Our Fifth Honeymoon

It was our fifth annual "nano-honeymoon," our nickname for our getaway weekend without the kids, since we never had an official honeymoon (though, you could say our first 8 years--without kids--were one, I suppose.)  We've been to the same hotel near Union Square four times and then Block Island once.  We love the alone time, the break in routine, the relaxation and restoration, exploring both the familiar and the new.

The kids spent the very rainy weekend with their NYC grandparents, devouring a ton of Chinese food (both in restaurants and at home), visiting the beach when they could, and going to the movies.  They also spent some time playing computer games with their uncle, Goo, introducing him to Dragonvale.  They had a great time and were sad when we showed up.

We were a little sad to show up, too!  Re-entry into the world of chores, work, bills, and discipline can be rather harsh, but at least there were no hairballs all around the house when we got home.  We have a wonderful cat sitter who takes good care of the cats and house when we're gone.  She even made friends with our new cat, Eris.  And the tree work we had done came out just fine (our tree guy could only squeeze us in this weekend and we weren't changing our reservations.)  See, the electric company is brazenly cutting down many of the town's lovely huge trees because they are caught in the wires.  It's awful (the whole state has been razing trees along highways and state routes--it looks like another storm hit.)  And so, with hopes of saving the giant maple on the side of the house, which is officially a town tree, being on the other side of the sidewalk, we surreptitiously paid to have the tree trimmed and entwined or dead branches removed.  I hope it helps.  The tree looks shorn, but perhaps it won't be cut down, if the electric company ever gets to the secondary roads.

Okay, back to the fun part.

It was, as I mentioned, a wet, humid, hot weekend, which isn't our favorite, but we didn't have any firm plans and we could change activities as needed.  A combination of restaurants, walking, browsing, books, Harry Potter, doodles and Zentangle, flowers, and rainbows--just lovely!

Friday

Our first stop was Craftbar, one of Chef Tom Colicchio's restaurants, where we had reservations for a late lunch as part of NYC Restaurant Week.  Oh, it was so good--celery shrub tonic; my first of many mint ginger lemonades; cold sunchoke soup with a black garlic reduction; a delicious pecorino fonduta with honey, pine nuts, and crostini; a table salad; a perfectly seasoned and roasted Amish chicken breast with kale, fava beans, and pickled eggs; duck hearts with dumplings which Mama liked; a light and creamy vanilla parfait; and a divine chocolate peanut butter tart with peanut brittle and peanut ice cream.  Oh, and cappuccino!  Mmmmmmm!


We walked off the meal at the art supply store, Dick Blick, where I picked up more pens and canvases for Zentangle and Art Rocks; we also got two little books--642 Things to Draw and 642 Things to Write About--which we filled out off and on and a coloring book of Delft tiles which we used a set of blue colored pencils on.  We also made our first meander around the Greenmarket in Union Square.  At the heat of the day, we took a break in our room, a lovely back room in the Inn at Irving Place, in a  jewel-like 19th-century brownstone (a friend, seeing photos of the lobby, asked if we were staying in Downton Abbey!)  I loved the large mirror, grated fireplace and mantle, tall windows, fluffy duvet on the bed, high timbered ceiling, moldings, and wooden floors.  It's like being back in time.  But with air-conditioning, hot running water, electric lamps, wifi, and flush toilets.  (I'd never really make it in the past.)


At dusk, we walked the Highline, which I had never walked before.  It's a perfectly New York kind of garden, on the abandoned elevated rail lines.  I loved the dense plantings of the informal garden--black-eyed susans, the purple spiked gayfeather, and the lovely purple coneflowers--plus the water features (I waded one foot in!), the public art, the exposed rails, and the views of the city and river.  We got some refreshing treats from the People's Pops, blueberry with jasmine and grape with coconut cream.  The most unexpected part of the Highline were the three topless women walking around with a topless little girl and a topless man; and he was photographing the whole thing, particularly people's reactions.  Two of the women--women of color--seemed to relish the nude exotic stereotype of the female "other" by artists like Gauguin--with elaborate necklaces and translucent wraps (and she didn't have on anything underneath); they posed but didn't seem to undermine the historical paradigm at all. The Caucasian woman was voluptuous, the nice way to say overweight--with large sagging breasts that clearly breast fed and a stomach that's held at least one child--but she was subverting the Rubenesque stereotypes of languid, sexed big white women.  Plus she was cursing up a blue streak.  It was all very odd.  Especially because it doesn't seem to be illegal for women to be topless (cops came and went, actually throwing two skateboarders off the Highline.)  All of which is good, i.e. the right to be topless, but honestly I'm not quite sure I understood the point.  It wasn't particularly political or even performative art; if anything, it seemed like exhibitionism intended to shock.  And good ol' NYC barely batted an eyelid.  Everyone noticed but no one seemed particularly shocked or bothered.  I was intrigued but also a little . . . bored by it.


We went to nearby Chelsea Market afterwards, wandering the shops of arts and crafts (including cream-coloredlace in hoops, which I'm inspired to make, with a small crochet hook, a little like my mandalas), books, and food items.  We ate some delicious crepes--a lemon sugar one and a truffled mozzarella one--and some currywurst, plus some Fat Witch brownies and some chocolate orange peel from Li-Lac, which is a shop we had visited in the Village on one of our first city walks together back in 1994.  I liked the architecture--despite reminders of its role as abbatoir--and how it has been converted into a modern-day market.  And there were twinkle lights!  Also, lots of rainbows around town . . . .

We took a cab back to Union Square, grabbed some falafel with fixings (chickpeas, cabbage, beets, carrots, and garlic sauce) and another mint lemonade from Maoz, and headed back to our room for the night.  I just love walking through NYC.  I miss it.  But I know it isn't always easy to live there--so many people, traffic, expense, dirt--which is why we still visit.

Saturday
We slept in, til almost 10, and wandered over to brunch at Friend of a Farmer--toasted quick breads (lemon, banana chocolate chip, cornbread, zucchini bread) with apple butter; pumpkin walnut pancakes; chicken salad; and iced coffee.  Very tasty.  And I love the incongruity of the homey farmhouse decor--even pig and chicken plates! plus ingredients in jars, baskets, etc (looks like some of the cross-stitch patterns I have)--in downtown NYC.  But sitting chair to chair squeezed in together, you never really forget where you are.

After brunch, though not hungry, we wandered Bedford Cheese Market next door, picking up interesting things--buttermilk chocolate bar, orange blossom water candy, little pepperoncini sticks, chewy Haribo candies for Bud.  Our local grocery stores just carry the usual things, for the most part; if we want unusual international or epicurean food, we pretty much have Whole Foods.  I like the little markets of NYC.

Then we went to Forbidden Planet, which looks more and more like Hot Topics every year, with more toys of popular culture staples (Doctor Who, Marvel superheroes, Star Wars) than comic books and alternative culture artifacts than there used to be--but the air conditioning is better!  Strand Books was very crowded, typical Saturday afternoon, I imagine.  We browsed the art books and I picked up a Zentangle title which, according to Amazon, hasn't even been released here yet.  We also got a book about NY architecture.  The shop was clearly getting ready for the Harry Potter launch that night, with HP books and such around, including a "Hermione 2016" t-shirt.  We hadn't chosen where we were spending HP night.

We wandered our little neighborhood--the house where Washington Irving lived, the tavern "O'Henry made famous," and Gramercy Park, the last enclosed private garden in NYC.  I left a tangled Art Rock at the gate (I'd left another in the planter right outside our inn), after gazing at the formal garden inside.  Then we had a delightful walk through the Greenmarket; it was more packed with booths and customers than the evening before.  My favorite maple lemon mint tea, handspun and dyed yarns (picked up two skeins of cream to make some embroidery hoop hangings a la Chelsea market), artisanal garlic, and these gorgeous English garden roses with a dense sphere of petals, a light scent and delicate pink color.  I carried them around the rest of the day, as my own poesy, sniffing them as we went.  We stopped at Gothic Revival Grace Church, with its stained glass windows, faux stone plaster tracery, and a memorial to a parishioner who gave up her seat on a Titanic lifeboat for a woman with children at home.    We sat in Washington Square, looking at the surrounding buildings, the people, and the gathering clouds; Mama always remembers childhood summers there while Ma finished her PhD at NYU.


Next, lunch at Mario Batali's Otto, one of our favorites--outstanding spinach salad with ricotta salata and honey truffle dressing; roasted beets; crusty bread and thin breadsticks; delicious fusilli with sweet Italian sausage and escarole; pasta putanesca; and amazing desserts--a butterscotch pudding with coffee bourbon glaze and rosemary biscotti and a sweet corn gelato with polenta cake and corn crema.  Mmmmmm.  Mmmmmm.  And iced cappuccino.  We watched it rain outside while we debated our choices for the rest of the day.  We opted for some down time in the room doodling and resting, then another evening out, despite the rain.

I had fun with two new Zentangle books, including The Great Zentangle Book (which, according to Amazon, isn't out yet!) and Zendoodle, which together introduced me to Rubenesque and Geo-flower.  Love these new tangles!

After dark, we headed to Barnes and Noble for the launch party of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, billed as the eighth HP story (though it's a script to a West End play, not a novel, and was only written in partnership with Rowling, not her own original story.  Some fans don't count it as canon, we read in the paper at breakfast--along with reviews of the new Sharknado and the drop in ticket prices for Hamilton--but I'm not that picky, perhaps because it wasn't my childhood obsession (now, I'm much more adamant about who shot first in Star Wars); I look forward to a new installment, with her blessing.  There were a few different groups at the store--kids who are probably just now reading the novels; mid 20s who grew up with HP; and older fans like us.  There were also costumed characters (Snape, Trelawney, Hagrid, Dumbledore) and lots of store staff. We didn't need the wand making or face painting or photo ops--even Sis and Bud would have felt a little old for that.  But we did enjoy the owl show, with a live Ural Owl.  I hadn't seen one before.  We didn't need a copy of the book--ours came via Kindle at midnight, with hardback delivered Monday--but I bought a little snowy owl to carry around by way of a costume.  We popped over to the Book of Wonders party, totally prepared to buy a book for entrance, but it was so packed that we left.  It was too bad the kids couldn't be there, but they had chosen to go to their grandparents instead.  And we still all managed to have the book read in less than 24 hours!  More on that later.

In the driving rain, we stopped to pick up some Belgian food--sausage and stoemp (mashed potatoes and, in this case, carrots) plus mac and cheese, and a sugar waffle--which we ate in our room while we waited for midnight and the release of HP.  We both did some more drawing and some Dragonvale.  I'm on level 20 now.  Not bad for about a week of play.


Sunday
We finished reading HP on Sunday morning, a real page turner.  Nice to be back in that world and to see HP as a father.

We breakfasted downstairs surrounded by the lush decor of the tea room, with gorgeous pink roses leftover from a baby shower the day before.  Almond and chocolate croissants, Earl Grey tea, and the New York Times, with some drizzle outside.  An ideal city Sunday morning.  We popped back to the Bedford Cheese Market to grab sandwiches to go--a baguette with Chandoka Cheddar and Parma Cotta for me, tuna with gruyeter and pickled onions and eggs for Mama--which we snacked on in the car parked next to Gramercy Park.  We could admire the trees and surrounding buildings through our windows and sun roof.

And that was it.  We went to fetch the kiddos, stayed for awhile talking to everyone, and made it home with time for dinner and some down time before bed.  The cats were glad to see us and, though we loved our vacation, it was good to be home.

"Knits and Pearls"* Retreat

Please pardon the centering of the text; I've tried to get rid of the formatting, but it won't go.  So it can stay centered.

Coincidence?

FRIDAY

I had been looking forward to this weekend since midsummer:  it was time for my mindful knitting retreat.  We picked up the kids just before dismissal and rode together to Copper Beech Institute.  It's part of a large monastery and retreat center, though unconnected theologically.  If you recall, I went to a Zentangle retreat there in February which was a marvelous experience.  

We arrived not long before sunset and they helped me get settled into my room.  Unlike last time when we were all a bit edgy about the separation and newness of the experience, this time they left rather quickly--to catch a showing of the new Peanuts movie (which they enjoyed.)  Indeed, they had a hold weekend planned--Peanuts, lots of restaurants and take out food, Minecraft, kung fu, ice skating, public free skate, origami.  

I had a big weekend planned, too:  a mindful knitting retreat.  I was more focused on the knitting, hoping to expand my skills beyond rectangles to a simple mitten pattern!  And so with my Icelandic Lopi wool yarn and my double-pointed needles, I was ready to learn.

Our Friday evening gathering included the usual housekeeping issues (no cellphone usage in public spaces, how to return used linens on Sunday via the laundry chute, even a discussion of the omnipresent Catholic iconography as full of compassion and sensitivity and in no way connected to the beliefs of the mindfulness institute.)  We did a mindfulness meditation, letting go of attachment, judgment, criticism, expectations, wishes especially with regard to our knitting.  And then we knit a swatch, silently, checking our bodies and breath, letting go of a product or a goal or an end, just knitting to knit.  We felt the yarn, saw the colors, heard the needles, even sniffed the wool--almost all the senses taking in the knitting (I would taste the fibrous stuff as I threaded a needle later in the weekend.  Eh.)

And then we pulled it all out!

I was glad that I had knitted my green Block Island blanket last week, so that my skills were in practice.  I can cast on, knit, purl, knit two together, bind off, and follow simple patterns as needed, not much more.  But I made the mistake (albeit intentional) of admitting I was a crocheter.  "Oh, we'll cure you of that," one said.  Ah, the superiority of knitters over crocheters.  But I expected it and am used to it (in "real" yarn stores, the clerks barely want to help crocheters choose yarn.)  Still, on the last day, another congratulated me, "You're a knitter now."  So much for judgment and attachment.

The evening was spent on our own and I journaled and doodled in my sketch book.  It's so quiet in the monastery, so much solitude and peace.  It's odd after living in a small house with three other people and four furry beasties; even during the day when I'm all by myself, it's not the same--there are chores and phone calls and errands, either to do or ignore.  At the retreat, there was nothing.  

I resolved to wake up early to see the sunrise and set my alarm.

Saturday

My walk in the woods at 6:30 a.m. was a continuation of the quiet and solitude of the monastery.  I was the only one out.  I found the labyrinth easily enough, though I was convinced I was lost on the alternate wood path just as I spotted it.

Bigger then I realized, more remote, and surrounded by trees, the labyrinth was built in 2007, I think. If you can get to it, via the longer paved path with a short jog through the grass, it is even possibly wheelchair accessible, paved with small gravel as it is and wide and flat.

The sun was just rising, first creating muted pastels and then producing brilliant reds and oranges and yellows.  I watched the sunrise and took pictures from outside the labyrinth at first and then walked the path.  It was a wonderful, focusing, rejuvenating walk.  It wasn't even until I had circled the center  stone circle for awhile that I noticed someone had been there before me:  a novena candle was lit.

I walked back just in time for the breathing mediation with the director of the institute.  As much as I had focused on the knitting of the retreat in my anticipation of it, I got so much out of the meditation; I imagine that my daily practice has been kickstarted.

Then it was breakfast and our morning lesson.  There was so much to learn:  how to split stitches between three needles; how to insure the stitches are not twisted and facing down/away from you so that the project grows down/away from you; what to do if you drop a stitch or a whole needle of stitches (DON'T PANIC!  with non-slippery yarn, the stitches don't really move so you can recover it); how to change color; how to use waste yarn to save space for the thumb; how to easily count stitches on the purl side; how to gather the tops of mitten and thumb together; how to wave in; how to close holes.  I worked on it for hours.  I think I counted 7.5 hours overall for the one mitten.  But I was so excited, so proud, elated, grateful, joyful.  I had learned a new skill.

We broke up a lot of the knitting with stretches, centering breaths, water.  One of the breaths was the alternate-nostril breathing, when I realized that my cold wasn't completely gone!  There was also a cupped-hand/slapping exercise to get the blood flowing, plus one where we twisted back and forth swinging our arms.  There were self-hugs to open up our shoulders, eye exercises because of all the intense focusing, and a variety of yoga poses I didn't know.

I've realized that yoga just makes me sad.  Really, deeply sad.  I even shed a few tears during the morning practice.  My poor body has been so unloved by me and family and friends who criticize it or much more subtly make suggestions for its improvement, not accepting me how I am; it--I?--has been through so much from birth defects and other anomalies (lordosis, scoliosis, low muscle tone, leg differetital), hernia repairs, c-section, herniated discs, tailbone dysfunction, and now emergency abdominal surgery; and it just can't do what so many can do, especially all those stretchy middle-aged white women dedicated to yoga who are pretzeling themselves while I lie prone and alone (yes, lots of self-pity and envy in there, too.)  I always leave yoga feeling sad and down about myself, which is entirely opposite the point so I vowed to skip other yoga sessions entirely.  

So hat evening, instead of yet more yoga, I decided to take another walk to the labyrinth.  It's not everyday you have a labyrinth in the backyard.  As I made my way there, I saw three women from another retreat standing off the path and pointing up, then they waved to me.  I stopped in my tracks in time to see a Great Horned Owl fly from where they were standing, over my head, and in a tree nearby.  And when it took, another one followed.  Two giant, silent, fast, beautiful owls with their little tufty "ears."  Such a gift. So amazing.  I had never seen owls in flight naturally (beyond birds-of-prey exhibitions.)   I was too caught up in seeing them to take a picture; they were too fast for that anyway.

And then I watched the sunset at the labyrinth, the day ending quietly, not in a huge splash of color.  As I walked, I sang Sarah Dan Jones's "When I Breathe in" mediation and Emma's Revolution's "Peace Salaam, Shalom," which I think go well together.  I like to sing.  A few others joined me around the labyrinth later, quiet togetherness.  At first, I thought I'd mind, but I think I actually welcomed the company, even though all we did was nod.  

After dinner, there was a concert.  Girl-with-guitar Kate Callahan came and played many of her lovely folk ballads and songs for us, accompanying herself on guitar.  She also plays a quartz crystal singing bowl, with which she vocalizes and chants.  An incredible sounds!  She did some circle singing with us, which she had studied with renowned singer Bobby McFerrin.  She had one group start a rhythm, the other group do another, and she overlaid it with a tune and lyrics--about our retreat and concert!  Such a gift.

After the concert, as many of us stayed up to knit, as we talked of the music, I offered to teach them the two songs I had sung at the labyrinth.  And I did!  I sang a cappella, alone, in front of other adults; and then most of them were too shy to sing along.  But a few did, boldly.  Singing, I realized (as I've realized before), has so much to do with confidence.  I mustered just enough to sing aloud; I don't think I could do it regularly.

By the end of the evening, I had completed the body of one mitten and closed off the top!  If all went well, I would make the thumb the next morning and perhaps cast on the next mitten to do at home.

Sunday

So many clouds that I didn't bother to get up for sunrise.  I slept in, read more in Voyager (my current Outlander novel), and then got up to dress, pack up, and clean up my room.

We spent the morning knitting in silence, first complete silence and then with some sacred music.  We could quietly ask questions, as I had to in order to complete my thumb.  We checked in with our breaths and our bodies (especially to combat hunched postures common to knitters.)  

And I finished one whole mitten!!!!!  

In fact, we all finished at least one.

We celebrated over lunch together, commended the friendly and supportive community we had created in just a few days, pledged to continue our mindfulness practice and knitting upon reentry into the "real" world.  I was grateful to the teacher for her knowledge and assistance and patience, to the participants for their companionship and support, the Copper Beech staff and volunteers for creating a nurturing and sustaining event, to my family for letting me go, and for the privilege of being able to attend a retreat and to have knitting as a hobby.  

Then Mama and the kids picked me up.  They met a few of the staff and then helped me fetch my things.  We all walked to the labyrinth together, the kids talking the long path "off road" through the woods.  We walked relatively quietly, joyfully, through the labyrinth.  The kids walked ahead while Mama and I walked holding hands (see, nice wide labyrinth; couldn't do that on Block Island.)   At the center, we placed a little heart that I had purchased at the gift shop.

And then we were off, retreat over.  Back to life, back to reality, as the song goes.  I hope I carry a little bit of the peace and acceptance into the whirlwind of the holidays.  Perhaps this was just the right way to kick off the holiday season.

For next year, I promise everyone mittens!

*That's "pearls of wisdom" and a knitting pun on purl.  The retreat's title and pun, not mine!


-=-=-=-=-
Poems read during some of our mindfulness moments:

Allow by Danna Faulds

There is no controlling life.

Try corralling a lightning bolt,

containing a tornado.  Dam a

stream and it will create a new

channel.  Resist, and the tide

will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry

you to higher ground.  The only

safety lies in letting it all in –

the wild and the weak; fear,

fantasies, failures and success.

When loss rips off the doors of

the heart, or sadness veils your

vision with despair, practice

becomes simply bearing the truth.

In the choice to let go of your

known way of being, the whole

world is revealed to your new eyes.

________

Surrender by Edmund Leland

I surrender because control creates false security and is an insatiable master. 

I surrender not to give up, but to open up.

Not to let go, but to receive

Not to drop something and have less, but to unclench these hands and make way for more spaciousness that holding on or controlling could never allow.

Sweet conscious choice to surrender.

This is how I choose to live

This is how I choose to love

This is how I choose to dance my life.

______

Last Days by Mary Oliver

Things are

  changing; things are starting to

    spin, snap, fly off into

      the blue sleeve of the long

        afternoon. Oh and ooh

come whistling out of the perished mouth

  of the grass, as things

turn soft, boil back

  into substance and hue. As everything, 

    forgetting its own enchantment, whispers:

      I too love oblivion why not it is full

        of second chances. Now,

hiss the bring curls of the leaves. Now!

  booms the muscle of the wind. 

_______

Love after Love by Derek Walcott

The time will come 
when, with elation, 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, 

in your own mirror, 
and each will smile at the other's welcome
and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life. 

_______

Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
     purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Our Anniversary Weekend Getaway

This weekend was our sometimes-annual tradition of a weekend alone in the city (see here and here; we went to Block Island in 2014)--what we have called a nano-honeymoon--perfectly timed with our actual 18th anniversary.  And we had a wonderful time!  While the kids stayed with their NYC grandparents eating their way across Queens and going to the beach (even boogie boarding on the waves!  Think tummy surfing with a smaller board), Mama and I returned to our favorite hotel near Union Square and had a delightful three days.

FRIDAY

We actually started our weekend, after dropping off the kids, in Midtown--at 61st near 1st, at the old Mount Vernon Hotel Museum.  Built as a mansion with carriage house in the late 18th century, the carriage house became a "day hotel" (think 19th-century spa) with parlors for the ladies to sew, play music, visit, and take tea, and fishing and a horse-trotting track for the gentleman, with a big supper for all.  Miraculously, the building survived (Thanks, Con Ed!  They bought it way back when and didn't tear it down) and is now administer by the Colonial Dames.   Gommie, you might remember this--it was known as the Abigail Adams Smith House when you went, I think.  Well, like Gommie, I love a good house museum and this one had great fake food (that three-tiered gelatin dessert!  those blackberries!  even that oyster pie!), a remarkable parlor barrel organ, and a complete traveling whiskey case with gold-painted glass bottles in all sorts of odd shapes. We also liked the shop, where Mama picked up the little owl that features in most of our pictures instead of one of us (she did the same, with a different little owl that was mistakenly left at home, on her own trip into the city about a month ago.)

We headed to our hotel next, the indulgent Inn at Irving Place, where we've stayed the last two times, and were even able to get into our lovely room early.  I always love the period kitsch, tastefully arranged without too much thought to historiocity; a little nicer than shabby chic, it is very comfortable and evokes a different time for me (but with air conditioning!)  It's also very conveniently located right near Union Square, which affords us a great neighborhood to explore and dining options to try.  Mama had assiduously researched special GF/DF/FODMAPS dining options for me and found several in the area.  And not just meat and rice.  We started with french fries from our favorite Maoz, which we ate while perusing the Union Square Green Market, on our way to the Lion Brand yarn shop.  

Loved these bags; wish they were t-shirts

The Lion Brand yarn shop had a great all-yarn (mostly knit) farmer's market display in its window and the staff walked around helping customers while knitting and crocheting!  I can't imagine.  I had fun seeing all the various yarn colors and textures, plus notions and accessories, and only brought home half a bag of yarn!  Okay, their bags are really big, but still.  I even finished a mandala in the Landscapes Boardwalk (which, I must admit, I liked better as a skein than as a finished piece--for me, there is too much murky green and brown and ugly orange!  And the colors change so quickly that the striping didn't work well in the rounds.  Oh, well, it felt wonderful and I enjoyed the crocheting nonetheless.)  Mama even got an Amigurumi book. (She isn't a yarn hoarder like I am.  Yet.)

I might be getting my days switched, but we visited the art supplies store on Friday, too.  Mama perused everything like a kid in the proverbial candy shop, picking up a pencil case and some other items.  We spent a lot of down time on this trip just hanging out in our lovely room and engaging in some of our hobbies--crochet, drawing, reading--in the serene peace and quiet.  I loved the afternoon light through our tall windows.  We also ate take out in our room a few times.  Our late-afternoon snack Friday was from Hu's kitchen, which had a GF/DF dessert called Maple "Creme Brulee" made with taro and coconut milk; Mama enjoyed a "Diesel Walker" or something, which was sloppy joe beef on a baed of sauteed "grandmaster veg."  Late that night, we had GF rosemary-potato-ricotta pizza, a lovely GF truffle ham sandwich, and a GF nutella strawberry dessert pizza from Pie by the Pound.  At some point, and I can't recall when, we also got a snack from Wok to Walk, cilantro-laden noodles with spicy sauce for her, chicken teriyaki rice for me.  As I said, we did manage to find some great food.

SATURDAY
We started this day off, after "sleeping in" til 8:30 a.m., with a long-awaited trip to Friend of a Farmer, a restaurant I had seen advertised and had wanted to visit since my grad school days 20 years earlier!  While I was sad to have to skip the renown pancakes, I did enjoy a skillet omelet and home fries.  We also got a sampling of their homemade breads, of which I ate this incredible lemon one (half a slice, willing to take the consequences, which never materialized.)  Mama enjoyed her crab cakes benedict and cheese grits.  What a way to start the day!

You would think we don't get food in Connecticut because we stopped at the Bradford Cheese Shop next and had fun choosing delicacies to take home.  Well, in truth, our little corner of CT has an overabundance of pizza, diners, and take-out Chinese, not much else (unless you look really hard, but we have found nearby enough Peruvian, Indian, vegetarian at Bloodroot); at least, we have both a Whole Foods and a Trader Joe's.    We got special Fentiman's soda, including my favorite Rose Lemonade and Mama's favorite Shandy (lemonade and beer, a British combo), some GF treats, lots of odd potato chip flavors for Bud, some caramels for Sis; more than half the fun was perusing the international variety on the neat shelves.


Later that day was the highlight of our trip, Fun Home, the musical.  In case you don't know, Fun Home is based on the autobiographical, "tragicomedy" graphic novel by famed lesbian cartoonist, Alison Bechdel.  She focuses on both her coming-out narrative and her closeted, gay father's suicide four months later, in a wonderful, richly-layered story of her life at different ages (mainly, elementary school, college, and adulthood.)  We had known and enjoyed her nationally-syndicated Dykes to Watch Out For comic strip for 20 years and read the graphic novel when it came out.  But we never knew it could be a musical!

And what a musical it was!  I had seen "little Alison" actress Sydney Lucas perform "Ring of Keys" on the Tonys and instantly loved the song.  It reminded me of Mama, when we first met (except she had jeans):

Your swagger and your bearing
And the just-right clothes you're wearing
Your short hair and your dungarees
and your lace-up boots
and your ring of keys.

It's only missing her flannel shirt, baseball cap, (SW 25, i.e. Stonewall Riots 25th anniversary), and her omnipresent, omnipotent Swiss Army knife.

We both loved the musical.  First, the 1970s period details--the photo cube, the box tv on the floor which the kids sprawl in front of, the "Partridge Family," the clothes, even the exclamation "tough titties!" (where did we get that, anyway?)  Though, I didn't grow up with a dad who ran a funeral home--a "fun home"--like she did, but I remembered many of the other bits.  Mama recognized the old bags from Macy's, the Strand, and Li-Lac Chocolates.

The performance was unique, being played in the round at Circle in the Square, an intimate theater.  It was also played straight through, with no intermission or late seating.  In fact, we were in a section where we weren't allowed to get up and leave at all, behind the little orchestra, by a trap door!  Big Alison sat at the base of our stairs a couple of times.  You really felt like a ghost in Alison's life, experiencing its layers as she remembered it.  And the actors were top-notch.  So amazing.  The actress playing Big Alison is a lesbian, too and makes the show.  Middle Alison played it with no make up and is so believable as an awkward college dyke.  And Little Alison, just 12 years old . . . wow, just wow.

But it really was the coming out story that resonated with us--from Little Alison's awareness of not fitting in sometimes (dresses, barrettes) to her crush in college and first forays into lesbian culture and sex (which elicited groans from Big Alison--"I didn't even know what Take Back the Night was!"  and "I had a crush on my first grade teacher!" to being scared of hanging out with "real lesbians" and that first major romance "I'm majoring in Joan . . . ."--there were often two Alisons on the stage at once, drawing connections between different parts of her story) to the pain of coming out to parents, with silences and awkward conversations (I know what it's like to send that letter.)  You could definitely tell where the lesbians in the audience were because we laughed loudly at the same parts (and there were so many more lesbian couples than I have ever seen at a Broadway show, ever.)  It was so special and really resonated; we just never see lesbians in Broadway shows.    Perfect, perfect, perfect.  Especially for the 18th anniversary of our own little lesbian love story (20 if you count from the very beginning, but Aug 23 is the date we like to count best.)

Whew.  We processed the entire experience over a late lunch at Otto, Mario Batali's pizza place.  He is very GF friendly and so I got a GF spaghetti carbonara that was delicious.  Mama had a seafood appetizer with little dishes of cuddlefish, cod, anchovy, mussels, calamari and the like treated in different cold, pickly salads.  We also loved the spinach, ricotta insalata, salad with honeyed truffle oil!  Decadent.  And the desserts!  Olive oil gelato with passion fruit granita and basil syrup with a sprinkle of salt--I got a big bite of salt and thought it was awful but second tastings, after Mama's reassurances, revealed it to be a marvelous concoction.  I got the lemon meringata.  YUM!  We walked nearby Washington Square, where Mama spent summers as a child when her mom was finishing her Ph.D. at NYU, reminiscing about her childhood at Bobst library, our time in NYC together, that fateful day 18 years ago (after a fight of all things--just like in the movies when the sparring characters kiss!--but we were fighting long distance Chicago to NY over the plot of Bar Stories and its implications and then, well, we weren't fighting), September 11, and other times.

We sauntered home via the Strand bookstore, where we picked up some books for the kids, souvenirs for our cat sitters, and a couple of craft books.  I came across a few reminders of dear Aunt Sis--an artsy epistolary book called Griffin and Sabine that she had given me decades ago and a pair of art socks (was it Van Gogh?) that I had taken her just last December.  Bittersweet.  We enjoyed a slow walk home; it was cooler on Saturday than Friday, remarking on the various buildings (we always realize anew that the house across the street was Washington Irving's)--and even the plantings!  (Because if a plant can survive the sidewalks of NY, surely it will survive our yard)  I think there are a few more caladium varietals we can try.   We spent the rest of the night in our room, playing with art supplies and yarn, just talking and hanging out, like we did in NYC when we met in 1994.

SUNDAY

We had planned to attend a Friends church service at the historic meeting house in Queens, but when the time came, we were more content to laze around and talk.  We picked up some GF treats at a nearby coffee shop and had tea in our hotel parlor, while reading bits from the Sunday Times to each other.  Yay, panda twins!  Boo, abortion restrictions in Ohio!  Great bit on Tig Notaro!  Plus lots of articles we skipped because they'd been online all week already (there's an article on 36 hours in Burlington, VT, Ms. Sew and Sow.)

We checked out around noon and grabbed lunch at British fish and chips shop, A Salt and Battery.  Mmm, vinegar on chips, bangers with a curry sauce (Mama loves that curry sauce!), and another Shandy for Mama.  We grabbed some last-minute treats from the British shop next door (more rose teas, various crisps flavors for Bud, some Crunchie bars for Sis, a TARDIS mug.)  I would've loved to go to Tea and Sympathy, next door (all three are owned by the same couple), but would've been sad to forego my usual non-GF/DF favorite scone and clotted cream.

We drove out to get the kids, down the West Side, past the WTC and City Hall, across the Brooklyn Bridge, and through various neighborhoods til we reached the beach.    The kids had a marvelous time as well and we were all sorry to see the weekend end.

Until next year . . . .