Kindness in the Big Apple

Earlier this month I spent three days in New York City. Back in 1973, when I finished United’s flight attendant school in Chicago, I was almost assigned Newark, New Jersey as my home base. I was happy to get D.C. because I had been to NYC in the early 70’s and I found it rushed and unfriendly. I know now it was me, not the people.

This visit I went into a shop to buy a loaf of gluten free bread to take home. The young Hispanic man asked if I wanted a plastic bag. The bread was wrapped in plastic so I felt confused, like I couldn’t hear him.

“Maybe it’s my age, but I tend to drift off sometimes and I don’t hear,” I told him.

“I can’t ever hear my mom, so I don’t think it’s your age. She calls me and I actually don’t hear her. I don’t know what it is,” he said.

I decided to use my intuitive skills. “Maybe you were meant to have another name, and you would respond to that one. Something like Jim Bob. That would get your attention.”

We had a laugh and off I went, only to return for lunch. As he handed me my take-out, he leaned forward and smiled. “Have an amazing life,” he told me.

Oh how wrong I was about New Yorkers. From the helpful girls on the subway, to the tourist family by Rockefeller Center, to the older man who told me the city was covered with elm trees until the blight, to the maintenance man who leaned on his broom and laughed when I told him I’d been walking in circles. Their friendliness enveloped me like a warm coat. And with 40 mph winds and temps in the low 30’s, I needed it.

Love and Intuition

I often wonder, “Who loves me?” I don’t have a pet, but I do have a caring family and a bunch of sweet friends. Outside of that, I have to think long and deep.

At the beginning of my pro bono work with police, before I had a plethora of contacts, I had to convince skeptical detectives of my skill. I had a set question for them, “Do you love your wife or girlfriend?” Yes, they’d say, and I’d say, “Prove it.” Every time they were stumped.

I felt stumped yesterday when a record snow fell into my life and onto the long lane that starts outside my front door. I didn’t think about how the only sounds I hear on this hill are a distant train whistle or bird songs. I didn’t think about how much fun I have when I drive in my yard and no one cares, and the thrill when wild turkeys come to visit. I only felt sorry for myself, alone at the end of the world. Or rather, my world.

My pity party lasted through cocktail hour and Netflix. As I sipped my potato vodka, I heard the roar of a snow blower. Low and behold, my three strong neighbors came to my rescue. I bundled up, gave them tissues for their snow tears, cheers for their bravery, and a bunch of cold hard cash. They would have done it for free but luckily, I had money to spare.

Today my tunnel of shoveled snow felt like love. A phone call from an old friend and bright sun through my new windows felt like love. Plans for spring felt like love.

I need to work harder to see my friendly encounters as love. Friendship is love, and stuff can’t matter because it all gets old and worn out.

My new year’s resolution was to not use so many swears, as the kids call it now. I added another resolution today. I will use my intuition to feel love, and love feels young. 

Despair and Hope

The end of December can be fraught with dejection. My worst childhood Christmas came in 1960 when I didn’t get a Chatty Cathy doll. Mom said, too expensive. Instead I got a blue stuffed poodle (the previous year I had asked for a dog).

This Christmas, I looked for that doll on eBay, but soon realized it wouldn’t heal me. I had to live in the present. On my fridge, I taped up some notes I got from young piano students: “You’re a real light saber!” “I hope you get to see a lot of movies on your vacation.” “You’re so funny.”

I want to be hopeful. I look forward to a new year, new ideas, new gifts and new surprises. Who cares if I don’t get what I think I want? That blue poodle was more cuddly than a plastic doll, and since my mother was on the outside edge of the autism spectrum, I sure needed a good cuddle.

As we pass into the new year, appreciate what others might know about you that you don’t know yourself. Keep connections and make some new ones. Try to replace times of despair with hope.  

Time Travel at the Movies

Young Kate (maybe she’s thirty?) and I went to the matinee on Friday to see Brooklyn, an Irish period drama set in the fifties. When I taught Kate music as a teen, her mom Claire and I used to talk about movies and books. I laughed at Claire’s love of romance and she laughed at my lack of interest in the classics.

Claire died of cancer around the same time my mom died, so Kate and I have a bond we wish we wouldn’t. But I imagine it’s nice for Kate to have someone who talks about her mom. From the afterlife, I think Claire smiles at us, especially when we see the romantic flicks.

I love period pieces. They allow me to time travel to a different decade and to other countries. For two hours, I am someone else. This time, I was young and beautiful, with creamy skin and lots of angst.

I don’t know why so many people widen their eyes when I say I time travel. Isn’t that what all of you do when you read a fabulous book? Or tell a story from the past? Or smell the scents of your childhood? I love the future the most; it beckons. But the past definitely has its virtues.

Intuitive Connections with Animals

For many years my connection with animals has been confined to Leon, a 6 year old Rottweiler boxer mix who lives next door.  He woofs when I get home and barks at visitors.  He’s my guard dog and I only have to feed him gluten free treats. 

My minimal exposure to animals changed last weekend in Montauk, New York, at the eastern tip of Long Island, where a majority of the land is preserved.  On my first walk, I said hello to a momma and baby dear.  The second day, she stood in the yard and mimicked me when I wagged my hips three times.  As I talked to her, she moved closer.  How shocking, since I never connect with the bunnies and groundhogs at home.

Next I met Yankee, a strong willed horse with a thick coat ready for winter.  On our trail ride through the forest on the way to the beach, he tested me.  I sang Yankee Doodle Dandy verses and after a soft rendition of Oh What a Beautiful Morning, he finally settled.  By the end of the ride, I felt like we were best friends. 

Why did I not realize the intuitive connection between myself and an animal?  Too concerned with children and adults, I narrowed my world.  In Montauk, through the haze of prior ignorance, I found a special kind of fun.  As my grumpy dad used to say, we learn something new every day.

Intuitive Connections All Day

Intuition is prevalent in almost everything we do.  If you ride a motorcycle with another person, you have to lean together.  It’s the same with slow dancing.  You lean together and foresee the other person’s movement without the use of your eyes.  You become one entity. 

When I give speeches, I make a loose plan.  A firm one can’t work.  One audience laughs every few sentences while another acts intense and quiet.  I have to watch and feel, then connect and adapt. 

Musicians rely heavily on intuition.  We aren’t machines that keep a steady rhythm.  We dip and weave, slow down and rise up.  With one musician, I lead.  With another, I follow.  We don’t discuss it in advance.  Soon after we start, we just know and it falls into place.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, she loved to move.  Elbows jutted as she prodded my insides.  I thought at the time I wouldn’t know her until I saw her face, but in retrospect I did know her.  She rested, then moved fast when she was awake, same as she does now at 31.   My son was quiet in my womb.  Today at 24 he likes to move slowly and his body stays calm.

We connect all day.  Even alone, we connect with our own body and mind.  We discern what’s right without a map.  We feel our lives.  We know.  Feeling becomes knowing. 

My Half Birthday

Today I am 64 ½.  Most of the time, I’m not bothered by my advanced age.  Since I don’t have a great attachment to my body, I see it as a car to be maintained.  I gas it up (good food), add oil (water) and keep it running (walks or piano playing every day).  I’m a great believer in intuition, which has no roots in physical reality, and my interest in perception, instinct and insight is more temporal than corporal.  I call myself a walking head. 

I am the youngest I will ever be and my half birthday makes me happy.  My phone won’t ring off the hook, my Facebook page will be silent and I don’t need to thank my intelligent, long gone mother for birthing me. 

I laughed and acted silly as my neighbor and I walked past tall maple trees this morning.  My green beans from a local organic farmer pumped up my breakfast.  Today’s errands will be laced with trying to make people laugh because I am celebrating a day like any other.  And yet, I think I only have 38 more half birthdays.  Maybe next one I’ll take a vacation. 

Dip into life.  Be silly sometimes, like the 5 year old who just started Big Kids School.  Fly backwards through time and be 4 for a minute.  Have some beans.