Roots

Somewhere in the late 1930's or early 40's, my father started working in the Butterick Building in downtown Manhattan.  The building was owned by the company that invented sewing patterns and is located at 161 Spring Street, in the neighborhood that eventually became known as "Soho."  He was a printer and started his own business before World War II.  When the war broke out, he was drafted and closed the business, but he came back to that building and he continued working there for the rest of his life.  He worked for a book bindery, Sendor Bindery, and continued working until he was seventy-seven years-old, until the day he had a stroke. (He had a stroke in 1990, right after eating lunch in one of his favorite restaurants.  We were on vacation at the time, in Antigua, and I rushed back to be with him in the hospital.  All he said to me, when I saw him in the ICU was, "I had the fish."  Food was a big thing to my dad.  He suffered another massive stroke a few days later and died within two weeks.  It was a blessing.)   


Anyway, somewhere around 1976, I remember meeting him for lunch when I was visiting from Los Angeles.  It was the first time I ever saw Sendor Bindery, which was owned by two brothers, Morty and Bernie.  There was a big plant on site and it was fascinating to see the books actually being bound and to meet all the people who worked for my father, who was the production supervisor.  My dad and I went out to lunch to a restaurant on Spring Street, I forget the name, but it was very hip, and everyone knew him.  I didn't know anything about Soho at the time, but I think I fell in love with the neighborhood then.  I had no idea that ten years later, I would move into a loft on Mercer Street, in the heart of Soho, with my new husband, and that we would raise our daughter Zoe there.  It was a great place to grow up, filled with interesting people and lots of kids, playgrounds and art galleries.



We left our loft in 2003, when Zoe was fifteen, and moved to Brooklyn.  I have even deeper roots in Brooklyn, my grandparents moved there somewhere around 1910 and every Saturday for most of my life we visited my grandfather and his second wife, Fanny, in a house on Kosciusko Street, in Bedford Stuyvescent. (My grandmother died around 1946, I believe.)  It was much more interesting in Bed Stuy than it ever was in Plainview, Long Island, where we lived. I loved sitting on the stoop with my cousin Rosanne, watching the girls play double dutch.  We were too shy to ask to join them, but we loved walking to the candy store around the block and getting Cokes, Hershey bars and comic books.   

As much I have enjoyed living in Brooklyn these past few years, both Boerum Hill and Fort Greene, I have to say that I always longed to move back to Manhattan.  



And so I have.  With the help of so many of my friends, I was able to pack, sell, and let go of old "stuff" - so that I could begin living my new life.  (Although there's still more work to do, it will finished by the end of the month.)  And the friend I am most grateful to, is the friend who has invited me into her Soho loft for a period of time, so I can make this transition to my new life.



Gratitude doesn't begin to express my appreciation to everyone who has been there for me.  I've also learned much more about the sorrow that accompanies all these losses and changes, and now I can try to be there for friends who will go through them in the future.  


It seems that my family is doing well.  Zoe is finding her way in San Francisco, Steve is busy in Spain and the dogs seem to be adjusting well to having two moms.  Old friends have come back into my life and new friends are always welcome.  As I was meditating this morning, the thought came into my head that I have absolutely no idea what will happen in the future and all I need to do is show up.  There were days in the past six months when I thought showing up was too hard.  But here I am and I have to say, I'm looking forward to today.  

The slowest move

Every day I try to pack for at least an hour to prepare for this move out of a loft I lived I've lived in for two years with my husband, my daughter and our two dogs.   I should be pretty good at this by now, we moved three times in the past six years.  We moved out of a loft we owned in Soho that we had to sell because we needed the money.  We moved to a lovely rental, an upper duplex in a beautiful brownstone in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, and then again, after a year, to the lower duplex in the same house.  You would think that just moving downstairs would be easy, but it required about the same amount of work - boxes, movers, disruption.  And the only thing different about this move is that I am not keeping much, and rather than just throwing everything into boxes (as one of my friends suggested and dealing with it another time, when I'm not so emotionally raw) -  I am trying to discard many of the things I've carried with me over the years, that I no longer need. 

And that is not an easy task.  I find that I am dealing with more emotions in the last six months than I probably have in most of my life.  And as painful as that is, it's also healthy, to feel so much and to let it just move through me. 

Yesterday, my little dog Lola was sick and she could hardly move, she was vomiting most of the day.  Also it was Yom Kippur, so I fasted from sundown to sundown and lit candles for both my parents.  By the end of the day I was so worried about Lola (I did call the vet and listened to their advice - watch her, give her Pepcid - she vomited that - no more food.)  This morning she seems a little better, at least so far.  I missed talking to Steve about her, since he adores Lola, but I know calling him wouldn't have helped anything.  So I called a few friends and got through a difficult day that was filled with anxiety and hunger. 

And I continue packing and grieving.  Occasionally, I do have good memories of the past and I'm proud of all the work I've done to get ready for the move.  I'm also excited about my new life.  But change is always difficult and it's the first time in my life that I haven't had a mom to talk about it with.  And also the first time in twenty-five years that I haven't had a partner to help. 

But I'm pretty strong and the phrase "this too shall pass" reminds me to just keep packing and doing the work, and the rest of it will all sort itself out. 

And I do have to say that I've had two wonderful gifts this week.  I got to see "Wishful Drinking" with Carrie Fisher on Sunday, which I enjoyed.  My friend had to go out of town and she gave me her ticket. And tomorrow night, I have a free ticket to "God of Carnage" with James Gandolfini, Hope Davis, Jeff Daniels and Marcia Gay Harden.  Thank you Karen and Barbara.  I love you both.  And Barbara, I hope you feel better soon.