A woman was robbed on the subway tonight

A woman was robbed on the subway tonight.

I’ve seldom felt so ineffectual.

It happened fast.

That’s how the story always begins, isn’t it?

But I always thought…hoped…that I could think or move faster. I couldn’t.

I heard the yell behind me, “HEY!”

I turned and he was already rushing past me. In a flash I saw who he was, I saw the blue package tucked under his arm, and I saw the woman falling to the floor at the door of the subway train behind us.

I put it together.

In a flash I considered my role. But by then, he was several yards ahead and then he was at the turnstiles and then he was through. Another man came by running after him.

I hadn’t even moved.

I didn’t yell after him. I didn’t stick my foot or bag out to trip him. I didn’t do anything but watch.

The woman moved past me to follow. The train conductor had sounded an alarm but then he moved on. The train doors closed and the station was empty.

I moved through the turnstile after the woman. I told the station agent in the booth and I moved up the stairs onto the street. I ran after her. She was out of breath, she was in shock, she was pregnant.

The man who had run after the robber was nowhere to be seen. We waited on the street. I asked how she was. Could I get her anything. Could I call the police. She didn’t think it was worth it. Nothing they could do. I told her I had seen the man, I could describe him, we could at least make a report with the MTA. She was hesitant. She was shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. She said maybe it was just her time.

We waited. I walked up the street and back. The runner hadn’t returned. I tried again to encourage her to report but she didn’t think it would matter. It wasn’t her purse, wasn’t her ID or credit cards. An iPad. Expensive, but replaceable. She had a train to catch at Penn Station.

We were both hesitant. Did I give her my name, phone number? Would she want to report later and I could give a physical description? I didn’t. I don’t even know her name. We parted ways, she back to the subway and me toward home. I looked at every tall man I passed. I looked for police cruisers. I looked for the man who had run after him. I wanted to go back, to make a report, to make sure the woman was really alright – or as much as she could be.

It seems so wrong that there was nothing we could really do.

A woman was robbed on the subway tonight. I imagine she wasn’t the only one.

I choose to make it so

"In the infinity of life where I am,

all is perfect, whole, and complete.

I see any resistance patterns within me

only as something else to release.

They have no power over me. I am the power in the world.

I flow with the changes taking place in my life as best I can.

I approve of myself and the way I am changing.

I am doing the best I can. Each day gets easier.

I rejoice that I am in the rhythm and flow

of my ever changing life.

Today is a wonderful day.

I choose to make it so.

All is well in my world."

-Louise L. Hay (You Can Heal Your Life)

Lady, I need two suns

I recreated this painting from a picture I drew as a child. I added two suns because of a story my professor told about a young girl who told her with considerable attitude, "Lady, I need two suns." I didn't have this girl's attitude, but I did need the extra sun. And thankfully, I think I had five or six. I had a strong mother. A giving church. A faithful God. Many compassionate teachers. And a government that - at least for my family - worked. Welfare, food stamps, housing, even therapy. We had a chance. We barely got by. But we did. And thanks to these things, my mother and sisters and I lived in the light. My heart, though, was in the shadows. Because even when you have physical security, emotional hurt is a deep wound. Hence why I drew this picture. If it weren't for the light that I did have, I would still be in the shadows - unable to heal the emotional wounds caused by my father because of every other terror in the way.

Children today face one horror after another in our world. Poverty, abuse, terrorism, violence, homelessness, war, hunger. The list goes on. Too many children are left in the shadows caused by these crimes and made invisible by our reluctance to face the responsibility of society to care for the weakest among us. Our children need light but we turn away our eyes.

Written on this painting is my commitment, and my challenge, to erasing the shadows and the invisibility that clouded my childhood and continue to haunt millions of children today:

I choose the light. Hope. You will not put me in the dark. Perseverance. I will not be invisible. DIgnity. I will not be silent. Courage. I will stand up. Truth. I will stand up for the child that I was. Thrive. Who once used this art to beg for light. Freedom. I will stand for the children now in the shadows who we pretend do not exist. Justice. Who we hope someone else will save. Love. Or worse - that they will just go away. Humanity. I will stand up for the future of those children that should be full of life and love and potential. Faith. I will live everyday for peace. Change. It is not a dream to me. Equality. It is an obligation. One Race. I will put as many suns into the world as I can until the shadows run away. Light. I will NEVER GIVE UP. I will choose peace. I will choose love. I will choose to listen. I will choose to see. I will choose to stand up. I will change the world. Choose with me.

The Perfect Guacamole

Guacamole. I love the stuff. In fact I love all things avocado. Some blame it on my California roots. I think its just cuz I like green things. Seriously. Anything green is yummy. Except peas. Not huge on the peas.

But back to the guac. It’s my go-to item for simple potlucks – you know the game watching or movie nights, or that end-of-the-semester party in class that’s always way more awkward than you thought possible. I could just buy the stuff. Goodness knows a package of ready-to-eat guacamole would be cheaper than home-made with the outrageous prices of fresh produce these days (tripled in NYC). But I just can’t bring myself to do it. In fact, I avoid store bought guacamole as much as possible and will only hesitatingly consume restaurant guacamole even if it’s made in front of me.

I’m not exactly a guac snob but, well, maybe I am. And with good reason.

See every time I take my freshly made guacamole to socialize, I get bombarded with compliments, accolades, and the inevitable recipe question. I don’t mind the praise – it does take a modicum of effort to whip that delicious goodness together, after all. But I always find myself turning five shades of red and averting my eyes when that question comes. My aversion and slight chuckle are typically taken for a hesitancy to give away my secret. You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to, I always hear. It’s always been odd to me that people don’t want to share recipes – as if you’ll lose some social standing if someone else has the privilege of making that delightful treat. So I quickly explain that I have no problem sharing, it’s just that you’re really gonna be surprised.

A few years back I actually participated in a guac-off. Yes, a party entirely centered around eating and comparing guacamole. The table was loaded with at least a dozen bowls of whipped green goodness. You could smell the cilantro, see the fresh tomato, and practically be overcome by the beauty of fresh avocado. I quickly hid my bowl at the back of the table and let the voting begin. The entries were anonymous so there could be no kissing up to the boss (it was a work event) but I was still slack-jawed when my guacamole was crowned king. Seriously? As I was handed my prize – a deep burgundy bottle of wine – I was faced with the age-old question…what’s my secret? I knew from listening in to conversations throughout the night, that people had worked hard on their guac. They had scoured the books for the perfect combination of avocado to salt, had sought the ripest most delicious tomatoes, had sprinkled on lime for an extra kick, and spent hours mashing and tasting to perfection. I’d whipped mine together in about five minutes.

See, I learned to make guacamole from my mom. It’s just one of those things that has always been a staple in our household. On movie nights, afternoon picnics, and even occasionally as an entire dinner entre (seriously). We love guacamole. And my not-so-secret recipe was probably found on the back of some free single parent quick fix recipe magazine. I call it single-mom guac. So yea, I laugh when I get the question. I tell people they’re going to laugh too. It’s not a secret. And it’s not difficult. It’s the most basic recipe in my collection:

Avocado
Salsa (mild is best)
salt.

Mix to taste and serve.

There you have it, the amazing, award-winning, single-mom guacamole. And it’s gooood.

floating faces

There’s a unique moment on the subway sometimes, when two cars ride along the rails next to one another. Usually one is a local train and the other an express. There’s some unwritten rule that express trains have the right of way. It makes sense, they’re entire existence is meant to get people from point A to point B faster by skipping unnecessary stops in between. Why that means it’s okay to leave the local train sitting in a station for ten minutes waiting for express train passengers to arrive and make a transfer is beyond me. Don’t local passengers have just as much right to get to their destination as quickly as possible?

In any case, in this special moment when these two trains ride side by side, if you take a moment to look out the windows, which normally seem pointless in the dark tunnels underground, you will have a sense of floating. In the moments before one train takes the lead and speeds away, the two seem to be stopping in time to say hello. Where moments before the dark beams of the tunnels flashed by, now you have cars and windows bobbing along outside your window. In those frozen moments, you can look into the train across the way, if your own train has lost interest to you, and see a new world of travelers making their way through the world. They are somehow oblivious to your stares as they quietly talk to a friend or read their newspaper or cuddle their child. If you’re particularly lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of a train performer in the midst of some wildly insane hip hop moves or frozen in a high C with their head thrown back. Occasionally, a school group will meander past and the excited children who always seem to be riding the train for the very first time will be waving enthusiastically at you with big grins across their face. If you catch their energy and return their wave, passengers in your own train may tilt their heads. With their backs to the window, they do not see the glimpses of another subway ride. To them, you are waving to a black nothingness and smiling at your own reflection. Perhaps one or two others on your train also wave. You can see who else is frozen in time with you. Maybe you catch their eye. A rare connection in a multitude of people too busy with their own lives to notice the life happening right next to them. Before you know it, the express train speeds ahead. One falls behind, the school children are on their way and their smiles are replaced with black.

Sometimes you see them again when the trains meet moments later across the subway platform. But who can remember a face seen floating through tunnels deep underground?

Magical Birthdays [meant for yesterday]

We gain a whole year in just one day.

It’s always seemed a little odd to me.

Two days ago, someone asked me how old I was. I hesitated. Not because I couldn’t remember or anything as simple as that. But because for just a moment I really questioned just how old I was. I mean, in just 48 hours, I’d be a year older. Well, really in 48 hours I’d be 48 hours older. BUT I’d also be able to claim a whole other year of experience and wisdom. And in that moment, when asked my age, I wanted that extra year. If I rounded up, I was clearly already there. But social tradition said I was the same age I was 363 days ago. So I was.

But 48 hours later, the whole scenario is rather odd. If someone asked me my age today, I’d be an entire year older than I was yesterday. It's not as though I magically jumped forward one whole year at some point in the day. Or is it?

Birthdays must have special qualities to absorb 365 days all into 24 hours. Impressive, huh?

It's the little things

The way a crow

Shook down on me

A dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

~Robert Frost

Our Response Defines Us...mosaics anyone?

An earthquake is never something to joke about, but as no injuries have been reported, I just have to give some credit to this woman's optimism in the face of a dangerous situation:

Sandra Hall, owner of Antiques and Goodies in Eureka, said furniture fell over, nearly all her lamps broke and the handful of customers in her store got a big scare.

"It was shaking for a very long time," said Hall.

She said it was the most dramatic quake in the 30 years the store has been open.

"We'll be having a sale on broken china for those who like to do mosaics," she said.

Maybe "opportunism" is the better word. :)

Full Story Here

Sunday Afternoon

I’m not sure why, but there is something incredibly perfect about a Sunday afternoon. It’s my favorite time of the week. Always has been.

Sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, a bagel with schmear, and my journal or a letter to a friend. Music soothing the air in the small apartment I share with my friend, Jen. Our cats chasing each other back and forth across the living room and testing our patience with the no-countertop rules. Outside the window, the snow is trying to so hard to come down to earth. Tiny flurries you can hardly see – the brave snowflakes that ventured out alone – not willing to wait for the masses to fall in a blizzard that will blanket the city in silence. These snowflakes drift aimlessly down to earth, taking their time, enjoying the journey. Then facing the buffeting wind that seems to foil their plans and practically lifts them back up to the heavens from which they escaped. It’s a perfect snow. A perfect day. A Sunday afternoon.