on the weekend

I am a month into this wild venture and have been writing and writing about the days making up my life here, yet not taking the time to share them in this space. But upon receiving some comments about my relative silence on the blog, I thought I would share some posts - as consistently as possible- about my weekends in New York City... trying as best I can to express how good, soul-stirring, and needed they are to me. With weekdays marked by long hours at the office (and oh, I have so much to share about what I am learning at work, too!), my weekends have become quite sacred to me as a time to recalibrate, savor, feast, rest, etc. etc. 

First: I would not say I am one to extensively plan nor schedule. Rather, scenarios are what guide my steps. I envision such things as sitting on a park bench whilst sipping foam-kissed coffee and listening to live music, going on the hunt for New York's best bagel, watching the sun setting over the Hudson River with a book in hand,  dressing up for a soirée at a jazz bar with girlfriends. Scenarios, yes, that is what I go for. 

I am organized, sure, and have done much research on things I hope to see and do and hear and taste in New York. At the same time, I do not approach days off with a set itinerary which regulates my every moment. I am perfectly content to wander for the sake of wandering - and to see what I end up falling upon. New York, after all, is a city of surprises. A city with beauty at every corner. 

My first weekend here had a different tone than most: my sweet great-aunt and uncle Debbie and Gary, who live in Connecticut, invited me to stay with them for a couple days. Their hospitality was an incredibly generous gift in so many ways. Not only did time spent with family provide much comfort to my periodically homesick heart, but I also was thrilled to realize that, unlike my apartment, they had air conditioning (glory, glory!). They cooked for me and invited me to rest, which was so deeply appreciated. Moving out has thus far been an altogether thrilling - wonderful - experience, but I certainly did not anticipate the exhaust involved in managing a full-time job along with all my meal planning, dishes, cleaning and, well, all other tasks involved in this thing called "adulting." I am not complaining, and do realize these responsibilities are fully normal. Yet, I think it is fair to say I am adjusting. Back home, I believe I had gotten quite used to the collaborative effort of housekeeping - taking turns doing dishes, not being the sole person responsible for cooking, and on and on. I certainly took for granted all that my family members - especially my sweet mama who does so much - do to cultivate an atmosphere of peace in our home. I am so grateful for this, and am trying to recall rhythms and practices I have witnessed in them all as I make a home here. All that to say: when offered a break on such duties on that weekend, I exhaled and was awfully appreciative. 

After work on Friday, I made my way to Grand Central and hopped onto a northward train to Connecticut and watched the cityscape fade. I was greeted with hearty hugs (and aren't those the best?), apperos on their boat, a beautiful sunset over the Long Island Sound, a warm meal in their red house tucked in the woods, long chats late into the night. I fell asleep fully at ease, fully content. 

The next morning, I woke to the sound of birdsong. Aunt and uncle greeted me with creamy coffee and blueberry pancakes, and we chatted of such things as politics, work, New York City in the fifties, my grandmother as a little girl. We got ready hastily - slathering on sunscreen and white or navy attire- and made our way to the marina, where we met my mom's cousin (their son) and his family. We boarded the 'Slap Shot' and soon took to the sea. 

Foamy waves rolled around us as the boat zigzagged the cobalt-colored waters, Uncle Gary gleefully steering the boat at the helm. The balmy weather conditions led two of the group (including sweet Aunt Debbie, a true champion!) to jump into the cold waters for a dip, though I opted to stay dry but smiled at their bravery. Twas a sun-soaked day for thick volumes to read, a salty breeze, watermelon slices and lime La Croix (a first for me), awe-struck grazing at beautiful estates along the Connecticut Coastlines, lingering beers, recounting stories of times past in laughter and gratitude, 

In short: the perfect first Saturday of what might just be the best Summer yet. 

We got home, positively appeased and a little rosier than that morning. I joined Aunt Debbie on her habitual walk through the neighborhood and on a trail in the patch of woods wrapping itself around their community. We all headed to bed before long, filled up with Chinese takeout and reminiscences of the sea. 

On Sunday, we drove into the city for a tour of the New York Botanical Garden. Church, of sorts. (Of course, I deeply value gathering weekly with a church community and am in the process of seeking one in New York - more of that to come!- and do not consider a day outing as equivalent to corporate worship. That said, I was in awe of the way our wanders in the gardens - and I suppose in beauty of any kind, really- seem to narrow the gap between human & Creator. The boundless flowers and plants - so many kinds, textures, forms, aromas, hues- spread across the NYBG grounds were like a love letter from Him to us.)

I won't forget anytime soon the exhibit celebrating the work of the Brazilian botanist Roberto Burke Marx (thinking Laurianne would love nothing more than this vibrant music, the creative use of water, the emphasis upon indigenous plants in urban planning, etc. etc.), strolling through the rose garden with Aunt Debbie (listening to her describe her wedding and the flowers picked for the occasion), the whiffs of magnolia and gardenia, poetry exhibited throughout the garden (and nothing makes me feel like words, isn't it so?), enjoying a caprese sandwich for lunch, picking up a mosaic plant for my room. 

We parted way at my apartment, as I feebly attempted to express the extent of my thankfulness for their welcome and their kindness. We made plans for dates in the city, including a girls' evening at the ballet, and I can barely wait. 

The evening still young, I made my way to the city and met a new friend- in short: a friend of a friend become friend - in the East Village for a quick coffee and a worship service in Gramercy. Again, I found myself being a recipient of another's hospitality - and it meant so much to feel as though a stranger cared to make me feel welcome to New York. One of the many, many things to give praise for. 

That Sunday night ended in the heart of Madison Square Park, with my first ever taste of a Shake Shack burger. Lights twinkled and people laughed and bantered over milkshakes and fries. I had been told by many that New Yorkers love their Shake Shack and that I would enjoy my first experience. 

I confirm: I did. 

And thus began my second week in New York City.