Sweet Things

There is a wonderful bakery around the corner from my apartment. It is well known in the city, and there usually is a line outside. Its reputation is deserved. They make the best banana cake!

This week I watched three young boys enter the bakery and press their faces against the glass cases. They appeared to be second graders. Instantly I could sense the joy, wonder, and anticipation they felt upon looking at all of the sweet delights. The smell in that room is intoxicating. The visuals can put one over the edge.

These boys looked like they might live in the housing project down the street. They composed the only people of color in the room. The leader inquired about the cost of a cupcake, and the reaction was disappointment. His two friends sat down with frowns. One seemed uncomfortable and eager to leave.

The leader continued to review the options and make inquires about prices. Could he buy a cupcake without frosting? Was it cheaper?

As he deliberated, one of his friends walked to the front door, opened it, stood on the threshold, spit his sunflower seeds out onto the sidewalk in a beautiful three-foot arc, and walked back to his seat.

I exchanged a look with the man enjoying a piece of cake at the adjoining table. Neither of us could suppress our laughter. This young fellow's innocent lack of propriety was positively refreshing.

Finally the leader returned to his friends. He had purchased two cupcakes. He ate one and let his two friends share the other one. All of them seemed satisfied.

I felt as if I had lived through a Norman Rockwell scene.

The Event Without a Happening

This year I am grappling with a severe bleeding problem linked to uterine fibroid tumors. There is a whole cascade of events that led to this monthly hemorrhaging issue: oral contraceptives caused a blood clot that led to a pulmonary embolism that led to a year of blood thinning medication that made the bleeding worse.

I met with two surgeons in the past year in an attempt to address this problem. One lost my confidence when he failed to communicate with my hematologist, and I canceled surgery. The other suggested using a progesterone IUD until I was off of the blood thinner and able to have a safer surgery.

Fortunately, I saw my hematologist the day after a particularly bad bleeding episode which expelled the IUD. I was very weak and my INR had shot up due to the great blood loss. She insisted I have surgery as soon as possible to address this problem. For the first time that I can recall, a doctor related my inability to resolve blood disorders to this monthly bleeding problem.

The hematologist recommended a surgeon at her hospital. Everyone pushed their schedules so I could coordinate a surgery by late August. My COBRA insurance expires at the end of September.

I rushed to gather images, wean off of blood thinners, take additional blood tests, arrange to have someone pick me up the day of the procedure, notify the insurance company, and meet with the surgeon and hematologist to get clearance for surgery. I even learned how to self-inject Lovenox -- something I never thought I would be able to do. It was a lot of work.

Despite some minor drama with a persistently low iron level, anemia, and a positive D dimer test (an indicator of too much clotting material in the blood), my hematologist continued to advocate for the surgery and provided detailed instructions for addressing the clotting risk during and after the procedure.

Finally, I got clearance and went to the hospital anxious but glad that this problem would soon be resolved.

When I woke from anesthesia, I was a bit groggy and nauseous but delighted that my long odyssey was over. My dear friend showed up and we giggled as I drank ginger ale and read aloud post-op instructions to "not put things in the vagina for a week."

Then my surgeon entered the room and informed me that she had bad news. She was not able to remove the fibroid because it was too large. To get it out, a different type of surgery would have been required. There were options we needed to discuss at a later time, such as trying Lupron shots or a surgery involving an abdominal incision.

I was shocked and horrified. I would have to write a big check to pay for an unsuccessful surgery and self-inject Lovenox for the next month, yet the problem remained. Worse, I would lose my COBRA and have to resort to some crappy insurance that would probably cover a far smaller fraction of another surgery cost (if any).

Fortunately, I was too groggy to worry about these implications.

My dear friend took me home and fed me bread. I sat on the couch for an hour, and then felt like taking a walk. It was a beautiful day.

Since the operation didn't involve any cutting, I felt pretty normal. We went to the park and hit the Barney's Warehouse sale.

At least the recovery was better than expected.

Stunning

My yogini friend is taking off for Mexico to teach yoga at a spa. I won't see her for a few months, so I wanted to get some time with her before she goes away. I made dinner for her in my apartment. We talked non-stop for about six hours.

The weather is pleasant, so we ventured out after eating to walk to a couple of parks in my neighborhood. To our delight, there was a fantastic salsa band playing on the High Line. A large crowd was dancing. We immediately joined them.

That's how it is with my yogini friend. Each knew the other would want to dance. We dove into the crowd without saying a word.

While dancing I noticed a very attractive man in the crowd. The music stopped and my friend asked that we hang out so she could say hello to someone she knew.

Lo and behold, it was the gorgeous man.

They exchanged greetings and talked about yoga class. He was annoyed that some of the instructors argue with their boyfriends on their cell phones before class, and then preach detachment.

At some point my friend asked him whether he was still modeling. He said he hadn't in the past year because there was a problem. Now he is just teaching yoga for a fraction of what he used to earn.

She asked what the problem was. He shook his head as if it was to complex to convey.

I touched his arm, looked in his eyes, and said "It's because you're ugly."

He's a model. He knew I was kidding, and all calmness and sincerely said, "No, its because of this problem."

He was doing a job in Columbia, and was detained by US immigration when he tried to return to the US. It took a year and a half to settle the issue. In the meantime, he couldn't get any work while in Columbia because "everyone looks like me."

I said, "Everyone looks like you in Columbia? I am moving there!"

He was slightly offended. "No! No! I am not from Columbia!" He pointed to the middle of his chest, "In Columbia, they are only this tall. I am from Argentina!"

Note to self: I must move to Argentina.

As we walked away the yogini told me he was straight. My jaw about hit the ground.

My Secret Garden

A while ago a friend told me about a private garden a block and a half from my home. One has to ask permission to visit, and somehow, this small barrier prevented me from going.


Until now.

I regret that I hesitated for so long.

Every day I look forward to packing my bag and walking to my oasis.

Beyond the heavy iron gate is a small park nestled within a city block cloister. There is a large lawn shaded by ancient trees.

A colorful border of shaggy roses, giant dahlias, butterfly bushes, crepe myrtles, heavy hydrangeas, salvia, cheery cone flowers, lavender, rose of sharon, and firework monarda surround the buildings and paths.

There are chairs on the lawn. Patio furniture is provided next to one of the buildings. Thankfully, this furniture is in the shade so it is perfect for working on my laptop.

I love flowers and trees, but I am not a gardener. The city is my favorite environment, yet I enjoy being outside. The sensation of being warmed by the Sun is something I really crave.

My apartment is hot, dark, and stuffy. Being able to work in this beautiful outdoor environment each day is a blessing. Usually there is a breeze, so it is about five degrees cooler than my home. The degree to which these visits lift my mood surprises me.

At first, I felt a bit like an intruder in the garden. There aren't many people around and those that are there tend to be quiet. But everyone I see is quite friendly and we are starting to recognize each other and nod hello.

It feels as if I finally have a bit of earth, and it was free. All I had to do was ask for permission.

Retreat

It has been a particularly brutal weather week. Every day the temperature has been in the 90s, so the air conditioning is on. But it makes little difference in a railroad apartment with little air circulation. All of the cool air sits in one room and is quickly overcome by the hot air rising from apartments three stories below.

My mermaid friend lives about 1,000 feet from the Ocean in Coney Island. She has a new boy friend in upstate New York, and travels to see him most weekends. Since she would be away a long time over the holiday weekend, she invited me to enjoy her home in her absence.

I love the fact that I can take the subway to the beach. The change in environment in such a short distance (as the crow flies) is remarkable. The air must be about 5-10 degrees cooler in Coney Island than it is in Manhattan.

At the mermaid's apartment by the water, it is even cooler. I had to wear a sweater at night.

I brought a stack of New Yorker magazines and a sack of groceries. It was great to relax and enjoy reading in the garden or on the sand.

And it was wonderful to be able to use the oven and stove to cook real food. There is a thermometer in my apartment kitchen, and it was hovering between 95-100 degrees. Even boiling water makes the kitchen intolerable. The nights at the beach were so cool I was able to roast corn in the oven!

Since I was in a place that was large enough for entertaining, I invited a few people to visit. My yogini friend was the first to accept my offer.

We met in India. She was my first room mate there, and I adore her thoroughly. She is also looking for work and having a very lean year. Lately, she has been too depressed to socialize. She almost didn't make it to the beach, but it was a blessing that she did. We had a wonderful visit.

A horrid break-up and a bad dye job had left her feeling wretched. We conversed in the garden, consulted the tarot, walked on the beach, and plotted for her to find a studio from which she could teach yoga classes.

It was as if our meeting nourished her in some way.

When we were in India, she cared for me while I was sick. Although she barely knew me, she sprang out of bed at 3am and routed through her medicine chest to find the right homeopathic remedies. I think she stayed up with me for the rest of the night. In the morning she consulted with our guide on my behalf. My choices were to stay alone in this isolated, tiny town a day's journey from a hospital or to take a grueling day-long bus ride over dirt roads to Pushkar. She got me through the bus trip.

I feel a strong bond with her.

At a time when I have little to offer, it felt marvelous to share my borrowed piece of paradise with her. She arrived agitated and sad, but she left feeling hopeful and refreshed. Her beautiful face was glowing again. She said the change in environment had a profound positive impact on her.

It really is far more satisfying to share good fortune than to hoard it. A friend helped me and I was able to help a friend. This truly makes me happy.

Impervious to Wonder

It is a big laundry day. A chore I hate because it involves a trip to the horrid laundromat.

Due to a recent hemorrhaging problem, I had four loads to do. It required two trips to carry all of the bags to the laundromat. It was exhausting.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for empty machines. Maybe because the prices rose again.

Once everything was loaded, I ran to the post office to mail a deposit to my bank.

As I passed a group of people conversing on the sidewalk, I noticed a butterfly perched on the thigh of one of the talkers. Butterflies are fairly rare in NYC. In 13 years in the city, I haven't seen one land on a person outside of the Museum of Natural History.

She looked down at it as it slowly stretched its wings and resumed talking. Her companions were oblivious to the natural phenomenon resting on their friend. The talker appeared indifferent to to this delicate, colorful creature.

Perhaps she isn't a New Yorker. Maybe she hails from the oyamel forests of Mexico and encounters this kind of thing every day.

The Gift of Compliments and Confusion

He pointed to his head and mouthed "Your hat is fabulous!"

I put up my hand for a high five, but he held it.

"My friend just gave it to me!"

"It's fabulous!"

"Thanks!"

His eyes swept up my body.

"Are you married?"

He's not gay? When did straight men start saying "fabulous" and complimenting women's hats?

"You're too much!" I say and walk away.

That one was surely a player.