Poem for June 17, 2011

Risk
And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to Blossom. Anaïs Nin

Ancient Playground

Ancient Playground in Central Park does not live up to its name "ancient" because it was reopened after a long reconstruction in 2009.  However, in its design and theme, it tries...and succeeds.  My sons, as young playground aficionados, loved this playground more than any other, perhaps because it always accompanied a visit to The Metropolitan Museum (or at least I'd like to think so).  First, we'd visit the Temple of Dendur in the Met, then we'd look out of the slanted floor-to-ceiling glass wall that divides one side of the Temple of Dendur from Central Park and spot the playground directly across the street.  Lured by the images of FREEDOM they saw on the other side of the glass, in comparison to their caged experience in the adult-behavior-mandated world of the museum, they'd start rushing me out of the Met over to the replica pyramids to do what they could not freely do in the museum - run in and out of the pyramids, play hide-and-seek or Pharaoh-of-the-pyramid, and do whatever else arose in their imagination from the museum visit.  This playground also held that ever-elusive object of desire of children - the ability to hide from one's parents, by crawling into the pyramids that are just the right size for kids and too small for parents.  

The other morning, while taking an early AM bike ride, I saw the playground empty (which it never is).  I also noticed for the first time the Osborn Gates, standing at the entrance to Ancient Playground.  They, too, were added as part of the 2009 renovation.  

These cast-iron gates depict five vignettes from Aesop's Fables.  They were declared the most distinguished work of art in New York City when they were installed at the entrance to the former Osborn Memorial Playground in 1953, but due to vandalism, they were removed and put into storage in the 1970s and remained there for nearly 30 years.  

They are incredibly beautiful and, of course, are barely noticed, if at all, by the children running to get past them as quickly as possible in entering the playground, or by the attentive parents chasing after them.  Being neither myself now, I could stop and enjoy them fully.

The plaques describing the primary moral/theme of each story are -

The crane aloft surveys the world..the earthbound peacock struts and boasts.

The City Mouse and The Country Mouse

Woe to the Lamb that disputes the Wolf.

THE FOX AND THE CROW The Crow listened to the Fox's flattery & dropped the CHEESE

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE Slow and Steady wins the Race

With or without children, this playground is a unique visit, and the Osborn Gates are worthy of a slow and steady look.

Philadelphia Delight

I spent two years in West Philly, back in the Dark Ages, also known as the Late '70s.  It was a very different place (everything in the Northeast was different in the '70s, as I keep noting in these posts - sorry about that) than the delightful, clean-yet-slightly-edgy-just-enough-to-be-real city I visited during the weekend.  Here are some signs of that change:

Adorable bike racks

Ironic nod to gentrification - note the awning

Huge store-front wine school

Awfully polite rental sign (in NY that sign would say "tenant died, get here fast")

I'm taking that imposing over-the-entry address marker home!

OK, point taken

Sign seems to have worked

Yes, indeed

Café Lutecia's Croissant Bread Pudding - for me, in the end, it's always about dessert.

And speaking of trains...

Who says Europe has the lock on memorable train stations, with impact, charm and local feel?  OK, sometimes that's me.  But I don't feel that way where Philadelphia's 30th Street Station is concerned.  No one tried to snap it up to some horrible mash-up of contemporary or expedient architecture overlaying the bones of the original.  It is pretty much what it has been, at least in the main hall.  And with so, so many memories affiliated with my arrivals to and departures from that hall over so, so many years (beginning in 1976 with my first train travel anywhere), it was love at first sight. 

Like most first loves, there's a warmth of feeling with every subsequent encounter, even as it grows and changes into something different with the passage of time.  I imagine that's what it's all about for every traveler who passes through a train station, anywhere in the world.

Adventures in Amtrak

Who knew, when I posted on Saturday the words "A few moments away (via Amtrak)," just how wrong I could be?  So much for my plug of Amtrak.  I adore train travel; perhaps this is one additional pull to Paris, the chance to travel all over Europe so quickly and easily by train.  Well, those of us who've had the "benefit" of traveling via Amtrak over a long period of time know otherwise.  Yes, it works, most of the time.  Yes, often it's even on time.  But, then, that once-in-a-while occurrence actually occurs, the one your friends all tell you once happened to them (hopefully just once) - the SEVEN HOUR ride between Baltimore and New York City, starring a dead engine just short of Wilmington, featuring no air conditioning and no ventilation inside the train, and co-starring a second "rescue" train, which is announced (every 30 minutes) to arrive in 25 minutes.

As a sociological experiment, I will note two things first: 1.  The train staff was in good humor, all things considered, and was kind, patient with repetitive passenger questions, and yet authoritative and kept everyone safe and following directions, even when they admitted (and I truly appreciated the admissions) that they no longer knew anything.  2.  The Sunday afternoon passengers, even children, were very well-behaved and thoughtful, even as we all began to wilt, sweat and practically pass out as the temperature in the train rose to close to 90 degrees.  Passengers distributed water bottles from the café car after it was clear we weren't going anywhere about an hour into this adventure,  jokes were made, and even popsicles were given out to kids by a woman who'd received them by airmail (that is, tossed into the one open train door the conductor permitted) from a non-passenger who drove alongside the tracks, parked her car and ran down into the well of the trackbed - dangerously and stupidly, I might add - to deliver the popsicles!

For my part, fairly early on (organized and often hungry sort that I know myself to be), also knowing full well that "25 minutes" meant at least 2 hours, I decided that provisions would be needed - soon, cold and plentiful.  And so, I stood in line in the café car to purchase the essentials:

I did ponder, upon closer inspection, that, if I were in Europe experiencing the same delay (though in my fantasies, I never would be delayed in Europe), I might have to avoid des concombres, ouais?

Yes, the mind did wander.  The body couldn't, so the mind did.  Among other things, I realized I could probably get to Paris faster.  Then my eyes alighted onto this magazine cover, and I thought, "Yes!  Let's Move!  And, if anyone can get us out of here, it could very well be the First Lady!"

And, so, by the time the American (one assumes) cucumbers had been consumed, The New York Times cover-to-cover read (the Sunday Times, mind you), a few emails and text messages alerting  and updating (and bugging) those who might care (it always feels better to do so anyway) of my plight and warmth, and a walk to where the solo door to tempt us outside had been opened for ventilation and for a chance to watch three guys from Amtrak argue about what the *&#@ to do with us...

...low and behold, Prince Charming arrived.  Well, not quite, more like another (cleaner, far colder) Amtrak Regional train arrived to whisk us onto its white steed...or, rather, onto its wire fence-type "bridge" (you know, it seems they've done this a few times before).  

It could be time for some new rail equipment for Amtrak!  But don't get me started.  I don't even own a car anymore, so I'm practically un-American (and certainly my Texas residency has been revoked long, long ago).

But, this story has a happy ending, many hours later.  After 4 more hours in the almost too-cold rescue train, during 2.5 of which we were moving, I arrived, safe, sound, stinky and relatively intact, at Penn Station.  

Never have I been so grateful to see Penn Station.  Ah, American train stations.  But that's another blog post to come.

Caffeinated Weekends - Ninth Street Espresso

Ninth Street Espresso is a charming little place in the East Village, in good company in a neighborhood full of excellent coffee bars.  It stands out in its cool interior feel.  Quiet, with a long bar along the exposed white-painted brick wall as well as the front window, it faces Tompkins Square Park.  (Yes, that confuses me, too - Ninth Street Espresso on 10th Street?)  Actually,  there are three locations, one of  which is on 9th Street.  The other two are on 10th Street (pictured here) and in Chelsea Market.

The East Village locations are perfect for resting between walks, or bike rides along the many bike lanes that weave through these avenues, or shopping excursions among the surprising shops, particularly the vintage and consignment shops, throughout this quartier I have begun to know and am so enamoured with.  Because it is quiet, it's also a good place to spend more time with work or a book at the counter, while the sun streams in through the large front window.  Or, take it to go (they use Intelligentsia coffee) and wander through Tompkins Square Park, a fascinating and lively patch of East Village activity - a far, far different place than it was when I was the age of the average inhabitant of this area.  Nonetheless, my view is - it's never too late!

Let the Summer Travels Commence

A few moments away (via Amtrak) and it's almost another world. Philly yesterday, DC today. More tomorrow, including the photos I can't figure out how to post by iphone. Now I am totally convinced I did right to order an ipad.

Mes Yeux are screaming out (or is that extreme squinting?) for a larger screen!