Around Town

New Pear

Garden Town

At Home

I was in the living room when I noticed how warm and inviting my bedroom looked. And isn't that the point—to create a sanctuary for rest and relaxation? Beautiful, mellow light comes into the windows from the opening above, a small gap between the buildings. 

It's such a soft, filtered pretty glow, perfect for naps. Not too bright and not too dark, but just right (except when my neighbor turns on their very powerful bathroom light in the middle of the night). I've never had a space like this to call my own before, and that makes me happy.  

May you have peaceful days and restful nights.

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Around Town

Store front and steeple

My First Communion

Many details about my First Communion passed by in a blur, because I had a lot on my mind. There were rituals and special prayers to memorize, the service to perform, family members and friends buzzing around, the special dress and the outfit I wore—so much activity and talk for a child to take in. But there are some aspects I still see in my minds' eye with the crystal clarity of truth. I was frightened by the old, dark, spooky house, near the church, where we had the First Confession that prepared us for the ritual of communion. We waited on line on the stairs leading up to the old house, greeted by an old, retired (and scary looking) priest who said nothing to us as he held open the door. We went into small, dark, wood booths that must have served as their private ones to use. I fretted about what to confess: I was in 2nd grade, and there wasn't that much I could tell a priest about life, or sin. So I told him the truth: I cursed at my brothers, spoke back to my parents, and once I had taken candy from a store, but I told my Mom while we were at the car, so she marched me right back in to the store to take it back to the clerk, apologize, and pay for the item. I got 10 Hail Marys (which I dutifully said to myself, kneeling on a pew, as I counted them out on my rosary), and I was done.

As Catholics, we purge ourselves before receiving the earthly embodiments of our Savior Jesus Christs' body and blood, in the form of wafers and wine. It's a process called "Transubstantiation". The mythic aspect of this ritual that we undertake as children has roots in other cultures, too. Ancient warriors often ingested the body or blood of their slain enemies in battle, as a way of conquering them to imbibe their power. By this process of ritualized ingestion, we acknowledge that we are pure enough, during the ceremony called Communion, to take in the body and blood of the most holy person of our faith—we are worthy vessels for Him to live in us, too. It is an ancient and key aspect of Roman Catholicism that draws heavily from Pagan mythology, which accommodated peasants who converted from older, pre-literate ways.

We dress in outfits that resemble miniature brides and bridegrooms because as children, we "marry" into our faith, becoming one with the Holy Spirit, the Creator of the Universe.  We celebrate the miracle of life on Earth every day, as we willingly embrace the many mysteries that surround us. It may seem like heavy stuff for children because of its' mature subject matter, but given the rigors of the education we undergo for our entire lives, I'm glad I was initiated early. There is so much for us to know. To this day, many of our educated faithful are still asked to build schools, so that we may teach and share what we know about how we manage the complexities and difficulties of this thing called "Life".

Little, sharp details pop out into my mind like they were yesterday. I remember the boy who was partnered with me for the walk down the aisle towards the altar. (Hi, Anthony!) Looking back at photos for this piece, I see my neighbor was also in the line with me (Hi, Kristine!), as were some classmates from Chestnut Grove Elementary (Hi, Brian!) Prior to this, the first ritual we undergo (as infants) is Baptism, another one common among many cultures. Water is seen as a spiritual cleansing element, like it is for Hindus who bathe in the Mother Ganges. At the time of our baptism by water, at a font in the church, we are given spiritual Mothers and Fathers, who pledge in front of the priest, and the baby's family, to always protect the well being of the child they are bonded to. These men and women are called our Godmothers and Godfathers. My godfather is a handsome and charismatic man who I do not know now, but back then he came into my life sporadically, infrequently and abruptly, with lots of volume and energy. That my parents would choose such a character as an authority figure to guide me speaks volumes about our hard, working class, New York roots.

He was the first counterculture figure I had in my life, and he gave me my first stereo: a hand-me-down system with a bunch of 8-track tapes, most notably Cheap Tricks' Live at Budokan. I had a set of headphones to go with it, and I loved spinning the dial for hours, listening to whatever I wanted. Privacy had to be fought for and won in my household. If my brothers didn't like the music I played, they would warn me to change the station by loudly yelling and banging on the wall that divided our rooms, then they would violently burst open through my door (we all knew how to pick those chintzy locks) and change it for me: "I TOLD YOU to change the music!", then they slammed my door shut. Headphones, and then a Walkman, became my salvation to musical freedom. I relished privacy because it was constantly violated. 

I also prized a small, pink, barrette that my godfather gave to me on a visit to Queens. It was hand-painted with floral designs like I've seen on touristy Mexican items. I noticed the pretty barrette lying on his dresser, and he immediately said I could have it. He said it was from a girlfriend, and she wouldn't notice it missing. Even as a kid, I knew that meant she slept over, because I left things behind at friends' houses when I had sleepovers, too. And that baffled me, because he still lived in my grandparents' apartment. How did they keep quiet? I giggled all night during sleepovers! I used the tiny barrette for many years, because it was the perfect size for my Barbies' hairstyles. My cousin was impetuous and wild and fun and dangerous, the same up and down ride that I now know marks families with alcohol and drug issues, passed down from generation to generation. And he is also my Godfather, the same one who gave me the ride of my life—my first motorcycle ride, on the afternoon of my First Communion.

My parents must have been caught up in the festivities back at our house, or they were in a good mood after this special occasion, because they were usually very strict with us. Yet somehow, on that perfect sunny Sunday, I got to ride with him on his motorcycle while I was still wearing my white communion dress. It was a very short ride, but oh, how I loved it—the cool breeze that hit me, the bursts of speed and the lurch of the bike as it rumbled to life and sped off, and the dappled sunlight that hit the pavement.

Every time we stopped at a "Stop" sign, I knew I would never forget this day, or how I felt. Too soon we came to a main road, where a decision had to be made. We could turn left for more of a ride, or right, and make a series of turns back to the house. We turned right onto a boring suburban highway in our town, and another right, back up the hill past a church, around a thrilling sharp turn on the way back to our house in New City. As disappointed as I was by the brevity of the ride, it made me relish every detail of it that much more.

I don't know my Godfather anymore, because he spiralled down into drug addiction, and it's not safe for me to know him. But, every season when communions come around, I think of him and my first motorcycle ride. Wherever you are, this little girl never forgot you. May God Bless you and keep you safe. And that's the true story of my First Holy Communion.

Around the Way

Sour Cherries

Stone Steps

Stone Urn

Dragonhunter

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Around the Way

Park Slope Skyline

Classic Car

"Hello pretty flower!"

Around the Way

Grand Army Plaza II

Picture Window

Sunset I

Sunset II

The Great Googa Mooga

Pratt student piece

Demo area

This was the first free festival of food and music that I'm aware of in Prospect Park, though an older gentleman I met on Sunday morning told me that M.Night Shyamalan filmed "The Village" there, and that they threw a special opening event that was roped off. After doing research for this piece, I found out he fed me a bit 'o The Blarney. He also told me that a Singaporean fair of a smaller scale had taken place in the park, but who knows? BTW, it was great to meet Chloe. What a doll baby :) In any case, New Yorkers are used to big events. Because we have a lot to compare it with, we tend to have expectations that are higher than your average American. After all, we have "Shakespeare in the Park" and professional opera singers who sing to crowds in the subway on their days off, for free. 

Food stalls

Restaurant tent

We are surrounded by the very best everywhere we go, so I kept my expectations fairly low for opening day of The Great Googa Mooga. Even still, I saw some daunting, long-ass lines. New Yorkers spend a lot of time on lines, and it's something we avoid on our days off, if we can. Because Prospect Park is my hometown respite from the crush of crowds and tourists, I have a protective attitude towards it. "Liquid courage" was first on my list, then. I headed directly for a beer tent, and was denied. The tap workers weren't even flowing the juice yet because of line problems. A guy came over for a beer, and showed me the Googa card I needed to buy drinks, hence the very long lines I saw. Whoa, no way. I decided to stick to food, but lines near the main stage area weren't moving either. I finally found the less-travelled "Hamageddon" section, and I bought a small sandwich with a side of store-bought potato chips for 7 bucks, which I ate under a shade tree because it was brutally hot in the sun.

Rice ball with IPA. Yeah!

More food stalls

I can't imagine paying $250 a pop for "Extra" Mooga. Eight food stands and drinks that you pay for, on top of ticket prices? Not the best deal. G.A. (general admission) is fine for an event like this. 

I mean it's food, plus there's free concerts all summer long at the parks' Bandshell. On Saturday, I was out of there pretty quick, and went to a bodega by my place for two ice cream cones and two tall boys for $7.50. On Sunday I got clever, especially after reading the comments online. I left early, arrived before opening time, and was delighted by the lack of crowds. It was a gorgeous, sunny, crystal clear day. I stuck to my food plan: a rice ball and a chocolate-covered banana. I also got the IPA beer I wanted, which came with a mandatory drink cup that had the event's name on it, as a  souvenir. Those 3 items cost me cost me $22: $2 for the Googa plastic cup, $10 for a full beer, $7 for a rice ball, and $3 for the frozen dessert banana. They removed the Googa card element on Sunday, and proofed people at the ticket entrance, which was a great improvement for attendees and workers alike.

The Beast, "Hamageddon"

Responsible clean-up

Was it worth it? For me it was, because it was close to home and the music was free. I'd also be in the park on any given day, anyway. I am a tad concerned about potential damage from foot traffic, which I'll check out later this week. But after a slight beer buzz and some good food, I was fine. Turns out, this is like any other New York City event—go early and leave early to avoid crowds. I also saw a steady stream of "tools", tourists, out-of-towners, "Jersey Show" types, and d-bags as I left the park, too. Listen, Gen Y, I know I'm just a middle-aged a-hole to you, but ironic tattoos you find funny now will age horribly, and no one will be "in" on the joke. Bushwick, Williamsburg, and Greenpoint seemingly disgorged their entire contents of very pale and rich hipsters in high-waisted shorts and headbands into my beloved 'hood, much to my anger and dissatisfaction. So there you have it—my impressions and photos. What did you think of The Great Googa Mooga?

A Walk in the Park

See you there!

Around the Way

Taking flight over Prospect Park

Pine tree reflection

At Home

Cooking with Gas

 

Toast cups made the rounds among food blogs this week, inspiring me to give it a try. 

It's so easy, I can't believe 

I didn't think of it before.

Prep work is as simple as greasing up a muffin pan, and shaping the bread to fit the mold. Whatever else you add is up to you. I cracked an egg, laid down a crisscross of American cheese, and seasoned them all with salt and pepper.

You'll have to experiment with your oven to get eggs to the right kind of doneness. Since this was my first time, I did a basic 350° oven for about 20-25 minutes. After a 5-10 minute cool down on the stovetop, the cups popped out easily with light pressure. Mine came out cooked completely through, like a hard boiled egg. Next time I'll keep them in less, to get a soft boiled egg with runny yolk.  

Enjoy experimenting in your kitchen this weekend.

At Home

Picture Window

Morning reflection

TeddyBear

Bear watches me from his pillow as I make the bed

Around the Way

Sidewalk lights

Pink roses

White bells

TeddyBear

Bear takes a face down nap.

Around the Way

White Flowers

White Flowers II