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Posts Tagged ‘E-e’

Посмотрела таг 9/11 и оказалось: я никогда не записывала сюда, что было с нами в тот день.
***
Была на работе, на 35й и 7й авеню.
Сын – в 8м классе в Stuyvesant H.S. – прямо напротив Башен, через West Side H’way.
Сначала мне позвонил муж, не успел ничего сказать – связь прервалась; я поняла по его тону, что-то случилось.
Один из сотрудников слушал радио через наушники на своём рабочем месте; вдруг вскочил и закричал – все скорей на крышу, самолёт врезался в WTC. Пока мы его спрашивали, пытались выйти на новостные сайты – кот. все рухнули от напора – 2й самолёт.

С сыном не могла связаться 4 часа. Их собрали в лобби школы, в атриуме, и велели ждать инструкций; вот они там стояли полтора часа перед 3х-этажной стеклянной стеной, и смотрели на падающих людей и бело-серую тучу – и бумаги, бумаги в воздухе.
Потом им велели выйти на улицу и идти “uptown” – без учителей, без сопровождающих, куда придётся, просто уходить подальше. Телефоны не работали, к автоматам были огромные очереди, они не ждали, а шли на север. Я металась по офису и звонила всё время 9-1-1, и каждый раз мне давали другую информацию – где дети. До мужа я дозвониться не могла. Наконец сын прорвался, в 1:30, и я побежала ему навстречу.
Пустые улицы, солнце, прохожие молчат, тишина везде – кроме сирен “скорых” и пожарников, FBI-агенты с овчарками и в боевой форме.
Когда пробегала 9ю ав. Х 32 улицу, миновала уличного торговца хотдогов: 2 пакистанца или араба смеялись, прямо хохотали, и швыряли конфеты какие-то в толпу на тротуаре. Никто на них и внимания не обращал, смотрели недоумённо и проходили себе дальше – не до того.

С сыном были два его одноклассника, китайские мальчики из Квинса. Совершено дезориентированные, не знали где север, где восток, в какой стороне Квинс, просто шли за моим как за Сусаниным. Я их всех повела сначала поесть в дели напротив Empire State Bldg (всё было открыто и работало, не помню что я ела, они умяли гору сандвичей и салаты), успокоились, умылись; один дозвонился приятелю из NJ и пошёл на west side искать переправу, второй пошёл с нами – в мой офис, потом на сабвей.

Много ещё чего было, но то уже совсем личное.

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Сегодня, > чем четверть века тому, после самых ужасных 12 ч в моей жизни, родилось моё золотко. По счёту уплачено.

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Mother’s day. Dialogue.
MothersDay 2013

Mother: For me? Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful orchid. Thank you [kisses Son]

Son: [kisses M. back] You’re welcome. So you like it?

M. Yes, it’s a gorgeous plant. Do you know how these are called? Phalaenopsis. Remember we used to come to the Orchid Shows when they were @ the old Financial Center’s Palm Court?

S: Yes,  that’s why I chose it.

M: You’re so thoughtful, thank you

S: Sorry I am late, I was @the flower shop selecting a plant for you. So, you do like it?

M: Very much. [kisses S. again]

S: Good. Come with me here, where is more light. [takes out his i-phone]

M: That’s OK, I don’t need a picture, I have your present right here, it will be cherished.

(more…)

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Skydiving in the Hamptons

Memory knot.

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HighLine, scorching heat edition

About a week ago I was treated for a walk along the newly extended HighLine along the West Side Meatpacking District. That was the place for a stroll that I chose when asked.

I realized my mistake almost immediately, but it was too late to turn back. The light paving materials, steel rails and fencing on the elevated platform were melting in the noon heat.  But we were determined and so – soldiered on, from 14th street all the way to 31st. Admired the wild grasses and masses of bright flowers; the gleaming oiled wood of the exquisite benches, that grew up and down, like raised railroad ties; the sudden observation amphitheaters and bridges, the restaurants, spicy Mexican ice cream carts and cafes. We talked. We discussed the currencies market, the footbridges of Singapore, the music gizmos for IPhone. We gawked at everything. The dogs and their people. The condo towers, facing the HighLine with their 3rd floor luxurious living room windows. The vistas. And finally, we came to the dead end of the tracks, with its last island of relaxation before chain-link fence. Exhausted, we descended onto the burning street and dived into the closest Starbucks, for Lemonade and Iced Mocha.

It was a beautiful present.

{as usual, see more @ my Flickr’ set or in the right-margin window}

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David Foster @ChicagoBoyz, quoting S. Haffner form his book about pre-WWII Germany:

“The old and unworldly had the worst of it. Many were driven to begging, many to suicide. The young and quick-witted did well. Overnight they became free, rich, and independent. It was a situation in which mental inertia and reliance on past experience was punished by starvation and death, but rapid appraisal of new situations and speed of reaction was rewarded with sudden, vast riches. The twenty-one-year-old bank director appeared on the scene, and also the sixth-former who earned his living from the stock-market tips of his slightly older friends. He wore Oscar Wilde ties, organized champagne parties, and supported his embarrassed father.”

“Being supported by a son” is not as embarrassing as being forgotten and abandoned.

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Oh, baby

Прочла описание после-родовых мук у Vaca_vaca, и вспомнила свои собственные беззвучные потоки ночных слёз
только меня не успокаивали, не понимали моего состояния, a выговаривали за невовремя приготовленный ужин или плачущего ребёнка – а свёкор, тот вообще отказался смотреть на внука (“он пока ещё червяк, года в три человеком будет”) – а если вспомнить, что холодная вода была у нас по часам (до 6утра и после 6 вечера), а горячую надо было греть в ведре на газу…и дайперс не было, а только пелёнки (с вываркой для них, ага), и что меня после родов недочистили, и я кровила и кормила 6 недель с постоянно повышающейся температурой, и кончилось это тем, что меня забрали в больницу с гнойным воспалением и едва успели прооперировать…и всё это время свёкор, у которого жили, был недоволен разрушеным распорядком дня, а муж дулся, что он больше не пуп земли и ему нельзя слушать его музычку на всю громкость, когда в голову взбредёт.

Какие там психологи, группы поддержки, снотворные, плей группы, спортивные занятия? Я выживала…и пела сыну песенки

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Son called: he’s in a car, going mountain- hiking. And I felt so elated – and even proud -as if it was me who was. As if I am the one anticipating whole day of  hard-won enjoyment of nature, and camaraderie, and joy of movement.

While, in fact, I’m a perpetual couch potato and famous for my fear of heights.

Umbilical cord  is a 2way street…Even when it’s no longer physically there.

Сын позвонил из машины: едет бродить по горам, на целый день. И у меня сразу поднялось настроение, и даже загордилась. Как будто это я – в правильных ботинках, с друзьями, ощущая крепость накачанных мышц, предвкушаю солёные струйки по спине и бесконечность горизонта. А ведь лично я – домашняя клуша, любой природе предпочитаю городкой парк, а высоты так вообще боюсь.

Пуповина отвалилась много-много лет назад, а мы всё связаны, и связь эта- двусторонняя.

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There was something I collected for its own sake, and persistently, for a long time: electrical-mechanical junk. To this day I have a special feeling for broken bells, alarm clocks, old radio coils, telephone speakers and in general for objects derailed, worn out, abandoned, and which are given for the last time a chance to exist, with a pitiful vestige if respectability, at a flee market behind a theater. I went to ours often, a little like a philanthropist visiting a slum[...]. I was a patron of for old spark plugs, and bought dilapidated car magnetos, nuts, utterly useless commutators, fragments of unknown devices, and carried them home and hid them in shoe boxes, in drawers, wherever I could[..]. Had someone asked me, no doubt I would have answered immediately that this thing or that might prove useful in some project – but that was not the whole truth, and I knew it.

(Stanislaw Lem, Highcastle. A remembrance.)

I don’t know is it the influence of that city, of its rich old-cultures-spun fabric, of layers and overlaps, under-the-ground and above- artifacts of generations of lives, but my late father-in-law developed the same ailment. I hear his son now resembles his father, even though in his younger years he was making fun of his father obsession. Just like his own son does, now. Even though I, too, had been laughing, something inside made – still makes -me lust after the lost treasures of his numerous boxes, bundles and drawers, filled with remnants of vintage clocks, rusty locks, opulent keys from disappeared cabinets, bronze door knockers and brass hardware…

[Photo credit:  Jonathan G.]

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New set of eyes. Part III

In case you were puzzled by the first paragraph of the previous post, I’ll tell you it is related to a saga of getting my eyes LASIK’ed.

I left it out at the point where my doctor told me to wait 2-3 weeks to get the perfect vision as I had before my first spectacles became necessary, i.e. “0″ diopters needed-vision.

It never came to be.

Sure, I got better, much better than that first day and even week after the surgery. My  readings came down to (-1.75) diopters,  each eye. Compared to severe myopia that I had before  it was an outstanding progress. Still, my Dr. admitted that he “undercorrected” – apparently, there is a formula, calculating curvature that for people after 45 suggest undercorrection to compensate for the age-related need in reading glasses, and following it is  supposed to make one’s vision perfect. “Your eyes are younger than you for at least 20 years!”, said my doctor, -”the formula is obviously not for you”.

Anyway, all these quips  aside, we decided to go for a repeated procedure. “It’ll be even shorter and easier than the first one”, assured me my doctor, – “since your already have a flap on each eye, and all we have to do is to lift it again and proceed with tiny correction”. Still, I  requested the services of my beloved escort one more time, just to be on a safe side…and boy, how glad I am that I did! (more…)

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An emblem

LJ-user Tobeornot posted a photo that is perfectly representating my ideal of  life. What a Saturday morning in my home should be. Complete with the author’s caption  (hover your cursor over the picture)

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I’m given my place back

He went away.

There are no more socks, clean and otherwise, strewn everywhere. No half-emptied water bottles in unexpected places, no shaving paraphernalia in the bath. My garbage can is not overflowing with pushed in trash. The speakers’ volume is returned to normal, same with monitor’s. I can find remote where I left it. Closets’ doors are closing easily now. The rooms are suddenly larger.

How am I to suppress the wailing inside?

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