Saturday in New York City

We had the best day Saturday. After breakfast we headed out to Chelsea Market and the High Line in lower Manhattan.

The High Line was a railroad built on elevated tracks that served commercial businesses, such as Nabisco. In fact, the High Line actually ran through the Nabisco building, high above the streets below. Freight trains used to run right on the streets in New York, but so many pedestrians and horses were killed that the railroad decided to build up.

The High Line was abandoned in the early 1980's. Nabisco moved away and for quite some time, this was an abandoned area. In the fullness of time, nature, which abhors a vacuum, began filling in the tracks of the old High Line with grasses, flowers, and even a self-seeded apple tree. Conservationists organized and the High Line is now the elevated green space which you see above. http://www.thehighline.org/

Chelsea Market is located in the former Nabisco complex, which encompasses an entire city block. It is now occupied by indpendent shops and a bakery and is truly a wondrous space. There are gourmet food stores, baked goods, candies, a produce market, a waterfall fed by a natural, underground spring, and lots of wonderful places to eat. We had already eaten breakfast, but I had a wonderful natural grapefruit soda with no sugar added. Unique and refreshing. http://www.chelseamarket.com/

We bought lunch at the market and took it back to our hotel room for lunch followed by a much-needed nap. We had my favorite Courtland apples, whole-grain crackers, brie, and some ginger cookies with lemon filling. Yum.

We took a cab up to the fabulous Zabars on the Upper West side. Zabars is a gourmet market, deli, and kitchen ware store with a great deal of character. If you've ever seen the movie "You've Got Mail" with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, there is a scene at Zabars in which Meg is in the wrong line and Tom Hanks, the big, bad ogre from the chain bookstore has to help her out because she has no cash. http://www.zabars.com/our-store-on-broadway/OUR_STORE_ON_BROADWAY,default,pg.html

I picked up a tiny white syrup pitcher and a larger which pitcher for cream. I'm addicted to pitchers and would estimate that I probably own over 25 of them.

We had dinner at Niko's, a Greek restaurant on Broadway and 76th Street on the Upper West Side. We had avgolemono soup, a delicious chicken and rice soup with lemon in it and horiatiki (Greek country salad) with stuffed grape leaves. HOOOOOOOOOOPA! (Greek Hurray!) http://nikosgrillnyc.com/AtHome/Nikos-Mediterranean-Grill-Bistro-New-York-City.1947.r?QueryStringValue=y5TUDKzMBPTG+8ADndLT5w==

Morning Star Restaurant New York City

George and Harry run the Morning Star Restaurant in Midtown West near our hotel. People think of New York City as this big monolith, a huge impersonal machine. Mew York City is really a collection of small neighborhoods much like yours or mine, only a lot more of them. The Morning Star is a neighborhood place.

A mother and a daughter come in for their regular breakfast. The little girl is about six and beautifully dressed with a huge red bow in her hair. She is Asian; her mother is white. They sit at the counter on stools that the daughter spins around and around. The daughter complains that she doesn't want to go to school. George looks into the kitchen at a large stack of dishes and acts delighted that she can stay and help him wash all the dishes. She picks up her backpack without complaint and heads out the door. "Hey, wait, who's gonna wash all these dishes?"

We eat delicious omlets, home fries, fresh-squeezed juice and toast. Harry waits on us. He has a goatee and a ponytail held in place with four precisely spaced rubber bands. He tells us that he is one of 8 kids and the only one born in America. All his siblings were born in Greece. "All of of us are educated, we all work in restaurants." George is fifteen years older than Harry. "I was a mistake, I think," he says, laughing.

Harry offers personal service. A touch on the shoulder with the coffee refill. "We all worked in the restaurant in Brooklyn when we were kids. Someone sees me and my brother in the back peeling potatoes. They call Child Protective Services. They come to interview us and my older brothers are smiling at the social worker. They say in Greek, still smiling, "If you complain, we kill you." The social worker tells my father that there are slavery laws. "What slavery...this is a family!"

Hungry diners come in, others are paying the check and leaving. Individual boxes of corn flakes and Rick Krispies are stacked high and a multi-layered yellow cake with chocolate frosting waits under the glass. Conversation rises and falls, coffee is refilled, juice is fresh squeezed. Horns sound on the street outside and the walk signal changes from Walk to Don't Walk over and over.

There are a million stories in the naked city.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes, Cupcakes

We got to New York and took one of our monster long walks through the Upper West Side. Bruce estimates that we may have walked eight miles all together. First we walked through Central Park and then north on Central Park West. Then all the way back to our hotel at Columbus Circle.

Gourmet cupcakes are a huge deal in New York, to the extent that I've been reading about them on line, in magazines, and have even seen cupcake cookbooks in the bookstores. I confess to coveting these cupcakes. Coveting them, I tell you.

Imagine my gratification when I stumbled upon (my feet were getting pretty tired) Crumbs...the definitive cupcake place that started the entire craze. Oh my GOODNESS! I had a red velvet cupcake that you can see in the picture above and Bruce had a raspberry swirl. Sublime...that says it all.

http://www.crumbs.com/

Coliseum Pub

This is where we had dinner this evening. I had a fabulous panini sandwich and Bruce had a turkey burger. The Colseum is about four doors down from our hotel. It was so blustery in between the buildings this evening that my umbrella blew inside out. Fortunately, I had my black trench coat and wrapped myself up in a very cool scarf I bought near the Plaza Hotel from a street vendor. Five bucks. We were happy to find something close by our hotel.

The top of this building is residential space, with two store front windows and an awning indicating the restaurant. It is a very cozy space down three steps to the basement level, with the interior wall the orginal restored brick. Folks there looked to be a local crowd and not tourists, which suited us just fine.

http://www.thecoliseumpub.com/index.html

Jerry Orbach

We were walking toward MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) and stumbled upon this homage to one of my favorote actors, Jerry Orbach. Jerry was a Broadway actor for many, many years, but is best known to audiences as Detective Lennie Briscoe of Law and Order. A recent poll by TV Guide determined that 72% of all Law and Order fans judged Jerry to be their favorite actor in the 20-year series.

Jerry was also Frances "Baby" Houseman's father in another favorite of mine, Dirty Dancing. Sadly, both Jerry and Patrick Swayze, two stars of Dirty Dancing, have passed away from cancer, God rest their souls.

Starry, Starry Night

Vincent Van Gogh's amazing work, Starry Night, also hangs at MOMA. I guess I was the only person on planet Earth who didn't realize that the pop song, "Starry, Starry Night" was about this painting until about three years ago.

The song played through my mind today as I gazed upon Vincent's work, the thick paint layed on with a palette knife and thought of his despair, his letters to his brother, Theo, and the fact that he was never recognized during his lifetime for the genius that he was. The despair he felt finally led to him taking his own life, which is the subject of this poignant song. If only he had waited for the fullness of time to show him all that God had planned.

As I saw the school children sitting in a circle today, enraptured by the words of a young, red-headed docent with wildly curling hair about this painting, I thought of those lyrics..."They did not listen, they did not know how, perhaps they'll listen now. All those children were listening...

Starry, starry night.

Paint your palette blue and grey,

Look out on a summer's day,

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,

Sketch the trees and the daffodils,

Catch the breeze and the winter chills,

In colors on the snowy linen land.

Chorus

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

How you suffered for your sanity,

How you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,

Swirling clouds in violet haze,

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.

Colors changing hue,

morning field of amber grain,

Weathered faces lined in pain,

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Chorus

Bridge

For they could not love you,

But still your love was true.

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night,

You took your life,

as lovers often do.

But I could have told you, Vincent,

This world was never meant for one

As beautiful as you.

To see a slide show of Vincent's paintings and Don Maclean's haunting song, click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkvLq0TYiwI

The View from West 58th Street and Broadway, New York City

Bruce and I are vacationing in New York City, following a wonderful time enjoying fall leaves in Connecticut. We had many little adventures, not the least of which has been that the report from my wonederful eye doctor, Dr. Gaudio, was fantastic. I went North thinking that I would have to have surgery in my right eye, following the repair of my left. What I found instead was that I received an excellent report, needed to come back in six months instead of three months and advised to, "keep doing what I've been doing." My eyesight has improved from 20/70 with contact lenses to 20/40...not too far away from perfect at 20/20.

Our pictures are all over the place, in the digi-cam, in the cell phone, and on the hard drive, so I won't be posting the trip in chronological order.

We're at our beloved Hudson Hotel in New York City:
http://www.hudsonhotel.com/#/photo_gallery/

I'll do a number of other entries, but right now I want to share about listening to that small, still voice within which is the Holy Spirit. One of my favorite paintings on earth is called Christina's World by the New England painter, Andrew Wyeth. I'm not specifically sure why I love it so much. It is poignant, to be sure. It evokes a sense of longing as I look at it, as well as a sense of triumph over personal struggle. The model for this picture was a neighbor of Mr. Wyeth's who was disabled due to polio. I also love the faded pink thirties-era dress.

Bruce and I visited the Museum of Modern Art today. There are many treasures there that I enjoyed communing with, not the least of which were Monet's water lillies, a self-portrait by Frieda Kahlo, and the exquisite "Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh. But Christina and her world remain my very favorite. I had no idea that this painting was at MOMA.

We reached the top floor and Bruce hit the button for the elevator for the ground floor after we'd finished looking at the art on the top floor. But that still, small voice said quietly, deep within, "You will miss something, take the escalator." And sure enough, as we turned the corner, there was Christina. I almost missed her.

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

Good evening from Portsmouth, Virginia.

I've found a wonderful new blog from a woman in New York City.  I love New York City blogs, because I just love New York City.  Each entry starts something like the way I just started.  I find it so dignified, spare, and restrained...all the things I'm not, but I thought that I'd try the greeting on for size.  See if you enjoy Frances' blog as much as I do.

http://cityviewscountrydreams.blogspot.com/

If I was blogging as Frances does, I'd say that I spent a very enjoyable day today.  I slept in and had a cup of coffee out while reading a wonderful book about dynastic marriages in the 1200's in Europe.  (I'll go back to my Anne personae here and say, seriously, I really was.  No kidding. I always read books like that.   I just never tell people because I would sound like a freak.)  Back to channeling Frances. 

I  met a charming man who is very patient with me for a lunch along the river.  (It's Bruce, my husband, but still..)  Then I traveled to the old, cobblestoned area of town, to an elegant 1880's row house with a bay window featuring glass so old that the panes were wavy. It is a magnificent home with marble busts, tapestrries on the walls, and wonderful oil paintings.

I met with my employer, a dignified British man who is writing his memoire with my help.  We spent some time together in World War II during the Blitz of London when he was a boy,  I could nearly hear the sound of the air raid sirens droning on and on. (again true, but if I were being flippant ole Annie, I'd say, "You've heard of Tuesday's with Morrie?"  This is Sunday with Joseph.) We made great progress on our work together.

I then returned home and painted, appreciating the vibrant brush strokes of maize (on the wall, because Frances is a wonderful oil panter and I'm a mediocre painter of walls.) I cleaned up all my brushes and watched the paint swirl into the sink, down the drain and out in the Hudson River...(oops, too much of Frances, there) into the Elizabeth River.

I cut up some lovely vegetables for a simple pasta dinner with freshly-grated paremesan cheese and a small salad.  It was a a fitting end to a good day.  I listened to some classical music while I ate...(Okay, I listened to Law and Order Crimina Intent and daydreamed how I'd love to be an extra on that show when it shoots in New York City..)

Wait a sec...Did I tell you guys that Bruce and I are booked to go to New York City on October 22?   We will be going to an exhihbit of Vermeer paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  One of the masterpieces which will be shown is the amazing painting I've included here called "The Milkmaid."  We're also going to visit the High Line which Frances mentioned in a recent blog.entry.  Which is great.  Seriously. You must read it.

Best wishes to all.

J. P. Morgan Didn't have a Clue

We enjoyed our trip to New York City right up to the last minute. As we were checking out, our bellman noticed the Bibles we were carrying. Greg let us know that three Guttenberg Bibles were on display at the Pierpont Morgan Library. We checked our bags at the hotel and took a cab cross-town to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Johannes Guttenberg is the father of the movable printing press. Only 48 of the Bibles he produced in the 1400’s are currently in existence. Three very good copies are in the Pierpont Morgan Museum, two printed on paper and one on vellum. Printing Bibles was his life’s work. You can learn more about the Morgan here: http://www.themorgan.org/exhibitions/exhibition.asp?id=7

I was in awe of the three Guttenbergs on exhibit, the first ever mass-produced vs. copied by hand by scribes. I switch Bibles each year. I generally use paperback Bibles, because I write, highlight, underline, make notes and just make a mess of mine. That's a picture of my Bible up there with the page open to one of the Psalms I have a tooled leather cover with handles that I use to hide all the mess, since I don’t write all over that.

I held my Bible to my chest and tried not to cry as I contemplated the differences between my Bible and those that were displayed. The Bibles on display were exquisitely rendered with gorgeous type and initial capital letters. Each Bible was unmarked in any way. They were, however, also protected by glass, untouchable, terribly costly in their own time and priceless in ours.

My Bible, a paperback Amplified version, cost under $20, although it is priceless to me. Almost everyone can afford a Bible today. Any church would gladly provide a seeker with a free Bible. The Gideons give them away to motels. How thankful we should all be for the great availability of Bibles in our time. We have any number of direct translations, paraphrases, parallel Bibles with several versions in one, Bibles on CD and every kind of study aid imaginable. Many of us do not take advantage of these materials, but they are there for us to explore the Word of God in all of its richness and complexity.

I moved on to view J. P. Morgan, the financier’s, office. The Pierpont Morgan Library is his former residence. The office was vast and imposing with a soaring ceiling. The walls were covered in red flocked velvet. Treasures lined the walls and chair rails, from ancient Egypt to ancient China and the European Renaissance. It was breathtaking.

What do you imagine, in the midst of such treasure, that J.P. Morgan gazed upon as he sat at his desk working? The painting of Madonna and Child by a Medeival artist and monk? A priceless Chinese horse figure? A Renaissance tresure? J.P. Morgan looked at a very large portrait of himself over the fireplace in front of him.

J.P. Morgan apparently spent time looking at himself. He had many, treasures, but I think he might have valued them more for their monetary value than for their history or for what they represented. Let’s not make that mistake.

It is easy to make old J.P.'s error. The Bible talks about idols that are man made and have eyes that can’t see and ears that can’t hear. Our homes can become idols, our careers, our exercise time or anything else that comes before our time with God.

Let’s take our focus off making ourselves and our possessions our idols and seek us first the kingdom of God. Let’s look instead to the Author and Finisher of our faith.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lords glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord. Corinthians 3:18