A New Michiganer

Back to Brooklyn

Going back to Brooklyn, for me, represents so many things. Brooklyn, the city I landed in as a teenager during the Saturday Night Fever era when it was everyone's goal to "get the hell out of Brooklyn!" is not just any city.  It is Israel, Chinatown, Little Odessa, Saudi Arabia, Punjab and Ethiopia, depending on what block you happen to be visiting.

It's a place where "Hey!" is the greeting of choice and nobody bothers with niceties - people simply cut to the chase.  It's the land of filthy streets and pigeons circling buildings - and every kind of ethnic delicacy imaginable for sale at reasonable prices.  The pizza crust is crispy, the shwarma is authentic, the restaurants include the gratuity on the bill so their waiters don't get stiffed, and there is no item that you can't find for sale within a 10-block radius.  It is a crowded, huddled mass of people bursting with bargains galore, cement playgrounds and lots and lots of noise.

And for this Michiginar, Brooklyn was the perfect holiday getaway. 

I visited a local supermarket to run some errands - and was shocked back into the thrill of the kill in the parking lot when I scored a good space by racing someone who saw the spot at the same time as I. As I pulled into the spot, I resisted the instinct to gloat, remembering that most Brooklyn people use "The Club" in their vehicle.  The Club is a heavy theft deterrant metal bar - that locks the steering wheel, but could just as easily be used as a device to bludgeon people who grab a coveted parking spot and gloat about it.

Inside the store were more surprises.  Unlike Michigan, where the supermarkets take up lots of space with wide aisles and a select number of products on the shelves, this ShopRite store crammed merchandise into its aisles.  The shelves seemed endless and stocked to the rafters.  And hordes of people poured in and out of the store grabbing the bargains advertised in the ShopRite circular.

There were about 16 checkout lines open.  None of the cashiers were chatting--or sharing pie recipes as they do in Michigan.  They were busy scanning and getting their lines of customers out the door as efficiently as possible.

As I approached the checkout line, I decided to do a Michigan experiment.  A big young man with a "Brooklyn" tattoo on his forearm was scanning items in a mechanical haze.  I put on my very best Michigan cheerleader peppy smile.

"Hi," I chirped.  "How's your day going?"

His brow puckered as he looked up from his scanner.  I kept the smile pasted on my face even though he was looking at me like he was ready to call the cops on this crazy woman.

"Is it going good?" I persisted.

"No," he grunted, turning his attention back to the items.

"Awww," I clucked sympathetically.  "So, what's wrong?"

The poor dude didn't know what to make of this customer who was playing cashier's therapist in his busy store.

"I got two more hours of this," he muttered.

"I'll bet it's tough at this time of the year."

He just shook his head, grunted and completed the sale and went on break.

And I went home singing the "I love New York" theme song.

Promise Me You Won't Write About This...

Thanksgiving has come and gone and I'm not sure what precisely I am allowed to write about.  You see, my husband has finally come to grips with the fact that he married a writer.  So, now I've got a laundry list of things he has forbidden me to blog about.  ("You can't tell me what to write!"  "Yes, I can, I'm your husband!" Hmmm...can't argue with that one, that you are!)  So, tabu topics aside, I'll try to keep it interesting nonetheless!

I am getting ready for the most amazing Shabbat ever - up at the cottage, where the sheen of the thinnest veneer of ice is glistening on the deck and snow is flurrying over the lake.  The sun is shining through puffy clouds.  Tonight I am planning a romantic dinner - perhaps with a fire in the fireplace - but definitely with Shabbat candles, great food and amazing wine we bought yesterday in Southfield. 

It is our first Shabbat up here at the cottage and I am excited about being shut-in for 26 hours with nothing to do but converse, read and take warm walks in my fur coat.  The dough is rising for my challah and I may even attempt to make a lemon meringue pie just to make things extra special.  It's funny - Black Friday - when most people are out shopping for clothing - I will hit the food stores.  Since we opted out of yesterday's traditional Thanksgiving festivities, dining at the Mazel Tov cafe in beautiful Windsor, Ontario with friends instead, my cooking day is one day off from the rest of the world's.  Welcome to the crazy calendar of Jewish living.  Instead, I will be cooking today--and LOVING IT!

I have spent the past week or so laughing more than I ever have.  It started with the movie, "It's Complicated" which sent both my husband and myself into paroxysms of uncontrolled laughter until we were both crying.  And the laughing has continued.  My husband is excellent company.  It isn't that he is funny - in fact, we are both pretty serious by nature, but somehow we share the same very quirky sense of humor.  And when he starts laughing, lately I can't stop.  They say that laughing is very healthy.  So, hopefully, this will begin our new health and fitness program.

So, it's off to the food stores -- to the chatty cashiers--and to the garage to hopefully dig out some of my cooking utensils - they are in there, I know, somewhere...along with my winter boots - which I think I may need sooner rather than later!

Happy Thanksgiving Weekend to all!  And sending everyone gales of laughter to make your days happy and healthy!

 

 

A Stroll to U of M

Today I took a stroll to the U of M campus, just a stone's throw from my apartment.  It's fun to walk around there, even if I feel like I've got to be the oldest person within a 20-mile radius...

There's something about a town that is completely centered around a university - it's not at all like CUNY or other New York University systems that are peppered between office buildings, retailers, old, jaded executives, Gramercy Park mommies, and the like.  Here, it's ALL about the University.  This city lives for its students.  The day they go home, it's like a ghost town.  But with fall in bloom and football games still in the offing, today there were denim-clad 20-year olds, as far as the eye could see, mostly with hands up to their ears, oblivious to oncoming traffic, chatting on their cellphones.

Two guys were jogging around the campus holding a pole with a flag blowing in the breeze (didn't your Mommy ever tell you not to run around with a stick...you can poke out your eye!  Yeah, I was tempted to say something, but I didn't!).

There were plenty of runners, ipods strapped to upper arms.  Do I miss the hustle and bustle of people -- even some my own age -- that I saw earlier this week in New York?  You bet.  Do I miss the excitement, the energy, the split second precision, the long strides, the "get me there NOW!" feeling of New York City?  And of course there was the proverbial Michigan, "How's your day going?" from the shopkeepers I encountered on my journey.  Yes, I cannot tell a lie.  I'm homesick.

There's quite a difference  between jolting, energetic, New York's rows of stands, handbag hawkers, food carts, vendor vans, and the sunny sidewalk stands here, that sell every sort of derivative "U of M" T-shirt from the plain to the "don't wear this home to Mom" variety.  Here the smell of pizza wafts along the quad, mingling with the fragrance of composting fall leaves to create an interesting pungency, quite unique to Ann Arbor.

It was a beautiful day for a walk in Ann Arbor.  Maybe I'll take another one before the sun sets on the campus of the University of Michigan.  But I'll still miss New York.