Back to Normal

I thought I would have more notes from the strike to share, but I didn't try to go in to work on Thursday, which ended up being the last day of the strike. I'm glad it's over, and I hope the transit workers manage to get a decent contract even though they went back to work.

Today my office was closed for the holiday and I made my way into Manhattan in the late afternoon to do some holiday shopping. I felt more pleasant anticipation about taking the subway than I can ever remember feeling.

In my neighborhood station, it was relatively empty as I descended the stairs. Before I went through the turnstile and down the second set of stairs to the platform, I turned back and waved to the token clerk. "Welcome back," I said. She smiled warmly and waved back to me.

I tried the "welcome back" line on the conductor of the #2 train I eventually boarded and also on the token clerk at 72nd St. as I was leaving. Neither were particularly impressed. The conductor, an older man, said "thank you," but seemed almost angry, didn't look at me. The token clerk, a woman perhaps in her thirties, also said "thank you" but didn't look up from the newspaper she was reading behind the glass.

I don't know why I felt so compelled to reach out. I think I've been watching too much TV coverage of the strike and wanted to be part of the feel-good story about New Yorkers embracing the return of the subway workers. But also, I was sincerely glad to see them back.

Strike Notes

Today was Day 2, as the newscasters keep portentously announcing. Yesterday I worked at home and that was a nice break for me. Today, though, I joined the brigades of Brooklyn Bridge walkers to get to my office. Well, I got a ride part of the way in, but I walked all the way home, about four miles maybe. It took me two hours, 4:30 to 6:30. Got to see the sunset from the Brooklyn Bridge, which was lovely and inspiring. The best part, though, was being greeted by our gregarious borough president Marty Markowitz as we approached the Brooklyn side.

"Welcome to Brooklyn," he boomed. "Everything's all right, you're back in Brooklyn. You're home."

I'ts nice to hear that once in awhile.

Waiting again

Tonight it seems like there really might be a strike. Again, I am so tired I would almost welcome it (because I would stay home from work), selfish as that is of me.

I still have lots of my students' research papers to grade. Tonight I was supposed to meet with someone to exchange our students' portfolios (a requirement where I teach) but he called me to see if we could postpone because he was feeling exhausted. I had no trouble granting that request since I, too, am exhausted.

After work I graded a couple of papers (lying on the couch of course) and then fell asleep to the TV station NY 1 running the same news over and over again. Somewhere in my sleep I heard Roger Touissant's voice speaking passionately and bitterly. "Tired, tired, tired. . . . " he was saying. Yes, I thought.

Snippets

My hair has blond highlights again and I love it. It's a time-consuming process, sitting there while the stylist wraps individual sections of your hair into aluminum foil packets after slathering evil-smelling chemical goo on it with something that looks like a paintbrush. After awhile, though, I didn't notice the smell. I started to feel very peaceful in my chair, letting someone else be in charge for awhile, just letting my mind go off somewhere. My stylist said, "You can read, you know," worried I think that I was trying to be polite by not opening the four magazines I had grabbed. I said, "No, that's okay, I'm kind of enjoying this, just spacing out." When we had the twenty-minute break for the chemicals to seep in, I dove into Glamour with great alacrity. I avoided the sex stories and went for the Do's and Don'ts. Amusingly, a man had written in to protest his wife's appearance as a "don't" for wearing feline accessories (fake leopard fur, etc.) Apparently she wears this stuff to draw attention to her work as a champion of cats in need of protection or help.

After the 20 minutes were up, the stylist washed and cut my hair. I love to watch her at work because she gets totally focused, sifting through the different layers, drawing them out with her fingers, snipping ever so delicately at the ends.

I love the haircut, too, and am pleased to have spiffed up my look a bit. The best part was that I was actually going out afterwards, rather than, for example, home to take a nap. I got to show off my new look to my friend S., whom I hadn't seen in a while. We went to dinner and to the theater--a Restoration comedy by Thomas Wycherly. Riotously funny, over-the-top, and silly.

A long day, but a fun one.



By the way, um. . . . comments are welcome. I'd love to hear from anyone who is out there reading. In addition, of course, to jo(e), my faithful commenter.

Countdown

Anyone else out there who would like to know already if the transit strike is on?

It's 1:00 a.m., the deadline is an hour past. Oh, just heard, the clock has officially been stopped. I think that means there is hope that an agreement will be reached. Such drama.

Which means, in turn, that I should go to bed, since my complicated, heavily transit-dependent day will go on as scheduled.

I have to admit there is this tiny part of me that has been hoping for a strike so I can stay home tomorrow (I took work home from the office, and my other obligations will be cancelled if there is a strike). And then I feel guilty, because the strike will cost the workers and the city a lot of money and be a catastrophe for the city economically and a huge inconvenience for all the people who don't have the option of taking work home, as I do. And then, of course, I realize, my secret thoughts have absolutely no effect on the negotiations going on at the Grand Hyatt. It doesn't matter whether I want the strike to happen or not. This realization is both annoying and something of a relief.

Party Report

So, not only did I bring food for the last-class party my students had requested but practically every single student brought something. We had a cornucopia of junk food: cookies, Entenmann's cupcakes, lots and lots of chips and popcorn, chocolates, candy canes (not peppermint but some updated version in flourescent colors like orange and yellow and pink), soda, orange juice. Everyone gathered around and opened bags and laid things out on my teacher's desk and some of the other chair-desks. I thought, oh, this is going well, but then they all retreated back to their seats with their food and sat in their usual little groups and chatted. I tried a couple of times to get us all talking about something but they weren't buying. So then I just went around and visited the little groups, some of which seemed more open to talking to the teacher than others. Some of the students wanted to take pictures of me with their camera phones, alone or with them. That was sweet.

So it was a good party in the end.

Extra: Students Cheer Their Professor Up

Tonight my students--well, one of them, a guy who is among the most talkative--asked if we could have a party on Wednesday, which is the last night of class. I thought it was very sweet. They're so young, most of them, first semester in college. "Sure," I said, "we can have a party. You guys can bring stuff." Then I said, "I'll bring some stuff too, I'll bring soda and chips or something." Meanwhile, I'm thinking, this is after coming from work and then physical therapy and lugging my big bag around with all their papers, how am I going to do this? But okay, I'll do it somehow. Then another one of the guys, who didn't talk much during the first half of the term, and now seems to be always talking, although usually he's on some kind of tangent, and addresses his comments directly to me rather than to the class, said, "I'll bring these," gesturing at the Cup O' Noodles soup he had been consuming with gusto. "I can steal 25 of them." I have no idea what he was talking about--where was he going to steal them from?--and I didn't really want to know, so I just gave him a blank look and moved on.

Later on, in the adjunct room, I told one of my colleagues this story. He thought it was very funny. We wondered if the student would actually bring cups of soup for everyone, and if so, would he have added the water and heated them up somewhere first?

I am very tired tonight but feeling more peaceful.

The Basics

In my quest for companionship of the opposite sex and whatever that might lead to, I have wearily taken to the internet dating sites again. There's one that asks you to name the five things you can't live without. It's all so tongue-in-cheek. In the past, I have written lists that included things like coffee, a good bookstore, red wine.

I find myself no longer able to enter into the tongue-in-cheek spirit of these lists. What can I not live without? Well, food, water, shelter, for starters. So that's what I wrote. I also wrote that I count myself among the fortunate to have those things.

So I guess this is another post about gratitude, although I am not feeling particularly grateful tonight--rather, frustrated, tired, sad, irritable. But I assume those feelings will pass, as they usually do.

As my mother used to say, "Tomorrow is another day." (I only found out years later that Scarlett O'Hara said this in Gone With the Wind, a movie that was shunned in my left-wing household as an "apology for the South." I don't think my mother knew that Scarlett said this.)

More gratitude

Why be grateful only once a year?

Today, I am grateful for:

1) Today itself. Somehow, serenity has seeped into my life for a few hours. The quietness of yoga, the calmness of my teacher who demonstrates the poses helpfully, without drama, scooting her lithe body into different places on the wooden floor so we can all see. The spaciousness of the room where we have class. The cold bright sunny day afterwards. Walking on the avenue looking for a birthday gift for my niece. The bookstore where I literally fell into the blue couch under the psychology section, a good place to rest and page through a few books, looking for insight. A nap on my own couch afterwards with the soporific influence of college football on TV in the background.

2) A pleasant evening last night with an intelligent and kind man who seemed to enjoy talking to me.

3) My sister, who came over last night after my early-evening date with the man described in #2 so we could watch the Knots Landing reunion together.

4) My long-time therapist, who, despite all the static and struggle I sometimes feel between us, manages to convey that he cares about me and respects me. Or perhaps what I am grateful for is my ability to perceive this.

5) Having dinner plans tonight.

(Speaking of which, I better go get ready.)