Death, resurrection & real estate: End of 2011

I have been mute. Not because of deep meditation, as the image may infer.
It's been more like a war. There have been victories, and more set backs than defeats.
But the victories have been good, one fabulous.

It seemed, just as I am mentally composing an entry, the movie changes. The scenario drifts away and then something else happens!  Over and over....and over. It's all been exhausting. But exciting. But enough of the vague descriptions, I'll just make a list:
- While negotiations for the sale of the Orient house were in play, I saw a house upstate,
   and promptly fell in love. The house is better than a boy friend: more supportive, less
   demanding, quieter and you can dress it up without much argument.
- Sold Orient house (for less money and a lot of aggravation, but oh well)
- Bought house upstate less than a month later, had to delay closing for seller otherwise it
  would have been a week later. Closing was a snap, took 20 minutes.
-  Refinanced NYC building: aggravating, confusing, delayed and still weird.
All this building stuff took place within a month between November-December. Meanwhile there was an eviction pending since November, that was about the loss of a lot of money, aggravation for over a year and a completely thankless endeavor. They have finally been evicted a week ago. Good riddance! Apologize for the overuse of the word aggravation. I wish it wasn't so appropriate.

Meanwhile, just after Thanksgiving -  in between sale of Orient house, refinance and buying house upstate - I had a tenant pass away. In the apartment. The longest resident in the building (32 years) with the lowest rent (don't ask). She was a sweetie, and she wasn't old. It wasn't suicide, it was just her time. May she rest in peace. Now she can move on with her mission accomplished on earth, at least for this go round.

Ceramics, my art making solace, that balances all this building $&%# was busy in December. Did my first gig at selling my pottery. It was fun. I learned a lot, but I didn't earn a lot. Yet, I got a commission out of it and am inspired to try selling my work some more.

The 'victory' I glossed over (or couched in complaints) was the sale of Orient and the purchase of my dream-come-true-house upstate, in the Hudson Valley. It was love at-first-sight, and will help me make a wonderful future. It is doing a great job of making a wonderful present. On New Year's eve I sat in my new house, knitted, drank a little cheer, text'd with some friends and listened to Beethoven. It was heaven. On New Year's day I took a little walk/hike with a friend, who is a NYC to Woodstock transplant, around Lake Minnewaska. That was heaven too.

The war isn't over. But in the Year of the Dragon, I feel a stronger soldier. The solace, the refuge of the house gives me the rest to wake up refreshed and continue life in New York City as a landlord mogulette. Who really identifies with her artistic nature versus her business nature. Perhaps this is the year where the two can live together simpatico and enhance each others natures. Perhaps my bouncing back and forth between the two addresses is the external of the artist in the land of brick mortar and sewer pipes.
I didn't even mention the sewer pipe debacle. Another time, maybe.

I prefer to move forward and write about the house and projects that have less rant-appeal. Speaking of....Lest I forget, there is a barn which will become my ceramic and art studio. Was talking this morning with the contractor about how to put in a sleep loft with a stairway and bathroom. Lucky lucky me, artsy mogulette ha ha...

To see photos of the house/studios in progress on a flickr set
(still trying to work the kinks out of that) go to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dgsdolcevita/sets/72157629075862311/
The photo of the lanterns was taken in Rhinebeck, NY during Christmas week.

Packing it in: Orient NY–Fall '11

Autumn in New York (specifically)

I don't want to remember or pay tribute to anything about 9/11. That may sound harsh or callous, but it was awful and remembering doesn't make it any better. It is not out of any disrespect to the dead or their families or loved ones. It is incredibly painful and it just sucks. I don't want to wax on how my day, THE day went. It's all anecdotal. Yes, we should never forget, sure. There are amazing stories, mostly tragic. It was terrible. For the last 10 years it has sucked. Not for me personally so much. Shifts, changes, some sad, some not, some fun, some involving death, heartbreak, disappointment, joy, gains of wisdom by the spoonful; the usual fare of life. But the world has gotten worse. It is more fearful/hysterical: endless war, lack of common decency, two-fisted greed, bald faced lying in government, in our economic system, dug in anger and unrealistic bias.
Or is it just that I am 10 years older and that much more jaded?

One good thing, that happened to me personally almost a month after THE day. My body: so stiff and sore from all the adrenaline pumping through it for weeks (the smell, the sirens, the TV, the fear, confusion, the numb horror and sadness, no laughter) I knew I needed to do something to calm down, stretch out, exhale. I began an Ashtanga Yoga  practice. A practice that became personal. It has been a steady in my life. Perhaps an external parallel could be how I use to walk out my front door, look south and see the twin towers. This yoga stuff works on the internal landscape, which could make it stronger than buildings or as fragile as a thought. It is the regular practice where I have learned to breathe in and out, repeating day after day the same series of demanding movements and postures while my thoughts run, sometimes amok. Through the doubts, hysteria, obsessions, whatever voices in my head that are claiming the mic, continuing to inhale and exhale. Doing my best to stay present or accepting that I sometimes am unable to do that. Slowly, it can seem imperceptible, but the range of going from one cliff edge to another swings less wildly. I can stay in a calmer, less drama driven bandwidth. The power to observe my thoughts and make friends with my own mean nasty ones and my difficult (and painful) feelings has helped my life get richer, more experienced, lived.

Perhaps that is what is asked of us from all this. Not false hope, or looking towards the future with optimism. It is about giving ourselves space within ourselves to be present. Be here now, (to quote from Ram Das), to still be here now. With all the distractions, all the screens, the shiny objects to desire, people to envy or loathe, so much yelling, it's hard times to muddle through... Can we take a breath and wonder at being here at all? The what-ness of it: Sadness? Humor? Frustration? Beauty? Tedium? Sweetness? It's all here now. It was all there now, 10 years ago, even 11 years ago or 111 years ago. It's always. Here. Now.

PS The photo is a picture of graffiti on a wall in Amsterdam, the Netherlands.
I took it this past April.

DIY project

This hassock is all that is left from a set of rattan chairs and hassocks. My Dad got them after they had been abandoned in one of the apartments of one of the buildings he use to manage. Originally they were the natural caramel/beige rattan that was getting chewed up by time, wear and weather. We used this rattan set for the front porch in Orient. In one of my design mistakes, I painted it this minty green. It was a poor rift on some quasi-Martha Stewart idea, basically mediocre to bad.. Oh well. I kept meaning to re-paint it, like a white or something neutral....
Time passed.....
I've been trying to sell the house for 3 years (there has been a recession and a flat housing market, just in case you were in Antarctica), but time marches on. The chairs fell apart, rotted. Finally after throwing out EVERYTHING in the barn, the chairs got tossed with the everything else. All except this hassock. It still was holding strong. I have such nice memories of sitting on this very wonderful porch and I thought this small piece of furniture (with some help) could be the 'madeleine cake' to elicit the memories of a beautiful place of a time past.
So....I did some thinking. Found some vintage fabric from the 60s that I bought back in the 90s. I did some canvasing of opinions for color possibilities to replace the minty green shade and...voila!

The house is warming up to get sold (more activity, more interest), so meanwhile it sits on its porch. But I will take it with me to wherever my new porch happens to be.

Some Enchanted Evening

Should I really quote Rogers & Hammerstein when it should be more A Midsummer's Night Dream? I leave it to you to sort out and decide...

The most unusual thing was that it was my first time EVER to see Shakespeare in the Park. EVER! Really. It wasn't what I did in high school (doing mostly the first word of that phrase) and well....I just didn't. Yes, I grew up on the upper west side, yes near central park, even near enough to the Delacorte theater. *sigh*. My high school friend, Kate, who knew what I was like back then, was even surprised.
She insisted (thank goodness) that we go. The system was more streamlined than before. You only waited online half a day, being handed assigned seats at 1:00pm, the rest of the day was yours. It was a perfect summer day. Really. One of the 10 best weather-wise. Blue skies, no humidity, fluffy clouds, nice breeze, cooling down at night.....nice to think about  less than a week later when at 10:30 pm it is 89 degrees. We reconvened at 6ish to have a picnic on the Turtle Bay lawn, across from the Great Lawn. Here's the point of view shot:

We sat on a dense carpet of grass, drank wine, ate cold poached salmon, salad and dark chocolate shortbread. We chatted, reminisced, smiling at memories of people from the past and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. It was a key New York summer experience. Where was Woody Allen? Or even Marshall McLuhan? That movie did come out when I was in high school. Kate still teases me and calls me Annie Hall, though I am not from the mid-west, just the mid '70s on the west side.

Anyway, it was showtime. We get to our seats and before the ushers came around demanding that we delete any pictures of the theater I snapped a couple. So the top photo is 'illegal'. Considering the headlines today about journalism and legalities, I'll risk it. No one died, phones weren't hacked and the police weren't paid off. This is small potatoes.

At the beginning of the performance the actors come out dressed in lovely turn of the century style costumes. The dresses were beautiful shades of green. They dance in couples to this sweet waltz music. The blue of the sky had deepened, the castle was lurking handsomely behind the stage, it was just so beautiful. It was a truly peak New York experience, you feel so lucky that you are here to witness how fabulous New York can be at this moment and it takes your breath away, or in my case, my eyes welled up with tears. It was so poignant, I was filled with gratitude. New York demands a lot of its citizens, but when it gives you something, it gives it with both hands.

Bicycle! Bicycle! Making life roll on

I think this was my first 2 wheeler. It was red or some shade of it. It was a rental bike purchased after the summer season. This isn't the bike I learned how to ride a 2 wheeler, that was in Silver Springs, Md (the summer before this photo was snapped) on a Sting Ray with a banana seat.
After I finally learned how to ride without training wheels (9 was considered old), I couldn't get enough of it and loved to do it. I even managed to save up babysitting money in high school, to buy a Peugeot V-9 that eventually got stolen in my 20s. A rash of other bikes that also got stolen. Till finally I became part of the monster of NYC in the 80s and bought a stolen bike at Astor Place. Another Raleigh, a green one and I've had it since 1985. The hub dates it from Nov 1972. It is heavy, hard to pedal and hard to manoeuver in traffic. It has a nice vintage feel, but at this point, I'm over it. I am a middle aged person leaving my old reliable bike for a younger fresher one.
Infidelity, it's not just about men and woman.

This is how my new 'sweet young thing' showed up today. In a box brought by a kindly Fed Ex fellow. Just like you can get a dog, boy friend, shoes, vitamins or a hand bag, I got it over the Internet. It came all the way from San Francisco (a piece of my heart still lingers there) from Public (note name on box). They are quite wonderful, have a great 'bike ethic/philosophy', the kind of thing that flowers well out there in SF. I did a test ride on a 'test bike' at the equally lovely bike store, 'Adeline, Adeline' in Tribeca (who is beginning to carry Public bikes) and fell in love. It was the peppy, ease of handling, the ability to step through vs swing my leg over the back and the color, ORANGE seduced me.

http://publicbikes.com/

It came assembled, except for the handlebars and pedals. Switched out the seat for the Brooks that I had on the Raleigh, attached my basket and voila! It was ready to roll. My first destination was to buy a lock, which set me back a pretty penny, but allegedly the best money (more than I planned) could buy. As I cruised over to the bike store, most people ignored me, but there were a few head turns. While chatting at the HUB (another good bike place) a french couple walked by and the woman swiveled her head and said to her companion (in French) what a nice bicycle, such a belle couleur!) I smiled, heart beating proudly and gave her a thumbs up.

Which leads me to my next transatlantic translation–French conversation classes.
Will report on that after I get going. My class starts this Wednesday. Esperez-a-moi, bon chance! Just so you know, I will be riding my bike to class, weather permitting.

Transatlantic Translation

Last month, (Was it really just last month? It seems like a season ago.) I had a vacation in Europe, beginning with Amsterdam. It was wonderful, all of it, but especially Amsterdam.

Hadn't been there in 20 years, back when the stamps were beautiful and the city was grittier. Now the opposite is true. But the bicycles! The bicycle paths! The traffic patterns! I could wax on and on. Sitting here writing this listening to a Chopin waltz reminds me of the fluidity of cycling in Amsterdam: romantic, precise, a joy. See, I am waxing on....

I felt like I was seeing the city at the perfect angle, speed, height to take in a small antique/modern city that is comfortable like a living room, but filled with busyness and purpose and BICYCLES! The proximity of people in cafés to the street is narrow, but you get a better seat close to the action of people walking their dogs, their children or better yet riding them around in baskets or carts designed for (what else) bicycle transport.

So I returned home (after some more of Europe: Belgium and a bit of France, tbd later) converted, nigh religious fervor and thought, well NYC has bike paths, but with the contentiousness, adolescent arrogance of cyclists being beyond rules, potholes and rogue cars that would rather ignore 2 wheels vs their four. NY is in medieval times for the bicycle renaissance, but I believe, so I will ride. Not that I hadn't, since before high school, but now it is a different conviction. A desire to navigate the city in middle age with wheels to be beyond the pedestrian when I can. Baby boomer logic of fighting age? Perhaps, but that would be a useless discussion, why bother. Just let me pedal and life will take care of itself.

My next post is how I am making the bicycle conversion.