9/11- Welcoming Angels

I was living in NYC on 9/11, way uptown, pretty far away from Ground Zero. It was almost 11 months since i had lost my daughter, Lisa, almost 19 years old, in a firey car crash along with her two friends, Sean and Amy. So I had already been living with shock and grief for a while.


It was an almost perfect fall morning, until we heard the news. In my Yorkville neighborhood people starting spilling out of their apartments, lining up at hospitals to give blood, only to be turned away after waiting... there would be very few survivors who needed it.

In the days following, NYC was in shock.
In a strange way, I felt like I could help, because I was experiencing my own personal grief- I wanted to help, but there was not much I could do.

 Sometimes the only thing that could be done was to move to the back of a crowded bus. A plane would fly overhead, and everyone would freeze. Another attack? Who knew?

Almost 3000 souls were lost in the attacks of 9/11. I thought then and still do now, that Lisa, Sean, and Amy, were  Angelic Greeters for these new souls stepping into the next world. It gives me comfort that perhaps the 9/11 victims saw their smiling faces and felt their loving hugs.

After death, only the love remains....

Wandering NYC: LIttle Trees and the Density of Things

An a Capella group

steps over boots and

around heavy coats

to sing doo wop

on the C train, at 34th Street.

The doors open at 42^nd Street,

There are beats of African drums

Coming from the platform,

Which get quieter as the door closes.

A man reading Bible verses

Has gotten on there.

The passengers

keep their heads down

do not speak,

Nor look at him.

At 59^th, I get off.

Peaceful sounds of

Native American flute

Fill the Time Warner Center

I hear it on the escalator

Down to Whole Foods.

It fades away to

Folk pop mix

In the market,

Bob Dylan’s nasal raspy twang

In the background as

As I eat oatmeal

And drink organic coffee

There is less sidewalk                                        

In this season,

 From 59^th to 74^th,

I walk through                                                         

Pop-up forests of

Christmas Trees

Piney scent

Mixes with aromas of roasted nuts,

And Freshly fried Falafel,

A siren cuts through

The after rush hour

Traffic on icy Broadway morning.

The little trees

Draw me in.

No more than three feet high,

These ones that fit in tiny

Spaces in

Manhattan places

Mini forests sit among the Giants

“Hello, little ones”, I think.

“I have had been intimate

With a few of your cousins,”

Back when I lived on E. 85^th Street.

I brought them up to my 6^th floor studio

Barely reaching  window,                                 

Facing south.

Flashing mini- lights, stars

And angels sat on gentle tiny branches

I do not linger,

In those street forests.

Only memories

Linger

I have come to dance,

And so I do

Soft gentle indie

Music,

Piano

And lilting, voice,

for jazz class.

There is sadness in the voice.

Soft slippers and bare feet

Make brushing sounds on

Polished surfaces

But downstairs,

the room filled with tappers

Stomp, slap, and flap

In unison

Metal on wood,

Percussive,

Drumming with our feet

Deep bass guitar

Plays jazz solo,

Our rhythms syncopate

With it

And together we become

the

Music

Then, two flights down

with clomping boots on

ancient steps

Cross the street and                               

back to screeching

Subway.

On the #1 at 72^nd Street

A man with covered standing bass

waits,

then

gets off at 66^th,

Lincoln Center.

I imagine his deep rich sound

As he plays in an orchestra there

or maybe a jazz band.

While I wait at 59^th Street

For the C

I hear, I think, tapping.

Could it be?

Yes, a man

Has set up planks of wood

Where he does cramp roll turns

And maxi fours

With gusto.

At Penn Station,

34th Street

There is soulful blues

And haunting electric guitar

A few notes of each,

Then out to the street,

Where heading west,

The city noises cars, and horns

And underlying din

Begin to wane

By 10^th Ave

There is peace

Peaceful city

How strange

There is stillness

Out here in the western edge

Between 11^th and 12^th,

Almost to the river

Where there is lots of sky

Silence,

While I wait for the bus

To take me home.

Wandering And Dancing, NYC

Yesterday I did a little dancing at Steps on Broadway on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

 The first time I went there the entrance eluded me. I thought I was going crazy.

With Fairway‘s fruits and vegetables filling up most of the block. it is not surprising.  Marked with 2121, but set back a little, it appears to be a delivery entrance, but it’s not. 

Take the elevator or walk to the third floor and enter Dance Heaven.

Immediately, there is energy, movement, and music.  Dancers in all stages of dress and undress sprawl in  hallways, stretching limbs, waiting for classes to begin or recovering from ones just completed.

I am right at home in the dance studio with its hardwood floors and smooth surfaces,  mirrors, and ballet barres .

Dancing since the age of 8, I have never stopped. Styles, steps, and rhythms have changed, but my love for the dance has deepened over the years.

Less technical, I have become more expressive, sacrificing the big fancy move for the emotion.

With multiple classes on two levels, starting at 10 AM and going into the evening, 7 days a week, there are always too many choices at Steps. On any given day there might be a dozen or more each of tap, and ballet, in addition to various other tempting choices like contemporary, jazz, hip hop, and theater dance.

To maximize my infrequent NYC dance days,  I take two classes back to back. Today it’s  an Advanced Beginner Contemporary Jazz class followed by Advanced Beginner Tap.

Tap is one of my main interests these days. As I kid I took classes, then returned to the dance some years ago when I was a teacher directing and choreographing my school’s production of “42^nd Street.”

Amazingly, 20 years later, it is all coming back to me.

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 The jazz class was decent but uninspiring.  About 3 times as old as many of the students, I was fine in the warm up, which lasted a full hour. The choreography was okay until we started to go down on the floor and that’s when I took my leave to get ready for the tap class, the main event.

I like to be inspired.

With a more diverse population, tap was way more exciting. Gotta give  cudos to the “senior” member of the class, pushing 90, who, wearing her “Keep on Moving” tee shirt, held her own. I want to be her when I’m in my 80’s!!

Inspiring us with great jazz and challenging rhythms, instructor and performer Lynne Schwab sees and hears all mistakes and cares enough to take time to help students improve.

I love a good teacher.

Full of endorphins, I hopped on the subway at 72^nd Street for the first leg of my journey back to the Bolt which brought me home to Philly. While waiting for my next connection at 59th Street, I happen upon this tapper. Sweet!

There is always more dancing!

NYC Wandering-To Cronut or Not?

Dark chocolate, champagne, and gold dust. These are the seasonal and festive ingredients for December’s “Cronut.”

I had never heard of the “Cronut” and maybe you haven’t either.  But judging from the size of the line in front of this little unassuming bakery in SoHo, NYC, this “little slice of heaven” must be worth the wait.

It is not strange to see lines in NYC: New Yorkers are great at waiting in lines for busses, museums, and movies, but Saturday mornings in SoHO are usually quiet, stores and galleries opening around 11AM.

I hopped off the Bolt Bus from Philly on a bland corner of Sixth Ave. in TriBeCa. Later I’d be traveling to Macy’s Downtown Brooklyn for my face-painting job, but now, it was time to explore.

I meandered meditatively on mostly silent brick-lined streets, a few merchants setting up their wares in front of cast iron buildings. Later, holiday shoppers would fill up these narrow streets.

And then I saw the line.

So, of course, I got on the end

And that’s where I got my introduction to the “Cronut,” described as a “croissant-doughnut hybrid, ” which takes almost three days for full preparation.  Pastry chef Dominique Ansel started selling his trademarked yummy treat in May 2013, with a monthly flavor. For the opening months they had rose vanilla, lemon maple, and blackberry lime.

But for December, they brought in the chocolate (66% dark), the champagne, and the gold dust.

Which explains why this line was still going strong on a Saturday morning just before 10AM.  The line begins more than two hours before the bakery’s scheduled opening 8AM M-F, 9AM Sun) and there is no indication that this craze or faze or obsession is slowing down.

Maybe these pastries are just darn delicious.  At $5.00 each (plus tax), they must be.

But there were rules: rules about the line and rules about how to eat them, all neatly displayed on a sign at the front of the line. I had never seen so many rules for a bakery.  I was reminded of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. Now, I really wanted to try one. The suspense was profound. And I had become part of a group, a happening, a movement!!

I could taste the chocolate swirling around on my tongue, the champagne warming me instantly.

While I was chatting with my line mates, my new life long friends, someone from the shop came out to make the dreaded announcement that they’d soon be running out of the coveted product for probably the last half of the line. There were groans of disappointment, including my own, when I realized I wouldn’t have a chance to sample this delight that day.

At last count there are 22 more days in December- that means 22 more days to attempt to fill my mouth with this heavenly concoction… that’s until the new flavor for January is unveiled. What could it be?? I’ll keep you posted.

Dominique Ansel Bakery

189 Spring Street

212-219-2773

http://dominiqueansel.com/