Vision

I had a optometrist appointment in my old neighborhood, Cobble Hill, yesterday. Dr. Poran dilated my eyes and put yellow dye in them as part of the exam.

It is the definition of stupid to have a repeated experience and not prepare for its repercussions. I forget to bring my glasses to these exams each year, and then have to make my way home in NYC practically blind.

I made arrangements to meet friends who live in the neighborhood for dinner after my exam. We had a nice long meal at Luluc, so my eyes had some opportunity to improve.

Then, two of us decided to buy a bottle of wine and surprise a couple of mutual friends who opened Robert Henry Vintage in nearby Park Slope. We have seen little of these dear friends since they began their venture. They are now bound to babysit their shop rather than socialize.

My friend helped guide me to the subway and then I led her to the store. It was a neighborhood unfamiliar to her, and it was an interesting experience to lead her there while asking her to identify landmarks for me.

I had difficulty crossing the street because street lights and car lights looked the same unless a car was in motion. I would not have been able to see a bicyclist until it was a few feet from me.

All lights gained volume. Christmas lights seemed particularly rich. What must have been a meager strand of lights strung on a tree seemed like a thick garland of twinkles, each bulb emitting a starry snowflake the size of my splayed palm.

We had a very long visit with our friends. It surprised all of us when we discovered it was after 1am.

My eyes were still dilated. I asked my friend to walk with me back to the subway because it was still difficult to see. She kindly obliged and disembarked at the Bergan station.

As I rode alone to 23rd Street, I thought about a couple of friends who have impaired vision. One has blurry sight that cannot be corrected. He wears very special lenses and can read with a text inches from his eyes, but he will never see well enough to operate a car.

He once told me that his blurry vision made him more open to experiences. It is impossible for him to make presumptions about people based on looks. His approach is friendly to all. He thinks this has led to enriching encounters that probably would not have happened otherwise.

I could tell from the posture of some people on the train at 2am that some of them were probably homeless. Based on the conversations I heard, some were young people returning home late after parties or clubbing. I am not sure about the rest.

As I walked home, I appreciated the crosswalks on 23rd and the avenues that are equipped for the blind. These are standard in Amsterdam. They emit beeping sounds to signal when it is OK to cross the street safely.

A couple of rats scurried across my path. At first I thought they were black plastic bags blowing in the wind.

As I passed people I couldn't see, I wondered whether they were nodding and smiling at me. One person said hello. I wondered whether my oblivious expression confused or engaged them.

The world seems altered when one can't see it. It makes me realize how my estimation of what is around me is based on the faulty apparatus used to evaluate it.

Galloping Consumption

As I walked down the 2nd Avenue platform of the F train, I noticed a man moving in my direction who was asking people for change. He looked down on his luck.

He moved near me. I didn't have any change and didn't want to encourage him by making eye contact.

I got the urge to cough and did so.

"You better check out that cough." he said as he sped past me "It could be T.B."

Fresh Start

Somehow, I consistently allow New Year's plans to be forgotten in the rush to address Christmas responsibilities. I didn't even consider making a New Year plan until I was leaving for my mother's and realized it would be nearly New Year's Eve when I returned.

Friends invited me to Shanghai Mermaid's party at Galapagos in Dumbo, but the tickets had to be bought on-line and I had just cancelled the credit card I designate for on-line purchases. I decided to wait until I returned home from the holidays. By that time I would have the new credit card and access to a computer.

But it was too late. The tickets were gone by the time I got back. I suspect that Shanghai Mermaid is about creating cache through scarcity, and that pretentious PR crap annoys me.

I made a tentative plan to get one of the "limited" tickets available at the door and accepted a dinner invitation from friends who already got their tickets. At my request, a couple of friends who initially were supposed to attend the party with me were also invited.

It was an exceptionally cold day. It snowed and rained. The sidewalks were icy. I was not in a festive mood.

My bathroom ceiling fell in the night before. I skipped a shower due to worries that it would encourage more plaster to rain down.

My wardrobe contained little that matched the occasion and weather conditions. I made a meager attempt to don beads and sequins, but finally decided on a New York uniform of black top and boots with skinny jeans.

The liquor store was jammed with people, which led to my late arrival to dinner. I felt terrible about it because the two friends I invited were not acquainted with the hosts.

Fortunately, I was the first guest to arrive. The hosts were gracious as usual. A painter/textile designer, painter/unemployed production manager, painter/editor, photographer, and actor/software engineer fell into easy conversation. We had a wonderful meal in a beautiful and warm apartment.

The photographer and painter/textile designer suggested we follow a ritual. We wrote things to leave behind in 2008 on slips of paper. Then we wrote things to embrace on 2009. We read what we wrote aloud, then burned the 2008 papers in the fireplace. It was a little humiliating to read the papers aloud, but gratifying to note that we had met some of our goals (i.e. reaching out to new people) in the gathering.

After several attempts and a consultation with the internet, I made an origami boat. It was labeled 2009. All of us placed our 2009 papers in the boat and dribbled champagne on it.

After bundling up, we walked to the Ferry Landing and released the boat into the cold waters. The wind swept a couple of the papers back up to the pier. We chased them down and threw them back into the water. I am convinced it was my paper that flew up three times before hitting the water.

Our hosts headed to the party. I was not able to get a ticket at the door, so I accompanied the photographer to Jivamukti. The painter/textile designer went off to meet other friends.

Jivamukti was hosting a silent meditation party. I have done yoga one on one with friends who were going through teacher training, but have only attended two yoga classes. It was my first time at this venue.

We took off our shoes and entered a softly lit room. Many people were sitting or lying on the floor. It was warm.

I put my large scarf on the floor and stretched out on my back. It was only about 10:30pm, but I felt tired and almost fell asleep. All of the things I worried about earlier in the evening - wardrobe, wine, lateness - seemed stupid.

At 11:50 a person came in with a sign encouraging us to go to the big room. I got up and followed the others out of the room. I noticed a man in a business suit on one mat. He looked like a Wall Street employee.

The big room was crowded. I found a spot and sat down in the back. There were two candlelit alters at the front of the room. At midnight, people began chanting om.

It seemed simultaneously odd and familiar to chant om. I spent January 2008 in India to celebrate a milestone birthday and to meet a personal goal. In fact, I arrived in Delhi on New Year's Eve. It was a wonderful trip, and I am very eager to go back. This was a nice way of completing the arc of the year by returning to India via New York.

We continued chanting until two people at the alter began talking. They gave a couple of short inspirational speeches.

As I chanted, listened, and yawned (from sleepiness not boredom), I pondered the difference between this method of embracing the new year and the more typical drinking and noise making. It surprised me that the boisterous celebration outside could not be heard within the room.

In the Hindu temples I visited in India, ringing bells or gongs dispel negativity. 2008 was a very negative year for me and many other people, and I wished I could ring a bell in addition to chanting.

But it is a goal to try new ways of doing things. Perhaps chanting om is a better way of establishing an auspicious year. It is about embracing the good rather than rejecting the negative. Perhaps this sets a better tone.

I intended to take a subway home. It was freezing outside and many drunk people were stumbling around. But by the time I reached the subway that would deposit me near home, I decided it was silly to just not walk the rest of the way.

As I bounded the three flights of stairs to my apartment, it struck me that I felt festive. This was a pleasant surprise to myself.

Lazarus Lamp

The light bulb in my floor lamp blew last night.

This is a nuisance. The lamp is an old lamp that belonged to my grandfather. It was stored in his dusty basement for at least 30 years. It was not operational and lacked a shade when I got it. As I put it in my car, the switch device fell off, rolled down the driveway, and tumbled into the grass. It would be impossible to find it.

It took a bit of effort to revive the lamp. I rewired it, connected it to a power strip so I could turn it on and off with that switch, and tracked down the special bulb that fits in the large socket. That mogul bulb cost $25.

This Emeralite lamp was prized for its green glass shade. Replacement shades are quite pricey, so I have put off that purchase.

Work released a little early this afternoon, so I ran some errands in the West Village. I realized I was near a specialty lighting shop, Filaments, and popped in.

The proprietor could not have been more gracious. Of course they had the bulb (for half of what I paid for the previous one), and he noted that the old bulb may still have life in it. It was a 3-way bulb, and the filaments for each setting are different.

I explained that my lamp no longer had the switch device, so I wouldn't be able to use the other settings.

He disappeared to a backroom and fumbled through a small box full of old switches. He handed me two switches that he thought would fit. No charge.

One of the switches fit the lamp. It turns out the old Mogul bulb is still operational.

I loved discovering that something that seemed dead had two more lifetimes in it.

They should not have stopped making these Mogul bulb lamps. This bulb has lasted 8 years. Apparently, it has another 16 years to go!

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.