Nature’s Sparkles

A few months ago a friend and I went to the Museum of the City of New York, which is on the northeast edge of the vast Central Park. Since I was early, I took my time walking through the park to the museum. It was cold—cold enough that there was still ice on the lake. Part of it had melted to create these shapes of water with sparkling edges from the bright sun. I realized that whomever invented glitter must have taken his or her inspiration from nature.

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I came across a garden that I don’t remember having visited before—the Conservatory Garden. It was bare, but I could see how regal and beautiful it must be in the springtime. Time to go back. And the gate to enter it was surprising, almost random next to the New York city street, yet I can see how it matched the garden.

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Right next to the museum was this tree. Do you have yarnbombing where you live?

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The foyer of the museum was cool.

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We visited the exhibit on Martin Luther King, Jr., which was a small gallery but jam-packed with interesting photos and captions. It brought up conversation about what’s going on today.

The exhibit “Mod New York” featured over seventy outfits from the 1960s. It was groovy.

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Lastly, we looked at a room of items about the history of ice skating, fitting since the last time we were in this neighborhood together was when we went ice skating in Central Park last year, on what must have been the last weekend one could skate outside—the rink was covered with a layer of water. Obviously it was much warmer than today.

I like museums and have spent a lot of time in New York, and still sometimes a museum that is new to me will come up on my radar, like the Museum of the City of New York. Many times, I discover a place and love it and think, So this has always been here.

After, we took the subway down to the East Village where she got a bite to eat and I bought a hot chocolate from next door to bring over and sip while she ate and we talked.

Our next stop was a café where she bought two macarons and I got a doughnut. There was no seating, and it was too cold outside to linger, so we went to another café, where she got a drink and we sat and chatted some more over our sweets.

When the weather is beautiful outside, sometimes I forget what I ever did during the cold months. Here’s one example—hopping from place to place on a Saturday afternoon into the evening.

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What Up

When I take a walk during my lunch break, in the span of two minutes I might see:
– painted people holding hands
– an old-timey clock inserted in a corner
– a rooftop garden

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I’ve been looking up since childhood. Nowadays, mostly only at night, when I look up at the moon and stars on my way home or out and about, but once in a I while  remember during the day too. Highly recommended.

We Celebrate the Liquefaction of San Gennaro’s Blood with Zeppoles

How do you fit a Ferris wheel into a tiny city street? Ask a New Yorker.

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As you can tell, I post out of chronological order, hence this photo of a summer festival. Recently it has been below freezing here (and don’t get me started about how we didn’t have heat for a couple of weeks at work), so I might as well dream of warm days strolling through the city.

I read about the San Gennaro festival a few years ago. It’s quite a fascinating story—San Gennaro, or Saint Januarius, is the patron saint of Naples, Italy. Legend has it that his blood, kept as a relic in the Naples Cathedral, liquefies three times a year. I know, right!?

I grew up in parts of New Jersey that had a lot of Italian immigrants and their American-born kids and grandkids, so I’ve been to my fair share of Italian-American festivals with my family. If you’ve never been to one, it’s stands of zeppoles and Italian sausage and pepper subs, games like knocking down objects to win stuffed animals, and rides like the Ferris wheel and rotating teacups. It’s people walking around in their shorts. Festivals are usually organized by local Catholic churches, but they’re open to everyone.

For almost 90 years New York’s Little Italy neighborhood has held an annual festival in September, at the end of summer and around the date of San Gennaro’s feast day, September 19th. A friend suggested we check it out. The atmosphere was the same as the Italian festivals I had been to in northern New Jersey—lights, groups of people, the smell of fried food—but I couldn’t believe how huge it was. We walked down street after street of stands and kept turning corners expecting it to be done, but there was more in all directions. Most of the stands were food or goods. I was delighted and surprised to come upon one selling cute dresses with prints. There was no fitting room, and the seller said someone had just stolen his mirror the day before, so I tried on a short-sleeved dress over the dress I was wearing and skedaddled away with it (after paying, of course). No fitting room and no mirror, but I could pay via credit card and have the receipt emailed to me.

When we came upon the Ferris wheel, I couldn’t believe someone had the idea to jam it into the little Little Italy street. It made me think of the city citrouilles. Ferris wheel or bust.

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George Nakashima Woodworking Studio

I was looking through some old books at home and found a paperback collection of American poetry for students. There were a few poems that spoke to me, including:

I May, I Might, I Must

By Marianne Moore

If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across if I try.

Earlier this year a friend and I visited the George Nakashima furniture studio complex in New Hope, which is literally the first town we entered in Pennsylvania when coming from New Jersey. We had invited a couple of others along, but it ended up being the two of us, a nice girls’ trip. She picked me up in the morning, and we drove along highways and across the Delaware River to arrive at the peaceful grounds.

Funnily enough, only a week or so before I had become aware of Nakashima (1905-90), whose low, wooden table and wide-seated chairs were on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. My museum date had wanted to show me them at the Arts of Japan temporary exhibit before it closed. We sat around the table with other visitors. I found the hidden wall label that spoke about Nakashima’s intention to honor the tree.

Now I was seeing the distinctive wooden bow on chairs in his studio miles from the city. My friend and I wandered around the finishing department, the chair shop, and the showroom; took a peek into the main shop; and lingered by a small pond surrounded by a structure that made me feel like we were in Japan.

While my friend and I love nature, we don’t possess the instincts of country girls—at one point, I thought that an alarm was going off and tried to figure out where it was coming from. Then I realized it was the sound of… frogs.

It so happened that a Pride festival was going on in New Hope. We drove on the main street decorated with rainbow flags and found an Irish restaurant for lunch. After, we popped in a few boutiques and a coffee and doughnut shop before driving back.

I’ve mentioned the woodworking studio to friends, and no one has known about it. It was an easy, relaxing getaway for a few hours.

Bridge

On the outer edge of the George Washington Bridge from New York to New Jersey is a pedestrian path. Rather than driving or taking the bus across, you can walk between the two states with the cars rushing on one side and the vast Hudson River on the other. Earlier this year, a date and I did this, our destination being the park on the other side. The park turned out to be huge, and over a few hours we only explored the southern part of it. Though it was a beautiful day, we came across few people (score!). It was quiet and peaceful. The part we explored wasn’t quite hiking—there were paths and a couple of steep staircases—but around those paths it was definitely wild, plants and trees growing where they may. We saw chipmunks and deer, both of which were very exciting for me. Sometimes the animals were right next to the path where we were walking. Clearly I am not used to seeing wildlife on a daily basis, though there do seem to be more and more raccoons in Central Park, and it wasn’t a pigeon that nipped into the pumpkin outside where I live.

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I See, Oui

Earlier this summer, I took advantage of a slower work schedule to catch up with my doctors’ appointments, some of whom I hadn’t been to for years due to living in France.

I crossed two rivers, Hudson and East, to see my ophthalmologist in Brooklyn. On the way, I wondered why I didn’t find someone closer to my home or work. Once I had my appointment, I was reminded why—my doctor is great.

Stepping out into the bright sunlight post-appointment, I set off in the direction of the subway station to go to work. Through my blurry vision from the eye drops, I wondered if I was really seeing these quirky storefronts.

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Coffee, hookah, gelato, wifi, bubble tea… how did they come up with this combination? It sounds like a list of someone’s favorite things.

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Cheerful knives sale.

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Rainbow teapots.

Human beings come up with creative things.

Salve

I was stressed and I was worried, and that hung over me during my walk to meet two good friends for dinner.

I came upon this community garden and made a detour to walk through it.

Then, the first to arrive, I sat outside the restaurant and looked down this alley for the first time.

And those things made all the difference.

And I wished that everyone with something weighing on them could feel this wonder to lighten it from time to time.

When I take a walk, I can’t predict where the relief will come from, and that is part of the beauty of it.

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The Glass House

Last fall a friend and I took a tour of The Glass House in Connecticut. It was a great suggestion on her part because it was located equidistantly between us, about an hour’s drive northeast for me and southwest for her. She booked us tours ahead of time. Designed by architect Philip Johnson and located on what was his private property until he died in 2005, The Glass House can only be accessed through guided tours.

We met up for lunch at a cute café, opting to sit at a table outside. It was a short walk to the building where the tour began. The guide started by showing our group a wall of photos from Johnson’s life and talking about his beginnings and influences. We then hopped on a shuttle to take us to the actual property.

The entrance was imposing. The guide discussed Johnson’s sense of humor; the gates resembled a guillotine or tombstones and rose far above us in a manner that could be considered menacing, yet they didn’t really block access to the grounds. One could in theory just walk around them, as they weren’t connected to a fence.

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The two-hour walking tour was much more than The Glass House itself. On our walk to the house, the guide showed us other buildings on the property, all designed by Johnson—Da Monsta, his studio, the Ghost House, the Sculpture Gallery (yes, there was a gallery on the grounds—he had money to spend)– and spoke about his design choices, not only for the buildings, but also for the placement of paths and trees and walls. The property was created with its relation to nature and visitors’ experiences in mind.

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It so happened that we were there in the year of two anniversaries—the tenth year since The Glass House opened to the public and 110 years since Johnson’s birth. To celebrate these milestones, Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama had been commissioned to create several works on the property. She plastered red dots all over the transparent house, placed 1,300 silver spheres to float on the lake below, and created a large steel pumpkin that sat a short distance from the house. She likes circles and pumpkins. The tour guide told us that Kusama is the most popular female artist in the world (determined by number of visitors to her exhibitions).

At first I was a bit disappointed that we wouldn’t see the house in its standard state, all glass and striking to the eye. After hearing about Kusama and actually seeing and standing inside the house, however, I appreciated the dots, which I found joyful and whimsical. The structure was as striking and fascinating as ever.

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Johnson used The Glass House as his summer home and for entertaining. It would have been too cold in the winter.

What it must have been like to attend a party there.

It was a perfect day. My friend and I both have an art history background, and one of my favorite classes in college was Intro to Architecture. (I also took an Architectural Design class that kicked my a**, but that’s a story for another day. It was enjoyable but kept me up all night bent over foam boards while gripping a box cutter.) The tour was like being in school again, learning with visual aids and asking questions of someone who could answer them. Not to mention that in this case most of our “class” was outside on a beautiful fall day with the most moderate of temperatures.

The Glass House is closed for the winter and will reopen on May 1.

Cock-a-doodle-doo

It’s been over a month since the start of the Lunar New Year. The year of the rooster began on January 28. For us Chinese (and several other Asian ethnicities), it’s the chance for a sense of rebirth on the heels of the Gregorian New Year, just shortly after the French stop saying “Bonne Année.” Not only that, but the celebration goes on for two weeks.

I follow the superstitions surrounding the Lunar New Year, just in case. Clean the house the day before but not the day of. Eat three good meals. Eat long noodles. Don’t get your hair cut. Wear red.

Did I mention eat well?

On New Year’s Day this year, a group of friends and I had lunch in New York Chinatown. Our ringleader was my friend who is Chinese-born. Then there was me, who is Chinese American, and seven non-Chinese Frenchies, several of whom had spent a few years in Beijing.

Perhaps you know how it goes in Chinese restaurants. Rather than ordering our own entrées, we ordered dishes to share (though this place lacked a lazy susan, which would have made second helpings easier). After a meal of fish (presented in complete form), lobster, meat, eggplant, noodles, rice, and more, we wandered out into the streets to watch the dragon dance, in which several dragons accompanied by loud drums went from door to door. Businesses put money in their mouths for good fortune. Sidewalk vendors sold long cylinders that when snapped in half, popped and shot confetti into the air. Kids threw fake firecrackers on the ground that made a loud noise upon impact.DSC00187DSC00188DSC00189DSC00190

About a week later, I came across these fierce dragons near Times Square. Though they’ve apparently been there since last fall, I hadn’t noticed them up close, and they seemed particularly appropriate to take a walk around and greet for the New Year.

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They made me smile. How could they look so ferocious and joyful at the same time? It must have been the heart and happy faces on their noses.

I am still finding confetti. Today I was sitting outside and saw a piece of shiny pink confetti on my pants. It must have fallen out of my purse. That’s how you know you celebrated New Year’s well.

Cold Spring, Warm Fall

On one of the last weekends warm enough to spend all day outside, a friend and I went hiking in Cold Spring, New York. An hour by train from Grand Central Station in Manhattan, Cold Spring is a village of under 2,000 residents. We were reminded several times that it is the “village” of Cold Spring by signs, including one displaying the “village speed limit.”

Most of the leaves had fallen, though there were a few trees that for some reason remained lush with autumn colors. With a view of the Hudson River in the distance that manifested itself from time to time between the trees, we talked and followed the trail marks along the bumpy landscape. We’ve known each other for perhaps about five years already, but I got to know her better that day. I guess being out in the woods one on one and crunching through leaves away from the noise of the city will give the space and air to fill with words about one’s stories and real thoughts.

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Post-hike, we walked along the road to get back to Main Street, where we warmed up with a very early dinner in a café and poked at old, beautiful beaded bags in antique shops. Then it was time for a nap on the train (well, I napped while my friend read a novel).

Of course, as soon as we exited Grand Central, we found ourselves on extremely crowded sidewalks of people during our walk to the next stop in our respective commutes. Part of it must have been due to the Christmas market and ice rink at Bryant Park, though we were passing the periphery of the park. And may I just mention that a friend recently told me that though it is “free” to skate there, skate rental is $20; $28 if you want to skip the line whose wait can be one and a half hours; and $6 to purchase socks.

We squeezed through throngs of pedestrians and crossed busy avenues before parting with a quick hug at a frenetic corner in Times Square. Talk about a jolt back into the bustle of a city that never sleeps.