How to be Grateful

My family is difficult, and I wish it were not this way. Basically, it is a good holiday if there isn't any screaming or crying.

This holiday it was just me and my mother. My sister lives in Arizona, and she is a person with a lot of problems. She was just fired from her job. She has been fired from every job she has ever had. It is a challenge to be around her, so I am glad she wasn't able to join us.

It is a struggle to find a silver lining in my family situation. My close relations are a burden. I strive to be supportive and understanding but also maintain a healthy distance.

A strategy that I am late to employ, is to try to conjure compassion for my mother. She has very poor judgement, which hurts her and those around her. It helps to try to figure out why she does the things she does. I attempt to cut her some slack, although I lose patience too often.

I have always used humor to cope. I try to regard what my mother says and does as a spectator. Her show would be funny if my proximity to her didn't render it tragic.

She lives in a townhouse crammed with stuff. It is almost impossible to get something out of a cabinet without having to move something else. Often things fall out when she tries to remove something, and then she curses as if she is surprised that there is a problem.

Her enormous pantry is so packed, there isn't room to add a single soup can. Her refrigerator is also stuffed with food. Yet, she insisted she needed to buy several bags of groceries to make Christmas dinner. I tried to convince her to take inventory before shopping, but my suggestions are not welcome.

She has a medium to large dog that is not properly housebroken. There are accident pads strewn all over the floors yet she insists the dog is housebroken. She controls which rooms the dog can enter by placing several childproof gates in the doorways. These are old gates that do not swing open. They are held in place with a tension bar mechanism that too often causes injury to operate. These gates block pathways and make an already cluttered house feel even more claustrophobia-inducing.

She lives in an area where cars are necessary to get around. Her car was given to her when my grandfather died 10 years ago. It is approximately 14 years old, and it shows. The locks are broken, the paint is wearing off, the indicator lights are not accurate, and the door alarm signal runs continuously (ding, ding, ding...). She lives on a meager pension, refuses to get a job to supplement her income, and does not put any money aside to buy a car.

I try to be patient with her, but after several days I get upset. Her situation depresses and angers me. It alarms me that she doesn't realize that her choices are unreasonable.

Yesterday, I borrowed the car to run an errand. As I was driving what my Michigan relatives would call a "beater," it struck me that one reason I get so agitated when I visit her is because I hated being in such a precarious environment while growing up. My mother hopes battered stuff would continue to work and deals with problems by ignoring them. Her car is a tangible expression of her approach to life.

As I drive and try to ignore the continual door ajar signal, I am concerned that a new car problem will emerge. I was reminded that when I was still living with my parents, I was continuously fearful of problem eruptions. When problems bloomed into affairs that could no longer be ignored, the response was surprise, anger, and despair.

As an adult, I've worked very hard to make my life as stable as possible. I save money for emergencies. I am annoyed when things break, but I am not ruined when they do. I try to avoid problems by addressing warning signs. My approach isn't perfect, but it is a improvement on that of my parents.

Now I realize that my mother has chosen this precarious existence. It is stressful and very unpleasant, yet she can't seem to see the logic in working her way out of it.

I know how bad that way of life is because I had no choice but to live it when I was a kid. I feel so very sorry that she is in this situation. Yet I am frustrated because she does little to improve her circumstances.

If I could, I would give her insight for Christmas. Unfortunately, this is something only she can do for herself.

Cuppa

I work near Penn Station, which has its benefits and drawbacks. It is a centrally located transportation hub but it is crowded with clueless tourists and unreasonably priced, greasy restaurants that cater to them.

I've worked here for about four and a half years. Despite an active search for decent dining options, the list of places where I will eat is limited: Izumi, Chipotle, Waldy's, Soup Spot, and Ginger House.

Recently, I found a sushi restaurant that is a good value: Canaan. I can get a hearty bento box for $9.50.

Today is a bone chilling cold day, but it was pleasant inside the restaurant. As I sat near the kitchen waiting for my take out order, a waitress who was serving the tables nearby brought me a steaming hot ceramic mug of green tea.

I am so impressed by her kindness. First, because she gave the tea to someone who is clearly just waiting for an order and not a sit down customer. Second, she served the tea to a temporary customer in a ceramic cup. Third, there was no opportunity for profit or tip.

Someone so thoughtful must be one of the top waitresses in New York.

I just love drinking tea from a cup without handles. It warms the fingers.

The Bizarre Reels in the Mind

Today I noticed a young couple with a toy dog packing a car. It was a Flatiron district street with expensive new apartments. I assumed they were a power couple on their way to a vacation in Vermont or to visit family in Connecticut for the holidays. She was cramming stuff into the trunk as he walked the dog and looked on.

When I got about ten feet from the car, I noticed that the cargo she was pushing into the full trunk was a clear zippered bag full of wedding gowns.

At this point, my creative mind froze. I couldn't generate a plausible story for this couple now.

Grace

On Wednesday I got one of those wonderful windfalls that arts-loving, middle-class denzions of cosmopolitan cities adore: a free ticket for a wonderful show. In this case, I was invited to see the Alvin Ailey dance company.

I am a fortunate person. This is probably the fifth or sixth time I have had an opportunity to see this amazing troupe perform. I'm actually gaining enough familiarity with the group to recognize certain dancers and to have seen some dances more than once.

Last night was extraordinary because the seats were the best I've ever had for Ailey: orchestra fourth row from the stage. In another stroke of luck, the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra (conducted by the brilliant Wynton Marsalis) accompanied the dancers live. As if this wasn't enough cake and icing, a small group of gospel singers joined the orchestra for Revelations at the end.

The program was a sampling of pieces choreographed by Ailey over time: Night Creatures, Revelations in D, Caravan, The Mooche, The Road Show of Phoebe Snow, Pas de Duke, and Revelations.

At other performances, I found Ailey's older pieces (with the exception of Revelations) to be a little tired. This was not the case tonight. Perhaps my excellent seat allowed me for the first time to appreciate the facial expressions and subtle movements of the dancers, such as arching backs, rhythmic ribcages, quick hand gestures.

Perhaps the impact of the dance was heightened by the live music. Seeing them move before the orchestra punctuated the fact that the two disciplines are working in tandum to the master of movement and time. I've seen traditional dancers from India, Hawaii, or Indonesia perform with musicians and singers on stage. Generally, the musicians are very closely watching the dancers who move to their beats.

Last night I noticed that the musicians and singers were not watching the dancers at all. They were focused on the music as the dancers were focused on the dance. If either lost their sense of rhythm or control, the performance would suffer. Of course, both were masters and the performances were practically flawless.

Another wonderful aspect of the show was watching it at this moment in time. It is the 50th anniversary of the troupe. Alvin Ailey died in 1986 and one of his dancers, Judith Jamison, took control and facilitated the organization's professional and artistic growth. Ailey has grown from a small troupe for a marginalized group to a major cultural institution that recently opened a huge dance facility in NYC.

Ailey's choreography and dancers continue to convey the experience of African Americans, but they are also diversifying and this is intriguing to me. The dancers and choreographers now include people of other ethnicities. The dances now cover a broader range of experience.

This seems positive to me because it indicates progress. First, the community that supports Ailey has probably broadened and its traditional base of African Americans donors has probably prospered and grown. Major corporations support Ailey, and the ranks of African American CEOs is probably bigger than ever before.

Second, there is an indication that the larger culture has diversified to the point where an African Americans dance troup doesn't feel compelled to provide opportunities soley to African Americans. This strikes me as a healthy way of moving from a protective and closed attitude forged from strife to an attitude of renewal and regeneration in an optomistic environment.

Finally, we are in what must be one of the most optomistic environments for African Americans. The first black president is poised to take the oath of office.

Watching the story of this group of people through their choreography to their music at this time was particularly poignent. While the economic crises unfold, many people are hurting, and anti-Western radicals continue to spread violence and hate; this extraordinarly display of talent, narrative, moxy, and diversity declares that there is good reason to hope things will improve.

An Open Countenance

Now that it is very cold in New York, I take the subway rather than walk the 10 blocks from work to my dance class.

When passengers pry doors open to get on board the subway, the conductor hits the door open or close control button to get people in the car or to shut them out so the train can move. When that button is pushed, all of the doors on the platform side of the train open and close simultaneously.

During rush hour, the doors often open and close many times before we roll out of the station. Usually, they open and close quickly to allow a stuck backpack to get pulled in (nice) or to shut on a hand holding the door so it will let go (harsh).

For the passenger hoping to get in, it can be like a jump rope game. As the jumpers watch the moving rope for the perfect window to jump in, the would-be passenger watches door openings carefully to hop in at the right moment when the doors widen just enough to get the whole body through.

Tonight I sat across from the door and saw a pretty woman in a red coat hop on right before we took off. She was holding several red Macy's shopping bags. A big smile was on her face, which could have been attributed to getting on the train successfully or getting her shopping done.

Her beaming face made me smile. I usually don't smile at strangers. Her happiness was extraordinarily contagious.

She looked at my smiling face and sat down next to me. After checking her bags and arranging them on the floor she turned to me and said "Do you shop at Macy's?"

I told her I did. She told me there was a friends and family sale, and began looking for a special coupon in a wallet bulging with receipts and papers.

I thanked her, and explained that I had already done my holiday shopping. It was very unlikely that I would buy anything at Macy's before the coupon expired. I encouraged her to hold on to her special coupon and give it to someone who would use it.

All of this took place in a ride between 34th and 42nd street stations. It probably took less than three minutes. In the short span of a single stop subway ride, I developed a strong sense of goodwill toward this woman I barely met. I don't think I am a particularly friendly person in general, yet she wanted to reward me with her special perk because I had appeared friendly to her.

New Yorkers are often characterized as cold and uncaring. People outside of the city tend to think New Yorkers don't know their neighbors or talk to one another. Yet, I grew up in the suburbs and can't recall ever interacting with someone in the friendly, easy manner that happened tonight. People in the suburbs usually do not have an opportunity to even sit next to a stranger.

This brief subway experience illuminated several things I already know but seem to ignore. When people see a happy person, the happiness spreads. I should make an effort to be friendlier because it encourages pleasant interactions. There is goodwill in the world, but it requires a modest trigger. Part of having the good in people affirmed involves some vulnerability on my part.

Not smiling at strangers prevents any interaction: negative or positive. To see the good side of people, I have to make myself vulnerable to the bad side too.