Thanksgiving 2007 Pt. 3.
The next morning I was up with the sun, disoriented and confused at waking up on a wobbly mattress in a strange place. I was baking under a thin blanket, in spite of all I had heard about New York's cold autumns. After getting up and putting my contacts in, I puttered around the apartment, taking care to avoid the soft spot in the floorboards--I was worried about putting my foot through it, and it squeaked and got my socks wet anyway. Eventually I got bored and curled up with a book on one of the large, comfortable window seats that overlooked the street. The trees were still turning, all the leaves shades of red and yellow and brown with a few green leaves still stubbornly clinging to the wrong season. Every now and then I looked outside, watching the world wake up. I saw people walking dogs; I watched a single adult herding a line of bundled-up children down the street; I heard people laughing and arguing while cars whizzed down the narrow street. I was four stories up, and I could see the bare essence of the entire world on a single street.
My dad found me like that a few hours later, halfway through my book and stretched out on the window seat like I owned it. The heater was right beneath it, and I would have been content to stay in that one, cozy spot and watch the world go by all day, but eventually we left for Ted and Beth's. When we got there, Beth was frantically packaging something--jewelery, I learned later; she used to work in television, but now she works in jewelery--and Ted still hadn't gotten up yet. Beth invited my dad and I to take something to eat, so we cut ourselves a few slices of coffee cake and Ted was up by the time we got finished. Eventually, the three of us left to walk around the city.
We started at Central Park, which was an absolute riot of autumnal colors. One tree in particular stood out: it was taller than most of the others and radiated reds and oranges so vivid you'd think it was on fire. I regretted then not bringing my camera to New York, but I find I lose some of the joy of any experience when I'm focussed on photographing it. Of course, later I went out and bought a disposable camera because I just couldn't not. I shot that tree, but a day took its toll on the colors.
We walked through the park, and there was an old man standing across the pond from the tree. I asked him what he was waiting for, and he said he was waiting for the light to be just right. It was a bright morning, and he wasn't standing in the best of spots; there would have been people in his shot. "Why don't you change the angle?" I asked him. "The angle's better if you stand on that rock over there," and I knew because I had stood there and watched just a moment ago, "and the people won't be in your shot." The man just gave me a look; how dare I, a mere child and a tourist at that, presume to know his park better than he? I politely excused myself and caught up with Ted and my dad. As I left, I saw the man move towards the spot I had suggested--just in case I could be right, of course.
My aunt Jill called my dad as we walked. She and her fiance Wayne always drove up from Virginia to these dinners, in spite of how bad traffic always was. I spoke to her, then, for the first time in about seven years. The last time I had seen her, she was staying with my dad to help him recover after his kidney surgery. We exchanged awkward conversation before I handed the phone off to my dad. The three of us walked through the park, and I got to see the field where we would play football the following day, along with the French and English and Secret Gardens. One of them was being renovated, but the other two were pretty.
We were on 5th Avenue when we left the park, and we stayed on it all day. We walked past the Guggenheim and I walked in and looked up, just to see the perfectly round shape of it. They were doing construction on it, just like they seemed to be doing on every other building we saw. Every business and independent museum came with a story: this one was a hotel, and this one was someone's mansion, and here and there there were small, slim buildings that still belonged to people too attached to them to sell out to bigger businesses.
My dad is old and his knees are going, so we took a bus down to the commercial part of 5th Avenue, passing stores with window displays all decked out for the holidays. We got off close enough that we could see the infamous Sak's windows, which Ted said were lacking this year, and the Cathedral, which was gorgeous and quiet and absolutely out of place in such a noisy, crowded city. We saw the tree in Rockefeller Center before deciding to break for lunch at a Japanese restaurant. It was a first for my dad, whose idea of culture is drinking Heineken. The food was good, but I had better when I still lived in California.
After lunch, we went to a photography museum that featured the works of Robert Capa and Gerda Taro, who were both photojournalists during the Spanish Civil War. I found it interesting mostly because Taro was one of the first female photojournalists to take photos in a wartime situation, and while I have no desire to do the same, it was inspiring nonetheless. It was her first major show, even though she died over 70 years ago; she had always been overshadowed by Capa, her lover and partner, and it was nice to see them shown on equal terms. Jill called my dad while we were in there and nearly got him kicked out for being on a cell phone in a museum. She and Wayne had spent the past 45 minutes looking for a parking space near Ted's, since that's where they were staying, and Jill was frustrated. It was kind of funny. Once we were done at the museum, I got to ride the subway for the first time. I felt like a particularly mobile sardine.
Jill and Wayne were at Ted's when we got back there. I greeted Jill and introduced myself to Wayne, as expected. I had mixed feelings about seeing my aunt again: on one hand, this entire trip was about reconnecting with family; on the other hand, I had never met Wayne. My aunt Jill had been married to my uncle Al from years before I was born until he died while recovering from a hit-and-run accident several years ago. That's really why these Thanksgiving dinners got started; Jill and my cousins, Eric and Drew, had always loved Thanksgiving and were depressed when the holiday came around and they no longer had Al to celebrate it with. Al, as I remember, was a wonderful, fun man, and while it was a terrible tragedy that he died so early in life, I suppose Jill wouldn't mourn forever. I was all set to compare this Wayne guy against my dead uncle and see the former pale against the latter, but Wayne turned out to be a pretty nice guy. He's really tall--my dad is 6'3" and Wayne absolutely dwarfed him.
We all talked for awhile, intermittently discussing past events and current dinner plans until it was too late to walk anywhere. We wound up ordering Turkish food and what Josh claimed was "the best pizza in the city." Jenny came and went at some point, and both my dad and I were surprised that Ted let his teenage daughter roam the city so late on a school night. Jenny and Josh are mature for their ages--Jenny's 16 or so and Josh has to be at least two years younger than her--but they're still young and the city's a big place. Ted didn't seem to be too worried; he was confident that his kids could navigate the city as well as they could their own bedrooms and still come home safely.
At some point after we ate, Beth disappeared into the kitchen. Jill followed soon after, and I eventually excused myself to call Mom. She had calmed down quite a bit since the day before, when I was stuck in La Guardia with no one to call, and I was relieved to hear that everything there was okay. We talked for awhile, and of course I missed her--I've never really been away from home on my own, and the five days I spent in NY was the longest I'd EVER spent away from home. After we hung up, I went back inside and just listened for awhile. At one point, Ted pulled me aside to show me the afghan my mom made he and Beth as a wedding present, and pictures of her from their wedding. She's a small woman, and she looks her age, but she looked so young and tiny in those photos that it was hard to believe they were the same person. It meant a lot to me that he showed me those things. My mom had her issues with a lot of people on my dad's side of the family, but Ted and Beth were never among them. She remembers them fondly, and Ted told me to let her know that they still treasure the afghan she made them. The mutual respect there, more than anything else that weekend, made me feel welcome.
I wandered into the kitchen at one point to offer Beth and Jill help, since they were still making things for Thanksgiving dinner, and Beth put me to work chopping a bunch of vegetables for a stuffing. The three of us made it, and the three of us cleaned it up, but I don't think I ate any of it. It was kind of a weird stuffing, with croutons and veggies and pine nuts, and I don't like stuffing to begin with. It felt kind of homey to make it, though. I felt more comfortable after that. They didn't treat me like a stranger or a guest: I was family to them.
Eventually, my dad and I went back to the brownstone we were staying in. We talked for about an hour that night, about the past and the future. I don't think I called him an asshole once.
My dad found me like that a few hours later, halfway through my book and stretched out on the window seat like I owned it. The heater was right beneath it, and I would have been content to stay in that one, cozy spot and watch the world go by all day, but eventually we left for Ted and Beth's. When we got there, Beth was frantically packaging something--jewelery, I learned later; she used to work in television, but now she works in jewelery--and Ted still hadn't gotten up yet. Beth invited my dad and I to take something to eat, so we cut ourselves a few slices of coffee cake and Ted was up by the time we got finished. Eventually, the three of us left to walk around the city.
We started at Central Park, which was an absolute riot of autumnal colors. One tree in particular stood out: it was taller than most of the others and radiated reds and oranges so vivid you'd think it was on fire. I regretted then not bringing my camera to New York, but I find I lose some of the joy of any experience when I'm focussed on photographing it. Of course, later I went out and bought a disposable camera because I just couldn't not. I shot that tree, but a day took its toll on the colors.
We walked through the park, and there was an old man standing across the pond from the tree. I asked him what he was waiting for, and he said he was waiting for the light to be just right. It was a bright morning, and he wasn't standing in the best of spots; there would have been people in his shot. "Why don't you change the angle?" I asked him. "The angle's better if you stand on that rock over there," and I knew because I had stood there and watched just a moment ago, "and the people won't be in your shot." The man just gave me a look; how dare I, a mere child and a tourist at that, presume to know his park better than he? I politely excused myself and caught up with Ted and my dad. As I left, I saw the man move towards the spot I had suggested--just in case I could be right, of course.
My aunt Jill called my dad as we walked. She and her fiance Wayne always drove up from Virginia to these dinners, in spite of how bad traffic always was. I spoke to her, then, for the first time in about seven years. The last time I had seen her, she was staying with my dad to help him recover after his kidney surgery. We exchanged awkward conversation before I handed the phone off to my dad. The three of us walked through the park, and I got to see the field where we would play football the following day, along with the French and English and Secret Gardens. One of them was being renovated, but the other two were pretty.
We were on 5th Avenue when we left the park, and we stayed on it all day. We walked past the Guggenheim and I walked in and looked up, just to see the perfectly round shape of it. They were doing construction on it, just like they seemed to be doing on every other building we saw. Every business and independent museum came with a story: this one was a hotel, and this one was someone's mansion, and here and there there were small, slim buildings that still belonged to people too attached to them to sell out to bigger businesses.
My dad is old and his knees are going, so we took a bus down to the commercial part of 5th Avenue, passing stores with window displays all decked out for the holidays. We got off close enough that we could see the infamous Sak's windows, which Ted said were lacking this year, and the Cathedral, which was gorgeous and quiet and absolutely out of place in such a noisy, crowded city. We saw the tree in Rockefeller Center before deciding to break for lunch at a Japanese restaurant. It was a first for my dad, whose idea of culture is drinking Heineken. The food was good, but I had better when I still lived in California.
After lunch, we went to a photography museum that featured the works of Robert Capa and Gerda Taro, who were both photojournalists during the Spanish Civil War. I found it interesting mostly because Taro was one of the first female photojournalists to take photos in a wartime situation, and while I have no desire to do the same, it was inspiring nonetheless. It was her first major show, even though she died over 70 years ago; she had always been overshadowed by Capa, her lover and partner, and it was nice to see them shown on equal terms. Jill called my dad while we were in there and nearly got him kicked out for being on a cell phone in a museum. She and Wayne had spent the past 45 minutes looking for a parking space near Ted's, since that's where they were staying, and Jill was frustrated. It was kind of funny. Once we were done at the museum, I got to ride the subway for the first time. I felt like a particularly mobile sardine.
Jill and Wayne were at Ted's when we got back there. I greeted Jill and introduced myself to Wayne, as expected. I had mixed feelings about seeing my aunt again: on one hand, this entire trip was about reconnecting with family; on the other hand, I had never met Wayne. My aunt Jill had been married to my uncle Al from years before I was born until he died while recovering from a hit-and-run accident several years ago. That's really why these Thanksgiving dinners got started; Jill and my cousins, Eric and Drew, had always loved Thanksgiving and were depressed when the holiday came around and they no longer had Al to celebrate it with. Al, as I remember, was a wonderful, fun man, and while it was a terrible tragedy that he died so early in life, I suppose Jill wouldn't mourn forever. I was all set to compare this Wayne guy against my dead uncle and see the former pale against the latter, but Wayne turned out to be a pretty nice guy. He's really tall--my dad is 6'3" and Wayne absolutely dwarfed him.
We all talked for awhile, intermittently discussing past events and current dinner plans until it was too late to walk anywhere. We wound up ordering Turkish food and what Josh claimed was "the best pizza in the city." Jenny came and went at some point, and both my dad and I were surprised that Ted let his teenage daughter roam the city so late on a school night. Jenny and Josh are mature for their ages--Jenny's 16 or so and Josh has to be at least two years younger than her--but they're still young and the city's a big place. Ted didn't seem to be too worried; he was confident that his kids could navigate the city as well as they could their own bedrooms and still come home safely.
At some point after we ate, Beth disappeared into the kitchen. Jill followed soon after, and I eventually excused myself to call Mom. She had calmed down quite a bit since the day before, when I was stuck in La Guardia with no one to call, and I was relieved to hear that everything there was okay. We talked for awhile, and of course I missed her--I've never really been away from home on my own, and the five days I spent in NY was the longest I'd EVER spent away from home. After we hung up, I went back inside and just listened for awhile. At one point, Ted pulled me aside to show me the afghan my mom made he and Beth as a wedding present, and pictures of her from their wedding. She's a small woman, and she looks her age, but she looked so young and tiny in those photos that it was hard to believe they were the same person. It meant a lot to me that he showed me those things. My mom had her issues with a lot of people on my dad's side of the family, but Ted and Beth were never among them. She remembers them fondly, and Ted told me to let her know that they still treasure the afghan she made them. The mutual respect there, more than anything else that weekend, made me feel welcome.
I wandered into the kitchen at one point to offer Beth and Jill help, since they were still making things for Thanksgiving dinner, and Beth put me to work chopping a bunch of vegetables for a stuffing. The three of us made it, and the three of us cleaned it up, but I don't think I ate any of it. It was kind of a weird stuffing, with croutons and veggies and pine nuts, and I don't like stuffing to begin with. It felt kind of homey to make it, though. I felt more comfortable after that. They didn't treat me like a stranger or a guest: I was family to them.
Eventually, my dad and I went back to the brownstone we were staying in. We talked for about an hour that night, about the past and the future. I don't think I called him an asshole once.