Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

PYHO: Coming Home...

As I begin to write this, the song "Coming Home" by Diddy who was once P. Diddy and is now Diddy- Dirty Money runs through my head.  It's all about returning home to the place where you came from - going back to your origins, your roots.  At least that's how I'm reading it.   I'm feeling a little nostalgic as the song's chorus goes through my head.  Maybe because soon I will be returning home.


In about 24 hours, we are heading back to New York City, a place that was once home.  I'm excited to be going. I'm excited to see old friends and their families.  I'm excited for the boys to see the city again, and to soak in the city's energy.  They're old enough now to retain the memories.  Hopefully the busyness and the constant noise of the city won't affect them too much.  I'm looking forward to revisiting and getting reacquainted with the place that was home to me for over thirty years.


It's been almost two years - 21 months to be exact - since I've been back there.   Things most likely have changed.  We already know that The Husband's favorite Cuban-Chinese restaurant, La Caridad's located on the Upper West Side is no longer there.  We had several dates there -- it was a favorite haunt of ours.  And I've heard that the Barnes & Nobles where I used to frequent a lot is no longer on 66th and Broadway.  It's closed.  That bookstore was a second home to me.   Hopefully the one on 84th store is still in existence.


Like I'm really not trying to be sentimental, and yet here I am, close to tears.  I think of a line from the movie, Grosse Pointe Blank, where John Cusack says "Well...you can't go home again, but at least you can shop there."  It's one of the funniest lines in the movie, especially because he pulls up in front of his old house and it's been turned into a little mini-mart along the lines of a 7-Eleven.  That line resonates with me because it expresses the point so well that things change, and home won't be exactly what it was when you were living there.  I feel that way about New York City.  Home is no longer what it once was.   And that's usual and pretty typical of any place where we've spent our childhood and early adult years.  And yet I'm still affected...


I love that my two older boys get to see NYC again...to see the subways that they talk about often and love .  They'll actually get to ride them, now and remember the experience.   Hopefully we'll make it up to the Bronx and the neighborhood where I grew up and where the Grandma still lives and I can show them the house I grew up in.  We can show them the new Yankee Stadium and they can ride that 4 train past it just like they see on t.v. when we watch the Yankees play baseball at their home stadium.


I'm looking forward to walking along Riverside Dr. near Grant's tomb and Riverside Church  - the area where I used to work and the setting of one of my novels.   Maybe we'll hit the Chelsea area of Manhattan where I used to live as a single woman, where The Husband courted me for a year.  We'll see those restaurants and diners along 23rd Street where we used to have lunches and dinners - is  the Empire Diner still there on 23rd and 10th Avenue?


As I write this, an anxious pit settles in my stomach.  What else has changed?  What places will we go to that will not be there anymore?  Because, truthfully when those places close - the La Caridads, the Barnes & Nobles' - those symbols of our old life, the slices of evidence of what we used to do and where we used to be back then, disappears as well.  All we're left with is the memories-- and the memories tend to get fuzzy over time.   I mean, I rely on those symbols to rekindle the old memories.  I need to see Grant's Tomb because it triggers my memories of the days when I worked near there.   Otherwise, I begin to forget what it was like back then, and I don't want to forget.  I don't want to forget the place where I came from, grew up in, and lived a good part of my adult life in.


So...I'll try to go with no expectations, just an open mind to the way the Bronx and Manhattan I used to live, work and breathe in - is now.   Enjoy the city as it is, with the Husband and the boys.  Can't wait to show the boys the big public library on 5th Avenue between 40th & 42nd streets with the two big stone lions sitting in front.  With the few days we have there, I'll soak in the city, enjoy it and take a package of Kleenex with me to carry along the way because, you know, The Husband might just get teary-eyed.  
:-))




Monday, September 6, 2010

Why Do I Obsess Over My Wood Floors?


Two years ago when my husband and I first looked at the house we live in now, what we noticed first was the endless stream of beautiful hardwood floors.  The flooring runs throughout the entire house like a main artery connecting our boys' bedrooms at one end of the house to the foyer and living room and onward to the master bedroom, the family room, dining area and ending in the kitchen.  I was smitten.  From the time my eyes laid upon those floors, I felt the house speak to me.  


Fast forward to the present and these smooth, hardwood floors are full of dents, nicks and (gasp!) a few small holes due to the endless dropping of toys and heavy objects by my two older boys.  Everything from the big dump truck to the small wooden trains to small chairs being toppled over, to a standard sized bowling pin (don't ask!).  I cringe as I'm writing this, remembering the scuffed white bowling pin being dropped on the floor by my then 2 year old. The sound of the pin hitting the floor felt like an explosion to my ears as I thought of the mark that would be left behind on the precious floors.   I just about died inside.  I know I blacked out for a moment. 


These smooth floors have now gained "character" my husband tells me.  I get that he's trying to make me feel good.  Put a positive spin on the situation. It's not quite working.  


Trust me, I'm not the materialistic type.  Really I'm not.  I don't need to have the latest of anything whether it's clothing or shoes or appliances or furniture.  I'm still trying to wear several clothing items that I obtained back in college twenty years back.  Items I should truly let go of and replace, especially since my body has changed due to having birthed 3 children in six years.   I just like having a nice home.  A neat, orderly, clean and beautiful oasis that we, as a family, can step into and breathe a sigh of relief.  One that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye and inviting to all, friends and family alike, who walk into it.  


To me our dented wood floors are symbolic of a bigger issue and begs the question I often ask: can I have an attractive looking home while raising three children?  I've been told not to expect much now that I have kids.  To get used to the sticky walls, the rooms cluttered with toys and other bric-brac, the crayon-marked curtains, the scuffed floorboards.  To not even think of getting new or nice anything: furniture, art, appliances, until the children get older.  Really?  Do I have to wait more than a decade before my home is house beautiful again (my youngest is only 6 months)? Ten years feels like a long time. 


Honestly, I'm not looking for magazine house beautiful just a beautiful home.  I really believe I can have it, still.  Am I crazy to have that belief?  Am I holding onto a pipe dream?


If any of you have any advice or feedback, I gladly welcome it.


In the meantime, I'll continue living for the dream, as I run my finger over another gash in the floor.  Now where did this one come from?