Jolly

On Earth Day I heard from a friend on Facebook that Origins was giving away free cleanser in exchange for empty cosmetic bottles. I am running low on cleanser and can't afford to replace what I have. So, I pulled an empty bottle of toner out of the recycling bin, and walked over to the Flatiron store.

It was a nice spring day and the door was open. There were about 15 unhappy women in the tiny space. The store just ran out of cleanser.

I was headed to the Upper East Side, so I inquired about stores uptown. A helpful employee gave me the number to the Upper West Side store. A few minutes later I was on a subway car rocketing to 72nd Street.

There was a line at the 85th Street store, but I managed to get one of the last bottles of cleanser. It smells great. I'm looking forward to trying it -- especially after the effort it took to get it.

I felt pleased to have accomplished my little mission and was enjoying my walk over to the east side. Around 84th and Columbus I passed a group of boys sitting outside of a school. One of them looked like an African-American version of Seth Rogen.

"Miss, you look jolly today!" he said with a smile.

It was unclear to me whether he was simply a friendly kid, a cheeky guy perfecting a pick up line, or a student trying to use vocabulary word jolly in a sentence. Regardless, I had to smile as I walked past.

This is my favorite time of year. Chartreuse is one of my favorite colors and it is the top note on nature's palette right now. Everything looks tender and lush.

This year, almost all of the flowering plants are blooming at once. Central Park looks like a film set. One would think a prop department planted blooming hyacinth, tulips, iris, pansies, blue bonnets, lilacs, and wisteria over night. Everywhere my eye fell, there was a touch of floral color.

Although it was a bit off of my path, I went through Shakespeare's Garden, Belvedere Castle, and a some of the Ramble before skirting the Lake.

In addition to the abundant flowers, I saw several robins and noticed a man pushing a medium-sized dog in a wheel chair intended for humans. The shivering animal curled up in the seat looked very sick.

As I walked across the park the sky darkened. I love the contrast between delicate spring green plants bursting with optimism and a menacing stormy sky. The rain fell steadily as I walked around the Lake. I paused under a wisteria covered arbor and watched the drops form designs on the Lake's surface. It seemed like a gift to be in this place at this time.

When the rain eased, I pulled out my umbrella and continued walking until I got to the Whitney Museum. I felt really happy and it must have showed. A man ducking the rain at a construction site around the corner from the museum looked at me quizzically and said, "I'm glad somebody's happy!"

Me too. There have been far too many sad days lately. On this day it was my turn to be happy.

In the Moment

When I first moved to New York, I made an effort to go to the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. As New Yorkers had warned me, it was crowded and I didn't see much.

This year I decided to participate in the 36th parade as a dancer in the Thrill the World group. I convinced a friend to join me. We attended a few cold, night practices in Central Park.

It was fun in an odd way to meet a group of strangers at the dimly illuminated bandshell and practice a dance for 2 hours. I'm generally nervous about being in the park in the dark, but my friend accompanied me and the park looked beautiful with the light orange trees glowing in lamp light. Several cyclists, homeless people, couples, and dog walkers would stop to observe us dance.

On Halloween, it was unseasonably warm. For once, my costume wasn't covered with a jacket.

We found our group in the line up by Ghost D and practiced a few times. It was the first time I had seen my fellow dancers in daylight. We were a diverse crowd: Asians, Latinos, Caucasians, African Americans, students, workers, job seekers, retirees, dancers, amateur dancers, middle class, working class, and poor. It is heartening that very different strangers came together to pursue a shared interest.

When we started dancing, I got warm. They sky was cloudy and rain threatened. The air was misty as we embarked on the parade route. The damp felt cool. I started to hope it would rain.

I was surprised by the crush of the crowd. Parade participants walked through our group without knowing we were about to start a dance routine. It was very distracting. I missed steps because I was afraid of hitting someone by accident. We started to warn people to move away, but too many were too obnoxious or drunk to comply.

I was not expecting this interruption. I've participated in the Mermaid Parade for years, and the volunteers in that parade prevent observers from walking in the parade route. It really angered me that I could barely do what I was there to do because crowd control was so weak.

That said, the crowd liked our group once they realized it was a dance performance. It is interesting how people respond uniformly to things. There was a backward step that always got them cheering.

As we made our way down 6th Avenue, the rain got heavier and heavier and the crush of paraders waned. By the time we made it to 21st Street, the situation resembled what I imagined it would be. We had plenty of room to perform the routine.

I was soaking wet, but didn't care. I felt fantastic. The rain cooled me and I had enough space to dance well.

We were directed down 21st Street as a downpour began. Instead of running for shelter, almost everyone in the group stretched their arms out and ran down the street screaming.

It is unusual that a group shared this spontaneous gesture in the same moment. I wonder what it is about us that led to this unchoreographed, synchronized response to the deluge.

Go Before You Go

As a child, I resented the suggestion that I use the bathroom before leaving the house. After all, the only place without a facility would be the car. If the need arose, I could control it until a bathroom was available.

As a New Yorker, I religiously follow the childhood advice before leaving the apartment. There are very few public toilets in New York, and many of them are unpleasant.

Today I went to the Upper East Side to attend a dance class in Central Park. It takes about an hour to get there.

Although I had a "preemptive pee," I needed a bathroom by the time I approached Central Park.

In general, Starbucks are the most reliable public bathrooms in New York. I walked up Madison from 68 to 74 hoping to find a Starbucks. Instead I passed stores unlikely to share their facilities with me, such as Tom Ford, Ralph Lauren, Prada, Dior, and Dolche & Gabbana.

Finally, I noticed a Christian Science reading room. It seemed like a long shot, but it worked.

Once the emergency had passed and I was washing my hands, it amused me to note that there was no reading material in the bathroom of the Christian Science reading room.

They are missing an opportunity for an unusual marketing program.

A New Appreciation I

I read about touch tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Museum of Modern Art over a year ago, and wanted to schedule them for a dear friend who went completely blind in 2006. The tours take place during working hours on week days and must be planned weeks in advance.

When I became unemployed, I decided to take the opportunity to finally arrange these tours.

My blind friend has struggled to regain his bearings in the world. He has a wonderful spirit, and perceives his disability as a way of engaging with the world in a new way. His attempts to navigate this altered existence are inspirational.

We had a touch tour of the Met first. Our guide, Pam, began by taking us to the new Greek and Roman galleries. My friend visited the Met when he was sighted, but had not seen the new galleries. Pam directed him to the atrium where he could feel the warmth of sun streaming through the skylight. My friend recalled that the space had formerly been a restaurant, and the guide and I described how it changed.

My friend had visited Pompeii while sighted. In fact, we discussed it a lot when I visited Naples several years ago. With this in mind, I began to describe the new gallery by drawing on his knowledge of the mosaics and architecture of Pompeii. It helped to have this visual baseline to depict through comparison a picture of something he has not yet seen.

My friend's expression changed when I told him the black and white mosaic floors were similar to the Cave Canem mosaic. He said he could picture the dog mosaic in his mind. I explained that the type of tiles used in the new gallery were almost the same as those used in the Pompeii mosaic.

We discussed the layout of the room by comparing it to the atriums he saw in Pompeii. He nodded as he recalled the skylight, impluvium (pool to collect rainwater), and columns supporting the roof. The comparison helped him envision the new space. The warm sunlight and fountain under the skylight also supported his understanding.

We then went to the Egyptian wing to begin the tour in earnest. My friend felt stone sarcophagi and statues. He enjoyed feeling the pieces because it was a new way of experiencing the art. This was a museum experience he was denied as a sighted person.

He was encouraged to first feel around the whole piece to get a sense of its scale. It also set boundaries for what was part of the artwork and what was not. Sometimes he would feel a part of a pedestal and think it was incorporated in the art.

Then, he would feel the artwork's details. Sometimes he could figure out what they were intended to show, but he often needed descriptions to clarify what he was touching. For example, he could tell the was touching the eye of Hatsheput but he didn't know that the line he touched was a depiction of her eyeliner.

Often I was made aware of details about the items he touched by hearing the questions he posed and Pam's responses. I hadn't noticed that the line he touched was eyeliner rather than the rim of the eye.

As he felt a statue of Sakhmet we had a conversation about the ancient Egyptian's depiction of negative space. Ancient sculptors had not yet figured out a way to carve stones with projecting parts (such as outstretched arms or legs). Instead, the artists recessed the stone to keep prominent arms and legs in semi-relief. My friend was able to feel this depiction of negative space. It was a revelation for him.

Several of the pieces had been repaired over the years. My friend was able to quickly discern the differences in original and restorative materials. This was a distinction that was more difficult to see than to feel.

Once the touch tour was over, we returned to the Greek and Roman galleries. He asked me to describe the Etruscan chariot to him. He had seen it long ago.

Describing the piece aloud was a task that forced me to notice the art in greater detail. As I spoke, I saw for the first time strange compositional elements and decorative repetitions within different scenes on the chariot.

The touch tour's emphasis on details made me realize how much I overlook. I am not taking full advantage of my eyesight because I filter out much of what I see.

My friend and I left the museum shortly after the chariot description. He said it was depressing to hear about art he used to see. It was only fun to be in the museum experiencing something new.

We went for a walk in Central Park and happened to pass the boathouse.

I mentioned to my friend that I had always wanted to go boating in Central Park, but had not done so.

We were in a boat within an half hour. The staff at the boathouse could not have been more kind and upbeat about accommodating my friend and his guide dog.

It was a beautiful, early fall day. The lake was full of boaters.

At first I rowed because it was difficult to navigate around the many boaters. Once we reached a less crowded area, my friend took the oars. I navigated by tapping his hands to indicate which oar to row.

It was his first time rowing a boat since losing his sight. It was my first time boating in Central Park. We were both delighted to be there doing something new.

There are many ways to explore the world.

Spring Awakening

I had to travel to the Upper East Side again today. I took my computer back to the repair shop and then went to a doctor’s appointment.

Without a phone or computer there is very little I can accomplish. I have already cleaned my apartment and done my cooking for the week. It's strange that in the height of an anxious situation (scrambling for employment), leisure has been forced upon me.

I had an errand to run on the other side of Central Park and the weather was fair, so I decided to take advantage of my free time and walk through the park.

This has been a cold winter in New York City. It snowed on the first day of spring. With the cold air and limited exposure to the outdoors, it is easy to forget that nature continues to follow its season cycle whether it seems like spring to New Yorkers.

Today was sunny, but still chilly. As I walked along the paths by Wollman Rink and the Hallett Nature Sanctuary, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by signs of spring.

Large clumps of yellow, purple, and white crocuses created mats of color on the park floor. Forsythia bushes blazed like suspended yellow fireworks displays. The trees were dotted with subtle buds of chartreuse. Even a few early daffodils exposed their sunny faces.

As I exited, I heard a strange sound in a tree. After a moment of careful looking, I spied a brilliant blue jay on a shaded branch.

It had been an awful week of setbacks, yet these signs of spring reminded me that unpleasant things can change. Events may be different from what they appear to be. Forces of good are at work. There are reasons to be hopeful.