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.
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.
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.
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