Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Happy Thanksgiving
Many blessings...big birthday...losses...changes...wonderful people in my life...a lot for which I'm grateful this Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Requiem for a Young Airman
Thirty one years ago, Eric B. Park died in a car accident on a lonely road in Pennsylvania. He was only 25 years old, an airman on active duty in the US Air Force.
He was my husband.
As I went about my business these past few days, I thought of him, so handsome in his crisp blue uniform yet so rakish in his orange Datsun pick-up truck.
I feel the ache of loss as deeply and physically as if it happened yesterday. November 14, 1983 was a Monday. I was supposed to go to an international food and hospitality convention at the Coliseum on Columbus Circle, but I wanted to talk to my husband before leaving for the show. I called the base...and was given the chilling news that I was a widow, after only four months of marriage. As I hung up the phone, my future dissolved in my convulsive sobs.
Today, as I emerged from the 59th Street/Columbus Circle subway station, I had an eerie sense of deja vu. Of course, the Coliseum is gone now (replaced by a glittering shopping mall), just as my brief marriage is no more. Things change. Life goes on. Or does it?
I have a friend who last November lost her husband of several decades. I want desperately to call her, to tell her that the hole in her heart will heal...that the pain goes away...but that would be a lie. The pain never really goes away, but instead it oddly harmonizes with one's being. I don't suffer the torment I did initially, but there is no denying that I am wounded. All those long-ago dreams that shattered in an instant are like pieces of broken glass tucked in a secret place, and when I sometimes take them out to consider them again, they cut me to the quick.
I do miss you, Eric, my dashing young airman. You made me feel alive and loved. Thirty one years later, wherever you are, I hope you know you still do.
He was my husband.
As I went about my business these past few days, I thought of him, so handsome in his crisp blue uniform yet so rakish in his orange Datsun pick-up truck.
I feel the ache of loss as deeply and physically as if it happened yesterday. November 14, 1983 was a Monday. I was supposed to go to an international food and hospitality convention at the Coliseum on Columbus Circle, but I wanted to talk to my husband before leaving for the show. I called the base...and was given the chilling news that I was a widow, after only four months of marriage. As I hung up the phone, my future dissolved in my convulsive sobs.
Today, as I emerged from the 59th Street/Columbus Circle subway station, I had an eerie sense of deja vu. Of course, the Coliseum is gone now (replaced by a glittering shopping mall), just as my brief marriage is no more. Things change. Life goes on. Or does it?
I have a friend who last November lost her husband of several decades. I want desperately to call her, to tell her that the hole in her heart will heal...that the pain goes away...but that would be a lie. The pain never really goes away, but instead it oddly harmonizes with one's being. I don't suffer the torment I did initially, but there is no denying that I am wounded. All those long-ago dreams that shattered in an instant are like pieces of broken glass tucked in a secret place, and when I sometimes take them out to consider them again, they cut me to the quick.
I do miss you, Eric, my dashing young airman. You made me feel alive and loved. Thirty one years later, wherever you are, I hope you know you still do.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Random Thoughts on 9/11
On Sept. 11, 2001 the world changed, and I was altered forever. I don't speak of it much because I'm not alone in that, but for years I'd preserve my memories and emotions in handwritten diaries. I don't need to preserve them for myself; I can close my eyes and return to that day (and the days that immediately followed) with crystal clarity and summon every detail.
Now I'm listening to the reading of the names -- a tradition I hope never will be abandoned. In the early years, I felt they should've hired professionals to handle this solemn task because the readers invariably mangle some of the pronounciations. But I've changed my mind over the years as waves of love from the victims' relatives wash over me. They add short anecdotes that bring to life my fellow New Yorkers who did not survive and reassure me that I am not alone in my grief.
This year, an 11-year-old girl read a section of names and concluded with the name of her father, adding that she missed meeting him by ten days. She never knew her father, yet now she's a lovely young lady participating in his memorial. There are many other young people like her this year -- paying tribute to deceased parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, people they love -- though they weren't even alive for the horrific event that brings them together today. May they never have to experience anything like that!
On the footprint of the World Trade Center, tranquil pools have been erected and tourists throng by the thousands. I haven't been able to bring myself to go down there to see the improvements yet. (As unrealistic as it sounds, I'd have preferred they left the gaping hole in the ground so future generations could see what really happened.) Whenever I was downtown, I loved dashing through the tower lobbies and cutting through the complex. It had its own energy and was so impressive that after college, I declared I would work there someday. (I did, very briefly, for the owner of the New Jersey Rams semi-pro football team, who had an office in the North Tower with a breathtaking view.) I got my first NYC parking ticket at the World Trade Center, when I mistakenly left my red Pinto on a block where parking wasn't allowed until after 7 p.m. Even the weekend before the attack, I drove around and through the World Trade Center in a bright yellow pick-up truck, joyously blasting pop songs and thinking that life couldn't get any better.
Now I should be working and getting ready to meet the expectations of those who regard this as any other Tuesday. The weather is beautiful, reminiscent of that fateful day 11 years ago. Though life grinds on, I will never forget.
Now I'm listening to the reading of the names -- a tradition I hope never will be abandoned. In the early years, I felt they should've hired professionals to handle this solemn task because the readers invariably mangle some of the pronounciations. But I've changed my mind over the years as waves of love from the victims' relatives wash over me. They add short anecdotes that bring to life my fellow New Yorkers who did not survive and reassure me that I am not alone in my grief.
This year, an 11-year-old girl read a section of names and concluded with the name of her father, adding that she missed meeting him by ten days. She never knew her father, yet now she's a lovely young lady participating in his memorial. There are many other young people like her this year -- paying tribute to deceased parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, people they love -- though they weren't even alive for the horrific event that brings them together today. May they never have to experience anything like that!
On the footprint of the World Trade Center, tranquil pools have been erected and tourists throng by the thousands. I haven't been able to bring myself to go down there to see the improvements yet. (As unrealistic as it sounds, I'd have preferred they left the gaping hole in the ground so future generations could see what really happened.) Whenever I was downtown, I loved dashing through the tower lobbies and cutting through the complex. It had its own energy and was so impressive that after college, I declared I would work there someday. (I did, very briefly, for the owner of the New Jersey Rams semi-pro football team, who had an office in the North Tower with a breathtaking view.) I got my first NYC parking ticket at the World Trade Center, when I mistakenly left my red Pinto on a block where parking wasn't allowed until after 7 p.m. Even the weekend before the attack, I drove around and through the World Trade Center in a bright yellow pick-up truck, joyously blasting pop songs and thinking that life couldn't get any better.
Now I should be working and getting ready to meet the expectations of those who regard this as any other Tuesday. The weather is beautiful, reminiscent of that fateful day 11 years ago. Though life grinds on, I will never forget.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Happy Anniversary, William + Kate!
The gala was hosted by "Margie, Queen of Stewarts" -- my sister's very British mother-in-law -- and it was a celebration, indeed. Margie outdid herself! She'd asked her sisters in England to send banners and flags bearing the smiling faces of the royal couple, which festooned her home. Tents and heaters were installed outside to accommodate everyone on the eclectic guest list. A tape of the entire event -- from guest arrivals to the wedding ceremony to the official "first kiss" on the Palace balcony -- was replayed on televisions upstairs and downstairs. She served a delicious recreation of the wedding cake plus authentic British fare.Best of all, the party guests were as delighted as I to be part of the celebration. The festive spirit was infectious! The love and emotion of the moment could not be denied. Everyone was pulling for the royal couple to "live happily ever after." We ate, drank, clapped and toasted -- and for a few brief hours, our own problems faded into the background as we shared William and Kate's hope and joy.
Today, I've poured a glass of wine and turned on the "telly" to watch the anniversary specials. It's a pleasure to browse through my scrapbook of Margie's stateside royal wedding reception and savor the sweet memories of that day. I'm a hopeless romantic, and I wish William and Kate the best of everything. I believe in fairy tales...for if it can work out for them, perhaps it can work for the rest of us, too.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Perfect Start
Happy New Year!
Monday, November 28, 2011
Person of Interest
The other day I decided to take the M101 bus home from Harlem. When it finally arrived, I was a little annoyed to see that it terminated at 96th Street instead of making its full route downtown, but lately inconvenience is inherent in the price of a MetroCard; I hopped on and told myself that the short walk from East 96th Street to my apartment would do me good.
When I disembarked, I ran smack into a production assistant for CBS-TV's freshman drama, "Person of Interest." Because the series was filming that evening on Lexington Avenue, the buses were being temporarily rerouted and the PA was requesting that pedestrians go to the other side of the street to avoid walking into the shot.
As I followed the PA's direction, I couldn't help sneaking a peek at what was going on. Seeing the filming in action was a bit of a thrill -- even for a born-and-bred New Yorker like me. First of all, I really like the show. The premise of a pair of unlikely characters trying to prevent crimes in New York is fascinating. Its noir style and sophisticated plots are a cut above what's commonly on network television, and Jim Caviezel ("Reese") and Michael Emerson ("Finch") play so well off each other that it's easy to forget they're acting. To keep things interesting, the writers have infused the plotline with an homage to "The Fugitive," having a female detective (the terrific Taraji P. Henson) on the tail of the good guys.
Part of the fun for me each week is recognizing the streets, shops and landmarks as Reese and Finch hide in plain sight. I'm very proud of how New York is portrayed throughout the series, and I told the PA as much. Often crime shows propel the drama by making the City look frightening in lieu of crisp, compelling writing. Jonathan Nolan, the creator and executive producer, doesn't fall into that trap. "Person of Interest" is a quirky valentine to the Big Apple. Like Finch's relentless surveillance machine, New York's diverse urban landscape is an integral part of the cast -- and Nolan's team treats it with the respect it deserves.
As I hurried on my way, I forgave the MTA for dumping me on 96th Street. After all, where else but in New York could one get a backstage pass to the set of "Person of Interest" for the price of a MetroCard?
When I disembarked, I ran smack into a production assistant for CBS-TV's freshman drama, "Person of Interest." Because the series was filming that evening on Lexington Avenue, the buses were being temporarily rerouted and the PA was requesting that pedestrians go to the other side of the street to avoid walking into the shot.
As I followed the PA's direction, I couldn't help sneaking a peek at what was going on. Seeing the filming in action was a bit of a thrill -- even for a born-and-bred New Yorker like me. First of all, I really like the show. The premise of a pair of unlikely characters trying to prevent crimes in New York is fascinating. Its noir style and sophisticated plots are a cut above what's commonly on network television, and Jim Caviezel ("Reese") and Michael Emerson ("Finch") play so well off each other that it's easy to forget they're acting. To keep things interesting, the writers have infused the plotline with an homage to "The Fugitive," having a female detective (the terrific Taraji P. Henson) on the tail of the good guys.
Part of the fun for me each week is recognizing the streets, shops and landmarks as Reese and Finch hide in plain sight. I'm very proud of how New York is portrayed throughout the series, and I told the PA as much. Often crime shows propel the drama by making the City look frightening in lieu of crisp, compelling writing. Jonathan Nolan, the creator and executive producer, doesn't fall into that trap. "Person of Interest" is a quirky valentine to the Big Apple. Like Finch's relentless surveillance machine, New York's diverse urban landscape is an integral part of the cast -- and Nolan's team treats it with the respect it deserves.
As I hurried on my way, I forgave the MTA for dumping me on 96th Street. After all, where else but in New York could one get a backstage pass to the set of "Person of Interest" for the price of a MetroCard?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Dog Days of Summer
The “dog days of summer” have taken on a whole new meaning, thanks to my friend Judith Gwyn Brown, a renowned New York artist and illustrator. Judith has illustrated more than 40 children's books -- so many she can barely keep them all straight -- and though she absolutely adores what she does, her true love is painting animals (particularly dogs).
Knowing her passion for canines, it doesn't surprise me that Judith has decided to offer a portion of the proceeds of her commissioned pet portraits to P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard, the all-volunteer, not-for-profit Pet Adoption and Welfare Service of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts.
Not only do pet owners have a chance to have a beautiful portrait of the creature they love that's a work of fine art, they’ll be helping to save the lives of abandoned dogs and cats who might otherwise have suffered a terrible fate. For more than two decades, P.A.W.S. also has offered an Island-wide spay/neuter program with local veterinarians; proceeds from Judith’s pet portraits can be designated to provide coupons to Martha’s Vineyard pet owners to help alleviate the ever-rising cost of spaying or neutering.
I happen to know that Judith was courted by and considered charities that are a lot more high-profile than P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard, but her generosity is not born of vanity. Judith chose P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard in honor of its founder, her dear friend AnnaBell Washburn, an animal activist and one-time "mom" to 26 cats.
I find Judith's loyalty refreshing and incredibly inspiring. I hope her days are filled with opportunities to immortalize many dogs, cats and even horses for their loving families -- so that P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard will remain as vibrant as Judith is.
Knowing her passion for canines, it doesn't surprise me that Judith has decided to offer a portion of the proceeds of her commissioned pet portraits to P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard, the all-volunteer, not-for-profit Pet Adoption and Welfare Service of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts.
Not only do pet owners have a chance to have a beautiful portrait of the creature they love that's a work of fine art, they’ll be helping to save the lives of abandoned dogs and cats who might otherwise have suffered a terrible fate. For more than two decades, P.A.W.S. also has offered an Island-wide spay/neuter program with local veterinarians; proceeds from Judith’s pet portraits can be designated to provide coupons to Martha’s Vineyard pet owners to help alleviate the ever-rising cost of spaying or neutering.
I happen to know that Judith was courted by and considered charities that are a lot more high-profile than P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard, but her generosity is not born of vanity. Judith chose P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard in honor of its founder, her dear friend AnnaBell Washburn, an animal activist and one-time "mom" to 26 cats.
I find Judith's loyalty refreshing and incredibly inspiring. I hope her days are filled with opportunities to immortalize many dogs, cats and even horses for their loving families -- so that P.A.W.S. of the Vineyard will remain as vibrant as Judith is.
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