of it. In no time, after specific instruction on how and where, the unfortunate bird was laid to rest.
The story should end here, but it doesn't. You who have followed me, know about my misadventures with the infamous poison ivy in the back. After over two years of unceasingly going head-to-head literally with the damn vine, it's back—standing quite smug and upright, and seemingly sneering at me. It's obvious that it's back to wreak havoc on my life. Just the thought of it, sends chills up and down my spine and all-over body itch.
Now I'm up all night trying to figure (go figure) how I'm going to nip this monster bud once and for all.
Just the day before, Juls looked out the same window and brought to our attention just how blessed we are to share our backyard with so many different creatures. We have the usual suspects—squirrels, birds of all kind, a groundhog or two, chipmunks, a family of rabbits, and the occasional skunk. You name it, we have it. All of which have made our property their home. And I'm okay with that.
But, as for the poison ivy, that's where I draw the line! Poison ivy is no friend of mine and must be gone! I work very hard to maintain the yard at an aesthetically pleasing level (I would love to say, paradisiacal level). And I'll be damned if poison ivy is going to cheat me out of this pleasure.
 |
| Our beautiful Prince Philip bush! My pride and joy! |
Friday, April 17, 2015
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my be...
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my be...: As tons of pilgrims all over the world have done since the beginning of time, I myself have traveled to various places in search of self-dis...
Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my beloved hometown!
As tons of pilgrims all over the world have done since the beginning of time, I myself have traveled to various places in search of self-discovery and enlightenment. I've traveled to places such as Lourdes, Santiago, the Vatican, and others. Yet none has been more important to me, than my "pilgrimage" to my hometown of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico.
In August of 2012, I visited the beautiful island, to attend my nephew Christian's wedding in Isabela.
I stayed with my beloved Mom in our home in Cabo Rojo. In hindsight, it was the perfect time to visit with my lovely mother, for only a year later she had gone to live with our Lord in heaven.
Mom and I were in the habit of taking an afternoon siesta in the larger of the two bedrooms, the one with the set of twin beds. The selfish one that I am, I slept in the bed closest to the door and nearer to the bathroom. But Mom didn't mind—she was elated just to have me spent time with her. There were days in August, when there was no need for air-conditioning—Mom was in the habit of keeping the windows and doors closed, to keep the bedrooms cool. So even after lunch, when we would go down for our siesta, the bedroom was still comfortably cool.
I remember, that during those times when the air-conditioning wasn't on and obliterating all outdoor sounds, I could listen to the chirping of every bird, the barking of every dog in the village, the shattered conversations of our neighbors. But more importantly, I remember Mom lying so still in the other bed, that I would sometimes wondered if she was alive—to this day I remember that she slept face up and that she didn't move during the entire night, except only when she had to get up to use the bathroom. The only visible sign of life in her, was her feet rubbing against one another ever so gently, and in lull-like manner, as her tired aging body rested—a habit that was both comforting and soothing, to both Mom and to moi.
Most importantly, I remember all the day trips we took together during my one-month stay that year. Sometimes my sister-in-law Hidy would join us. Mom knew much about the island, and she delighted in sharing her knowledge with us—something I will treasure all my life. She directed us to places as far as El Faro and to Guanica, to the now-defunct sugar mill. And, as close as the popular cafe in town. When we visited La Central Eureka in Hormigueros, she delighted as she pointed out and reminisced about places from her childhood—as a young girl she lived on the grounds of the sugar plantation. She understood that all this information would be very important in my research for my book, The Women in White.
That is why my August 2012 "pilgrimage" to Cabo Rojo was so important to me. I was given a last chance at an invaluable mother/daughter reunion, one I would cherish for the rest of my life. I found more enlightenment and self-discovery, more truth and meaning on this trip, than I will ever find on any other pilgrimage in a remote corner of the world.
In August of 2012, I visited the beautiful island, to attend my nephew Christian's wedding in Isabela.
I stayed with my beloved Mom in our home in Cabo Rojo. In hindsight, it was the perfect time to visit with my lovely mother, for only a year later she had gone to live with our Lord in heaven.
Mom and I were in the habit of taking an afternoon siesta in the larger of the two bedrooms, the one with the set of twin beds. The selfish one that I am, I slept in the bed closest to the door and nearer to the bathroom. But Mom didn't mind—she was elated just to have me spent time with her. There were days in August, when there was no need for air-conditioning—Mom was in the habit of keeping the windows and doors closed, to keep the bedrooms cool. So even after lunch, when we would go down for our siesta, the bedroom was still comfortably cool.
I remember, that during those times when the air-conditioning wasn't on and obliterating all outdoor sounds, I could listen to the chirping of every bird, the barking of every dog in the village, the shattered conversations of our neighbors. But more importantly, I remember Mom lying so still in the other bed, that I would sometimes wondered if she was alive—to this day I remember that she slept face up and that she didn't move during the entire night, except only when she had to get up to use the bathroom. The only visible sign of life in her, was her feet rubbing against one another ever so gently, and in lull-like manner, as her tired aging body rested—a habit that was both comforting and soothing, to both Mom and to moi.
Most importantly, I remember all the day trips we took together during my one-month stay that year. Sometimes my sister-in-law Hidy would join us. Mom knew much about the island, and she delighted in sharing her knowledge with us—something I will treasure all my life. She directed us to places as far as El Faro and to Guanica, to the now-defunct sugar mill. And, as close as the popular cafe in town. When we visited La Central Eureka in Hormigueros, she delighted as she pointed out and reminisced about places from her childhood—as a young girl she lived on the grounds of the sugar plantation. She understood that all this information would be very important in my research for my book, The Women in White.
That is why my August 2012 "pilgrimage" to Cabo Rojo was so important to me. I was given a last chance at an invaluable mother/daughter reunion, one I would cherish for the rest of my life. I found more enlightenment and self-discovery, more truth and meaning on this trip, than I will ever find on any other pilgrimage in a remote corner of the world.
 |
| A beautiful beach in Cabo Rojo - Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Plaza de Mayaguez - Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Catholic Church in town - Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Cabo Rojo Lighthouse - Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Schoenstatt Sanctuary (within walking distance from Mom's house) - Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Central La Eureka - Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Photo Courtesy Flicker |
 |
| One of the centrales visited (not sure if La Eureka, or Guanica). Photo Courtesy: Flicker |
 |
| Mom, a year later at her 89th Birthday celebration. |
Sunday, March 15, 2015
our Seville adventure....
By the time I drove the rented car back into the streets of Seville, more than anything else we were feeling like zombies from the long drive back from Tangier, and from the never-ending day’s events. After finding a spot on the far end of the underground parking, we walked to and entered the staircase in
the middle of the lot. We lumbered up the three levels of stairs, and upon reaching the exit to the street level we pushed ourselves out
into the cold night of Seville.
 |
| our rented car... |
Looking more like the walking dead, we commenced
the long walk back to our hotel.
During the day, the promenade in the square had been lined with horse-driven
carriages—the horses stomping their hooves from time to time and shaking their tails, snorting or
neighing as they tried unsuccessfully to rid themselves of the pesky flies, while the
drivers chatted away as they waited for riders.
Now the area was dead to the world, and the entire city of Seville
seemed to be wrapped in a cloak of creamy golden honey—its denizens nicely tucked away
somewhere and fast asleep.
 |
| The way to the hotel... |
As we neared the Cathedral, I was awakened from my poetic
musings of a sleepy Seville. A group of about five individuals suddenly came
into view only a couple of yards away on our side of the street.
The group appeared to be huddled around the same ATM that we had used earlier that day.
“Too late to cross the street or pretend like we didn’t see them,” I said to Emily in a low voice. “It might send the wrong message.”
“Too late to cross the street or pretend like we didn’t see them,” I said to Emily in a low voice. “It might send the wrong message.”
Before we realized it, the group was deliberately walking toward us!
“What now!” I thought aloud.
Judging from their hand gestures, we deduced that the group needed help using the ATM.
Not good! I thought.
Coming from the New York City area, I was leery about even giving them the time of day. I’d heard all the stories of street con-artists—how they lure people into their games, then steal them blind. During our travels throughout Europe, we’d experienced several negative encounters with the gypsies. Like the time a group of females tried to pry Vic’s video camera off my hands at a McDonald’s in Madrid. They didn’t get Vic’s camera that time, but one of them managed to take off with Vic's lunch of Mac and fries.
That night in Seville, I would have gladly given these nightwalkers a Big Mac and fries each. But this time we were not in a fast food restaurant surrounded by decent patrons, and there was no security guard to come to our aid like the case in Madrid. Rather than take a chance, especially where it concerned my sweet Emily, I determined beforehand to have as little contact with these children of the night as possible, without trying to appear rude. God forbid I should risk getting anyone angry and make things worse! A very delicate balancing act at that, I surmised.
One of the men approached us. When he spoke to us, it sounded like bad Spanish. One language I was comfortable in and familiar with, was Spanish—I immediately deduced that his accent was not Spanish. Then again, they could’ve been gypsies and I wouldn’t have known the difference. They could have been any nationality for that matter. Probably tourists, I thought. But again I was not about to take chances. In my mind, I saw only a bunch of con-artists trying to con us at 3:30 in the morning, just as they had tried to do in Paris and Madrid during the day.
The old saying, “Never let them see you sweat” came to my mind.
“Emily, don’t say a word. Let me take care of this, okay?” I whispered to my daughter.
Then, without so much as a blink of the eye, I addressed the group, “We’re sorry, but we can’t help you.”
With that, I turned away from the man and proceeded to hurry Emily and myself along, all the while praying that these people were not evil and would not hurt us.
We quickly picked up the pace and walked hurriedly in the direction of the Cathedral and toward the maze of back streets and alleyways that lead to our hotel—there was no other place to go but to our hotel. Everything was closed at that God-forsaken hour—I'm guessing even the Cathedral. We were still at least a half-mile away from our hotel. As we passed the popular café where we’d had tapas and Rioja the night before, I prayed that we were not being followed. Neither of us dared to look back. My mission was to get us back to the hotel safely in the shortest time possible.
“Why would they be trying to get cash at such an un-Godly hour of the night? Nothing’s opened for business at this time. That’s not a good sign. It might have been a front, to see if we fell for it,” I ramble on, as we continued rapidly along the maze of alleys.
The Petit Paris sign finally came into view—it was at least a good half-block away! And we still had no desire to look back to check if we were being followed.
 |
| Seville at night.... |
When we finally reached the front door of
the hotel, we were faced with yet another hurdle!—God forbid the ‘vampires’ had been following us, we would’ve been at their mercy! The thick-glass double doors were locked, and
the night clerk on duty was nowhere to be seen.
After what seemed like an
eternity of ringing the bell and banging on the doors, a half-asleep hotel clerk finally emerged from a back room to let us inside.
Without a doubt, I was certain that our guardian angel was watching over us that night!
After some reflection and a prayer of gratitude to God for sparing our lives that night, tucked in our beds in the safety of our room, sleep was all our bodies yearned for!
The next day we returned our Mercedes-Benz, and hopped on the train to Barcelona.
Your comments are always welcomed.
 |
| our comfy hotel room at the Petit Paris |
 |
| at the car rental return..... |
 |
| on the way to Tangier.... |
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: It's almost as if Frosty is slowly dying, and I'm ...
Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: It's almost as if Frosty is slowly dying, and I'm ...: I've always maintained that among the best reasons for living in the Northeast, is the changing of the seasons. Here, one can actually...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)