Frank had a rough night. First of all, he used up his daily allotted hour for cartoons and/or video games by playing his new Sponge Bob video game during the day, which is actually the only video game he has, that he got for his birthday from someone I won’t likely invite again next year. (. . . uh, just kidding Frank if you ever read this, like when you’re fifteen).
So as I was saying, he used up his cartoon watching time, and instead we had game night. We should’ve turned off the television, but Daddy likes having the television on, and I shouldn’t go into that right now. Since we didn’t turn off the television, Supernanny was on. And I guess if you’re six, Supernanny isn’t all that nice. If you combine missing cartoons and being scared by Supernanny, it doesn’t make for an easy bedtime. He asked me to come in and lay with him for a while, which I did.
Every other minute he’d say something like, “Mama, if we were at, um, Los Cab . . . and I was swimming . . . in the big pool . . . and I was stuck in the middle on a noodle (floatation device) . . . and you asked CJ where I was . . . and um . . . you couldn’t find me . . . what would you do?” Oh God, how do I answer that one? As the corners of his mouth turn down, his lower lip goes out and tears well up in his eyes, I say, “Well, you were floating on the noodle . . . above water . . . right?” “Yes,” he says. “Well then, I wouldn’t stop looking for you until I found you.” Puzzled look on his face. However, I really don’t want to prolong whatever his thought processes are by asking whether he understands or not.
The next question was something about Supernanny getting rid of all of his stuffed animals, with the same sad face and eyes brimming with tears. “Honey that isn’t going to happen. You have nannies who love you, and would never take away your stuffed animals, and neither would Daddy or I.” Okay. He’s satisfied with that. A few more questions, the time between them getting increasingly longer, and then he finally drifts off.
I watch myself, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, as I do all the things with Frank that I said I would never do. I get impatient with him, and irritated with him--mainly because he’s so damned much like me. (I must be a joy to be around.) I worry constantly about whether what I’m doing is going to screw him up for life. And I also hear the warnings in my head from the positive parenting class about what will happen in the future if we choose the wrong form of discipline in the present. I get caught up with work, and don’t spend enough time with him, and then when I’m with him, I find I’m not focused on him and what he’s doing or saying, I’m noticing that he needs to wash his face, or I need to cut his nails, or I wish he wouldn’t wear that shirt with those shorts.
And then I reassure myself by telling myself that when he gets hurt, he wants Mama. And when he wants to know the truth about something, he asks me. And when we’re going somewhere and he thinks Daddy’s going the wrong way and Daddy assures him that he’s going the right way, he always confirms it with me before he accepts it as being true. And if he’s really worried about something, he’ll tell me so I have the opportunity to reassure him. I guess I may not be all that fun, like Daddy and CJ are, but I’m trustworthy.
God, it’s hard, and God, please give me strength. And more patience. He’s growing up so fast, and I don’t want to do it wrong because I can’t go back and do it over.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Vhat a Veekend...
Frank turned six at 8:32am on Saturday. Every year at the exact time of his birth, we go a little crazy . . . yell, scream, sing happy birthday. Frank loves it. And then we talk about what we remember about the day he was born. If we ever forget what we remember, Frank will remind us, because he remembers everything we ever told him.
We had a great morning. We were already well-prepared for his party, and got to take our time and just hang out. We let Frank open his presents right after the big “exact time of his birth” celebration. He got lots of cool stuff including ramps so he can do jumps with his bike and skateboard . . . and a leopard gecko. I’ve grown a lot in six years. It would’ve been unfathomable to me had anyone told me even a year ago that I would allow either on his sixth birthday.
I still can’t touch the lizard, but at least I’ve allowed it in the house. Doug says it should really live on the workbench in the garage, which I suppose I could live with better. Although I might not remember to do everything one has to do when they have a leopard gecko every morning and every night--which, of course, always seems to become Mom’s responsibility even with the countless reassurances that the son will take care of the pet himself. Yeah right.
Frank also got a mini-bike. Or rather a photo of a mini-bike. The Razor Dirt Rocket MX350 itself will arrive sometime mid-July. It's very small. And electric. And can’t go over 12mph. And I guess it’s a good way for him to get started. I do want Frank to enjoy his childhood, and be real and have fun and great memories . . . and I guess if I’m too overprotective there will be an awful lot he'll miss out on. I’m also aware that often, and this definitely was true of my childhood, we say no because whatever it is may be moderately inconvenient, when in actuality there isn’t a good reason not to say yes.
Frank’s party was great fun. It was a backwards party. Everyone wore their clothes inside out, and one of our friends, Coach David, even arrived with his pants and shirt on backwards. He did change about five minutes after he got here, mumbling something about it hurting as he went into the house. I would I imagine it would given the fact he wore jean shorts with a zipper and all.
The schedule for the party was entirely backwards. Frank had great fun giving everyone their goody bag as they arrived and saying “thank you for coming, good-bye!” And then saying hello when it was time to leave. We also opened presents first, followed by cake, then pizza. I didn’t expect ANY of the kids to eat pizza. But they all did. Goes to show you, having dessert first doesn’t necessarily mean kids won’t eat their dinner. . .
Probably the nicest thing about it was, then everyone relaxed. There is a certain edge to birthday parties. After about an hour or so, each of the adults at the party has a look on their face, it’s sort of a dazed look, and each and every one of them is thinking, I wish they’d hurry up and open presents and do the cake so we can leave. If the party reaches the two hour point without either happening, the adults get visibly cranky. Five minutes after the two hour point, they reach their limit and usually ask the host or hostess WHEN they are going to do the presents and/or cake. And it isn’t that nice a tone of voice they ask in.
Having cake and presents done with, our guests actually stayed a little longer, there wasn’t that definitive cut-off time right after gift opening.
Around 4:00 when the party was finally kaput and clean-up finished, we sat around in the garage with CJ and Janel and watched Frank and Beckett play. Doug said he wanted to take Frank to Speedway that night and CJ chimed in that he wanted to go. And then I chimed in that I wanted to go. The only trouble was we didn’t have a babysitter for Beck, and there was no way I was going to take him along. CJ made a couple of calls to friends, who weren’t available and I did the same. Finally it dawned on me that the boy who lives behind us was of more-than-babysitting age and I thought I had heard his mother mention he was doing a lot of it. I called, he was, he wanted to, in fact was ready to jump the fence to get started. A couple of hours later he arrived, when we needed him to, and he watched Beck. And at $4 an hour I am jumping for joy that we have one more economical babysitter on our roster, AND he lives right behind us. He was great with Beck and we’ll use him again, particularly when Maizzie, our (and Frank’s) favorite, isn’t available.
Speedway was fun, albeit cold. We all wished we had bundled up a little better and I ended up buying Frank a sweatshirt. There were twenty-seven motorcycle races we had to sit through to get to the “main event” which was freestyle motocross jumping. After about three hours, the main event finally took place. The team started one by one going up the ramp, flying ninety feet through the air over a mound of dirt and doing tricks while in mid-air. Each of the riders made it through the first set of jumps. About the third or fourth rider in the second series of jumps went up the ramp, and suddenly in mid-air he and his motorcycle separated. I don’t know how far of a fall it was, but far enough that it could’ve killed him I suppose. He suffered a broken leg and possibly a broken neck, but we haven’t been able to confirm that.
Frank, surprisingly, wasn’t too freaked out about it. Although he didn’t want to talk about it after we left. CJ and Janel told us in the all the events similar to this that they had attended through the years, which was a considerable number, nothing like that had ever happened. They said they had seen it on videos, but never seen it actually happen. It was wild and scary and disconcerting. And makes that “it’s never going to happen to me” thing become more and more unrealistic. Given how kids always think they’re invincible, witnessing extreme sports, I’m sure, ups overall accident rates considerably.
Janel has been working very long hours at her summer job and really misses Frank and Beck, so asked us if we wanted to go the beach the next day. We were definitely up for that and ended up having a fantastic day on Sunday. We, the six of us, are a family, even though Janel and CJ work for us. They love our kids as if they were their own, and what more could parents ask for, particularly since I have no siblings and we don’t see Doug’s that often.
We spent a quiet evening at home, not feeling the need to do anything more than unpack the beach stuff and get a good night’s sleep.
We had a great morning. We were already well-prepared for his party, and got to take our time and just hang out. We let Frank open his presents right after the big “exact time of his birth” celebration. He got lots of cool stuff including ramps so he can do jumps with his bike and skateboard . . . and a leopard gecko. I’ve grown a lot in six years. It would’ve been unfathomable to me had anyone told me even a year ago that I would allow either on his sixth birthday.
I still can’t touch the lizard, but at least I’ve allowed it in the house. Doug says it should really live on the workbench in the garage, which I suppose I could live with better. Although I might not remember to do everything one has to do when they have a leopard gecko every morning and every night--which, of course, always seems to become Mom’s responsibility even with the countless reassurances that the son will take care of the pet himself. Yeah right.
Frank also got a mini-bike. Or rather a photo of a mini-bike. The Razor Dirt Rocket MX350 itself will arrive sometime mid-July. It's very small. And electric. And can’t go over 12mph. And I guess it’s a good way for him to get started. I do want Frank to enjoy his childhood, and be real and have fun and great memories . . . and I guess if I’m too overprotective there will be an awful lot he'll miss out on. I’m also aware that often, and this definitely was true of my childhood, we say no because whatever it is may be moderately inconvenient, when in actuality there isn’t a good reason not to say yes.
Frank’s party was great fun. It was a backwards party. Everyone wore their clothes inside out, and one of our friends, Coach David, even arrived with his pants and shirt on backwards. He did change about five minutes after he got here, mumbling something about it hurting as he went into the house. I would I imagine it would given the fact he wore jean shorts with a zipper and all.
The schedule for the party was entirely backwards. Frank had great fun giving everyone their goody bag as they arrived and saying “thank you for coming, good-bye!” And then saying hello when it was time to leave. We also opened presents first, followed by cake, then pizza. I didn’t expect ANY of the kids to eat pizza. But they all did. Goes to show you, having dessert first doesn’t necessarily mean kids won’t eat their dinner. . .
Probably the nicest thing about it was, then everyone relaxed. There is a certain edge to birthday parties. After about an hour or so, each of the adults at the party has a look on their face, it’s sort of a dazed look, and each and every one of them is thinking, I wish they’d hurry up and open presents and do the cake so we can leave. If the party reaches the two hour point without either happening, the adults get visibly cranky. Five minutes after the two hour point, they reach their limit and usually ask the host or hostess WHEN they are going to do the presents and/or cake. And it isn’t that nice a tone of voice they ask in.
Having cake and presents done with, our guests actually stayed a little longer, there wasn’t that definitive cut-off time right after gift opening.
Around 4:00 when the party was finally kaput and clean-up finished, we sat around in the garage with CJ and Janel and watched Frank and Beckett play. Doug said he wanted to take Frank to Speedway that night and CJ chimed in that he wanted to go. And then I chimed in that I wanted to go. The only trouble was we didn’t have a babysitter for Beck, and there was no way I was going to take him along. CJ made a couple of calls to friends, who weren’t available and I did the same. Finally it dawned on me that the boy who lives behind us was of more-than-babysitting age and I thought I had heard his mother mention he was doing a lot of it. I called, he was, he wanted to, in fact was ready to jump the fence to get started. A couple of hours later he arrived, when we needed him to, and he watched Beck. And at $4 an hour I am jumping for joy that we have one more economical babysitter on our roster, AND he lives right behind us. He was great with Beck and we’ll use him again, particularly when Maizzie, our (and Frank’s) favorite, isn’t available.
Speedway was fun, albeit cold. We all wished we had bundled up a little better and I ended up buying Frank a sweatshirt. There were twenty-seven motorcycle races we had to sit through to get to the “main event” which was freestyle motocross jumping. After about three hours, the main event finally took place. The team started one by one going up the ramp, flying ninety feet through the air over a mound of dirt and doing tricks while in mid-air. Each of the riders made it through the first set of jumps. About the third or fourth rider in the second series of jumps went up the ramp, and suddenly in mid-air he and his motorcycle separated. I don’t know how far of a fall it was, but far enough that it could’ve killed him I suppose. He suffered a broken leg and possibly a broken neck, but we haven’t been able to confirm that.
Frank, surprisingly, wasn’t too freaked out about it. Although he didn’t want to talk about it after we left. CJ and Janel told us in the all the events similar to this that they had attended through the years, which was a considerable number, nothing like that had ever happened. They said they had seen it on videos, but never seen it actually happen. It was wild and scary and disconcerting. And makes that “it’s never going to happen to me” thing become more and more unrealistic. Given how kids always think they’re invincible, witnessing extreme sports, I’m sure, ups overall accident rates considerably.
Janel has been working very long hours at her summer job and really misses Frank and Beck, so asked us if we wanted to go the beach the next day. We were definitely up for that and ended up having a fantastic day on Sunday. We, the six of us, are a family, even though Janel and CJ work for us. They love our kids as if they were their own, and what more could parents ask for, particularly since I have no siblings and we don’t see Doug’s that often.
We spent a quiet evening at home, not feeling the need to do anything more than unpack the beach stuff and get a good night’s sleep.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Coming Up for Air
I feel like the last month has gone by in a split second. And I've spent the last two weeks doing nothing.
I'm feeling two things, the first, I need a vacation. Ha! Really though, I do, or at least I feel like I do. An honest to goodness go-away-somewhere vacation. I've been dreaming about Canada Lake a lot. Doug says it's just because there is an article in one of my magazines about the Adirondacks so it's on my mind. Unfortunately, a vacation this year is out of the question due to Doug's new job. I think I mentioned something to CJ about wanting to go to Canada Lake, and somehow the conversation made it's way to if CJ were a girl, I'd probably go, and take "her" and the boys. However, taking "him" and the boys would stretch the limits of propriety more than I would be comfortable with.
I am hoping we can make it back there next summer. I feel a need to go back, and want to take the boys there at least every three years or so. I recognize that Doug doesn't really like to go back to the same place more than once, but he needs to recognize, too, that I do, especially there. It would be fun to fly into New York City and spend a couple of nights and then drive up to the Adirondacks, which then wouldn't be that much of a drive.
More than anything I'm yearning.
My grandmother's birthday was July 4th, and every year as the fourth gets closer, I think more and more about her. It was always such a great time of the year. Many of the cousins who had moved away came "home" over the fourth, and for many years we had a family reunion at O'Briens Sleepy Hollow. There were always fireworks at Elma Meadows and we would drive to the end of Ostrander Road, sit at the curve on top of our cars, and watch. Right after the fourth, we would leave for the Adirondacks.
When the boys get older, I want them to be able to spend some of their summers there, or at least a week or two. I'd like it to become a family tradition. If I ever won the lottery, I'd buy a camp there. Miranda, our niece, told me she'd continue to go back there with me year after year. That may change now that she's more of a teenager and establishing a life of her own. But I can see myself sitting on the dock by the lake at every stage of my life. And I've told Doug that when I die, I'd like my ashes scattered off Nick Stoner Island. There isn't a place I'd rather be, ever (even Cambria). That's not entirely true, I'd rather not be there in the winter.
So the second thing I'm feeling is that I'm ready to get back to work. If it can't be a vacation, it might as well be work. I took a lot of time off to spend with Frank in his last two weeks of school, and I feel like that was the right thing to do. I want to spend time with him over the summer, I just have to figure out the best balance. It would be so nice to not think about work until September, but that is unrealistic, and Doug says I'd be bored in a week. He's probably right. Although it might take more than a week.
Frank turns six in six days. He's so grown up, and is so responsible, I've finally agreed to allow a reptile into my home. We've compromised on a lizard. He'd prefer a snake, but I'm uncomfortable seeing snakes on television, there simply isn't any way I could have one in the house. He's proven he's capable of understanding day to day chores, although he is still a real, live kid and needs reminding. What he'd really, really like is for us to live in a place with a lot of land, so he can have a dog, and a multitude of other pets. The other day he was talking about having a farm and Doug and I told him what a lot of work a farm would be. He said something about hiring people to do the work. I guess I've got my parenting work cut out for me.
I'm feeling two things, the first, I need a vacation. Ha! Really though, I do, or at least I feel like I do. An honest to goodness go-away-somewhere vacation. I've been dreaming about Canada Lake a lot. Doug says it's just because there is an article in one of my magazines about the Adirondacks so it's on my mind. Unfortunately, a vacation this year is out of the question due to Doug's new job. I think I mentioned something to CJ about wanting to go to Canada Lake, and somehow the conversation made it's way to if CJ were a girl, I'd probably go, and take "her" and the boys. However, taking "him" and the boys would stretch the limits of propriety more than I would be comfortable with.
I am hoping we can make it back there next summer. I feel a need to go back, and want to take the boys there at least every three years or so. I recognize that Doug doesn't really like to go back to the same place more than once, but he needs to recognize, too, that I do, especially there. It would be fun to fly into New York City and spend a couple of nights and then drive up to the Adirondacks, which then wouldn't be that much of a drive.
More than anything I'm yearning.
My grandmother's birthday was July 4th, and every year as the fourth gets closer, I think more and more about her. It was always such a great time of the year. Many of the cousins who had moved away came "home" over the fourth, and for many years we had a family reunion at O'Briens Sleepy Hollow. There were always fireworks at Elma Meadows and we would drive to the end of Ostrander Road, sit at the curve on top of our cars, and watch. Right after the fourth, we would leave for the Adirondacks.
When the boys get older, I want them to be able to spend some of their summers there, or at least a week or two. I'd like it to become a family tradition. If I ever won the lottery, I'd buy a camp there. Miranda, our niece, told me she'd continue to go back there with me year after year. That may change now that she's more of a teenager and establishing a life of her own. But I can see myself sitting on the dock by the lake at every stage of my life. And I've told Doug that when I die, I'd like my ashes scattered off Nick Stoner Island. There isn't a place I'd rather be, ever (even Cambria). That's not entirely true, I'd rather not be there in the winter.
So the second thing I'm feeling is that I'm ready to get back to work. If it can't be a vacation, it might as well be work. I took a lot of time off to spend with Frank in his last two weeks of school, and I feel like that was the right thing to do. I want to spend time with him over the summer, I just have to figure out the best balance. It would be so nice to not think about work until September, but that is unrealistic, and Doug says I'd be bored in a week. He's probably right. Although it might take more than a week.
Frank turns six in six days. He's so grown up, and is so responsible, I've finally agreed to allow a reptile into my home. We've compromised on a lizard. He'd prefer a snake, but I'm uncomfortable seeing snakes on television, there simply isn't any way I could have one in the house. He's proven he's capable of understanding day to day chores, although he is still a real, live kid and needs reminding. What he'd really, really like is for us to live in a place with a lot of land, so he can have a dog, and a multitude of other pets. The other day he was talking about having a farm and Doug and I told him what a lot of work a farm would be. He said something about hiring people to do the work. I guess I've got my parenting work cut out for me.
Monday, June 13, 2005
It's a Blur
I ended up taking the rest of the week “off” last week, which I needed more than I knew, and feel much better because of it. Sometimes fate works that way and you are forced to do something you need to, even though you’re trying not to.
Friday night we went to see Marc Broussard at the HOB on Sunset. After I got the tickets, I got an email from ticketmaster saying that Josh Kelley was going to be at the Coach House. As a venue, I much prefer the Coach House, and until Friday night, I thought I would rather see Josh Kelley. However, I couldn’t possibly justify going out two nights in a row, so I stuck with the HOB show.
Janel and I were sitting in the restaurant waiting for Doug and CJ to arrive, and on the tv monitors in front of us we noticed it said, “Josh Kelley and Marc Broussard.” Sure enough, Josh Kelley opened for Marc Broussard.
Marc’s show was really amazing. He has an incredibly high energy level, phenomenal charisma and simply some great music. I wasn’t as impressed with Josh Kelley’s performance, could be it was an off-night, or I didn’t know much of the music he performed, who knows? But I was excited to see them both. I had a little more vino than I intended, but surprisingly, I didn’t feel quite as bad Saturday as I thought I might.
Saturday’s a blur, although I do remember go-cart racing with Frank, and going on some ride that involved a big boat that spun around in circles as it went up and down. Not recommended the day after too much vino.
Sunday was all-baseball. It was closing day for the season, which meant trophies and barbeques, followed by our team picnic. Sadly, the coach we adore and his family are moving to the bay area and he won't be Frank’s coach next year. Doug has been the assistant coach for the past two years, and the experience has been great for both Doug and Frank. It was Frank’s first “team sport” experience, and Coach David along with Doug made it really special for him. David’s wife put together a little book with notes and photos from each of the players, and I included this:
Which about sums it up. Coach David and his wife Leslie are two of the nicest people you’ll meet. We will miss them, and their kids, Daniel and Andrea, and hope we are able to stay in touch with them in the coming years.
Friday night we went to see Marc Broussard at the HOB on Sunset. After I got the tickets, I got an email from ticketmaster saying that Josh Kelley was going to be at the Coach House. As a venue, I much prefer the Coach House, and until Friday night, I thought I would rather see Josh Kelley. However, I couldn’t possibly justify going out two nights in a row, so I stuck with the HOB show.
Janel and I were sitting in the restaurant waiting for Doug and CJ to arrive, and on the tv monitors in front of us we noticed it said, “Josh Kelley and Marc Broussard.” Sure enough, Josh Kelley opened for Marc Broussard.
Marc’s show was really amazing. He has an incredibly high energy level, phenomenal charisma and simply some great music. I wasn’t as impressed with Josh Kelley’s performance, could be it was an off-night, or I didn’t know much of the music he performed, who knows? But I was excited to see them both. I had a little more vino than I intended, but surprisingly, I didn’t feel quite as bad Saturday as I thought I might.
Saturday’s a blur, although I do remember go-cart racing with Frank, and going on some ride that involved a big boat that spun around in circles as it went up and down. Not recommended the day after too much vino.
Sunday was all-baseball. It was closing day for the season, which meant trophies and barbeques, followed by our team picnic. Sadly, the coach we adore and his family are moving to the bay area and he won't be Frank’s coach next year. Doug has been the assistant coach for the past two years, and the experience has been great for both Doug and Frank. It was Frank’s first “team sport” experience, and Coach David along with Doug made it really special for him. David’s wife put together a little book with notes and photos from each of the players, and I included this:
Our timid little boy didn’t want to play baseball last year. Someone told him that coaches were mean. You took his hand that very first day, and told him how glad you were that he was on your team. His face broke into a smile and after that, we never had a problem getting him to go to practice or a game.
When he started, he didn’t know how to throw a baseball, or cover a base, or hit off a pitch, or be part of a team.
He didn’t know what it feels like to get the game ball, or walk the field at Angel Stadium, or come to respect a man who will forever define the word Coach for him. Because you were his first, and from you he learned that coaches are nice. He learned that coaches are fair, generous with praise, patient, kind and loving.
And from you, he learned to love and respect baseball.
Which about sums it up. Coach David and his wife Leslie are two of the nicest people you’ll meet. We will miss them, and their kids, Daniel and Andrea, and hope we are able to stay in touch with them in the coming years.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Have I Been Asleep for Six Years?
Where have the last six years of my life gone? I remember bits and pieces, and there are photos, but can someone please tell me how it is that my five pound baby boy is "graduating" from kindergarten to first grade? It just isn't possible.
I'm going on Frank's class field trip today, for the end-of-year kindergarten picnic. Monday night is his "graduation" ceremony, Tuesday is the end-of-year playday and Wednesday is his last day of school. But wait, he only started school a couple of days ago, how could the year have gone by that quickly?
I've kept all his school work from the year in two notebooks. The changes and growth he has experienced this year are remarkable. I will miss his kindergarten teacher more than he will, she graciously helped me through my first year as the parent of a child going to school, and gently guided me through what I should freak out about and what I shouldn't. I can only pray his first grade teacher will be so kind.
Now I know why there are women who have thirteen kids . . . I want my baby back.
I'm going on Frank's class field trip today, for the end-of-year kindergarten picnic. Monday night is his "graduation" ceremony, Tuesday is the end-of-year playday and Wednesday is his last day of school. But wait, he only started school a couple of days ago, how could the year have gone by that quickly?
I've kept all his school work from the year in two notebooks. The changes and growth he has experienced this year are remarkable. I will miss his kindergarten teacher more than he will, she graciously helped me through my first year as the parent of a child going to school, and gently guided me through what I should freak out about and what I shouldn't. I can only pray his first grade teacher will be so kind.
Now I know why there are women who have thirteen kids . . . I want my baby back.
Monday, June 06, 2005
New York: Friday through Sunday
Friday continued . . .
Once we were settled into the show, the amount of attention “the book” was getting was phenomenal. There were very few people who walked by the booth who didn’t stop and look at it. The title is definitely an attention-grabber. It isn’t always positive attention, but there’s nothing wrong with that if we have the opportunity to then talk to someone about the book. There were many people from the Jewish book council event who stopped by to look, more than I expected were initially positive, and some came by to blast the author for her insensitivity, only to wind up a few minutes later, understanding, crying and hugging her, and most importantly, wanting to buy the book. This phenomenon continued throughout the day.
As the day came to a close, we were exhausted, it was raining, cabs were nowhere to be found, and the lines for the shuttle buses were miles long. We arranged for a limo and with a two hour minimum, decided to take advantage of the time. We had the driver take us back to the hotel, changed and went out to find a great deli. We ended up at Carnegie, and the route we took to get there could be fodder for a 1920s silent film, or a Benny Hill sketch.
We were seated between an older couple and a mother and daughter. The older gentleman was singing songs, and his wife was saying, “Oh the kids loved that one.” We asked him to sing louder and told him how much we were enjoying his song. We struck up a conversation and they asked where we were from and we said LA. The woman had lived in Santa Monica when she was growing up, and worked as a secretary for Walt Disney (himself, not the company). They went on to explain that she was able to work for Walt Disney because she hadn’t known she was supposed to write “Jewish” under nationality, and wrote “American.” Her maiden name was French and no one ever knew she was Jewish. (Sad to think it was that way, but I guess it was.) They asked why were in town and we told them about the book, and the title. They did not react in a negative way, but rather, laughed and asked questions about it.
The mother and daughter, to my left, asked again what they title of the book was, and the daughter asked if she thought it was okay to make fun of the Holocaust. We went on to explain the stories of her family from the book, blah, blah, blah. Thus ensued a two-hour conversation about the book, the Holocaust, families, Isreal, Palastine, Europe--between the six of us, but rather I should say the five of them, because I did quite a lot of quiet listening. The older couple said goodnight, and asked us to please come and visit them at their store before we left town. They were the Lees, and own “Lee’s Art Shop, the largest art supply store in New York, four floors on 57th.” They also asked about getting a copy of the book, wished us much success and said they knew the book would be successful.
We continued talking to the mother and daughter and the conversation turned more toward editing and book design. As it turns out, the mother has written a book and had many questions for me about publishing a book. It also turns out the mother had just flown in from Europe and the daughter had just flown in from Isreal. The mother asked for my card. She gave me her card and she was Graciela Vaserman Samuels, Ph.D., Chargee de Mission, Organisation des Nations Unies, pour l’education, la science et la culture, in Paris. She asked too, that we send her a copy of the book so she could give it to her husband, and then told us that he is Dr. Shimon Samuels, Director for International Liaison, Simon Wiesenthal Centre, France. As they left, Graciela Samuels hugged me and wished us much success with the book.
The reactions have been amazing, surprising, but amazing.
Saturday
Saturday was another day of much positive attention for the book and another busy, busy show day. Othello Bach and her husband, Don, asked us to join them for dinner and we met at Frankie and Johnnie’s steakhouse. The food and service were both fantastic and it was such a pleasure to spend time with Othello and Don, who are two of the most gracious and warm people I’ve ever met.
Exhausted after a long, long day at the show and eating too much dinner, I decided that it was time to go home. Literally. Nothing much happens at the show on Sunday, and I was missing my husband and boys way too much to stay in New York City for two more days without good reason. I called the airport, packed and left first thing the next morning for home. There’s far more to the story, but in a nutshell, this is the important part.
I learned a great deal about people during this trip, learned to trust my instincts and learned what I’m capable of. I’m thankful for all that happened during the trip, even the unpleasant parts, because it led me to spend time on my own, time reflecting and time appreciating who I am and what my life is all about so much. This quote was in the blog a week or so ago, and it comes back to me now in summation:
Sunday
Exhausted, I slept much the first leg of the trip, had a long and delayed stopover and then a very enjoyable last leg of the trip. There are times you are fortunate to sit next to someone who is a pleasure to meet and talk to, and I did. We had great conversation throughout, it was easy and relaxed and neither seemed to mind when we weren’t talking and then conversation started up easily again a little while later. It isn't often either that you run into someone with such impeccable and gentlemanly manners. We ended up walking to the baggage area together, just because, and he actually helped me get my luggage, which was not necessary, but very kind of him to do. We said goodbye at the curb and I waited with eager anticipation for my boys to pick me up.
I knew from cellphone conversations that they were right around the corner and I simply couldn’t wait to see them. A couple minutes later, there they were! Frank was sound asleep because cousin Quentin and Uncle Jeff had come over the night before for a sleepover and he had very little sleep. Beckett and I played and played and played the whole way home and his smile filled me with such love and happiness to be home.
When we got home, I saw the boys had made a banner welcoming me home, complete with their handprints. We sat on the bench in the foyer and Beckett kept pointing to the banner and laughing and giggling, he was so proud of his work. Throughout the afternoon he would lead me back to it again and again to point and show me, again beaming. I got a thousand hugs and kisses Sunday afternoon and he wouldn’t ever let me out of “touch” range. Frank was tired and sullen, and I imagined I would be on the receiving end of emotions he didn’t understand that were left over from a week of my being gone. It was easy to be patient and understanding, and to simply be there for him whenever he felt the urge to come over and sit with me.
After the two of them were in bed, I fell into a deep, contented, and comfortable for the first time in a week, slumber.
Once we were settled into the show, the amount of attention “the book” was getting was phenomenal. There were very few people who walked by the booth who didn’t stop and look at it. The title is definitely an attention-grabber. It isn’t always positive attention, but there’s nothing wrong with that if we have the opportunity to then talk to someone about the book. There were many people from the Jewish book council event who stopped by to look, more than I expected were initially positive, and some came by to blast the author for her insensitivity, only to wind up a few minutes later, understanding, crying and hugging her, and most importantly, wanting to buy the book. This phenomenon continued throughout the day.
As the day came to a close, we were exhausted, it was raining, cabs were nowhere to be found, and the lines for the shuttle buses were miles long. We arranged for a limo and with a two hour minimum, decided to take advantage of the time. We had the driver take us back to the hotel, changed and went out to find a great deli. We ended up at Carnegie, and the route we took to get there could be fodder for a 1920s silent film, or a Benny Hill sketch.
We were seated between an older couple and a mother and daughter. The older gentleman was singing songs, and his wife was saying, “Oh the kids loved that one.” We asked him to sing louder and told him how much we were enjoying his song. We struck up a conversation and they asked where we were from and we said LA. The woman had lived in Santa Monica when she was growing up, and worked as a secretary for Walt Disney (himself, not the company). They went on to explain that she was able to work for Walt Disney because she hadn’t known she was supposed to write “Jewish” under nationality, and wrote “American.” Her maiden name was French and no one ever knew she was Jewish. (Sad to think it was that way, but I guess it was.) They asked why were in town and we told them about the book, and the title. They did not react in a negative way, but rather, laughed and asked questions about it.
The mother and daughter, to my left, asked again what they title of the book was, and the daughter asked if she thought it was okay to make fun of the Holocaust. We went on to explain the stories of her family from the book, blah, blah, blah. Thus ensued a two-hour conversation about the book, the Holocaust, families, Isreal, Palastine, Europe--between the six of us, but rather I should say the five of them, because I did quite a lot of quiet listening. The older couple said goodnight, and asked us to please come and visit them at their store before we left town. They were the Lees, and own “Lee’s Art Shop, the largest art supply store in New York, four floors on 57th.” They also asked about getting a copy of the book, wished us much success and said they knew the book would be successful.
We continued talking to the mother and daughter and the conversation turned more toward editing and book design. As it turns out, the mother has written a book and had many questions for me about publishing a book. It also turns out the mother had just flown in from Europe and the daughter had just flown in from Isreal. The mother asked for my card. She gave me her card and she was Graciela Vaserman Samuels, Ph.D., Chargee de Mission, Organisation des Nations Unies, pour l’education, la science et la culture, in Paris. She asked too, that we send her a copy of the book so she could give it to her husband, and then told us that he is Dr. Shimon Samuels, Director for International Liaison, Simon Wiesenthal Centre, France. As they left, Graciela Samuels hugged me and wished us much success with the book.
The reactions have been amazing, surprising, but amazing.
Saturday
Saturday was another day of much positive attention for the book and another busy, busy show day. Othello Bach and her husband, Don, asked us to join them for dinner and we met at Frankie and Johnnie’s steakhouse. The food and service were both fantastic and it was such a pleasure to spend time with Othello and Don, who are two of the most gracious and warm people I’ve ever met.
Exhausted after a long, long day at the show and eating too much dinner, I decided that it was time to go home. Literally. Nothing much happens at the show on Sunday, and I was missing my husband and boys way too much to stay in New York City for two more days without good reason. I called the airport, packed and left first thing the next morning for home. There’s far more to the story, but in a nutshell, this is the important part.
I learned a great deal about people during this trip, learned to trust my instincts and learned what I’m capable of. I’m thankful for all that happened during the trip, even the unpleasant parts, because it led me to spend time on my own, time reflecting and time appreciating who I am and what my life is all about so much. This quote was in the blog a week or so ago, and it comes back to me now in summation:
No pleasure philosophy, no sensuality, no place nor power, no material success can for a moment give such inner satisfaction as the sense of living for good purposes, for maintenance of integrity, for the preservation of self-approval.
- Minot Simons
Sunday
Exhausted, I slept much the first leg of the trip, had a long and delayed stopover and then a very enjoyable last leg of the trip. There are times you are fortunate to sit next to someone who is a pleasure to meet and talk to, and I did. We had great conversation throughout, it was easy and relaxed and neither seemed to mind when we weren’t talking and then conversation started up easily again a little while later. It isn't often either that you run into someone with such impeccable and gentlemanly manners. We ended up walking to the baggage area together, just because, and he actually helped me get my luggage, which was not necessary, but very kind of him to do. We said goodbye at the curb and I waited with eager anticipation for my boys to pick me up.
I knew from cellphone conversations that they were right around the corner and I simply couldn’t wait to see them. A couple minutes later, there they were! Frank was sound asleep because cousin Quentin and Uncle Jeff had come over the night before for a sleepover and he had very little sleep. Beckett and I played and played and played the whole way home and his smile filled me with such love and happiness to be home.
When we got home, I saw the boys had made a banner welcoming me home, complete with their handprints. We sat on the bench in the foyer and Beckett kept pointing to the banner and laughing and giggling, he was so proud of his work. Throughout the afternoon he would lead me back to it again and again to point and show me, again beaming. I got a thousand hugs and kisses Sunday afternoon and he wouldn’t ever let me out of “touch” range. Frank was tired and sullen, and I imagined I would be on the receiving end of emotions he didn’t understand that were left over from a week of my being gone. It was easy to be patient and understanding, and to simply be there for him whenever he felt the urge to come over and sit with me.
After the two of them were in bed, I fell into a deep, contented, and comfortable for the first time in a week, slumber.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
New York: Monday through Thursday
Monday
Doug, Frank and Beckett took me to LAX with no traffic and no incident. The flight to New York was pleasant and after flying first class, I would imagine it will be difficult to go back to flying any other way. We flew into Newark and were met by a limousine driver who told us the car we were taking was brand new and we were only the second passengers in it.
After checking in at the hotel, we went to explore and look for FOOD. We hit Broadway and 53rd around 11:30pm, the streets still so crowded we had to make our way through masses of people. First stop, pizza, at a place recommended by the bellman. We walked down Broadway and marveled at the lights and sights of Times Square, and shopped at all the tourist-y places and street vendors. There are people selling knock-off purses every three feet, and watches. Lured by the seduction of a new bag, we haggled with one of the merchants, only to walk away unsure we would ever really use that bag, probably not.
We ended at Maxie’s Deli, with a pound of pastrami, rye bread, pickles and cole slaw. Perfect.
As I snuggled into bed, finally, I noticed it was 3:00am and was very thankful I didn’t have anything to get up for first thing the next morning.
Tuesday
The best intentions of getting to the writer’s workshop for the first sessions were more than unrealistic given the hour we ended the night before. We met up for breakfast at the club level lounge on the 44th floor and took our time enjoying fresh raspberries, great coffee and fantastic views of the city.
Great intentions again, we went to the Skyline Hotel for the writers’ workshops, and arrived just as they were breaking for lunch. According to the organizer the workshop was a “holistic” experience, done in its entirety only, and the order of speakers was determined on an ad hoc basis, meaning there were speakers that would not draw a big crowd, and subsequently the speakers wouldn’t have the opportonity to pitch, or sell, whatever product they were really there to promote. Unable to get ahold of a schedule or list of speakers, we decided to take the materials, and tapes of the sessions for the day, and try again tomorrow.
For the next few hours I watched as we shopped in stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, buy anything in, in departments of stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, enter on my own. At some point my brain checked out for a while and I don’t remember any of the specifics of the pairs and pairs and pairs of high-heel, platform shoes being tried on in front of me.
We decided after the long hours worked in preparation for this trip and the long, although very comfortable flight the day before, we needed massages. I had a fantastic massage by a Russian girl whose name was too long for me to prounounce or remember. And even though I didn’t want to miss a minute of it, I found myself drifting off into sleep a number of times.
After the massages we walked across the street for a snack at Mangia, and decided it was a place we would come back to another time when we were really, really hungry. It’s a great concept and the food was outstanding. A franchise of Mangia would do well in LA or Orange County.
Sadly the rest of Tuesday is a blur. I remember something about a wonderful steak dinner and fabulous glass of Pinot Noir at Del Frisco’s, a place recommended by the concierge. Sadly too, I remember sitting at the table alone as my travel companion, far more “LA” than I ever will be, spent most of the time on her cell phone.
Happily, and once again later than I imagined, I fell into a deep sleep, missing my boys and dreaming about hugging them goodnight.
Wednesday
Wednesday was a day spent with friends, hers and mine. Her friend lives in a place with “views of seven bridges.” It was truly spectacular. She was gracious and warm and took us to a place in the neighborhood for lunch.
With the rest of the afternoon to myself, I walked up to Fifth Avenue to shop, a more realistic trip for me I hoped this time, and ended up at Tiffany. I bought a jade starfish to remind of the trip, and to remember who I am and what my life is all about.
A great time for reflection and being alone, which is not an everyday thing for me anymore. Although I appreciate the time alone, it has also reminded me that quiet can be too quiet without the babbling of a baby and the sage wit of a five-year-old.
I was holding out hope that I would be able to meet up with my friend Tim, who lives in New York, for dinner. When I got back to the hotel, there was a message from him. Tim travels so much on business, he is almost never in town. Serendipitously he was, and sans commitment for the evening. He was urgent to get me out of midtown so I took a cab to 6th and W. Houston to his new apartment.
Sparesly furnished, the place is still spectacular. The length of it faces uptown, with windows everywhere. In the common room there is a large, hinged window that opens all the way so it feels as though you are sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city. Because 6th makes a little turn right before W. Houston, the view from his place looks directly up 6th all the way to Central Park.
I got there before sunset, and we sat and talked until we were in the dark, illuminated only by the lights of the city, listening to the noises of the street. The park across the street was showing a movie outdoors on a giant screen, and every once in a while dialogue or music would drift in.
We talked and talked, about where our lives were now, our work, our dreams and how we were, or weren’t, able to fulfill them in the same way our friend Allan is on his WorldRider adventure. Tim is one of those smart, funny, and easy to be with people. Then we talked about the book that was the main purpose of my trip. Tim’s reaction to the title and what followed was a great discussion in which he challenged me to think about the book in different ways, to answer questions I hadn’t thought to ask myself, and were hard to answer. Ultimately, and most imporantly, he made me think, and then listened to what I had to say.
We met up with my travel companion later at Mas, a restaurant in Tim’s neighborhood. We ordered appetizers and entrees to share, a great bottle of Pinot Noir, and then Tim and I shared our conversation about the book with her. It was a difficult conversation, with reactions it wouldn’t be appropriate to write about, but somehow the evening continued on okay perhaps because Tim and I were able to diffuse the situation by our refusal to participate. The hostility was thick during the cab ride back to the hotel, but the time spent with Tim, coupled by a few glasses of wine, left me giddily happy and unaffected.
Thursday
I had much of Thursday to myself, writing and taking advantage of being in New York without an agenda. I went to MOMA in the afternoon, where I could’ve spent an entire day just on the fifth floor wandering through the amazing collections of Matisse, Picasso, Calder, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gaugin . . . I didn’t want to leave, but instead kept wandering back through wishing I had hours to study each of my favorites. Afraid I wouldn’t get back during this trip, I went down to the fourth floor where the collection includes Miro, Magritte, Dali, Pollack, Lichtenstein, Johns, Man Ray, more Matisse and Picasso, a truly outstanding collection of art overall.
We had an event Thursday late afternoon, a presentation and cocktail party with the Jewish Book Council. The event was difficult, long and boring to sit through. The book got very mixed reactions, some outwardly hostile, some loved it.
At 7:45, when the event ended, unable to get a cab, we literally ran from 56th to 44th for an 8:00 curtain to see Spamalot, a hysterical respite for both of us. (I highly encourage you to click on this link for Spamalot and take a look at the website, it'll give you a good intro to the show!) I am anxious to see how it does at the Tony’s. Tim Curry, Hank Azaria and David Hyde Pierce fit into the various roles as well as Michael Palin or John Cleese would have. The night before, Tim and I decided that in our youth, Monty Python defined humor for us and thus determined the type of sense of humor we have. Mike Nichols and Eric Idle did a fantastic job hanging on to all that was so good about Monty Python as I remember it.
During intermission I went outside to call home and say my goodnights, and suddenly two policemen on horseback flew down 44th toward Broadway where they stopped traffic. Intermission was suddenly over and I was unable find out what the drama was all about, but it was startling, and somewhat exciting to see.
After the performance, we walked across the street to an old favorite, Carmine’s, for too much food, fun conversation with our father of a waiter who was so concerned about what and how much we ordered, almost like an Italian grandmother. “Eat, eat, eat . . . oh, don’t eat too much and make yourself sick . . . but are you still hungry honey . . . what else can I bring for you? You want some coffee honey? How about some dessert? Oh the strawberry shortcake is so good honey.” This after grilled portobello mushrooms, stuffed artichokes, chicken saltimbaco, and soft-shell crabs sauteed in garlic, lemon and olive oil. I’ll be full until Christmas!
Friday
Show day. Bad form abounded throughout the morning as the stress of the introduction of the book seeped in and back out. Arriving at Book Expo for me is like a five-year-old’s arrival at a candy shop. I could spend hours looking at books, followed by hours more, never enough. It is exciting to see all the big publishing houses’ new releases and posters for author signings.
The booth was filled with familiar faces. I was excited to meet Othello Bach and John Kori in person, and to see Joe Badal and Kim Doren once again. And to see all the books I’ve designed and worked on, all in one place, filled me with pride and a sense of accomplishment. The adulation, warmth and affection from the authors is so affirming, particularly since I admire each of them as I do.
Books . . . they take me away; they entertain me, they pay my bills, as long as I don’t buy too many of them myself. Authors are among the people I most admire, and each of their books is so special to me. The older books remind me of where I was in life when I designed the book, and sometimes Book Expo is the first I’ve seen printed copies of the new releases. Through the course of working on a book, I tend to talk to the authors a great deal, and each relationship that develops is as unique as the books are.
to be continued . . .
Doug, Frank and Beckett took me to LAX with no traffic and no incident. The flight to New York was pleasant and after flying first class, I would imagine it will be difficult to go back to flying any other way. We flew into Newark and were met by a limousine driver who told us the car we were taking was brand new and we were only the second passengers in it.
After checking in at the hotel, we went to explore and look for FOOD. We hit Broadway and 53rd around 11:30pm, the streets still so crowded we had to make our way through masses of people. First stop, pizza, at a place recommended by the bellman. We walked down Broadway and marveled at the lights and sights of Times Square, and shopped at all the tourist-y places and street vendors. There are people selling knock-off purses every three feet, and watches. Lured by the seduction of a new bag, we haggled with one of the merchants, only to walk away unsure we would ever really use that bag, probably not.
We ended at Maxie’s Deli, with a pound of pastrami, rye bread, pickles and cole slaw. Perfect.
As I snuggled into bed, finally, I noticed it was 3:00am and was very thankful I didn’t have anything to get up for first thing the next morning.
Tuesday
The best intentions of getting to the writer’s workshop for the first sessions were more than unrealistic given the hour we ended the night before. We met up for breakfast at the club level lounge on the 44th floor and took our time enjoying fresh raspberries, great coffee and fantastic views of the city.
Great intentions again, we went to the Skyline Hotel for the writers’ workshops, and arrived just as they were breaking for lunch. According to the organizer the workshop was a “holistic” experience, done in its entirety only, and the order of speakers was determined on an ad hoc basis, meaning there were speakers that would not draw a big crowd, and subsequently the speakers wouldn’t have the opportonity to pitch, or sell, whatever product they were really there to promote. Unable to get ahold of a schedule or list of speakers, we decided to take the materials, and tapes of the sessions for the day, and try again tomorrow.
For the next few hours I watched as we shopped in stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, buy anything in, in departments of stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, enter on my own. At some point my brain checked out for a while and I don’t remember any of the specifics of the pairs and pairs and pairs of high-heel, platform shoes being tried on in front of me.
We decided after the long hours worked in preparation for this trip and the long, although very comfortable flight the day before, we needed massages. I had a fantastic massage by a Russian girl whose name was too long for me to prounounce or remember. And even though I didn’t want to miss a minute of it, I found myself drifting off into sleep a number of times.
After the massages we walked across the street for a snack at Mangia, and decided it was a place we would come back to another time when we were really, really hungry. It’s a great concept and the food was outstanding. A franchise of Mangia would do well in LA or Orange County.
Sadly the rest of Tuesday is a blur. I remember something about a wonderful steak dinner and fabulous glass of Pinot Noir at Del Frisco’s, a place recommended by the concierge. Sadly too, I remember sitting at the table alone as my travel companion, far more “LA” than I ever will be, spent most of the time on her cell phone.
Happily, and once again later than I imagined, I fell into a deep sleep, missing my boys and dreaming about hugging them goodnight.
Wednesday
Wednesday was a day spent with friends, hers and mine. Her friend lives in a place with “views of seven bridges.” It was truly spectacular. She was gracious and warm and took us to a place in the neighborhood for lunch.
With the rest of the afternoon to myself, I walked up to Fifth Avenue to shop, a more realistic trip for me I hoped this time, and ended up at Tiffany. I bought a jade starfish to remind of the trip, and to remember who I am and what my life is all about.
A great time for reflection and being alone, which is not an everyday thing for me anymore. Although I appreciate the time alone, it has also reminded me that quiet can be too quiet without the babbling of a baby and the sage wit of a five-year-old.
I was holding out hope that I would be able to meet up with my friend Tim, who lives in New York, for dinner. When I got back to the hotel, there was a message from him. Tim travels so much on business, he is almost never in town. Serendipitously he was, and sans commitment for the evening. He was urgent to get me out of midtown so I took a cab to 6th and W. Houston to his new apartment.
Sparesly furnished, the place is still spectacular. The length of it faces uptown, with windows everywhere. In the common room there is a large, hinged window that opens all the way so it feels as though you are sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city. Because 6th makes a little turn right before W. Houston, the view from his place looks directly up 6th all the way to Central Park.
I got there before sunset, and we sat and talked until we were in the dark, illuminated only by the lights of the city, listening to the noises of the street. The park across the street was showing a movie outdoors on a giant screen, and every once in a while dialogue or music would drift in.
We talked and talked, about where our lives were now, our work, our dreams and how we were, or weren’t, able to fulfill them in the same way our friend Allan is on his WorldRider adventure. Tim is one of those smart, funny, and easy to be with people. Then we talked about the book that was the main purpose of my trip. Tim’s reaction to the title and what followed was a great discussion in which he challenged me to think about the book in different ways, to answer questions I hadn’t thought to ask myself, and were hard to answer. Ultimately, and most imporantly, he made me think, and then listened to what I had to say.
We met up with my travel companion later at Mas, a restaurant in Tim’s neighborhood. We ordered appetizers and entrees to share, a great bottle of Pinot Noir, and then Tim and I shared our conversation about the book with her. It was a difficult conversation, with reactions it wouldn’t be appropriate to write about, but somehow the evening continued on okay perhaps because Tim and I were able to diffuse the situation by our refusal to participate. The hostility was thick during the cab ride back to the hotel, but the time spent with Tim, coupled by a few glasses of wine, left me giddily happy and unaffected.
Thursday
I had much of Thursday to myself, writing and taking advantage of being in New York without an agenda. I went to MOMA in the afternoon, where I could’ve spent an entire day just on the fifth floor wandering through the amazing collections of Matisse, Picasso, Calder, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gaugin . . . I didn’t want to leave, but instead kept wandering back through wishing I had hours to study each of my favorites. Afraid I wouldn’t get back during this trip, I went down to the fourth floor where the collection includes Miro, Magritte, Dali, Pollack, Lichtenstein, Johns, Man Ray, more Matisse and Picasso, a truly outstanding collection of art overall.
We had an event Thursday late afternoon, a presentation and cocktail party with the Jewish Book Council. The event was difficult, long and boring to sit through. The book got very mixed reactions, some outwardly hostile, some loved it.
At 7:45, when the event ended, unable to get a cab, we literally ran from 56th to 44th for an 8:00 curtain to see Spamalot, a hysterical respite for both of us. (I highly encourage you to click on this link for Spamalot and take a look at the website, it'll give you a good intro to the show!) I am anxious to see how it does at the Tony’s. Tim Curry, Hank Azaria and David Hyde Pierce fit into the various roles as well as Michael Palin or John Cleese would have. The night before, Tim and I decided that in our youth, Monty Python defined humor for us and thus determined the type of sense of humor we have. Mike Nichols and Eric Idle did a fantastic job hanging on to all that was so good about Monty Python as I remember it.
During intermission I went outside to call home and say my goodnights, and suddenly two policemen on horseback flew down 44th toward Broadway where they stopped traffic. Intermission was suddenly over and I was unable find out what the drama was all about, but it was startling, and somewhat exciting to see.
After the performance, we walked across the street to an old favorite, Carmine’s, for too much food, fun conversation with our father of a waiter who was so concerned about what and how much we ordered, almost like an Italian grandmother. “Eat, eat, eat . . . oh, don’t eat too much and make yourself sick . . . but are you still hungry honey . . . what else can I bring for you? You want some coffee honey? How about some dessert? Oh the strawberry shortcake is so good honey.” This after grilled portobello mushrooms, stuffed artichokes, chicken saltimbaco, and soft-shell crabs sauteed in garlic, lemon and olive oil. I’ll be full until Christmas!
Friday
Show day. Bad form abounded throughout the morning as the stress of the introduction of the book seeped in and back out. Arriving at Book Expo for me is like a five-year-old’s arrival at a candy shop. I could spend hours looking at books, followed by hours more, never enough. It is exciting to see all the big publishing houses’ new releases and posters for author signings.
The booth was filled with familiar faces. I was excited to meet Othello Bach and John Kori in person, and to see Joe Badal and Kim Doren once again. And to see all the books I’ve designed and worked on, all in one place, filled me with pride and a sense of accomplishment. The adulation, warmth and affection from the authors is so affirming, particularly since I admire each of them as I do.
Books . . . they take me away; they entertain me, they pay my bills, as long as I don’t buy too many of them myself. Authors are among the people I most admire, and each of their books is so special to me. The older books remind me of where I was in life when I designed the book, and sometimes Book Expo is the first I’ve seen printed copies of the new releases. Through the course of working on a book, I tend to talk to the authors a great deal, and each relationship that develops is as unique as the books are.
to be continued . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)