The Ghost of Greenwich Village

I'm usually down in Greenwich Village about once a week, where I volunteer for "God's Love We Deliver." I live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and take the 1 train about 20 minutes to Houston Street most Fridays. Recently, during my 5 minute walk from the subway to God's Love at Sixth Avenue and Spring Street, I encountered a presumably homeless person, completely covered in what looked like a white sheet. It was pretty cold out, and I remember thinking that the white covering couldn't have provided much warmth. I did not take a photo, partly because I needed to get where I was going, and partly because I didn't want to take off my gloves to snap a picture with my phone. I also felt it would be disrespectful because I couldn't get their permission. I take pictures along my wanderings in NYC and farther afield all the time, and often post them on Facebook. I just kept walking, but the image of this "ghost," likely a freezing homeless person, remained in my mind for some time. If I'd had the presence of mind and the person was not fully encased in the sheet, I might have stopped and asked if he or she would like a cup of coffee or some food. But I chose to leave the "Ghost of Greenwich Village" alone. Hopefully, he later got something to eat and a chance to warm up.

"Murder" in the kitchen...

 

...or how my holiday cookie-making became a baking disaster!

I'm not handy in the kitchen, unless we're talking microwave, not oven. At this point in my life, I've accepted my limitations, or rather, my preferences. Yes, I can cook or bake in a pinch. I can read a recipe and follow directions. I'm a widow, and before, during and after my marriage, many people (usually well-intentioned relatives and friends, and less so my late husband -- maybe because he knew me best of all) would encourage me to flex my culinary muscles, and even send me cookbooks or suggest recipes.

 

Today I accept myself where I'm at, know my strengths and weaknesses, and am not ashamed of my lack in interest in food preparation. Domesticity has never been my strong point, but I'm better at math than many of my friends and relatives who don't work in finance like I did.

There have been rare occasions when I've willingly put on an apron and plunged into the culinary arts, usual when I have a friend staying over who likes to cook. Otherwise, it's reheating packaged meals, take-out food, or very easy dishes like omelets and PB&J. I could probably even cook spaghetti and heat up some jarred sauce if I had the time, interest, and motivation.

When I was younger, I used to bake once in a while, and my mother was a very good cook and baker. However, I don't seem to have inherited those genes. Nowadays, the stove only needs to be dusted off on occasion, and the oven is used mostly to store pots and pans.

A few weeks ago, I participated in a holiday cookie exchange at my place of spiritual fellowship, the New York Society for Ethical Culture. We were encouraged to actually bake for this event, and not just contribute store-bought cookies. I Googled "easy festive cookie recipes" and found one that looked interesting, and maybe even fun! I had nearly all of the ingredients on hand, and only needed to buy more unsalted butter and red food coloring.

The afternoon of the day before the exchange, I donned an apron and set to work. Being methodical in nature, and a bit nervous about this endeavor, I had assembled and arranged the ingredients, hand mixer and other tools on my kitchen counter earlier that day.

Mixing the dry ingredients with a whisk in one bowl was simple enough, and then I set upon combining the butter and sugar in a separate bowl with my hand mixer. Well, lo and behold, the mixer didn't work. I knocked on a couple of my neighbors' doors, but they were either not home or using their mixer at that very moment themselves.

Hand mixer in hand, I went down to the lobby of my apartment building to consult the doormen on whether the mixer was indeed kaput (it was) and to ask if they knew which apartments might be most fruitful in my search to borrow a mixer (i.e., who was home, and who was more likely a baker). I didn't want to knock on sixty apartment doors in search of the elusive appliance. As luck would have it, just as I was picking the doormen's brains, the elevator doors opened, and a neighbor whom I recognized appeared. Long story short, she kindly lent me her heavy stand mixer, which I gratefully carried from her apartment to my own.

Whoever claimed that these are easy festive cookies has a different definition of the word "easy" than I have. I struggled along, trying to follow the directions as best I could, until disaster struck! I accidentally knocked over the tiny bottle of red food coloring on my kitchen table where it pooled and then instantly spilled onto the floor below. 

Cookie making was immediately halted and a frenzied clean up began. My kitchen looked like a murder scene, with the "blood splatter pattern" even reaching my cat's water bowl under the kitchen table. Dexter saw that his mommy was freaking out a little and came to investigate. He sniffed at the "blood pool" on the floor but I shooed him away quickly. I didn't want a trail of red paw prints throughout my apartment.

After the "crime scene" was cleaned up, I wearily returned to the dough. I won't detail every step of this very not-easy process but believe it or not, by midnight or so, I had produced 18 ginormous candy cane cookies that looked pretty good and didn't taste bad either. If you are brave and daring I can send you the recipe, but I will not be making these cookies again. Nor will I ever open another bottle of red food coloring, or any other color for that matter. Any future cookies baked in my kitchen will be colorless, though hopefully not tasteless.

Good King Wenceslaus

Wenceslaus I, Duke of Bohemia, was a real person, and not just the hero of the famous Christmas carol. This morning, I was listening to Christmas songs before venturing out into the cold, on the way to my place of spiritual fellowship.

 

Crossing Broadway in the frigid weather, walking very slowly, in a skirt with no stockings, was an older woman with a rollator. I asked if she would like a coffee, and she said yes, "light and sweet," and a bagel with vegetable cream cheese.

"Good King Wenceslas" played in my head as I waited in line at the bagel shop. I don't usually eat breakfast on the go, but had been running late and hadn't gotten a chance to eat before I left home. As it turned out, I didn't really want a bagel, and had been planning on stopping at a bakery for a croissant and an almond milk latte. 

The line at the bagel shop was longer than usual (a lot of other folks had ventured out into the cold too) and I feared that my neighbor would not be able to wait out in the cold, and might have moved on by the time I paid for her breakfast. 

But she was still waiting patiently at the corner of Broadway and 86th, and then inched her way in my direction with her rollator. 

Years ago, at a different spiritual fellowship, I remember being told that good deeds don't "count" if you tell anyone. They are supposed to be between you and God. After this unexpected detour, I was a little late for the service, and mentioned my good deed to our clergy leader. He gave me dispensation on the spot. So yes, I told another human being, but I don't really think any god or goddess will hold it against me. And of course, I'm telling YOU now, but I've decided that blogging about one's good deeds doesn't diminish them, and might actually inspire YOU to buy a coffee and a bagel for the next stockingless elderly woman you see. 

In case you're not familiar with the Christmas carol, here are the lyrics. I think you'll agree that they are fitting. 

Good King Wenceslas looked out,

on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night,
tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
gath'ring winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me,
if thou know'st it, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence,
underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence,
by Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,
bring me pine logs hither:
Thou and I shall see him dine,
when we bear them thither."
Page and monarch, forth they went,
forth they went together;
Through the rude wind's wild lament
and the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now,
and the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how;
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, good my page;
Tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod,
where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod
which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
shall yourselves find blessing.

The joys of "throwing out"

In a rare burst of energy and enthusiasm, I decided to tackle my underwear drawers. The "treasures" I was able to finally part with included:

20 year old sports bras in near mint condition.

30 year old silk camisoles and lacy strapless bras that bring back memories of black tie galas, and the sexy strapless dresses I once wore, and of being a bridesmaid long before I was a bride.

Panties in pristine condition, some brand new, that I could still wear again, if I lost 40 pounds.

Socks with "sentimental" value because they have cats on them and were gifts from my sister, but are now dingy and have long lost all of their elasticity.

Really warm and thick socks, from my early twenties, when I wore heavy work boots in the snow, instead of the more practical black Uggs. Those work boots are long gone, but if I remember correctly, they looked something like this:

These are the ones I wear now when it snows, and they're even warmer and more comfortable than the work boots. As far as style... judge for yourself:

I now have much neater and more organized underwear drawers, and threw out enough stuff to produce an entire empty drawer, waiting to be filled again! But nothing went to waste. I brought the two shopping bags full of my old memories to Housing Works, the charity thrift store where I volunteer. We don't resell underwear, unless it's brand new and still in the package, but we send out any donated textiles to be recycled. Someday, my sports bras, strapless bras, panties and old socks will be reincarnated as something useful, and worn again by some needy person.

OY VEY!

I'm in a Facebook group called "Hanukkah" with over twenty thousand members. I was innocently scrolling along, and commenting here and there on a post about holiday trees and menorahs. My comment was that people should put up whatever type of decorations that give them joy, and I got more positive reactions than negative ones. There was a lively discussion on whether Jews should or should not decorate their homes this time of year, especially with what looks for all intents and purposes like a Christmas tree. Are Hanukkah bushes appropriate or are we just co-opting someone else's religious tradition? Does it make a difference if the decorations are in blue and white, not red and green? What if you live in a mixed-religion household? Do you need special dispensation from your rabbi? 

The discussion was getting a little heated, so I jumped from Facebook to Blogger to continue the debate -- with myself -- in a more reasoned and civil manner:

Q: You practice Judaism, right? 

A: Well, not exactly.

Q: Huh? Then why are you in this Facebook group?

A: I'm Jewish, but it's not my religion.

Q: Wait, you're Jewish, but it's not your religion?

A: It depends on how you define "religion."

Q: Religion is what you believe in about God and the supernatural. 

A: That's not how I define "religion."

Q: Oh, so now we're arguing semantics?

A: Seems like it.

Q: But you believe in God, right?

A: A deity is not a meaningful concept regarding how I live my life. I consider myself agnostic, but I lean more towards atheism, or at least non-theism.

Q: Oy vey! So what is your "religion" then? 

A: I have two: Ethical Culture and Unitarian Universalism. Neither of them requires belief in a god or gods and they don't contradict each other in any meaningful way. They really only differ in style and lexicon. In fact clergy members can be both UU ministers and Ethical Culture Leaders simultaneously.

Q: That's weird. So what do you believe in?

A: I believe in lots of things. I have principals that I live by and I know that there is something greater than myself.

Q: Greater than yourself? Sounds like you believe in God.

A: Not exactly. The jury is still out on that one. And what exactly do you mean by "God" anyway?

Q: Oy vey! 

A: What if we call it a "spiritual community" instead of a "religion"? Would that make you happy?

Q: Spiritual? So you do believe in something supernatural!

A: Spirituality does not have to refer to things outside of nature. Spirit is what motivates us, what lifts us out of ourselves to think and act in ways that help others and our planet. Spirituality is what lies deep within, but feels bigger than ourselves. Frankly I don't care what anyone believes in. You can worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster for all I care. What I care about is what you do, not what you believe, and whether you treat others with respect, empathy and kindness.

Q: Okay, that sounds reasonable. You can call it what you want -- spirituality, religion. And it doesn't sound so bad after all.

A: Thank you. 

Q: Go in peace!

A: You as well!

Of volleyballs, cats and humans

Do movies ever make you cry? I have to admit that some have that effect on me, though at least nowadays, I'm generally at home on my sofa with no one but my cat to witness it. I can't remember the last time I was in a movie theater, so this display of emotion usually takes place in private.

I recently happened upon Cast Away, the 2000 film starring Tom Hanks, as I was flipping through the channels. I probably hadn't seen it in over 20 years so I decided to watch. I was in the midst of working on holiday cards, to be signed and addressed by hand. I don't use printed labels, nor do I send them en masse as e-cards. I was looking for something to watch that didn't require my full concentration, but was more like background music while I tried to complete the tedious task. Usually, when I want to watch a movie, I go to a streaming platform because I hate commercial interruptions. But since I had seen this film before, and it was really only on as background noise, I started to watch. I had liked it very much when I first saw it over 20 years ago, so I could sort of pay attention to it and get the cards done at the same time. If I missed a little of the action, at least I already knew the gist of the plot.

As it turned out, I became totally engrossed in the film, and the commercial interruptions were actually useful, both as breaks during which to address a couple of cards, and as emotional speed bumps as well. Why the need for emotional speeds bumps? Because the film was so much more riveting, thought-provoking and poignant than I had remembered, and the commercial breaks gave me a chance to recover between scenes.

Tom Hanks is amazing, and if you've never seen this movie (or haven't seen it in 20 years) I strongly recommend it. But aside from the compelling plot and extraordinary special effects, the film tugged at my heart, and ultimately, real tears began to flow. During those commercial respites, I also had the chance to reflect on some of the underlining themes and deeper messages, and even began to compose this blogpost in my head. I didn't get up from the sofa to type or take any notes. My blogposts are usually not written in one sitting; they require a lot of mulling, musing and amending over several days.

For me, the emotional impact of the film was at least as important as the thrilling plot. Hank's character has to learn how to make fire, hunt and somehow survive for four years on a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. But even more meaningful to me were his struggles with the crushing loneliness and isolation. Ultimately, he finds a friend in an anthropomorphized object, which serves as his close companion and confidant until he is finally rescued and returns to civilization.

I became choked up during the scene when Tom is drifting on his raft, desperately crying, "Wilson, Wilson!" (If you've seen the movie you'll likely remember this.) But my tears began to flow in earnest later on, when Tom is reunited with his girlfriend, who had presumed him dead for the past four years and gotten on with her life.

Tom's relationship with Wilson the volleyball is deeply moving, and as a lover of anthropomorphized objects myself -- my collection of stuffed animals to be precise -- I could definitely relate. Wilson becomes a character in his own right and it is clear that if not for the companionship of the volleyball, Tom would likely not have been able to survive.

As I watched the film, my cat Dexter was curled up on a chair nearby. Dexter is much more than a Wilson to me, since he's a sentient creature, which (unlike a volleyball) lives, breathes, purrs and displays real affection. I believe pets are capable of love, even if they don't possess the vocabulary to understand it the way humans do. 

Which brings me to another tear-jerker movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's, with Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard, one of my all-time favorites. The final scene in which Hepburn's character, Holly Golightly, desperately cries, "Cat, Cat!" (much like Tom Hanks's "Wilson, Wilson!") always brings me to tears, no matter how many times I've watched this movie. The protagonists of both Cast Away and Breakfast at Tiffany's evince that humans crave connections with other humans. Lacking that, they develop loving relationships with pets -- or even volleyballs -- if that's all they have available to them.