Have Yourself a Merry Little Thanksgiving

"That is certainly a gift," I said reverently when we passed this proud piece of taxidermy this evening. Being human, I have always envied those who have apartments in the beautiful buildings that line Central Park West, but now that I know they have stuffed turkeys waiting to be brought out and displayed for Thanksgiving I'll be more serious when I pick my lottery numbers. 

Gifts. 

We were gifted a beautiful day, and the time to play in the park.

We were gifted the golden ticket of balloon inflation. We have friends who live on 81st street between Columbus and Central Park West. What this means is that if they send you an invitation to a party at their place on Thanksgiving Eve you get to feel like a VIP by showing it to the police at the barricades who will then bestow admittance upon you to the apartment side (as opposed to the bone-crushing museum side) of the balloons. Of course I didn't strategize well and we ended up with our faces and bums simultaneously gridlocked with humanity -- while I pushed away an anxiety attack and about crushed the kids' hands -- but eventually we separated ourselves from the masses and proceeded with that VIP-thing I just mentioned. 

We were gifted hospitality and cheer. Whether alcohol, Rice Krispy treat, or kindness-induced, cheerful interactions are always appreciated. A gathering of happy people is a gift. This is the second year we have been invited to the balloon inflation soiree, and the second time I thought about the gift that the hosts are giving. The night before Thanksgiving cannot be a good time to prepare food and open up your home to a million hyper kids who, like Hansel and Gretel, scatter crumbs like their lives depend on it. But this family knows that their location is a gift -- and so year after year they share it. And as I type this they are surely schlepping bags of garbage to the chute, trying not to think of their grocery receipts as they scrape away left-overs, and wondering where to store the random dishes that got left behind. Hosting is a gift always, but it might be a slightly larger gift in a town where you develop a hump carrying your over-priced groceries, pay for your laundry, and don't have an already-trashed basement to dump extra kids. 

We have been gifted a cute sister/aunt. She was gifted a job to help wrangle the kids at the party... After seeing all the warts of human beings tonight (during that part when the masses didn't realize I was a VIP) -- feeling the pushes, hearing the rawther rude things, and watching various acts of crankinesses (and all that was just the kids and me), I can say that consistent sweetness is appreciated. As a witness to what she was up against, I was touched when she came home and didn't say anything snarky about the quantity or quality of the kids, but simply said, "I hope that they thought I did a good job. I tried." Apparently different adults had different opinions of how their offspring should be managed. And apparently some kids think it's okay to throw their no longer wanted cupcakes on the floor. Ah well... she was gifted a Thanksgiving Day Parade memory that she will surely remember.

We have been gifted memories. When we moved to the city it was November and my mother and father-in-law flew across the country to visit us in our still-boxed apartment to share our first Thanksgiving away from "home." I well-remember pushing the stroller in the crowds as we walked the twenty or so blocks (which feels like A LOT when you are used to planting it in a car) to the balloon inflation. I was freezing in some spots and sweltering in others, worried for the welfare of my babies, and I had sore feet from my new boots. I swore that we would never do it again. And yet we have... again and again... each time yielding a different type of irritating (and often cool) experience. Thus, the balloon inflation symbolizes our transition from overwhelmed visitor, to grumpy, persistent New Yorker. More importantly, it reminds us of long-suffering (grand)parents who supported our crazy move -- always remaining upbeat and optimistic as they limped against the crowd-surges, slept in the bathtub (not really, but close), and ate a purchased, reheated Thanksgiving dinner.

We are gifted the night... and lights to shimmer in the night. Last year after leaving the party we decided to cut home through the park. Usually we don't do a lot in the park after dark -- especially without a biggish group, or a dad -- but last year because there seemed to be more friendly-looking folks (i.e. tourists) wandering about the park, and because we couldn't face the crowds in the opposite direction, we dared. This year the kids insisted that we do it again. It is empowering to walk in the night. Like last year we saw the pretty lights from the New York Historical Society through the trees.

Like last year, once we exited the park we walked along the bleachers that are set up for the parade. On TV tomorrow the camera might pan on those sitting in the bleachers... Tonight, under the street lights, they belonged to us... We climbed and balanced on them and enthusiastically waved back to some kids passing by in a pedicab that was decorated with blue and red Christmas lights. 

Then we were gifted that turkey in the window.  Then we were gifted the clip of Obama pardoning, not one but TWO turkeys (Cobble and Gobble).  

Christmas does not have the monopoly on gifts.

We were gifted a beautiful day. And we are thankful. 

Too Long (Same Reason Why Folks Don't Go to Church)

Maybe 13 years ago, before kids, before living here, before cell phones with maps with a little blue-dot-me I was wandering the city with only myself, a crumpled map, and my own wits. You know where this is going to lead. I got horrifically lost and after trying to make heads or tails of my map (while trying not to make it too obvious that I was referencing a map -- I didn't want to be abducted/killed/whatever for goodness sake), I kind of thought I could figure it out if I could just find blasted Houston. That's HOW-ston -- even though it's spelled exactly like that city in Texas. 

Thanks to my husband who went to school out here, I honestly did know it was HOW-ston, but when the moment came to ask a passing stranger where in the flying-freak HOW-ston had snuck off to, what should pop out of my mouth but the word I'm more familiar with: Hooston. 

"Two more blocks that way. But remember it's HOW-ston, otherwise people will know you're not from here." Wink. I can absolutely see from this distance that he was just being pleasant. Actually, from the distance of about two minutes I could see that... I can own up to the fact that he did not deserve what he received... namely:

"I KNOW that. I KNOW that it's HOW-ston. SHEESH." Followed by muttering that surely sounded like: sprickets-brickets-wiggity-shmoo.

SoHo is the land where all the people in the world who want to do it different and let you know that they are cool enough and rich enough to do it different have converged. That street might be spelled the same as Hooston, but it's called HOW-ston. It's how they know. This is actually referencing the Bible, in the book of Judges (chapter 12) there is a story told of some conquerers who want to keep out those who escaped during the conquering and are trying to sneak back in. Everybody entering the city is asked to say a word, and if they don't say it correctly they are put to death. There you have it. 

Who knew SoHo had such a connection to the Bible? That's the awesome part of SoHo -- it has everything. 

Passing the funky store fronts, luring doorways, and illuminated giant eggs, we got buzzed down to a basement-level studio and entered the world of iconology in the Byzantine-Russian tradition. Thanks to a grant that NYCHEA received, and the coordinating efforts of a mom, today we had a field trip with other homeschoolers to  The Prosopon School of Iconology. 

It was a mind-expanding opportunity. I took mad notes, so let's see how this jumble comes out.

A. The gentle, sweet chutzpah of the instructors was like being spritzed with lemon water -- shocking and refreshing. Without blinking, and with zero squirming they presented their religious beliefs. I tried to analyze why this was so nice, and the word that kept coming to me was "pure." There was no effort to dilute their faith and the result of that is a purity that is hard to come by in a world of managing and maneuvering and being politically correct not for sensitivity's sake, but in order to not be criticized or seen as a rube. I'm not a total idiot -- I get that separation of church and state happened because of history and oppression, etc. -- we must be careful lest unholy groupthink become too powerful and cause war and torture and destruction... oh good golly, I'm not smart enough to go down this road (I am a partial idiot). I'm just recording what I felt: I wish that all beliefs could be presented with the same straight-forward, peaceful manner that I saw today. It would enable people to learn from each other and about each other and have rich stores of material to think about. I wish that teaching the ideas and stories I heard today could be seen in the same benign manner as math: it is what it is -- take it and use it if it benefits you, or learn of it, know that it exists, but ignore the bulk of it (and become an English major who has to wait tables to pay the rent)... 

B. Icons are a language. We could understood the female instructor because she communicated to us in English, but not the other instructor, her husband, because he only spoke in Russian. The creation of icons is a language that expresses faith to those who understand, or are willing to learn, the same language. Further, each human can be seen as an icon, as we were made in his likeness. 

C. Symbols help us understand in multiple layers.

D. Everything about the icon is symbolic. There are 22 steps. 

E. Wood is chosen as the "canvas" because it symbolizes the tree from the Garden of Eden as well as the cross. It is carved to almost look like it has a frame, to represent that we all have an inner part to us -- where our secret prayers should be happening -- as well as an outer part that ultimately will radiate if we have inner peace and goodness. The wood is then prepared in some manner that includes a very thin piece of linen. 

F. After the picture is outlined/drawn the first thing applied is red clay -- this represents three Hebrew words that have an almost identical sound, but three different meanings: "Adam" (representing humanity), "red," and "earth." The clay is put on -- not in brush strokes that might show the feelings/personality of person making the icon -- but kind of pushed onto the wood and let to settle and find it's natural equilibrium.  After the clay dries it is sanded to symbolize the need to refine one's self and then burnished with a piece of agate. 

G. The gold can only be applied to the areas where there is clay (usually this is the halo only). In order for the gold to adhere to the clay the icon maker puts his/her mouth right up close to the dried clay and  breathes. This not only makes the gold adhere, but also represents the breath of life that God gave, as well as the effort that we all need to make.

H. The only part of the icon that will have exposed clay is around the edges. This is to remind us that unlike what is being represented and gilded within the icon, we on the outside are human.

I. The gold represents all that is most precious, and it -- like all materials used -- is never synthetic. Everything is natural to represent that we use what God gives to us.

J. Designs can be carved into the gold ONLY with this type of gilding, because the clay underneath allows the proper yielding. Just as we should have soft hearts and be willing to accept impressions.

K. To make the pigments natural minerals and stones are ground and added to egg yolk and white wine. Very specific processes and layers follow to symbolize different things -- like a dark green always goes down first for the skin tones -- this represents the dark mysteries within each of us -- which is why we should not judge each other. At the end "light" is added to remind us that ultimately all can attain light. 

L. The pigments are allowed to develop naturally and then used with complimentary colors. Just as we all have different personalities, we should allow ourselves to exist in natural, complimentary, and if possible transparent ways. 

M. If the icon was left with just the pigments it would not be serviceable for very long before moisture and dust ruined it. In order to protect it it is covered with linseed oil. This is considered the anointing -- it strengthens the icon and makes it serviceable, so it can fulfill its purpose. 

Whew! That's the abbreviated version. My kiddos stood for an hour and a half listening (sometimes to Russian that was then translated), and watching this process. Their assessment: while there were a few boring parts, it was interesting. They both came home and wrote first drafts of interesting little reports. Here's the object lesson: the reason why icons exist is because they can transmit feelings and impressions that words (i.e. scriptures) cannot.  Compare all that explanation to this:

Surely a different experience to see images, rather than read. 

We then roamed SoHo. We went into a favorite shop called Loopy Mango. If somebody were to say to me: I can only stop at one place in SoHo -- what shop would best represent the neighborhood? Loopy Mango would certainly come to mind. 

We had lunch at an Argentinian restaurant where the food was tasty and we were the only people who were not impeccably dressed men sitting in groups of two. 

Eventually our weary selves ended up at the Scholastic store where we plunked down on the poufs inside the Magic School bus and watched an episode about the digestive system. A much better science lesson than I could have taught at that point in the day. 

SoHo takes it out of me -- has since the very first time I ventured there. But it also gives back. 

Smattering of Bologna and Sugar

Today some fun gals invited me to attend the taping of Live With Kelly and Michael. Interesting because a) I've never had the slightest interest to attend and b) if not doing the scheme attendance would not be possible because the folks line up for it at the exact time we walk to school.  In fact, for the last four years we passed by the line just about every morning, and while tourists looked through the glass at our family as though on display at the zoo (yes, there are schools here... and kids with backpacks who walk to them...), I thought: why would anybody want to go to that show?

And today, I was there. Just because. If you happen to think that it is slightly phony and plastic, I can tell you that you are wrong.  It is grossly phony and plastic. At one point I actually fantasized about telling all the people tittering at the banter to knock the heck off because they were encouraging the propagation of bologna/the dumbing down of America. But I slipped off my high horse and just enjoyed the fun company I was with.

One of the guests was a "hunky" (my friend's word) zoologist who brought some animals. I immediately felt sad that my kiddos weren't there to enjoy the critters. I came home and shared the facts as I remembered them, and then found the clip online for them to watch. Perhaps one of the most interesting concepts that I'll remember is the adaptation of ear size. Animals in hot climates often have large ears because as the blood flows through the thin skin it loses heat and helps cool the animal. Conversely, animals in cold regions often have small ears, so the heat isn't lost. That's interesting, right? Not as interesting as the story I told them that they cracked up over...

There was a man sitting in front of my group that had somewhat of a Newman-like vibe (I'm talking the Seinfeld-variety Newman, not the Paul...). During one of the commercial breaks when we were suffering through the banter Michael said something like: "Did you hear what he [hunky zoologist] just said about the mandrills? The redder the butts, the more attractive they are." To which Newman said, "That's motivation for me to take a hot shower." It's truly mind-blowing how quickly a visual of a person coming out of a shower with a bright red bum can pop into your head. 

While chatting with my friends, I mentioned that this weekend after seeing the Columbus Circle public art (finally -- the hurricane sabotaged our original ticket date), we were walking down Central Park West and saw a K-9 unit parked. Last year I think that we would have taken an inconspicuous peek and continued walking. This year I am so fine-tuned to find opportunities and experiences I struck up a conversation with the officer and before we could say Rin Tin Tin he had the dog out of his crate for a more intimate introduction. He chatted with us about the dog, but also about things like growing up in the city. Of course the kids liked the dog (he can go straight up ladders!), but later when we were still talking excitedly about the experience, they were equally happy about how funny and kind the officer was. I hope that the scheme has forever changed me into a person who consistently takes an extra step out of my comfort zone, for I'm starting to think that that is where a lot of great connections happen. 

This weekend we also took the kids to see Lincoln. I'm not sure I would have made that choice on my own, but after reading an article in the Times, The Dad felt that it would be good for the entire family. This has always been his parenting style -- the throw the spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks school of thought. I will say that when people ask us how we are able to take our kids places when we travel, I usually reply: "We have been building up their boredom-resistance since they were born." So, yes, they were bored. And yes, because of the K-9 thing we got to the theatre late, so ended up sitting in the front row, and yes there were a couple of gory parts... oh, and there was one potty joke (that I will posit was pretty awesome... I'll never look at a portrait of George Washington the same). That having been said, as we discussed the movie over lunch (we held their Levain cookie hostage until they offered up some critical analysis) I realized that the kids picked up on some great details and had some really insightful questions (like: "Why didn't Lincoln like his oldest son very much?"). Perhaps the lesson I was most grateful we discussed was: even great parents don't always act like great parents; even great men/women don't always know what is right; even cowards can have moments of greatness. If it's true that this is the age when my kids' characters and world views are being formed, I will -- without reservation -- assert that this movie is worth throwing into the mix. 

Other than the curriculum I brought home today from LIVE, we also had a regularly scheduled day. The Girl capped it off with a special activity -- "book club" at Sugar and Plumm with a favorite friend and her mom. The girls were a bit shy and looked to each other for answers some times, but overall what they retained was impressive, as were their attempts to stay in the game. They were cute... honest... tender-hearted. They both want to continue the club, and I anticipate that their capacities for critical thinking while with their giggle-companion will improve (being able to think clearly while with a giggle-buddy really is an incredibly useful skill).