Remember…?

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Walking the relatively quiet streets (quiet for a rush hour afternoon anyway), of my neighborhood made me realize something…

The streets were relatively quiet.

It’s summer in the City (don’t you dare start singing The Lovin’ Spoonful!). Where are the kids? Other the occasional break out two-hand football or a soccer game, or the always popular open fire hydrant on the oppressive days, you really don’t see young children playing in the streets anymore.

Once upon a time when inner city children played outdoors it was not varsity. We played in the schoolyards, on the sidewalks and in the streets! I know this is something damn near unfathomable in this X-Craft Station day and age (see what I did there?), but it happened. I have the scars and wonderful memories to prove it.  In fact, kids pretty much ruled the streets, at least until the street lights came on (don’t act like you don’t know what that means!).

We learned how to get along, even I  couldn’t stand that nasty little Devon from Creston Avenue who had cooties and oh – er – excuse me  – I digress…  We learned how to deal with each other. We learned to play by the rules (whatever they were per game, per moment).

The blocks in front of our apartment buildings were our backyard. We played games such as stick ball (or curve ball, if you didn’t have a stick), ring-a-levio, steal the bacon, Johnny on the Pony and of course Skelly (a.k.a. skully, skilsies, skelsies).

Skelly Board

Colorful Skelly Board

I found this picture of a Skelly board online for reference.

Now this is some fancy/schmancy Skelly board painted here. When we were kids, we’d draw this out with our white chalk. Even if we had some of those big, get dust on everything color chalks, it never looked as good as this, but we got the idea. Once the board was drawn we make loadies, if needed, melting candle or crayon wax or tar into bottle caps to load them (give them weight), then we would scuff them up on the street to make them slick enough to slide.

There was a start line two feet away from the actual square. (That is two feet, as in one child stepping at the edge of the number 1 box and placing one foot directly in front of the other for “two feet”.)  You’d slide your bottle cap from the start line into the square marked number 1 and work your way around until you made it into the center, number 13.  There were a ton of rules, to make it fun and challenging. Above all, you had to remember to grab your loadie out of the street before a car would run it over or you were out the game, because unless you had another one ready to go, odds were the other players were not waiting for you to make another one.

With the advent of video games, sports more organized in schools and kids having an extracurricular activity calendar as jam packed as any executive’s 9 to 5 schedule – being told to just go play, is not the same as it was when I was a child. As a result, some of these street games are dying out and that is a shame.

This morning on my way to work I saw a man rolling what had to be a four foot square Skelly board on a hand truck and it brought back memories. I have seen the occasional Skelly board show up professionally painted on grounds of a schoolyard over the years, but it seems the popular street game is now making its way indoors.  And I have to say, it is an odd comfort to know that kids still play the game, indoors or out.

Wanna Kick the Can anyone…?

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The Little Things…

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Thirteen years ago, I became a married woman. It took thirteen years to reach that point and I happily wrote out my newly hyphenated name everywhere. However, partly because of laziness and partly because I wanted something of the original me to be just me, I wound up not changing any of my legal IDs (birth certificate, work, social security, insurance etc.) to my new married name.

Six years ago, I became a widow. Though I have made it through the grieving process, I still sign things with my married name. Partly because it is a habit I have no need to break at this moment, and partly because I like the alliteration of it with my birth name (blame the poet in me for that). I will concede it was something of a convenience not having to change all my documentation back again and thus thought nothing of it, until today…

My trip to England in ’03 was the first international stamp to grace the pages of my very first passport and my trip to Paris last month was the last stamp. After ten years of running amok, I now have to renew it. It’s not exactly news, obviously, I have known for a while that I would have to do so, no big deal.  However, as I am thinking of all the documentation I needed the first go around, versus what I will need now to renew it, is when it dawned on me. I will need to include my late-husband’s death certificate to change my name.  My passport is the only legal document that carried my full first, middle, maiden and married name.

I now find my head at odds with my heart.  My head understands that this must, and certainly will, be done. Still, there is this odd part of my heart that aches. For this feels that this really is the end of it all.  That once I change my passport, nearly all traces of that marriage will be over except for twenty years of photos and memories.

It’s the little things that sneak up on you…

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Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge

Thou Hath Wrought This

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Do you know what happens when I think of you?
The lessons I’ve managed to learn in this life
On whom I can depend for all that I want
All the rest of the things I have come to know
How they effect the what and who I am now
And what hath thou wrought, Daddy? Thou hath wrought – this

I was my father’s daughter, thou hath wrought – this
Every ounce of hate I learned, first came from you
It’s a bell I strive to un-ring even now
Fully believed when you said ‘this ain’t worth life’
Of course learning ‘this’ meant me, took time to know
Freedom to roam, the only thing you did want

Know what I wished for? What I truly did want?
To be fatherless child, thou hath wrought – this
Circles of your first, back of your palms I know
For it was the most I’d ever see of you
Getting worse as I got to know some of life
Innocence not a card that I could play now

Come sixteen praying – I’m too used for you now
But I was wrong, you still did just what you want
As you had been doing for all my young life
On my knees for more than prayer, thou hath wrought – this
But the boys loved the lessons first learned from you
Just who I learned it from, they never did know

But I found something I never thought to know
A something gallant within, even now
Nearly buried forever from hate of you
Something you thought that I would never stand to want
Faith that somewhere love exists, thou hath wrought – this
And by having such, a renewed urge for life

You can’t jam hate into a soul filled with life
I’m strong in the love that came so late to know
A phoenix from hate’s ashes, thou hath wrought – this
But I am Janus, the reverse of you now
Doing opposite of all you taught to want
For in spite of your grip, I can release you

And there’s a peace to know, there’s worth to my life
I love and am loved, this I’d want to you know
I think of you now, glad thou hath wrought – this

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A hard form this time: Sestina

A Sestina is a poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy, where the words ending the lines of the first stanza are repeated in a different order at the end of lines in each of the subsequent five stanzas and, two to a line, in the middle and at the end of the three lines in the closing envoy. The patterns of word-repetitions are as follows:

1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)

There is no set meter or rhyme scheme although traditionally most were written in iambic pentameter. The closing envoy also has several variations some of which are:

(2 5)(4 3)(6 1),
(1 2)(3 4)(5 6) or
(1 4)(2 5)(3 6).

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpneLinkNight – Week 99

Not This Morning

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Dawn first deigns to call me
into the depths of yet another day
before I am ready to do so

I glance at the alarm clock animation
cheerfully chiming me into the day
but I shut it off with surliness

The coffee maker is already at work
as the second sentry to my rising
sending its call via olfactory orifice

My television, next in line of pretense
to claim its place in my morning
makes its presence known

Knowing the coffee will turn itself off
I reach and remotely silence the banalities
of the morning news broadcast

I lay there for moments more wondering,
how did my ancestors rise without the assistance
of such mundane mechanics

Surely more than the cock’s crow
or the edicts of early to bed, early to rise
were needed for timely awakenings.

Would they laugh most loudly at me,
the latest devotee of the daily grind,
unable do the same even with such help?

I wanted to rise, really, I wanted to,
but somehow the Blackberry magically
sends out a mental health day message

Perhaps tomorrow morning
will find me ready to rattle and roll
but no, not this morning

As clouds  roll in to dull the dawn
it is the bed that beckons loudest
for good old-fashioned slumber

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dVerse Poets Pub | FormForAll – TRIVERSEN 

Of No Account

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I saw an ad online which had this fabulous dress for plus sized women. The blurb offered special sales and bargain prices. Hey, I’m woman, I’m plus sized, I like a bargain and I am always on the lookout for some place new, so I click.

I get about five seconds of what could be promising items when a dark overly obscures the screen and prompts me to not just sign up for their free email specials, but to create an account. Uh, what? Why is it nearly every online merchant I want to simply browse through these days insists that I first sign up for their email list before I can see anything?  There should at least be one or two preview pages that offer a taste of what’s available first before forcing potential buyers to a commitment.

This new method is especially annoying when after haven taken the plunge by creating the account and browsing around for fifteen minutes realize I’ve been sold a bill of goods  even if it was for free. For instance, that dress in the ad which captured my attention in the first place? Oh they had it, just not plus sizes. The merchant had the dress in several colors and not one came in plus size. I played around with the available options just to see more. Let’s just say, no matter how I played with it, if there were fifty items available, perhaps five were in my size. What few items they did have in my size were not worth the commitment of having an account with them.

Another place advertising plus sized clothing turned out to cater to women who had young children. The adult clothing section was merely a subset to the clothing for tots and the plus sizes and even smaller subset to that.

And it’s not just clothing.

A furniture / home decor seller had a table that caught my eye. All I wanted know were the dimensions and the price. Again, before I could browse I had to create an account only to find out it was a designer place where even their “bargain” prices were out of my price range and the table in the ad could not be found.

So now for the third time this week, I had to figure out how to unsubscribe /opt out of these accounts because the merchant had nothing else of interest to me.   These places are forcing a commitment of receiving, at minimum, weekly emails from them when I don’t know if they are even worth the energy of a weekly delete yet. I have more than enough emails flooding my inbox from places where I do make the occasional purchase.  I do not need any more. I prefer it when a merchant does not offer the option to create an account until after I actually have a shopping cart and want to make a purchase. After all, if I make a purchase now I may want to come back again; then it makes sense. There are merchants that may have lost a potential sale from me because this practice of sign up now – look later, annoys me so. When I shop brick and mortar stores I do not have to give them any information just to look around, so what is with this nonsense online?

/mini vent

The Chick In Paris – Part IV – Fini

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Bon soir!

In Part I of my post on Paris I spoke a little about the people, Part Deux covered food and in Part III – the Sites. This is a little of everything else and a wrap up.

The City that Never Sleeps versus The City of Lights –

Advice for getting around Paris for the first timers (especially us New Yorkers).

Subways —

Not all train doors open automatically. Depending on the subway line, you may need to push a button on the door to exit or even enter the train car.

If on the RER (commuter line equivalent to NYC’s Metro North or LIRR), go topside in the morning to be a little warmer on a cool weather. If the weather is warmer, ride in the lower level, especially in the afternoon. Because hot air does what…?– rise. The top section warms up considerably on a sunny day in warmer weather. Unless you are right by an open window capturing a breeze, it can become unbearable even with air conditioning.

Oh, and you know that nasty little habit some of us have of holding subway doors open to wait for someone? Yeah, that nonsense is not going to work in Paris – because you cannot hold open those doors for anyone. My friends and I learned this the hard way when we were separated on the way back to our hotel after a day of site seeing. Their subway doors do not bounce open at the least little resistance the way ours do. Trust me, when you feel the serious pressure of those doors closing on your hands, your body will protect itself and get the hell out of its way. That train needs to be at the next station by XYZ time and by golly it will be there! And speaking of on time…

Lastly, when the public announcement in the station states that a train is the last train for the night, they are not playing. They do not mean the last train will leave its start point at 1 AM. They mean the last train will arrive at its endpoint by that time. All passengers using the stations before that endpoint must adjust their time accordingly. At 12:50 AM we missed the train with that announcement. We were caught off guard to realize the next one was not until 5AM. They literally shut down the stations. Trains cars are emptied, gates are pulled closed and locked shut until 5 AM. What would have been a fifteen-minute ride on the subway, was now a long wait and a long ride on a crowded bus in the middle of the night that taught us not to let that happen again.

Buses —

The cool thing about Parisian bus lines, similar to their subways, they have an automated system in place that informs passengers which bus is coming and how many minutes until it arrives. In the middle of the night that is very helpful. The bad thing is in the middle of night and the subways have just closed, it is the only means of mass transit. When the bus finally arrived, it was packed. It felt very much like rush hour at home. Unfortunately, very much like home, a woman risks that some ass wipe will take advantage of the situation. If you read Part I of my posts on Paris then you know about young American women as targets. This is the bus ride I spoke of then.

So why didn’t we take a taxi? Glad you asked. It is not as if we did not try to …

Taxis —

It was our first night in Paris, after the non-stop plane ride and a day of running around, my right knee decided I had pushed it enough and had given out a good hour and a half before around 11:30. It was now one-something in morning and I was officially in pain. When we missed the train, it was partially because we were taking so much time for photos and partially because I could not move fast enough to catch it. It was a lovely night; I would I have happily agreed with the initial idea to walk home, were I not already limping in pain.

We spotted a taxi stand. Several people like us had missed the train and were waiting in front of us. Oddly enough though we saw empty taxis passing by, none were pulling up to pick up passengers. Naturally, being New Yorkers (with me trying hard to not lose it), split into teams and tried flagging cabs away from the stand and from across the street. We were attempting to flag down taxis for at least fifteen minutes when a taxi pulled up across the street from us to let a passenger out. One of us ran across, grabbed the door and tried to explain the situation (me). The driver refused to let us in explaining the rules. Taxi’s are only allowed to pick up passengers from designated stands. Those caught picking up passengers elsewhere risk such nasty fines that they do not take the chance. This at least explained why some passers-by (obviously locals), were looking at us as though we were crazy standing in the street trying to flag one down. I honestly cannot say if it was that we were obviously tourists, that there were nine us, because we were black or any combination there of, but no one was stopping. Only two people of the few in front of us were able to get rides. After another fifteen minutes or so of this, we gave up and got on the bus.

On the plus side, coming back from a dinner cruise, it was no more or less crazy/organized than some of our taxi stands here in NYC, but we were able to get taxis within a few minutes.

Note: If you call for a taxi service to meet you at a certain time, all in your party better be ready to leave at that designated time. A ride that should have cost less than ten Euros, cost us nearly triple the amount because of those who (granted unknowingly of the cost of waiting) dawdled. Their clock starts the moment you say be there in a minute. They will happily tell you it is not a problem. They do not tell you it is because they are going back to the taxi to start the clock and that you will literally pay for each minute idling away. Tourists – 0 / Taxis – 1.

Walking —

Most of us living in a tourist city are very familiar with that annoying tourist with a map and a Duh, where do I go? Where do I go? expression, standing at the edge of curb, blocking the path to cross. It’s a very different thing when that tourist is you. Still, I was very conscious of not doing the things I have seen some tourists do that tend to annoy the locals. If I had to stop someone and ask for directions, I made sure I was not out of the flow of foot traffic and apologized profusely for any names of places I butchered in the process (ex. Pontoise is pronounced pon-TWA, not PON-toys).

We were brilliantly located in the Châtelet – Les Halles area of Paris on the East Bank of the Seine River. Châtelet – Les Halles and the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank are within walking distance of several major attractions and/or a quick train ride to most others. Like any metropolis, the key to walking around Paris is to stay with the general flow and watch the traffic lights. NYC has pedestrian crossing signals of a white walking figure for cross and a red hand for don’t walk. Paris has, what we dubbed Green Guy (walk) and Red Guy (don’t walk). Let me tell you when you see that Green Guy – you better hustle (no not the dance from the 70s). The lights change quickly in some areas and I do mean quickly. Luckily, they do have the countdown to let you know how many seconds you have before the light changes, so you know whether you have time to stroll or run to the other side before the cars come zooming.

Cars —

Speaking of the cars, do not even think about jaywalking, especially in a heavy traffic area. They are tiny cars, but they move. When you have the light, they stop – completely, but when they have the light – they haul ass. Unless you are on a side street or at a turning corner, then it is different. It must be rendered a considerable lack of grace (or have one heck of a fine), to use your car horn in Paris. I saw one driver wait, what a New Yorker would consider, a ridiculous amount of time for pedestrians watching street performers to note he was there and move out of the way. The performers themselves finally saw the car and had to tell the people to move. So always check behind you; otherwise, you may be surprised how quickly and quietly a car can be up on you.

To paraphrase  Gump – and that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Three weeks ago today (three weeks!), this chick landed in Paris and had a marvelous few days there. I may have spent the first night in pain and the last night fighting off a nasty cold, but everything in between was simply splendid! Met some wonderful people, ate some fabulous food, finally saw in person some places I once only dreamed of and learned even in a foreign country, if they have mass transit and I have the map, I can get around pretty damn well.  I have to say other than the history and architecture, it felt very much like home — just at a more relaxed pace.

Finally, let me send so much love and many, many, many thanks to Destinations by Danielle. D-Fab (the fabulous tour de force who organized this jaunt, one of my fellow travelers on this trip and a person I am happy to call friend), ma chérie, this first trip to Paris was magnifique. And I easily say the first because after this tiny but delectable taste of France, I know there are several more trips in my future. I’ll follow you anywhere my wallet will allow.

I loved visiting Paris and very much look forward to having another taste of it, but as the adage goes – there’s no place like home – and I am glad to be back.

Now to take most of what I’ve written in these four entries about Paris and post it to Trip Advisor. 😉

C’est fini!

Happy 5th Anniversary Adipositivity!

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Adipositivity 5th Anniversary - click for larger image

Congratulations to Substantia and my fellow Adiposers of The Adipositivity Project for five fantastic years of showing the world fierce fabulous fatness that can take it on, even if taking it off and keep on rolling with it, beautifully.

Here’s to even more years of corpulence captivation.

A Taxing Price

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She rides bareback upon the mare,
The sun makes nimbus of her hair,
The glow adds to her beauty fair.
All loudly gasp as they take air,
There’s naught that they can do but stare.

Her men walk with her as she rides
They move as one, in perfect stride
Surrounding her from every side.
She ignores the pleas and chides
Beauty like hers, this she must hide.

As word spreads, more do convene
To spy a sight for from routine
This woman valued as a queen
Has not the vanity to preen,
Just holds her head, high to be seen.

With shock and awe her lord reacts
To her fair skin and hair of flax
And all the garments that she lacks!
But he cannot ignore the facts
He could have stopped this in its tracks
Had he just lowered the damned tax!

Artwork of Lady Godiva

Lady Godiva

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In a silly mood

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 48

I Fear

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I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp

I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
That his caress will not be even a distant memory
Let alone the minutiae details of just our daily living
I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away

I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
But what hold have I a mere mortal against all eternity?
I know this slow erasure is part of the steps in moving on
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much

I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
Always a part of my soul as I believed with each breath
When our every want and dream seemed just a day away
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true

Yes, I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
For I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
Now I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp

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You know me and forms, today it is a Cascade.

In a Cascade a poet creates the initial stanza then takes each consecutive line from that first stanza and makes those the final lines of each stanza afterward. If the first stanza is sextet, then the complete poem will have seven stanzas. A tercet results in four stanzas and so on. Beyond that, there are no additional rules for rhyming, meter, etc.

Thursday Poets Rally Week 69

 

The Between

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He brings her a bracelet and a bunch of roses
For the fifteen years they’ve been together
She reads the card and the bracelet’s engraving
And something gut deep in her looses its tether
Conclusions once jumped to became solid proof
As Dinah reads his words of love to a Heather

She smiles sweetly handing him a poisoned plate
It’s a slippery slide between love and hate

She’s always been ‘such a good little girl‘
But she was never up to snuff among the pseudo rich
All she wants is to have what all of them have
For kids are cruel to those not matching their niche
Just once she cries, her fingers touch the jewelry case
Filled with a longing so deep her eyes start to twitch

She lets go of the ring and walks away from the site
It’s a slippery slide between wrong and right

A mother gently rocks her new-born babe
The first to come home after many tries
A stray bullet sails through the pastel drapes
And the newborn babe, quickly dies
The husband knows he’s lost more than his child
By the hollow blank stare of his wife’s eyes

And all he’s ever loved leaves this proud man bereft
It’s a slippery slide between life and death

Machines click, whoosh and beep their sounds
His sister copes by force of sheer will they say
But without a transplant, her body deteriorates
And all wonder if she’ll make it another day
They found a match! There’s a thread of a chance
And for the first time in years he kneels to pray

That she makes it as the organ flies through the air
It’s a slippery slide between hope and despair

When he was young it was always “not me”
Even when he was caught red-handed
As he got older the fibs were more creative
Going with whatever the need demanded
All but one he could lie straight in their faces
His truth and lies mixed as he commanded

He said he loved her, but walked away with a sigh
It’s a slippery slide between white and blatant lies

He kisses her cheek, ready to take her home
But he can’t seem to get his thoughts in sync
She feels so good as she leans in oh so close
Knowing she’s had far too much drink
But the scent of her thrills him and she can’t say no
They’re both naked and done before he can think

She never talked, but his own bullet put his guilt to rest
It’s a slippery slide between his love and incest

Hadn’t seen each other since grad school
Where animosities brought love’s ugly rend
Now global businesses made them partners
But will their past uphold or upend?
Their eyes lock as she comes off the passageway
Somehow knowing they’ve regained more than a friend

Two shy smiles first start to grin, then burst into laughter
It’s a slippery slide between good-bye and happily ever after

The between is that space that we hold dear
The whispers of hope in our ear
That susurrus haunting our deepest fear
It can save you from a life of crime
One step further from a life that’s prime
Or straight into the end of your earth’s time

It’s the slippery slides that no one can eschew
But how you handle them? Well that’s up you

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Hyde Park – Poets Rally Week 69 (June 7-June 13, 2012)