Springtime in Vermont

 First week in Vermont: leaves popping, rain off and on every day, trees at the hospital blossoming….. and I find myself taking pictures in the bathroom again. I’ve been in a couple different VAs, but none of them had wall paper borders and dresses over L'Arc de Triomphe.  Also impressive: a diaper-changing table!  I don’t know why all my photos are crooked—perhaps because I’m used to aiming out of the moving car window or walking and trying to be inconspicuously, non-tourist-like.  

Some excitement the first day: I left the hospital after work and came out to a dead car battery. No apparent reason: no lights left on; no door left open. It is nice that the AAA card works anywhere. The bonus stressor was that my blackberry was also getting low on charge and I was a little worried that if the tow truck couldn’t find me, I’d be enjoying "Moonlight in Vermont"** without mobile phone capability. Then there was the issue that, because I was so close to my hotel, I didn’t think to use the bathroom in the office. Now, whether it was the weather (wet and drizzly) or just knowing I couldn’t get home, I suddenly REALLY wanted to be back in that dazzling Parisien bathroom.   Rather than wet my pants on the hospital grounds, the back up to the back up plan in my brain was to abandon the car in the VA parking lot and walk across the street in the rain to my Fairfield Inn. But in just 40 minutes Bob’s Tow Truck came and jump-started my car.  Once it started, I was afraid to turn it off lest the battery spontaneously drain itself again, so I drove around the neighborhood to charge up the battery.  In this way I gave myself a tour of downtown White River Junction. I found the organic Co-op, the Tip Top café and the Amtrak station with an old time-y train parked for decoration. I made it back to the hotel and crossed my fingers that the car would start in the morning.

 

It started!  So I was off to work for a second day of learning names and getting lost in the maze of the hospital attached to all the other buildings. Every day on a “detail” job feels like an interview. I was slightly self-conscious asking to leave 15 minutes early to find Northeast Foreign Cars as someone had recommended they could check the battery on my Saab.  I find relying on the Tom-Tom-GPS destroys my innate sense of direction. When the voice says “turn right in 600 yards” and I turn right in 300 yards by mistake, I end up going north instead of south. It took a little time, but I found Northeast Foreign Cars. You can imagine how happy they were to see me arrive at 4:45pm without an appointment. I explained it was my first week in town and I was uncertain and worried about why my battery had died. Paul, the manager, came out and looked under the hood. He remarked that I was from Maine. He was from Maine! We chatted about where in Maine and why we weren’t in Maine. He couldn’t see any obvious reason why the battery might have died, so he asked me to bring the car back at 7:30 in the morning and he would have someone drive me to work while they checked it out. I thought it sounded like a plan, but when I went out I found the battery dead again. The new plan was that they could just keep the car overnight and I offered to walk the 1.5 miles “home.” Before I could say, ‘Bob”s Towing is your uncle,’ one of the guys stepped forward. I thought Paul had asked him to drive me back to the Inn, but he had asked him to hurry up and change the battery. Within 20 minutes, I had a new battery, a new Maine friend and peace of mind that I would get myself to the new job on time the next day. And the Saab and I lived happily ever after until the end of the first week.

**Moonlight in Vermont: Frank Sinatra and Linda Ronstadt

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PISDaqgNVeg

Travelogue day 3 and 4 - the end

 April 16, Monday

I woke up before Ryley so I walked to the corner café and got our breakfast to go. Steve the Greek teased me that I couldn’t get my teenager out of bed. The hotel had a roof top patio so I went up and texted Ryley to join me for breakfast. However, when I got there, the entire patio, chairs and tables and all, were covered in a light patina of pollen. It looked like someone had shaken pale green Baby Powder on everything. I stood up drinking my coffee, hoping Ryley would bring towels to sit on. It was a sunny, blustery day and there was a view of other roofs and roof top patios.  No Ryley was forth coming.  I went back to the room for a sit-down breakfast (on the bed.)

We traveled to Becky’s on foot. Becky very sensitively had noticed Ryley’s enchantment when sighting several “hipsters” the day before. She suggested it would be possible to ditch The Cloisters and the Cathedral we had planned to see and could go to a neighborhood nearby which would be a hipster haven.  I am so unhip, I had to have Ryley explain what a hipster was to me.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hipster

We changed our plans in an instant and were off on the train to Williamsburg. Just walking around the neighborhood we saw many many young urbanites in tight jeans, plaid shirts, big meaningless glasses (honestly, some of them didn’t even have glass in them) and usually (always) an over-one-shoulder satchel. What were so many people doing off work in the middle of a Monday? What was in those satchels?

Becky’s magical iphone could also find a nearby hipster coffee shop and we were off to The Blue Bottle. Except for a stenciled blue bottle shape on the door and on the tote bags for sale, I don’t know what blue bottle meant. The cafe was a converted garage with a big sunny, glass garage door. It looked as if the door could open to allow a car to drive in. Coffee beans were being roasted out back. The pastries filled up the front window. The hipsters were plentiful. One hipster patron at the counter was unable to use his credit card. In a bold gesture, he asked for a pair of scissors to cut it up. The coffee maker hipster said he didn’t have scissors but Becky stated that, oddly, she had a pair of scissors in her bag. She comes prepared for any emergency. The incredible feature was that all the signs for coffee or cookies were in a special lettering that both Ryley and I said looked "like Becky-font!"  Even Becky thought it looked like someone had stolen her artistic license--she should either sue the witch or marry the guy!

 We spent a bit of the morning frequenting the thrift stores of the neighborhood so that Ryley could go home in hipster garb. We were very successful. Big Gay Ice Cream didn’t open until 2:00 so we took Middle Eastern lunch carry out to Hamilton Park for a picnic. The park was jammed at lunchtime. People on the grass, on benches, people in the Mission food line. The park was particularly memorable for the treacherous public restrooms with saloon length swinging stall doors. This was the only park I’ve ever seen with a doggie playground—a big area of many dogs and their owners frolicking about and a kiddie area for the little dogs. We went back to have amazing ice cream (Was the line down the street because it was 85 degrees out or because of the Big Gay sign with the rainbow picture of an ice cream cone?)

We took an after lunch trek to the High Line. This is a long walking park on the old elevated railroad of the west side overlooking the Hudson River. Many plants were already emerald green and artists were scattered about painting the flowering shrubs. The tour included visiting Becky’s School library at the Montessori school. A sign on the counter asked that if Rebecca was out, that students return. The bright room was carpeted and cozy and had kid art on the walls. We departed for refreshing beverages on the outdoor patio of Lobo’s with Becky’s friends from school and artisan pizza and BYOB at Francesco’s. One young girl at dinner could not keep her eyes off Ryley and Ryley proved to be quite a flirt. (The girl must have been 9 months old. Her diaper cover matched her adorable dress.) The baby-watching prompted many stories of Becky babysitting at the Thompsons even before Ryley was born.

 

On the walk home we passed the Farmacy [sic] Soda Fountain. The sign said: “Egg Cream? Yes!”  Becky explained that her Dad used to drink Egg Creams—a frothy mixture of milk, seltzer and chocolate syrup—no eggs and no cream.  Ryley tried an egg cream. I tried a Jerk T-shirt.

http://brooklynfarmacy.blogspot.com/p/our-story.html

April 17, Tuesday

I accidentally got us up too early. So we started to walk to the Atlantic-Pacific station too early. But we’d forgotten our Brooklyn booty and at least we had the extra time to walk back to the hotel and get it: Book of Mormon coffee mug, Farmacy t-shirts, Hard Rock Café hurricane glasses. Becky brought us real New York bagels for our train ride home. She was such a good hostess to escort us to Penn Station to catch our Amtrak.  We got sleepily home to Maine without a hitch. Before bed, Ryley remarked, “I can’t believe what an influence Becky’s had in our lives.”  I can. She still has.

Travelogue - April vacation day 1 and 2

April 14, Saturday 2012

Lots of tickets to get to and from Portland to NY

Mural on corner of my Brooklyn hotel

Ryley and I got up early enough to be at the Portland Amtrak station at 7:30am—unfortunately so were a zillion other people who were on their way to school break destinations including the Boston Marathon and, apparently, a Red Sox game and a Bruins game in Boston. So, the parking lot was already full. The station had cleverly pre-planned for this and they had men in little orange aprons around directing folks to distant lots. We departed very on time.

The first train was super-packed but we were on the quiet car. We had to take a subway from North Station to South Station in Boston and we caught our second train at the Back Bay station. Ryley and I took turns pretending we were asleep and going to the café car. Ryley finished his SAT-math homework; I finished the pita chips. Becky was waiting for us at Penn Station.

Before our NYC sojourn, I needed to stop in the restroom at the station. From my stall  I could hear a baby, on a likely cold changing table, crying loudly. I also heard someone in a nearby stall say, “No crying babies.” Welcome to NYC. Becky was all pre-prepared for us and got us each our own Metro cards. I kept calling it a T or the subway (like in Boston) but Becky calls it the train.  We took the train to our Union Hotel. The hotel was a tiny European-like hostel in the midst of a little bit near nowhere neighborhood. Our room was about 8 inches bigger than the double bed and we had to shut the bathroom door to physically turn around. Ryley might have had more room if he’d slept in the armoire.

The Promenade very near the Brooklyn Bridge's bottom

Doggie day care

Becky walked us around her neighborhood so we could see where her school was. We checked out The Promenade, a walking trail near the waterfront. A highlight was a bike-pack with a little doggie in it. We took up time until we were hungry for dinner by doing some shopping along the streets. Becky was excited that we actually got a seat without a wait on a Saturday night at her favorite Sushi restaurant:  Ki Sushi. She likes sushi but doesn’t eat fish. There are still California,  avocado and cucumber rolls. Ryley must have learned to eat sushi secretly somewhere. I can only recall having sushi once with him. I never knew sake comes in a darling tiny, warm carafe but it does.

After dinner, we met Pike, Becky's plastic-eating cat. The neighborhoods in Brooklyn have a corner store on almost every corner. The little entrance-ways by stairs have to encompass the building’s trash cans, trash that won’t fit in the cans (like ironing boards and mattresses) and any wee garden of a few shrubs or flowers. The tulips and lilacs were in full season. Becky told us the rule about mattresses left on the street for the garbage men--they have to be wrapped in plastic because of bed bugs.  We saw a few mattresses NOT wrapped.   Does that mean they’re assured to  NOT have bed bugs?

Becky walked us half way back to the hotel, up to the big phallic bank (I forgot the name.) Our hotel is about a 20 minute walk from her apartment. We fell pretty much straight asleep after we found a place to plug in all our electronics (which involved UN-plugging the clock that was 30 minutes off anyway….we figured it was the New York time change.)

April 15 – Sunday

Our room included free breakfast, at the corner restaurant, so we walked down two blocks to the Union Café for coffee and to meet Becky. The waitress kept bringing me coffee and Ryley kept appreciating the orange juice. Steve, the owner, asked where we were from and was surprised to hear we were from Maine.  I had overheard him tell someone they looked Greek, I surmised he was Greek. I was right. So I got to practice my hello, please and thank-you-s (Yassou, Tekanis and Efarasto) in Greek. Steve also told Ryley how to go visit Greece someday. “Go to party all night. You can sleep on the plane.”

Becky took us to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens where the cherry blossoms were famously in bloom. We walked through garden after garden of flowering trees and other spring plants. Becky’s Dad, who grew up in Brooklyn, walked through the very same gardens on school field trips when he was a little boy. The lilacs were so heavy and sweet scented we thought we were intoxicated like Dorothy and the Lion.

Sunning turtles at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens

We took another train to mid-town and got to walk around on our way to the show. We bought make-your-own salads and New York cheesecake and ate in the park behind the public library for a picnic. We stopped at a Japanese store which sold all manner of magazines and books in Japanese but also all the cutesy paper/stationary products, toys and gifts—stuff you would never find in Augusta, maybe a trendy Portland shop, but never in Augusta. I had stashed Ryley’s half finished fizzy red drink in my shoulder bag so we wouldn’t damage any paper goods. Unfortunately, I detected a little splash/puddle of red near the counter and cautioned Becky not to step in someone else’s mess, when I realized it was my mess.  The only thing I ruined was Ryley’s white go-to-Book-of-Mormon shirt.  Not entirely ruined. Just pink, sticky spotted ruined. I had enough tissues in my bag to mop up the floor before anyone caught us and threw us out.  There was a spacious/single bathroom where I could dilute most of the red spots from the shirt. 

We found the Eugene O’Neil Theater in time for Ryley to change into his wet Mormon garb, complete with black tie and white socks.  He turned some heads when people thought he was a real Mormon. As I had bought the CD last Christmas when I bought us the Broadway tickets, Ryley had already memorized all the words/songs. He was almost more fun to watch than the show as he expectantly, held his hand to his mouth, anticipating the next 4-letter word/lyric. The show was the best way to learn Mormon stories AND fun and witty. The live music and  costume and set changes are the miracle that is Broadway.

Ryley doesn't know why I'm taking his pic on the subway

While wandering around Times Square, Becky mentioned she had never been to a  Hard Rock Café. We, Elder Thompson and I, took her. By now Ryley had changed into his new Book of Mormon t-shirt “God’s favorite musical.” The Café  took a rocking great picture of us holding guitars (Ryley as the lead singer) but when I went to negotiate a price and told the guy “we’re good,” he took that to mean we were good without the photos.  We left without photos but with funny memories and our souvenir hurricane glasses instead.

We went back to Becky’s apartment and Ryley watched an episode of Dr. Who while I couldn’t stay awake. Ryley and I  walked back to the hotel and we were fast asleep before 10pm. Need to get ready for Day 3 and 4....

Am I Blue?

This is my “Am-I-blue-without-you-in-Colorado-Judd” quilt.  The first week I was in Grand Junction I found a behemoth of an old baby blue sewing machine at Goodwill. Seriously, it must outweigh what three of my Singer featherweight sewing machines would weigh or 1.5 of what my Pfaff weighs. (Yes, now I have three sewing machines again. I gave away my mother’s Brother last year.) Baby Blue looked like it had all its working parts. Although I could find NO brand name anywhere, for $14.99 I schlepped it back to the Residence Inn to see if it would work. I was told I had 1 week to bring it back if it didn’t it. It did!

 

I had received a Jo-Ann Fabric gift certificate from Judd for Christmas and it is quite a luxury to pick out new fabrics instead of shopping in my fabric stash for various sized scraps with which to make-do. I picked out 8 dark blues and 8 light blues and a couple of accents. (And now I have new scraps for future mini-projects.) The quilt pattern is from a Stack a Deck quilting book where you free-hand cut shapes and shuffle a pre-arranged stack of 9 x 9 inch fabric squares. You don’t have to match corners when you sew; you just plan on overages at the edges but after you pizza-cutter cut the edges, you end up with 7 x 7 inch big squares all the same even though all the concentric internal squares are catawampus.   I just love to say that word. You might have a pile of seven squares the same shapes, but because you’ve scrambled the fabrics, no two squares are alike. Voila!

I was so enamored with the sewing machine, I had it shipped home (for way more than it cost at the thrift store.)  But it was totally worth it. Unfortunately, some contents were damaged in shipping.  (The SIMPLICITY pattern tin box with my accessories was smashed up. That’s one antique that will NOT make it back to Goodwill for re-gifting.