The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button, Part 2

  New York is quieter, but still a city of contrasts. Some places—for example Jackson Heights, in Queens, near Elmhurst Hospital and the epicenter of the initial Covid outbreak in the spring of 2020—are carefully following the recommendations around social distancing protocols.

Little Italy—at least during the Feast of San Gennaro—didn’t seem to be aware that anything germy had been happening in the last 18 months. 

 

Streets and sidewalks were jammed with people—most of them not wearing masks; it was only inside bars and restaurants that Covid protocols were being observed. I’m neither Italian, nor Catholic, so I can only assume Mr. Gennaro was the patron saint of headstrong revelers and protects his followers accordingly.

Then again, if you live with a Ferris Wheel outside your bedroom window, it might be harder to keep protocols in perspective...

 

While in NYC, I had the opportunity to pat a lion, and see the “real” Winnie the Pooh; The New York Public Library’s “Treasures” exhibition puts over 250 rare objects from its collection on display, including the real Pooh and pals, a draft of the Declaration of Independence-- complete with cross-outs in Thomas Jefferson’s handwriting. Tickets are free, but you have to reserve them on-line and your visit has a timed entry. The treasures are well worth waiting your turn at the glass.

 

There was no line to pat the Lions.

The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button

 Recently, I returned from a trip to New York. Pre Covid, I would go twice a year to help my friend Philip (Hi Philip!) make the world a prettier place. We would work hard, play hard—and when I returned home it would take me a week to catch up on my sleep.

 

New York has been hard hit by the pandemic, and the changes are evident at street level. Blocks have been closed off during daylight hours so that families can have room to walk and play. Since people are hanging out outside more, neighborhood groups are beautifying the medians. Kids have chalked hopscotch grids on the sidewalk. It’s pretty cool.

 

The subways are much less crowded, most riders wear masks and social distance as much as is possible. While I was there, the City implemented a $50 fine to anyone not properly masked while in the system. But even before that, I observed that probably 97% of subway commuters complied with the requirement. Sidewalks are less crowded, but even so, more people are wearing masks than not. Having experienced Covid Hell in the early days, New Yorkers are clearly motivated to prevent a reoccurrence. 

It was rather disconcerting to be in the vicinity of the Empire State Building and not have the streets choked with tour buses and the sidewalks not teeming with people. Sidewalks and some street parking areas have now become alfresco cafes—most complete with seasonal plants and decorations. Some are super impressive to behold.

 

Most New Yorkers I observed had downloaded an official app that had both their ID and vaccine card on it. One manager came over to our table and offered to help me complete the process so I wouldn’t have to dig in my purse every time. Restaurants and bars are required to ask for proof of vaccination before allowing you inside seating—on pain of a $1,000 fine for the first violation, with escalating penalties and other enforcement actions for repeat offenders. 

New York ain’t playin’.

Shed Saga 4: Or Why I Had Kids in the First Place

 

I have spent the summer obsessed with my two cute little-- ON SALE!!—sheds. I have sweated, literally and metaphorically—all the details of shed building. I have relied on the brains and brawn of my Sweetie to the point he has mused aloud about the (future) wisdom of only dating women who live in condos.

 I have been blessed with neighbors who loan tools—look Ma! It’s a pneumatic nail gun! 

I have a generous friend who invented a jig to –with only moderate risk to life and limb—roof my ridiculously steep roof. And then he roofed it.

 I have utilized every tool at my disposal and have purchased new tools when needed. Look Ma! It’s a staple hammer!

Then I remembered that I had one long term investment that I hadn’t yet called on: my children. Look Ma! I’m a mom! I’ll get the kids to do it!

Just kidding. I only had my kids because I wanted someone to unload the dishwasher who wasn’t me.

 When my boys were small, they were convinced this is why I gave them life—to listen to them sigh and complain for twenty minutes doing something I could have done in three. (I know because I’ve timed myself. The sighing, not the unloading.)

I sent a text to my Best Beloveds, asking for anytime they could spare. Beth and Cameron came and helped frame, sheet, and stand the walls for Shed One and later, built the floor for Shed Two. Jordan and Devin came one fine Saturday in early September and quickly assembled Shed Two from all the parts I had pre-painted (in an ill-conceived effort to keep up with My Own Personal Jones’) and that Mark had pre-assembled. In about four hours—including lunch-- we went from floor to full shed. All that remained was the roofing.

And the trim. 

And the two coats of paint that the shed warranty requires. 

I’m left wondering why I didn’t have more kids...I’m guessing it was the price of shoes.

Beware of New Neighbors, Shed Edition

 

My neighborhood has been going through some changes lately. Besides the slow but steady addition of two cute little garden shed—on sale! From Costco! —other properties around me are seeing upgrades as well.

Take, for example, the house next door. My new neighbors—I’ll call them Dene and Gloria-- purchased a well-loved but neglected older home and have diligently set about repairing and updating it. They’ve made improvements to the structural integrity of the house. They have updated the bathroom and have plans for a kitchen re-do. They’ve cleared out dead trees and cut back brush. Gloria has plans for new landscaping.

Dene and Gloria themselves are lovely people—friendly, personable. Gloria and I talk plants-- a lot. Dene has brushed-hogged all of the blackberry tangles along the fence line and has generously cleared out mine as well. In early spring, Mark and I had planned to spend one weekend stacking up tree limbs and burning them—with a properly approved burn permit of course. Dene volunteered his tractor to the effort and did in ten minutes what would have taken us two days to accomplish! Our neighborhood is lucky to have them. Or so it would seem.

Dene and Gloria are exactly the kind of neighbor that will kill you. Seriously. You have to get up extra early in the morning to out “good neighbor” them. They have a work ethic that just won’t quit and I swear—keeping up with My Personal Jones is going to be the death of me.

My roof--small. Size doesn't matter,
Pitch matters.

While I’ve been busy this summer, chipping away at building my cute little sheds, they’ve been re-doing an entire house. During the August heat wave, I was forced to spend a week OUTSIDE, every day, priming all the parts and pieces of my shed because the neighbors seemed oblivious to the seriousness of climate change, and insisted on doing a complete new roof. Of course, there was no way I could seek the shelter of my lovely, cool, air-conditioned house with them out there under the blazing sun. I set up an electric fan under the shed of my cherry tree, painted in the small respite it offered, keeping one eye on the nonsense going on next door. Didn’t they realize it was AUGUST??

The Nabes roof...so yes, it's bigger.

Every day I would hope that they would decide to knock off their labors by the afternoon, but I would hope in vain. For at least three of the sweltering days, they worked until dusk. I used ice faster than my ice-maker could make it. 

Thankfully, both the heat wave and the roof build came to an end, and I was able to return once again to the civilized environs of the in-doors.

But I still need you to keep me in your thoughts. Last weekend I recklessly took My Personal Jones’ a plate of cream-cheese ripple brownies. I’m afraid to see what they might do in return... 

Provoking My Personal Jones