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Published: April 29th 2012
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Sidewalk Inlay
near Grand Central Station We got up early. Gracie took the subway to Penn Station and hopped on a train to Rochester, where she will be for the next two weeks. After she left, I took a shower and finished the bit of packing that had to wait until morning, like my laptop and toiletries.
I didn't take any pictures for today's blog because I lent her my camera, so I'll just add the first one I took, about two minutes after we first arrived in NYC on April 14. It's a plaque embedded into the sidewalk near Grand Central Station.
I called a cab to take me to Grand Central Station to pick up the bus to Newark, but on the way the Moroccan driver talked me into letting him take me to Newark, since he was on his way home to that area anyway. We dickered a bit, and the final price he offered was more than fair. We talked politics the whole way. He is extremely well-informed, and we have very similar viewpoints, calling the same people “evil” and “idiots”. He laughed when I told him my dream team Republican ticket is Santorum and Bachman. I asked how he handles it with customers who don’t see the world his way, and he mentioned a Rush Limbaugh-loving couple from Texas that had him biting his tongue for the whole cab ride from JFK to the city.
The long flight from Newark to Seattle had me next to a woman about my age who grew up Catholic in NYC. Neither one of us has practiced Catholicism in many years, but we simultaneously recited the Act of Contrition and found we remembered every single word. She had some great stories about her early life. We had a blast, and the flight went quickly.
Back in Seattle, awaiting the plan to Spokane, I found a seat and reflected on the last two weeks.
This trip has meant so much to me and Gracie. I found new meaning in old people, places, and things. My memories have come flooding back about events that were long forgotten. I feel that I understand myself and my parents better, after being away from my childhood home for so long, coming back now with the perspective that comes with age. I’ve come to terms with large pieces of my past. Several times I had the experience of seeing a familiar face on the street, and thinking it was an old acquaintance -- then remembering that the teenager I’m thinking of would now be in his 60s, like me. But mostly I feel grateful that someone I love has heard me and my stories. It’s an ancient impluse, I guess, but after I die, I want the world to know that I lived, that I was more than a line on a census form.
Thanks to Heather, Joan, Jen, and Sister Corde, who reminded me of who I am and where I come from. Thanks to all the New Yorkers who interrupted (usually to show they agree about something), acted “pushy” (because they are helpful folks, and a person struggling with a subway map is more than they can bear to watch), and sang opera from the front of the bus (because they are a sub-culture that tends toward spontaneity). Thanks to Sean and Shannon, Masters of the Travelblog.
My Spokane-Seattle-Portland-Olympia friends may think I’m a quintessential New Yorker, but they don’t realize that I’ve learned how to be a watered-down version of myself with them. I don't mean to whine, but it takes energy to constantly remember to act in a west-coastly fashion. In NY, I can totally be myself and not be judged, but I try to remember that to many left-coast people, concentrated doses of New Yorkishness is as grating as fingernails on a blackboard. (Remember blackboards?) While I love Washington State, coming back is a little like putting on a tight girdle again. (Remember girdles???)
So thank you, Gracie, for being such a great and interested audience, and for your encouragement. Thanks, Barry and Charlie, for supporting us in taking this trip. It has meant so much to me, and I’ll never forget it.
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atty
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Remember, my honey
Yer such a pissah!!!