Snow

It rarely snows in The City. Possibly it’s the heat of the subway, the reflection of the sun off the buildings, or just too much body heat, but true snow, the kind that stays on the ground instead of turning to instant slush, seldom happens. I don’t think anything is as beautiful as the woods after a few feet of snow have fallen or a frozen waterfall. I was surprised at how dramatic the City is during a snow storm before the cars still on the road destroyed the snow turning it to grey wet slush. While I was walking back from a holiday party I came across a beautiful street corner. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, streets are filled with evergreen trees letting off a fragrant aroma. That evening they were covered in the freshly fallen snow making it feel a little more like Christmas. It was the most peaceful moment in a city that is never still.

The next day I attempted snowboarding for the first time. I’ve been cross country skiing for years and have attempted downhill skiing a few times. I’m not a very good skier, in fact, I’m pretty bad but I always have fun. I’m the type that falls down with flare leaving a trail of skis, hats, gloves, and goggles behind. Last year I successfully ran into a small tree, a not so tiny person, and fell into a ditch to have ski patrol come and rescue me.

Snowboarding was less chaotic although I spent most of the time falling on my butt while attempting to stand up. That was part of the fun. It was all about overcoming obstacles even when the obstacle is just making it down a hill. The most important thing is not to give up. I had a gravitational pull to a particular sign, fell down more times than I can count, and laughed a lot harder than I have in the past few weeks. And that makes it the perfect way to spend a snowstorm.

Speakeasy

I stole this story from another blogger. I couldn’t pass sharing this incredible find. Apparently, a person/couple/group purchased a building in Queens and when they removed old boxes from the basement they found a 2-lane manual bowling alley. After some research the building was thought to be a speakeasy under a garment factory. Check out the story here: http://www.scoutingny.com/?p=1227

I didn’t even know I wanted one until I knew it was possible. My list of requirements for my imaginary house just grew by one. Secret Bowling Alley: non-negotiable.

Anyway- check out Scouting NY. It’s a fun blog of a film location scout who finds all sorts of interesting and usually unnoticed things in the City. Things such as half buildings, metal rats, and secret sculptures coming out of the East River. Once the weather is nice I’ll take my camera and try and find some of these things on my own.

Thanksgiving

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something... the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion... each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh eyes of an adventurer... ~E.B. White

I love this quote. It was part of a subway advertising system aimed to make those of us who take public transportation smarter. Also included are the opening lines from Metamorphosis and quotes from “notable” New Yorkers. I’ve hesitated putting it in my blog because anything along the lines of lyrics to “New York, New York” clearly labels me a transplant. But as a true New Yorker told me this past week, I have to live here for at least eight years before I can say I’m a New Yorker anyway. Even then I might not earn that right as my crucial to my development as a person, high school years, were spent in the suburbs. So I might as well enjoy the glorified tourist status while I’ve got it.

Part of the fun of being a transplant in NYC is the joy of doing everything you possibly can, from scavenger hunts and 200+ person balloon fights, to pub crawls and local museums. Added to the joy of random sighting such as the guy who dragged his dead stuffed dog on wheels throughout the subway station. Questions such as “What?, Why?, Really? are very common but met with the attitude of: “Who really cares. It will make a great story.” It took me a while to realize that I live here so if I don’t head off to a museum or a meet-up event every weekend it will be okay. I’m not a tourist that has to fit it all in within a few days.

For Thanksgiving this year I got to host, sans the cooking portion. We saw the balloons get inflated (with barely able to move through crowds), the Macy’s Day parade (with crowds starting around 6:30 in the morning), Dave and Busters (dad got beat in almost everything), and Black Friday shopping (four hours of speedshopping and we only got through two stores). Hopefully next year mom will be able to join us.

Taboo

Recently, I’ve been intrigued by the National Geographic show Taboo. It takes a look at a variety of customs throughout the world that outsiders might find forbidden or unmentionable, ranging in topic from food and standards of beauty, to death and child-rearing. I respect the show for trying to remain unbiased even if it doesn’t always succeed. It includes American customs I take for granted through the lenses of an outsider, shaping behaviors as strange, even unthinkable. The episode on demon possession presented American preachers in the same light as vo-doo priestesses. It makes sense; in a society without the belief in demonic possession either would seem anomalous. In a similar vein, putting make-up on your dead relatives, filling them with chemicals to avoid decay, and literally staring at the bodies, really is a little odd compared to the rest of the world.

Americans are notorious for not even trying to adapt to a different way of life when visiting other countries. Sometimes it isn’t on purpose; it takes a lifetime to adapt to all the nuances that cultures develop. These little behaviors create an “us” enabling a sense of belonging. But there is a danger when the “us against them” mentality emerges. There is a lot more to say about this topic and it always inspires dynamic, energetic, discussions. I leave it firmly within the category of being both a blessing and a curse and instead wander to amusing stories where my own unconscious cultural paradigms were exposed.

When visiting Montreal as a child my family wondered why the McDonalds was so loud, only to find when we all started eating that all the noise had been coming from one table… ours. A fellow classmate who came from a society that did not wear jewelry on hands asked me to explain the meaning of wearing rings. Seemed simple enough until I realized there are a lot of variables, and always exceptions- the gender of the wearer, which finger the ring is on, what stone is in the ring. While visiting a Thai University American culture class my team was asked: “Why do you keep your kids in cages?” We didn’t even know what they were talking about at first- cribs and playpens. I’ve been asked if I have a awful relationship with my mother because I destroyed our life link- I have a pierced belly button. By the way, I don’t have a bad relationship with my mother; she inspired this blog and follows it among other things.

DayZero

One of the traits that I inherited from my mom is a love of lists. I make all types of lists not just the typical “To-Do” types. Sometimes when I don’t accomplish enough on the list, I go back through, write down what I did spend my time doing just so I can have the satisfaction of crossing it off. Yes, it is a little sad but gratifying.

A friend who is also addicted to lists recently gave me two separate, wonderful ones: A list of 1,001 books to read before you die. I have to read approximately 1 a month until I’m 80 to finish.

The other is a blog movement similar to a “Bucket List” or a grand “To-Do” list: 101 Things to do in 1,001 days. Criteria: Tasks must be specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Why 1001 Days? According to Day Zero, the movement’s source, 1001 Days (about 2.75 years) is a better period of time than a year, because it allows you several seasons to complete the tasks, better for organizing and timing tasks such as overseas trips. I’ve included a sampling of my list below. My date of completion is July 30, 2012. Which incidentally is just a few months before the world is supposed to end anyway.

Travel
Travel to Australia- Done 6/24/11
Travel to Antarctica
See the Cherry Blossoms at New York Botanical Garden- Done 4/24/10
Do 5 touristy things in NYC- Done 6/20/11
Visit the Grand Canyon
Visit a state I have never been to before- Done 4/16/11 (NC)
See the Statue of Liberty close-up- Done 12/5/09
Touch the Pacific Ocean- Done 6/25/11

Walk within photo distance of lava

"Why Not" Adventures
Get scuba certified
Fly in a hot air balloon
Go sky diving- Done 7/4/2010
Go white water rafting- Done 8/7/2010
Get disaster certified
Go camping- Done 8/17/10
Apply for a game show- Done 3/26/11
Compete in a ballroom dance competition- Done 3/20/10
Run a marathon- 1/2 marathon done 4/3/10 Full done 10/2/10
Host Thanksgiving- Done 11/26/09
Attend the Macy's Day parade- Done 11/26/09
Shoot a gun (non-paintball)- Done 6/14/11
See a Cirque du Soleil show- Done 6/11/2010
Get really dressed up and go to the movies and a fast food restaurant
Get motorcycle license
Fly on trapeze- Done 1/1/2010
Break a record- Done 5/12/2010
Be an extra in a movie
Go to an art gallery opening- Done 12/2/2010
Dance in the rain
Win a prize- 7/9/10
Go kayaking on the Hudson- Done 7/24/2010
Participate in a scavenger hunt- Done 10/10/2010
Get a puppy
Get a massage- Done 12/11/10
Leave a note in a book for someone to find- Done 2/1/11
Attend 25 live music performances

Friends and Family
Send out Christmas cards- Done 12/24/10
Get new family portrait taken- Done 12/26/10
Have a 2nd date that is just as fantastic as the 1st and 3rd dates- Done but I'm not telling when it was ;)
Allow someone else to pick my dinner at a restaurant
Kiss at one of the wonders of the world (natural or manmade)- Done 6/16/11

Self-improvement
Go w/o caffeine for a month - Done 12/16/09
Become conversational in Spanish
Get a new tattoo- Done 12/30/09
Find a volunteer organization
Try sushi again- Done 8/4/10
Cook dinner for another person and the person lives- Done 6/8/2010
Unplug for one whole weekend- Done 1/17/2010
Finish a crossword puzzle on my own. Monday version counts.- Done 1/16/2010
Get rid of 50 things in my room- Done 5/10/11
Eat vegtables everyday for a month.

Grandmothers

In the past six months one of my grandmothers turned 80 and one passed away. Even though they have completely different personalities and styles of grandparenting, I’ve learned a lot through their lives.

Most of the extended family was at my maternal grandma’s 80th birthday party this past weekend, including some of her brothers. It was fun to see that loyalty, unapologetic teasing, and the unique friendship only found within the sibling relationship don’t go away. I hope years from now Aim, Rob, and I will be entertaining our grandchildren with stories of: “Do you remember getting stuck on the rollercoaster (Aimee)” or “How about the time you tried to jump out of the window to practice fire safety (Robert)?”

Many of the other guests have known my grandmother a long time. They grew up in the same town, went to the same church, or had children who were the same age. The same thing happens when we go to the local donut shop; almost everyone seems to know Ruth Akers. It’s hard not to know her. She may not be very tall but her laughter fills a room.

Grandma’s ability to laugh is one of her most distinctive traits. Half the time I’m not even fully sure why she’s laughing. She has an inner joy that can’t help but be expressed. I come from a fairly competitive family, yet win or lose you laugh; and if you’re grandma the next game is “for the championship” until you win. She would allow us to do her make-up, always professing that she looked beautiful even though she had more on than a clown. She sings at the top of her lungs, whether it is hymns or patriotic songs. It is as if she feels anything worth singing is worth singing with all your heart.

The characteristic of living life without apprehension or self-consciousness is echoed in more than just her constant laughter and singing. I’ve met very few people in my life who are as grounded in their identity as my grandma. She knows who she is and is unapologetically so. Everything she does is based on her beliefs. I can’t think of a single time where her behavior has been hypocritical. Even people who don’t agree with her tend to respect her strength of character and her unwavering devotion. She is at the bedside of someone who is ill, donates money and time to people in need, and sees each new day as a gift from God.



My dad’s mom passed away this past spring. More than any adult I know, she had a gift for imagination and stories. It took years before I realized that the “Hundred Acre Wood” consisted of, at most, fifteen trees. She encouraged creativity in all forms and remained childishly inventive her whole life. Plays created from her infinite supply of puppets always received spectacular reviews. She was an aesthete, with an ear for music in any song played on the grotesquely out of tune piano. Cards and gifts from her were usually handmade or enhanced. The fundamental component of every room, already filled to the brim with interesting things, were books. She had a gift for teaching children to read and it is largely because of her influence, and the resulting impact on my dad, that I love to read. The written word became magical when she shared a story and many remain in my memory to this day. Each drawing and letter from her grandchildren, every essay written by a student, anything that was connected to the people she loved, she saved. Her house is filled with memories, her enduring story.

Adventure

Adventure for me is an intriguing word. Growing up it meant simply “We’re lost. Be prepared for a very long car ride.” Adventure as a term had little to do with the actual event that motivated us to get in the car in the first place. It never applied to the museum that we explored or the experience of building our clubhouse, but to the cramped ride itself. As I got older it still held negative connotations. Moving would be an adventure, as would starting middle school. The tag “Adventure” was supposed to instantly inspire enthusiasm and infinite patience into otherwise unpleasant events.

It took a long time for me to admit I love adventure. The short hike on the “well- marked” trail spent wandering for hours making our own path, stands out from the other weekend hikes. The chance to go to a party where the only things I know are the address and the name of the date of a friend of the boyfriend of the host’s ex-roommate, is a small but exhilarating risk.

I live with controlled spontaneity, searching for the next story, the next adventure. I tend to speak of plans like they are guaranteed. It doesn’t work to tell me all the reasons I can’t buy a condo right now or why I won’t visit all seven continents by the time I’m 30. I’m aware of limiting logistics and choose to be excited for possibilities in spite of them. Many times logic catches up with the visions. But the times I live for, the moments that stand out against all others, are all the times where everything falls into place.

The other thing about adventure is one has to be willing to try again, in spite of hurt and disappointment and fear. I was going to Africa countless times before I actually went to Kenya. My sanguine nature tends to unconditionally believe all the pieces will come together. And if it doesn’t work… at least it will be an adventure.

I had a hard time coming up with a blog name. What defines me? Better yet, what do I want to define me? The blog titles of most of my friends revolve either around work or spouses. Although NYC is truly where I belong- for now- mentioning it in a blog title clearly distinguishes me as someone relatively new. While I’ve been in the work force for a while, I miss the days and nights of sledding on dining hall trays, playing volleyball in inches of mud, and starting a game of soccer at 3am just because. My title is an effort to strive for and see the possibility of adventure no matter what constraints are in my life.