Back in the City.
It was a long, long haul... changing my flight in at the request of a friend, putting me here on Saturday instead of yesterday, which meant no lovely non stop flight, but, going West in order to fly East. To accomplish this goal, I was up at 4am, played rounds of 'fetch' with Sophie, repacked the case, made sure food and water was filled up, left a note for The Investment, and headed off in Norma.
Times like this, in the cold pre-dawn on a long open highway, I'm glad I drive a Benz... you feel safe.
Drive to the shuttle van to Vegas to the airline that flew me to San Francisco (I've always wanted to see it.... looked really nice from the airport windows) to another plane to another long haul to New York City... I was teary when I saw the lights outside my window.
The flight turned out to be great fun.... I kept thinking one of the attendants looked familiar... and, finally, he said, "Didn't you fly to Dulles last spring?". Indeed I had... with his co partners in flight crime (as it were)... so, I again stood in the back of the plane in the galley with S and the crew, chatting about books and films and S's ideas for books and how weight had gone up and down for some and what we'd all been doing.... another passenger asked, "How can you remember each other from one flight?" We looked at her as if to say, "How can't you?" I was tickled to see them again, we laughed and talked and stood there until the weather and the captain, whom I'm sure really made the announcement out of jealousy, sent me back to my seat. Email addresses were exchanged, we agreed to try and meet for drinks while I'm here, and that was that.
Going from JFK to CF's was tough... I'm used to being picked up or taking a train a different way, as I did the last two times I flew. It was convenient, and always good to see a friend. This time, it's the AirTran, struggling with the MTA's biggest scam, the AirTran's ticket, which you cannot buy with a bill larger than a tenspot because you cannot get more than $6 in change. Swiping a card means not a real swipe, but, putting it in and out of a little slot at the perfect speed...not too fast, not too slow... just right. I felt like Goldilocks, only with short hair and a foul mouth.
Ah, then, there is the 'A' train.... one of two trains travelers rely on to go to and from JFK. So, it runs when it wants to run. We were there 40 minutes.... again, I was fortunate, a great guy sat with me so I'd not be alone on the train... we chatted and laughed and he gave me his MTA map. At 4th and Borrough Hall, I had to switch to the F train. The F is called the F for a good reason... it's simply the most Fucked Up train I've ever ridden. People who get out of psych wards are given their meds and a pass to the F train when they get out. When you are paroled, you get a pass to the F. Or the Goddamn G train. The F on a weekend night....oh, dear.
It's 2am. I have my suitcase, my 'purse' and my laptop bag. Two stops before mine, a large man gets on the train car with me, doubling the riding population.... he's large, smelly and drunk. He lights a bent cigarette, leans towards me and says, "Yo gots some nice titties!!".
I had on a sweater and heavy coat.... I think he was remembering someone from long ago he had met OR it was a desperate move of flirtation.
I'm going with the first one.
He sat down, belched a couple of times, then threw up a little outside his mouth.... from there, he picked his nose.
My stop was there, I was off and laughing in relief.... it didn't bother me to drag my stuff down the wooden stairs of Avenue U to CF's house, with the two of us hugging and pleased and the older kids pulling my case of stairs that should never have passed inspection.
I sleep in the dining room on the floor on a nice mattress.... at least it's not the Titanic. The two cats show great interest in my stuff. I suddenly have a reader in Europe who also shows a great interest in my stuff, and it amuses me to no end. Funny how people hold themselves out to be womanly and tough, and what they really are tend to be controlling, toxic little girls... girls who think love is all about snooping, lying and showing no respect for anyone. I've found the more you announce what you are, the more you've no idea what it means.
I'm drifting here.
My life is going to be dance lessons with marvelous Russians who chatter with me after the girls are done, being able to cook again... huge meals for a family who loves my cooking... shopping on 86th Street again, seeing friends old and some I've met via the blog... and, and....
Going to my boys. That is best of all.
New York. It's my kind of town.