Fortune Cookie

Chinese New Year is upon us. As I am wont to do, I checked my lunar horoscope for the coming year. Unfortunately, the Year of the Horse does not look particularly auspicious for a metal ox born within the hours of the rabbit. According to Theodora Lau, author of The Handbook of Chinese Horoscopes, my sorry metal ox tush is going to have a one star year. Hmmm. Thanks, Theodora. I decided to go back a page in her book, to the Year of the Snake, to see how I should have fared in 2013. You know, just to see how accurate she might be. Well, I was supposed to have a four-out-of-five-star gala time, but looking at it from this vantage point, it’s hard to see how that could possibly be correct.

I guess some good things did happen. I can’t say the year was a total bust. But I suppose that this would be a good time to tell you that I am no longer a commuter mom. I know, right? You didn’t see that one coming, did you? Yeah, neither did I. But, the important thing is, I still am the "mom" part; that will never change of course. I’m just not one that commutes, for the time being anyway, since the company I worked for reorganized a few months ago, and their reorganization did not include me.

Although I’d love to pretend that the company is falling apart without me, I am not naïve enough to think that I can’t be replaced. Although they said they aren’t going to replace me. Probably because I’m totally irreplaceable. You know that I am. I prefer to use that adjective instead of “unnecessary,” which is the one that kept popping into my mind those first days. Because they tell you that you should just leave everything—don’t update anyone. All that stuff that you did, that’s in your head, no one needs to know that stuff. And then you’re there and then you’re not. And maybe it will take a week or two, maybe a little more, or a little less, and it’s like you were Never. Even. There. You know what I mean. People know you were there. But things move on—it’s not always bad or good. It’s just . . . different. But thinking about this sort of thing can kind of bring you down.

I’d like to think that this change is not a bad thing. I wasn’t always so happy there, you know, the last couple of years. And being around, being closer to home, has had its benefits. While not exactly the happiest of situations, I’ve been able to run my cancer kitty to the vet when he needs to go, and stay up late to help soothe the girl child when she’s feeling down. And for that I am grateful. Perhaps this whole thing is the universe kicking me in the butt and telling me that it is time to move on. But, you know, I wouldn’t have minded doing it on different terms, like, maybe, my own? I didn’t even have time to say good-bye to my bus friend. I wonder what she thinks happened to me. I wonder if she misses my snoring.

Surprisingly, I’m really busy. I thought I might not have much to do but that was just wrong. I’m writing again (did you notice?) and I’m taking a class and I’m brushing up on skills and I’m doing a lot of laundry. Well, it needs to get done. And I’m cooking new dinners a lot. I google “what’s for dinner?” and a whole bunch of stuff comes up (I love the internet) and then I pick something like “potatoes” and then I get all of these potato recipes and then I make one. The family is really loving that.

In general, though, I have good days and bad days, and things are getting better. I seem to be past the point of randomly bursting into tears, which is a good thing because that can get a wee bit embarrassing at the supermarket. There are only so many times you can stand in the middle of the produce section and blame the onions before the stock boy leans over and whispers “but they’re still in the mesh bags.” Next time, I’m bringing a knife with me. For the onions. Not for the stock boy. Just in case you weren’t sure.

I imagine that I will have to change the name of the blog now. I am not sure what it might become because I am not sure what I might become. These days, my full time job is finding a full time job. For the time being, I could call it something like, maybe, “looking for a full-time-job-mom” but then if I do find a job where I have to commute I’ll have to change it back again. This could get confusing. I am confused enough.

I am going to get sappy now and thank all of my friends and family and acquaintances and former colleagues and even strangers for all of the connections and introductions, offers of help, and frankly, just for the kind words. It all means so much. I have to give a special shout out, though. On the day I was let go, I had only a few hours to get my stuff together. The husband was coming to get me—I had a bunch of bags to bring home. One person stayed late specifically to help me carry my stuff downstairs and waited until the husband showed. I can’t imagine how I would have done that alone. Jim (and you know I never use names but I’m doing it this time because I want to embarrass you) you are a mensch, as we say in Yiddish. I can’t thank you enough.

The husband and I were too wiped out to cook that last night, so we picked up some Chinese food on the way home from the office. After we ate, I opened my fortune cookie. It said: “Tough times never last but tough people do.” Who knows? Maybe Theodora was wrong—it may be a five-star year after all.

Morgan Freeman, Morgan Freeman

I don't get Madame Tussaud's. I mean, I get it, it's a wax museum. But well, I don't really get it. Maybe it's just me. I don't know, but geez, if you want to see Morgan Freeman, these days you don't really have to travel to New York or Las Vegas or somewhere else with a wax museum to see his likeness like you did in say, maybe, 1800? Because back then, it wasn't that easy to see a photograph. But now we have a plethora of photographs. And this really cool thing called the internet, and you can conjure up Morgan Freeman whenever you want to. For free. From anywhere in the world. If you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch5MEJk5ZCQ

The girl child and the boy child shared this video with me. It nearly made me pee in my pants. I'm sorry if that was TMI, but it's true. I think it's a pretty funny video. Yeah, all of the "true facts" videos make me LOL. If you haven't noticed, I'm practicing some text message abbreviations. Because I got made fun of the other day. By the girl child. Because I didn't know what TTYL meant. I know what it means now, thank you very much, but she still made fun of me. She makes fun of me because I sometimes have problems with the TV remote. And because the font size on my iphone is really, really big and I don't know how to use all of the features. I get the feeling that sometimes, the girl child and the boy child think I am old. I know, can you believe that? But sometimes, I kind of understand how they feel.

For example, this morning I took an "aquacise" class at the gym, sort of a water version of "Sweatin' to the Oldies," minus Richard Simmons in the red, white and blue short shorts (thankfully). I took the class because I am trying to get some exercise, and although I can keep up with the Zumba class pretty darn well, my knee can't, so I figured I'd try an aqua class so it would be gentle on the joints. When I entered the pool area, I noticed that the music was already cranked, and the water was full of baby boomers. And I have to admit I smirked just a teensy bit when the instructor asked me to go out and have the girls in the office turn up the volume on the sound system. Really? Up? We were all surprised, me and the girls in the office. But I have to admit, I felt a little strange when I first walked in to the class. I thought it wasn't going to be challenging, that I was too young. That this wouldn't be, shouldn't be, for me. But you know, I had to work harder than I thought to keep up with those ladies.

I am on the tail end of that generation, so I was pretty much the baby of the bunch. When I do something aerobic, it's typically Zumba with a younger, more seemingly fit crew, so it was a bit of a shock. Even the music was different. I think they must sell retro aerobics mixes just for this purpose. But yeah, I knew all the words to "He's So Fine" and "Runaway." When I was a teenager in the mid 1970s, the music from twenty years earlier, the ’50s and early ’60s, was cool. You know, American Graffiti, the Fonz. Today, the girl child and the boy child like Radiohead. Who debuted their first single in 1992. You know, like twenty years ago. Does this mean that when they are my age, they will be aquacising to "Creep"?

There doesn't seem to be all that much of a generation gap between myself and the girl and boy children like there was between me and my parents back in the day. To be honest, I occasionally watch Jenna Marbles or Shane Dawson or Nigahiga or John Green or Hank Green when the kids are not around. I admit it. Sorry, but some of this stuff is seriously funny. And some if it is seriously educational. And some is both funny AND educational and I wish I had had stuff like that to watch when I was a kid, because maybe if I'd had some of those Crash Course videos around, maybe I would've done better in history class. Or maybe not. But it would at least have been more fun to study. And yeah, I've been known to recommend Nigahiga's First World Problems video to friends. And if you don't like it, I don't care. Here's a full cup.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN2WzQzxuoA

I think it's pretty great that we can share these things. I like to sing along with the music on the kids' iphones. But tonight, the boy child and his friends were singing Bohemian Rhapsody. He is fourteen now, the same age I was when Queen first recorded the song. I used to sing this song with my friends. I loved it then. He loves it now. And we both know all of the words.

I've also figured out how to send pictures from my iphone. Here's one that I sent to the boy child not too long ago. It's a wax statue of Morgan Freeman. Taken in front of Madame Tussaud's.

Health day.

I woke up this morning to find out that fibromyalgia had kicked my butt. Overnight. Well, not really overnight. It's been working up to it slowly over the last month or so. Damn you, fibromyalgia (she said, shaking her fist)! Late nights and weekends at work. Too few days off cramming too much fun and not-so-much fun into too little time. The fates have conspired to make me miss my acupuncture and massage appointments, tai chi classes, and regular healthy meals. Oh and there's that stress stuff, too. It makes my muscles ache. It keeps my mind in a fog. I can't sleep so I've been going to bed too late. I've been eating chips and meat of unknown origin. And gluten. I am not proud.

So, today I woke up and decided that maybe I just wouldn't wake up after all.  Maybe I'd just sleep another hour or three. You know, until like 7. And so I did. I called in sick. 

The husband went to work and the girl child to camp, and so I was left to my own devices in the house with the sleeping boy child. He is fourteen now which means he needs at least eleventy hours of sleep each day. At least. Since I had some time on my hands I did some work but I made myself stop. STOP! Because it's very easy to segue from work to paying household bills to doing housework. This is not helpful. It sort of defeats the purpose of the sick day, you know?

So I woke up the sleeping boy child. They say never to wake a sleeping child and one would assume that pertains only to babies but sometimes it pertains to to fourteen-year-olds, although today it did not. Lucky for me, because a grumpy teen can  be ever-so-much worse than most other formerly sleeping children. I know this from experience. I am sure that some of you reading this would agree. 

And so now, I am taking advantage of my sick day, which I am going to call my health day instead. I have a chair and a book and a boy child, and for today, this is all I need. 

Space Invaders

There is a man sitting next to me on the bus and he is on. my. side. By saying this, I do not mean that he is supportive of me, you know, like we are a team, he and I. I mean that he has crossed the line. Literally. You know, that line that differentiates my seat from his. I am willing to give him a little latitude though, because he is asleep and when he is awake he is not like this. He just fell over. I do not judge. When I shift slightly he wakes up and no longer invades my space. Most of my rides are pleasant. Most days people are conscious, except when they are unconscious, and then, of course, they are forgiven, at least by me.

The guy who sat with me yesterday is a seat hog.  The term "seat hog" is not to be confused with "Sweat Hog," as in "I am having a "Welcome Back Kotter" moment." Because I am not. But if I was, I think I would prefer listening to Arnold Horshack's laugh for a solid hour over sharing a pair of seats with Seat Hog Guy for five minutes. Seat Hog Guy isn't extraordinarily tall. Or wide. He just chooses to "spread out." If you know what I mean. And he reads his newspaper close to his face, as if he's forgotten his eyeglasses, with his elbows sticking out at the sides. Nice. When I shift in my seat slightly, he still invades my space.

Now, folks that ride the bus come in all shapes and sizes. I tend to attract seat hogs because I'm on the smaller end of the spectrum. Seat Hogs think they're getting a bargain when they sit with me, as if I will willingly share the unused portion of my seat with them. I will not. Willingly, anyway.

Some riders have legs that are as long as the boy child is tall. I've seen them. I watch out of the corner of my eye as they fold themselves into their seats, like human origami. I don't know how they do it. I imagine that they are used to it, that this must happen to them everywhere: in the movies, on the train. And yet, as tall as they are, most of them manage to stay on. their. own. side. And if they do not, I make allowances. It's not their fault. These are the times that I am grateful for not being all that tall. When the person in front of me leans his seat all the way back, I still have room to move.

Kindle Guy sits on the aisle and reads his book. He does not seem to notice that the bus is filling; he is absorbed. Those who want to sit with him must ask him not once, but twice, since he is wearing earbuds and does not look up, does not feel the presence of the person standing in front of him, waiting to sit, holding up the line that snakes around the corner. Why does he seem surprised that his seat will be needed? All the seats will be taken. Everyone wants to ride.

Bleached Blond Chick is not really all that big, but you would not know that by the way she sits. Every morning she chooses the aisle seat behind the driver. With her bag on the seat beside her, she turns slightly toward the window while she hunches over her smart phone, presumably fascinated by what she sees. Her body language screams, "DON'T SIT WITH ME!" But, I do. Sit with her. Even if there are other seats available. I'm not the only one that does this. On other days, I see others do it, too. I get a secret thrill out of invading what she deems to be her space. Because there is a long line of passengers that want to sit down, and I know that many will not ask her to move. And, because I know she's not a seat hog, even if she is a, well, seat hog. Because if you're actually sitting with her, she stays on. her. own. side.

Mirror Image

Sometimes I feel like I should wash my mother's mouth out with soap. Family lore tells of a time that she actually did this to the eldest sister, many years ago, but she never did it to me. I don't know what the eldest sister said to deserve the soaping, but since she was the eldest the parents experimented on her, I suppose. Since I was the youngest, I was spared most of the time, punishments having been tried and proven ineffective. Or, the parents were just tired by the time they got to me. In any case, it started out with my mother saying "crap" a lot, but it has progressed to the point where she occasionally drops the F bomb. "No way!" you say. "I know your mom. She's so sweet. She would never say that!" Ha! Yes she would. She's at that age now where she says whatever she damn well pleases most of the time. You know, no filter. It can get pretty darn amusing.

I was going to post for Mother's Day. I really was. It's been awhile since I posted and I was thinking that Mother's Day would be an excellent reason to get writing again, since I have been very, very lazy. Or very, very busy. Or a combination of the two. This is the same reason that the flower bed in front of my house is not weeded. That, and the fact that there is often a cat sitting on me, and then I can't get up to weed. Or the weather is bad. I can find some pretty good excuses. This weekend I had the intention of writing a post and weeding the flower bed. If you're reading this, you'll know I achieved one out of two.

Anyway, I went to a Zumba class last Saturday morning before Mother's Day. I had just started Zumba again. I have a bad knee and since the fibro's been leaving me alone (mostly) I've finally been feeling energetic enough to take a more strenuous class than tai chi. I'd taken Zumba classes before, a couple of years ago, through the town's recreation department. All their rec classes are held in the cafetorium of one of the local elementary schools. I'll tell you what a cafetorium is because chances are you will not find that word in a dictionary. It's a hybrid of cafeteria and auditorium, a room with lunch tables that fold away and a stage up front. So there's a big empty space where you could set up chairs for a chorus concert and watch fourth graders sing their hearts out. Or, you could set up the tables and eat lunch. You could even eat lunch while you're watching the fourth graders. Or, you could hold Zumba classes for a bunch of mostly middle-aged women. Any of those things are possible. It's a very versatile room. I'm not sure why they hold the classes there and not in the gym, because the gym is actually, you know, a gym. Like where people get sweaty. And so then the kids have to eat lunch in the cafetorium the next day, post-Zumba. But who am I to judge? One of the benefits of the cafetorium is that there are no mirrors on the walls, so I never had to see myself doing Zumba. Not a bad thing.

The new class I'm going to is held at the club I recently joined, the one where I take tai chi classes early Sunday mornings. They, in fact, do have mirrors in the exercise studio, but it turns out that I don't look half bad while I'm doing Zumba, which is a pleasant surprise. There are also about a million and a half small children at this club, because they have a lap pool where they give swim classes. I take my aqua tai chi class in that pool. I do not think about the number of small children frequenting the pool because then I would not take my class.

So, on Saturday I was at Zumba, and I started thinking about Mother's Day. In the locker room, I was watching all of the moms with their kids getting ready for swim class, baby carriers with sleeping infants pushed to the side while the moms attempted to stuff their toddlers into swimsuits, while one of the pair performed a monologue. The kid monologues were pretty amusing. The mom monologues were slightly annoying. I can only take mommy-ease for so long these days. I tried to imagine how the rest of the day would progress for them, the ones with the strollers and bags full of stuff, but then I got too tired thinking about it. I haven't completely blocked what it was like back then, putting everything together in the diaper bag, trying not to forget the baggie full of favorite snacks that sometimes are left on the counter. Don't forget the extra wipes, the sets of clothes, the bagel strap. I don't think it was really meant to be a bagel strap. It was a shoelace-type thing that snapped onto the bar of the stroller and then had a snap on the other end too so you could put it around a toy. Or a bagel. For teething. A frozen bagel. Frozen bagels are the way to go. The bagel would eventually fall off the strap, but it would generally be after the thing thawed anyway. And hopefully the kid would be asleep by that time and wouldn't realize that the bagel had disappeared. And the pigeons would get a treat. But, I must say that it's been quite some time since I've had to pack the equivalent of a carry-on just to go out for the day. I've forgotten all those details, those necessary items, those adventures that begin just by walking out the door.

Both of my kids were going out that Saturday. The boy child was heading off with my eldest child (aka the husband) to the city for fencing class. They wouldn't be home until evening, and neither would the girl child. She was spending the day at the boyfriend's sister's First Holy Communion party, and then his parents had custody of the pair for the rest of the evening. I was alone, a state I long for and dread at the same time. I never quite know what the heck to do with the remote when I have it. I need to shop for clothing, but when I do that, I'm not sure how to shop for me. It's a dilemma. I need a dress to wear to a Bar Mitzvah. I need some strappy silver shoes. I don't generally like to shop for myself because nothing fits the way it should. Fitting room mirrors intimidate me. If I go shopping by myself, I don't focus. Well, I do focus, but I usually wind up focusing on things for the boy child or the girl child. But I can't bring the girl child with me for company, because if I go shopping with the girl child, we wind up shopping for . . . the girl child. Even if we're supposed to be shopping for me. Because the world revolves around the girl child and the boy child. Well, at least the girl child thinks it does. Revolve around her. Not the boy child.

I ask my mom to come shopping with me. My mom still likes to shop with me. Well, at least she sort of does; she can't really do the mall like she used to. She gets tired. But then again, so do I. So I keep the number of stores to shop in to a minimum. Two department stores are about all we both can take these days. I like shopping with my mom. We bond. This is nice. It reminds me of when I was a young teen and she took me shopping. In a bad way and a good way. We pick out a whole bunch of things to try on, but only a few fit. Now I am too big. Then I was too small. We find a couple of things that fit and she says she'll buy them for me. It will be my mother's day gift from her. See why I like shopping with her better than shopping with the girl child? Because with my mom, the world revolves around me. Well, at least I think it does.

I actually like shopping with both the boy child and the girl child. I like finding them things that fit, things that they need. This is nice. We pick out a whole bunch of things to try on, but only a few fit. Sometimes she is too big. Sometimes he is too small. That's the bad part. But we get to bond. We are on a quest to find the perfect pair of Vans, or the perfect flannel shirt. Or the perfect dress. Once, a few years ago, the girl child went to the Bat Mitzvah of a family friend, and heard the girls behind her making fun of her outfit in temple. She was in tears at the luncheon, and we still had the evening party to attend. As we left the temple, I promised her that I would take her to the mall and buy her the hottest dress (within reason, of course) we could find. And I did. A tasteful black one-shoulder fitted not too short but just short enough one. To wear with silver shoes. And long dangly earrings. Nobody made fun of her outfit that night.

The day before Mother's Day, when my mom and I went shopping together, I was telling her a story in the car. I hadn't been feeling well. My fibro had been flaring a bit, brought upon by some stressors, and then she said it. "Was it because of that b**tch?" There she was, cursing again. Well, it wasn't, in fact, because of that . . . you know who . . . but then we went to the mall and she bought me the hottest dress  (within reason, of course) that we could find. But I still need to find some strappy, silver shoes.

Coffee Klatch

Kids these days drink too much coffee. I know, right now you're picturing me hanging out with a couple of other old coots, sitting in my rocking chair on the porch and shaking my fist, babbling on about how things were in my day. Like how much better the music was, stuff like that. Yeah, I do that occasionally. You know, shake my fist. But it's true. I don't remember kids drinking coffee when I was a kid. When I was really little, I used to eat breakfast with my mom before school and we would both have toast and coffee. She would give me a cup filled mostly with milk and I drank it, even though I hated milk, telling my friends that I had coffee for breakfast. She is crafty, that mother of mine. That's how she got milk into me.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it was just my group of friends, but I don't recall any of us hauling massive cups of coffee around to school or work until we were at least in college. At least. So it surprises me when I see a thirteen-year-old carrying a triple grande latte schmatte around with him, needing a caffeine boost to get himself through the day. It's all about the coffee, it seems.

When I was a teenager, back in the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth, my friends and I spent many an evening at a local coffee house. This coffee house is not to be confused with one of those brightly lit chain stores with neatly manufactured menus hanging from the walls and overpriced pre-packaged sandwiches sitting in a refrigerator case, where you sit next to your friends while you each take advantage of the free wi-fi. Nor is it to be confused with a coffee shop, where you can have breakfast all. day. long. Which of course is not a bad thing. But this place, this place, was the quintessential teenage–young adult hangout type of coffee house. I was only about fourteen when I started going there in the mid-seventies. The place was filled with kids from the nearby college, high school kids, and more than a few slightly older locals, what my father would call "hippies." I thought I was very cool, because my sisters went there and they were a number of years older than me. I was always trying to catch up.

I'm not quite sure how my friends and I got to this place—did our moms drop us off? I just recall walking through a canopy of tree branches into what had formerly been a big old house with a wrap-around porch, entering a dimly lit world full of tables of young people, talking, eating, smoking, and drinking coffee. My favorite order? Grilled ham and swiss on rye with a Dutch coffee. Thick, white mugs full of Dutch coffee. I would call it coffee in name only. I don't believe that there is actually much coffee in it. I tried it again a few years ago, but couldn't get past the sweetness of it. The memory of it, to me, is better than the actual thing. It is made with cinnamon and butter. Yes, butter. Possibly an entire stick of butter. I wouldn't be surprised. I can feel my arteries hardening at the mere thought of it.

Only a few years later, the place moved down the street to a smaller house. It never seemed quite the same to me, although my friends and I still kept going there. The same guy owned it, and I believe that it was he who would stand at the door when you arrived, waiting to show you to your table. It became the place we'd meet when we came home on break from college. It was where we went after the bars closed. We would head there after our waitress shifts were over, after we had filled all the ketchups and put the chairs up on the tables, and at four o'clock in the morning we would count our tips. With coins spread out on the table, we'd listen to a guy we knew writing a song two tables away, pounding the beat on the table with his hand.

A few weeks ago, the girl child and I went to see the play her high school drama club presented. We'd eaten a light dinner beforehand, but when it was over we were hungry so we decided to grab a bite to eat. I suggested the coffee house. The place looked old. Not retro. Just old. But then again, the place had always looked old, even when it was new. I think that the tables were the same ones from when I was a teen, and I wouldn't be surprised if the poster from The Shining had been hanging there since The Shining first came out. I would venture a guess that if an archeologist dug through the layers of pen on the bathroom wall, he might possibly find some graffiti that I had scrawled many, many years ago.

It was just starting to get busy when we arrived, and the tables were filling will kids from the nearby college, high school kids, and a few slightly older locals that I would call "hipsters." Or "skaters." Or "hipster-skaters." I'm not sure. They wear beanies, plaid, ironic tee shirts, skinny jeans and old man glasses, cut-off shorts with tights underneath. They are talking, eating, and drinking coffee from thick, white mugs, but not smoking because you know you cannot do that now. I half expect the same guy to show us to our table but he isn't there. That was a very long time ago.

After we're seated, I look over at the girl child and she has a crazy happy look on her face. I know I've brought her to the right place at the right time. She had been there a few years earlier with the temple youth group, but it was not right; they were too young. But now, now she is excited. Now, she wants to come back. She wants to bring her friends. I know how she feels, because I had had this feeling too, once upon a time. I'm not sure what it is that we feel. What is so exhilarating about a place like this? They are just eating. They are just talking.  She asks me if I know how old someone has to be to work here. She is too young.

About a week ago, the girl child, the boyfriend, the grandma and I went out to dinner on a Saturday night to a sports bar replete with television sets, video games and dart boards. It is loud but we endure; they serve the best ribs in town. It is packed full of families and kids from the local college, playing darts, drinking beer and eating ribs, wings and nachos. Short-haired kids with muscles. You know, jocks. Maybe frat boys. I'm not sure. But they have no coffee; the machine is broken. Really? And no dessert except ice cream. Wha? So I suggest it. We are only a few blocks away. We head to the coffee house. When we enter, it is clear: it has a different vibe from the sports bar. It could be worlds away. It is almost empty because it is still early. It is quiet except for the music playing on the sound system.

When I look across the table at the girl child, I see that she is like me, yet unlike me. I envy her as I watch her sitting there. Not for her youth or her beauty, although she has a great deal of both, but for her potential, for what is to come. I tell her that I am jealous that she will have many nights here with her friends, that they may meet here on breaks from college and that one day soon, she might be counting her tips on a table at this coffee house, the way I did when I was only four years older than she is now. I don't typically wish for her to experience the things that I have experienced, but this one is different. This surprises me. Of course, she will not have a job at a bar known for its beer garden, live music, killer foot long hot dogs and a long line of Harleys parked out front. That place is long gone. Her loss. But she would not like it there anyway. She would probably say that perhaps that was one of my not-so-great decisions, because you know how judgmental she can be. She will most likely work the afternoon shift at a local pizzeria. She is a rebel, she is.

I watch as the girl child and the boyfriend dig in to their brownie sundae. The girl child has opted for hot cider in a thick white mug; she does not drink coffee. The boyfriend comments that the music playing sounds like nineties grunge. I disagree; it sounds like seventies punk to me. You know, music was much better, back in my day.

Budget. New York. With Kids. Or Not.

I love New York City rain gear. I am not talking about fancy things that you might buy at Saks or a cool downtown boutique. I am talking about plastic shopping bags. I am always impressed by the ability of a New Yorker to take a simple bag and wrap it around his head to protect himself from a sudden downpour. But, I am not talking about the generic bag raincoats that they give people on those open, double-decker tourist buses, either. They are all the same. They are manufactured to be rain gear. I'm talking about creativity here, people. I'm talking about the real thing.

Because I lived in the city for many years, I am occasionally called upon for a list of things to do and see by friends who are contemplating a visit to New York. I give them the list, and then they ultimately ignore all of my recommendations. I don't let this hurt my feelings. Their reasoning for this is sound. Only a handful of the items on my list are things that most tourists do. My list just doesn't seem right. To many, the things that make New York, New York, are not on my list. But I beg to differ. New York is a different place from what most tourists see, hear . . . and even smell.

Before I was married, I lived in New York for about ten years, and spent another five or so with the husband and the baby girl and baby boy children. While the kids each spent some of their babydom in the city, their formative years were spent visiting. Kind of like, well, tourists. They will never admit to this, by the way. If you ask them they will deny it. Just want to make that clear. They've spent a lot of time in town. They know their way around.

Since Spring is officially here, tourist season is on its way. Even though March is coming in and going out like a lion. Even if Punxsutawney Phil's handler is taking some heat for Phil's predictions. I figured I'd give some tips for visiting New York this spring or summer for those on a budget, with kids or on their own. On a budget, because I am cheap. With kids, because I have some and they like to do cool things. On their own because most of these ideas are good for folks with and without the little monsters. And, as an FYI, the family doesn't like to stand in lines. That's really important. Minimal line standing. Unless it's for something really, really good. But I will say that you should absolutely do some New York line-standing-touristy-things, just not too many, or you will waste all your time standing in lines. You might  even want to buy a one-day ticket on one of those tourist buses to get your bearings early on if you're there for a few days. Definitely head to the top of the Empire State Building. It's historic and it's just a cool building. Ellis Island is an interesting place to go as well. And if you must see Times Square, go ahead and walk around for a few minutes. Just don't linger. All those guys dressed up as Elmo and Minnie Mouse? They are not the real New York.

This past summer, the family and I took a dream vacation to Europe. One week was spent entirely in Paris, the next in Rome. The husband had never been to Europe and had always wanted to go. I was all for it. We decided to rent apartments in each city, allowing us to live to a certain extent as Parisians and Romans do, grocery shopping at local stores and outdoor markets, stopping at the corner boulangerie in the morning and boucherie in the afternoon. Since the girl child studies Italian, the boy child French, and the husband gets by in Spanish, Italian and German, we did pretty well language-wise. I think that I, the consummate American, handled speaking English pretty darn well. It really helped that many Europeans do too. I do, however believe that the husband's native Tagalog was the most useful language in Rome. Lots of Filipinos in Rome. Who would have known? Anyway, we enjoyed some time in museums and tourist attractions, but most of our trip was spent walking the neighborhoods, eating the local foods, and getting to know the people. Our apartment hosts had left us amazing walking tours and lists of their favorite restaurants and gelaterie. And thanks to some pre-trip social media chats, we made some new friends that have become dear friends. How lucky are we?

I highly recommend an apartment over staying at a hotel if you're planning some time in New York. There are agencies out there to help with finding the right place, but you have to be sure to ask the right questions regarding the kitchen appliances, laundry facilities, etc. although I think this might apply more in Europe than in the U.S. And check out the neighborhood as best you can. Try to find a friend in the city that can steer you to one, although remember that their tastes may differ from yours, especially if they are used to being in a city environment and you are not. What seems harmless to them may seem scary to you! But "living" in the city, rather than "visiting" it, can give you a unique perspective that you wouldn't ordinarily get while staying at a hotel.

As a day tripper, there is much more to do than going to a Broadway show or a museum, although those things are surely worthwhile. My kids were surprised to discover that many of their classmates think that all of New York looks like Times Square. And we only live about an hour from the city. The following is a list of places to go and things to do that you might not have thought about otherwise. If you enjoy them, please let me know!

THEATER
I don't do Broadway. I will catch flack for saying this, I am sure. There are some amazing shows out there. I know that. I have been to shows, but typically the cost to entertainment-value ratio leaves me underwhelmed. I did especially enjoy a production of Guys and Dolls starring Nathan Lane, but you probably don't want to hear about that because it was over twenty years ago. I will move on.

I am not good at navigating online ticket sellers and TKTS. I have no patience for this. But this does not mean that my children have been deprived of theater. Au contraire. New York is full of professional and pre-professional theater that is cheap or free (but you want to give a donation!) Some of our family favorites are:

The New Victory Theater (http://www.newvictory.org/Home.aspx)
We started going to the New Vic when the kids were young. It's a small theater on 42nd Street where you can find theater productions from all over the world for kids of all ages. For us, it has always been a safe space. Upon entering, the boy child and girl child would take off to participate in an activity or see an exhibit while we placed our bags in a locker and stowed the stroller.

Tickets run about $25 each, more or less, and just about every seat in the house is good. If sitting in the orchestra, kids have the option of soft booster seats. All shows are listed with information such as age appropriateness (roughly from two to everyone) and length, and just about everyone can enjoy a New Vic show. One of my fondest memories at the theater involves the young boy child at one of the first shows we attended. We were sitting up in the mezzanine and were pleased to discover that there was a talkback that day. Folks, mainly downstairs, were asking questions of the actors on the stage. All of a sudden I realized that the boy child had his hand up in the air. The next thing I knew, my shy boy was standing and asking his question, projecting all the way down to the stage below. Proud Mama. Not sure of another place where this could have happened. I love the New Vic.

TADA! Youth Theater (https://www.tadatheater.com/currentseason.asp)
We were turned on to TADA! by a friend when the kids were quite small. When the girl child became interested in performing, she took some classes there. They have a Youth Ensemble that is a pre-professional theater program, and a huge number of kids audition for the ensemble each year. I know this because the girl child auditioned for it herself a couple of times.

The shows are all original, and the casts are made up completely of incredibly talented kids from tiny to teen. It is not a fancy theater, you sit on benches, but tickets range from $8-$25 or so and you definitely get more than you pay for.

Arm-of-the-Sea Theater (http://www.armofthesea.org/)
Arm-of-the-Sea is a mask and puppet theater that deals with contemporary themes. We've been able to catch them a couple of times in Central Park in the summer. Entertainment for all ages. Check out their website for their touring shows.

New York Classical Theatre (http://newyorkclassical.org/about-us)
Although some may think so, you are never too young for Shakespeare and the other classics. I know this to be true because we began bringing the boy child and the girl child to see the New York Classical Theatre when they were quite young. They have seen more Shakespeare performed than most adults I know, and some Moliere for good measure.

New York Classical performs what they call "panoramic theater." Basically, the "stage" moves from place to place, and the audience follows. This may sound chaotic, but they've got it all down. No tickets and no waiting in line. You can find them in warm weather in Central Park near West 103rd Street, Battery Park at Castle Clinton, or at the World Financial Center when the weather is cooler. They also have family workshops before the shows on certain nights. We usually head to whichever park with an early picnic, eat a light supper on the grass, and wait for the show to begin. Yes, we've been rained out in the middle of a performance more than once, but it's just given us a good excuse to see the show again!

DINING
Do not expect a New York foodie tour from me. I'm sure there are tons of blogs out there that will tell you where the trendiest, coolest places are. I cannot tell you that, although I understand: I was a tall food addict myself, back in the day. What I will give you is a rundown of some ideas for eating in the city. Before we begin, you must follow some basic rules:

Rule number one: If you can eat at the same restaurant at your local mall in Ohio, do not eat there in New York. Seriously. Why would you do that?

Rule number two: Do not wait on line for a chain restaurant that is supposed to be trendy and cool and isn't and that has outlets in various cities across the globe and serves expensive, mediocre (at best) food. You know what I'm talking about.

Really. There are so many excellent places to eat. I am going to stick with ideas in Manhattan, but there are tons of great restaurants in the boros, so if you have time, head out to Flushing for Asian, Astoria for Greek or Egyptian, or Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn for some Middle Eastern fare. But if you can't do that there are different neighborhoods in Manhattan dedicated to serving great, ethnic food, all for a price that will be comparable or less than what you'd pay if you broke either rule number one or number two above. Some examples are:

1. Curry Hill, the area between 26th and 30th streets on Lexington Avenue. My family likes to go to the Pakistani restaurant where a lot of the cab drivers go. It's totally no frills combo plates from behind a glassed-in steam table. But, there are more upscale places to choose from, as well as some amazing markets to shop in, like Kalustyans.

2. Koreatown: This area is located between 31st and 33rd Streets, between 5th and 6th Avenues, close to Macy's and the Empire State Building. There are places where you can order raw meats, seafood and veggies, and cook them up on a grill in the middle of your table. A DIY hibachi restaurant, if you will. Korean restaurants will typically provide you with small bowls of appetizers, like pickles and salads, included with your meal. There are also some great dumpling places. Our favorite is Mandoo Bar. You can watch the staff making the dumplings through the window.

3. Chinatown: Of course, we've all heard of Chinatown in NY. We like to walk around and check out all the markets. A few things to know about eating:
a. If you go to the Peking Duck House, order Peking Duck. Otherwise, go someplace else. Really.
b. Try a dumpling house. There are blogs about these so you can find one. My family likes one on Chrystie Street, but don't take my word for it because there are others that are probably just as good. One day, my family of four had lunch there for $11. Not kidding.
c. Joe's Shanghai is not the only place that serves soup dumplings. You don't need to wait on line.
d. If you are a party of four or less, you may be seated at a table with other patrons. Do not be alarmed.
e. Go to Mei Li Wah Bakery and try some buns. Sure, it's not fancy. Not even close. But try it anyway.
f. Check out some of the snack shops like Aji Ichiban or taste some pastries from a bakery. Lots of good stuff for cheap.
g. Chinatown is not just about Chinese food. There are Vietnamese, Malaysian and other Asian cuisines available as well.

4. Little Italy: I don't have much to say about Little Italy. It's a bit too touristy for my tastes and the one meal I ate there, many years ago, was so-so. I would suggest going for a walk through the area after eating in Chinatown, and maybe grab a gelato or a pastry. For pizza, my family likes John's Brick Oven on Bleeker, and I've had great pizza at Lombardi's as well.

5. There is a proliferation of "hole-in-the-wall" restaurants that are cheap and good, all over the city. The girl child loves Dogmatic on 17th street, where everything is all-natural and grass fed. Of course it costs more for grass fed than Grey's Papaya, but you get what you pay for here. There's Mamoun's for falafel, Meatball Obsession for, uh, meatballs, Dos Toros for Mexican . . . I could go on but I won't.

6. Finally, if you're out and about and the weather is nice, a fun thing to do is check out the food trucks. There are so many amazing ones in the city, and the great thing is that you can track them online. Googling "food trucks in nyc" will give you a number of websites to choose from, and you can find places using zip codes or your current location from your smart phone. Rickshaw dumpling bar now not only has a restaurant on 23rd Street, but a food truck and kiosk in Times Square. If you're at the restaurant, try the chocolate dumplings. Wear the bib.

THINGS TO DO:
New York has some of the best museums in the world, and many major tourist attractions. But, here are some things that might seem off the beaten path, but just as great:

Greenmarkets: My kids love to go to Union Square on greenmarket days. If your family lives in a city or the suburbs, chances are they haven't really had a chance to talk to a real farmer. Well, here's that chance—who would have imagined? Plus, the veggies are so amazing, you won't want to pass them up, even if you're only just looking. I had the pleasure of living a few blocks away for more than ten years, so I know this to be true. If you're staying in an apartment, this is a great place to do some marketing for veggies, meats and dairy as well. One of the things both the girl child and boy child like to do is grab a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese, and possibly a giant brownie, from a local farmer. Then we sit in the park with some bottles of water from the bodega down the street, and have a picnic.

Candy stores: There are folks that must go to a candy store in Times Square that sells items you can buy in the supermarket. OK. Let me repeat something I've said before. Really? Others insist that Dylan's Candy Bar is the best. I've been there. It's a bit glitzy for me.

There's a plethora of great chocolate shops throughout the city with gourmet candies and macaroons, and you can find them all online. My favorite shop, however, is Jacques Torres on Hudson Street (https://www.mrchocolate.com/news/about/locations/hudson-street/) In it, you can find the window to my soul. Well, actually, it's just a window you can look through and see the chocolates being made. Same thing. Anyway, they have other locations but I like this one best because you can see the crew at work. They will allow you to taste the hot chocolate from the hot chocolate bar if you want. I highly recommend it. It is so rich, my family just shares one cup.

For something less extravagant, I recommend heading over to Economy Candy on the Lower East Side (http://www.economycandy.com/). It's a tiny space crammed with sweet-y goodness. They have all the favorites from childhood (if you're old like me), plus any kind of halvah you might like. Even if it's not fancy, I'd say that it rivals Dylan's any day.

The New York Public Library/Bryant Park: Did you see Ghostbusters? Well, if you did, then checking out the reading room is a must. Ah, it's a must anyway. It's so cool. There are also some interesting exhibits there as well. And, behind the library is Bryant Park, which houses a shopping village and a skating rink in winter, and a carousel, ping pong and outdoor movies in the summer.

NYC Parks: You can't beat the NYC Park System. (http://www.nycgovparks.org/) I've already mentioned a couple of them. There are so many things to do. Green markets, free tai chi and yoga, chess, ping pong, movies, theater, music, playgrounds, and buskers. We used to take the kids to Central Park and just let them climb around on the rocks. Best. Day. Ever.

Street Fairs: These are not confined to those you've been to selling socks and "as seen on TV" products. Check out the Tribeca Family Festival Street Fair (https://www.facebook.com/events/433908179968455/) or the World Science Festival Street Fair (http://worldsciencefestival.com/events/street_fair_2012) Ninth avenue hosts a food festival. These are also listed online.

The Cloisters/Fort Tryon Park:  The Cloisters is a branch of the Metropolitan Museum and definitely worth a visit. (http://www.metmuseum.org/visit/visit-the-cloisters) Fort Tryon Park is nice on any day, but even nicer when there's a medieval fest (http://www.whidc.org/home.html)

The Cathedral of St. John the Divine: (http://stjohndivine.org/index.html) Not only is the cathedral beautiful, but it hosts events and workshops, concerts and shows. Check out their website for details.

The High Line: (http://www.thehighline.org/) Visit the High Line, a public park built on a historic rail line. Eat at the food stands or just go for a walk. Great on a beautiful day.

Hudson River Park: (http://www.hudsonriverpark.org/) Check it out on a bike or on foot. Lots of things to do along the water.

Governor's Island: (http://www.nyharborparks.org/visit/gois.html) only a ferry ride away.

The Brooklyn Bridge: walk across!

TRANSPORTATION:
I like to walk in NY. Maybe that's just me. I had some friends visiting years ago and I walked them around for so many hours I think that I may have broken them. The next day, they took a tour bus. As I mentioned, the tour buses are convenient and let you on and off wherever you want to go. However, there is something to be said for navigating the local transportation system when you visit a city. While I wasn't particularly fond of the Paris Metro, it got us around very well. I did like taking the tram in Rome, even if it didn't go very far. So I suggest giving the subway a try. It can be confusing, but it's a great way to get around fairly quickly. Metro buses may take a bit longer, but you get to see some of the city while riding. We sometimes enjoy taking what we call "the slowest bus down Fifth Avenue." If you can get a seat, it's not so bad. For walking and public transportation directions within the city, go to hopstop.com.

A few autumn's ago, the girl child asked a friend to come and spend the day with us in the city. The boy child was going to his fencing class, and we were going to hang out—we didn't really have a destination except for Economy Candy on the lower east side. We parked the car, dropped off the boy child, and headed by subway to the store. I thought it would be fun to let the girls buy the metro cards, and while they were standing at the machine we heard a commotion. Before I realized what was happening, a small rat ran right over the girl child's friend's feet. Apparently a rat fight gone wrong. She was a good sport, the girl child's friend. She didn't flinch; she laughed it off. A trouper, this girl child was. To this day, I am still amazed that the girl child's friend's parents ever left her in our care again, but they did.

The rest of the subway trip was uneventful, and we made it to the candy store. However, we decided that maybe it would be fun to walk back uptown. It started to drizzle about halfway to Union Square, so we hopped on a train and decided to wait it out at Barnes and Noble. But we got bored at B&N, so we grabbed some plastic bags and held them over our heads as we ran through what was left of the day's green market. We found ourselves in Filene's Basement, a misnomer because it was actually located on the second, third, and fourth floors. Anyway, when we got there we heard some sloshing. The girl child's friend was wearing some cute ballet flats, which were now filled with water. We hit the ladies room, where she dried them under the hand drier. Resourceful. I settled into a chair by the windows with a view of Union Square park, and when I turned around, the girl children were giving me a fashion show. They had created New York City rain hats from plastic bags. Priceless.