Our adversary the Wall

As part of our summer action plan, Bobbis and I have taken up playing tennis after work. Not for us the country club lawn tennis, oh no. Ours is the city-slicker kind, which takes place in a half-court in little court yard against a large stone wall. A fair hybrid of raquetball and tennis, really.


Still, who are we to complain. After all, we have a clean, open space in a city that's generally devoid of cleanliness and space.


Its a 25-foot wall we play against, pretty tall by any reasonable standards. Fairly easy to have a decent game without hitting the balls into the private property behind. Or so one would think.


The first time we played, we sent all three fly-balls whizzing over the wall, into the unaccessible backyard of the building beyond. So there we were, half an hour into our game with nothing to show for it except an empty can of missing tennis balls. We were about to trudge off ashamedly, when the kind people on the "court" next to ours offered us a loaner ball. "Here, use this one," they said.

I tried to point out to them that history indicated that this ball, too, would very likely end up in the black hole on the other side, but they were pretty adamant about their generosity, so hey, who are we to argue.

So I took the ball.
I served.
And even though (I still maintain to this day) I hit a low, hard, perfect serve, the ball ended up flying skywards and over the wall. I couldn't believe it. I was horrified.


But our neighbours just laughed, they had long learned the lessons of playing tennis against a wall.


Since then, we've come up with a strategy so as not to bankrupt ourselves buying tennis balls all summer. Here they are, listed in order of priority and plausibility:

a) Make a friend in the neighbouring building, into whose backyard we have been hitting the balls; use the friendship mercilessly as our means to ball-augmentation

b) Dress in black in the middle of the night, scale the wall, and get our balls back (only has appeal if we can dress like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment)

c) Get balls at wholesale value from Sam's Club (less exciting, but more realistic)

d) Improve our tennis and stop hitting fly-balls over the wall (neither exciting nor realistic)

Multi-Tasking

I was trying to multi-task this morning - which, I should have known from previous experience - I should be steering clear of. I was trying to work and eat simultaneously, which is quite ridiculous because eating really takes all my focus and attention.

In the process, I dropped my crumbling cookie onto my laptop keyboard. And the little obstinate crumblets immediately trickled down through the gaps, and nestlingly took up abode amongst the keys.

I've taken out what I can, and can't see anymore, but I just know that there are now little cookie crumbs hiding in my keyboard. I'm defeated by the Crumb Army Insurgency.

I'm revolted.

Memorable Day Weekend

Time is an elastic and amorphous being, and doesn't move through my life with predictable velocity. Although it's barely been a month since our getaway to the Catskills, it already seemed like I'd been in the city for an eternity. So when Delta suggested we go visit his friends down on the beach for Memorial day weekend, I was all ears.


The next step, of course, was to pick up gifts for the Crane Kinder. "What does one buy kids who already have everything?!" Delta bemoaned our dilemma. I scratched my head thoughtfully. If he thought I was going to be any kind of help in this department, he had another thing coming.
"Erm,.... socks?"
"No, silly, it's summer, no one wears socks."
"Diapers? Rattles? A little bag for Maeve?"
So began Beevis & Butthead's journey through the world of children. First we googled a Toys'R'Us (and shuddered in horror to see that it was at Herald Square), but when we got there, we couldn't find it. Well - if truth be told, the area was so crowded and dirty, that after getting jostled around a few times, we decided in a fit of despair to abandon mission. That was when, by a stroke of luck rather than genius, we found ourselves by a GAP Kids. Ten minutes later, and we could leave with self-accomplished smirks, accoutred with shades and flipflops and sunny hats, and all the things kids would like. (It was a delight to see the thrilled looks on their faces when we handed them their presents the next day. I never thought I'd hear myself say thank gawd for GAP.)

We decided to take our bikes down with us in the bike rack on Davis' car. A perfect ploy of course, until the morning of our trip when Davis realized that some unworldly soul had stolen the bike rack from his car. Disgruntling to say the least. So with a bit of head scratching and last-minute improv, the boys succeeded in somehow strapping the bikes together onto the car roof. Not the most reassuring of arrangements, but frankly much more scary for the poor yodel behind us on the highway. The whole situation only made more comical by the fact that Delta sat peering up through the sun roof the entire way, keeping an eye out for bikes gone amiss.
And, what a perfect weekend it was too. The weather was absolutely gorious. It positively beckoned for hours of poolside lounging. And an evening of beachside fireworks. And beverages and biking and barbecues.

"We're going to be away on vacation for all of July," Mamma Crane said. "You guys are welcome to use the place if you like." I couldn't believe my ears.

Somehow I see a fun summer on the horizon.

Speaking different

Dolphins have different accents and dialects.

Now that it's established that even animals have dialects, surely people should stop picking on me for using words like 'lifts', 'flats' and 'kerfuffle'. Even if in formal communication.

Muddled moments and mixed messages

Is it inevitable that in today's world, rapidly racing through its phases of modernisation, de-modernisation and post-modernisation, that we should end up with a different set of societal values and ethics from our parents, no matter how much they tried to inculcate in us their way of life?

I was bantering with the mater the other day on the phone, and the conversation degenerated down the usual path of boyfriends and marriage and 'settling down'. And I say 'degenerated' because our differing views on the subject nearly always precipitate an argument. Certainly nothing unusual for her to bring up, and probably nothing unusual for any mother of daughters to concern herself about. Her point being - I'm mid twenties, I should be getting married; my point being - erm, no, only when I'm ready. But how do you explain to a mum who views marriage as the sanctuary and highest objective of life that perhaps you don't share the same ideal? That maybe life will still work out fine, even if you commit the unutterable horror of not getting married in your mid-twenties?

By having a breakdown, that's how. By making incisive remarks like "I think we just have to agree that we each have a different set of values on this one." By concluding the conversation quickly and then having a big old bawl to yourself (never did anyone any harm, let me tell ya).

But woe is the moment you have to face a parent who is disappointed and saddened by your actions, a hard cross for any child to bear. (Of course, over the phone this just comes across as a long silence - albeit easily distinguishable from the silence that follows a joke that falls flat, or the silence when they've nodded off during a particularly long-winded tale).

All in all, a heart-wrenching, heart-stopping, heart-pickling moment.

But isn't the confrontation inevitable? Would it be fairer to shield a parent from the disappointment by just evading the issue? It seems like parents get a lifetime to prepare for managing their children, but as a child you only get a moment of realisation before you have to learn how to manage your parents.

Wiser by the year

What with it being Delta's birthday last week, I dappled in a bit of clandestine hustling and bustling to get a little party together. "I don't like birthdays, and I don't want a celebration!" Delta had said adamantly. Stubbornly, I might add. There might have even been a moment of foot stomping.


All the same, between the bunch of us, we managed to pull off a lovely soiree. A surprise visit from an old friend, which brought with it a misty-eyed moment. A baked dessert by Ilajna (note she still hasn't baked the chocolate cake she promisd Doobie and me two years ago). Delicious food and wine in plentiful - what more could one want.

A lovely evening, warm and touching, and full of laughter. Just perfect.

Life on wheels

Ever since I bought my bike, cycling has become a dominant part of my summer. 'Blue Lightening', Delta calls it, although I was obliged to painfully point out that the way I putz around on the bike, I'm not entirely convinced it merits the 'lightening' moniker. So over the last couple of weeks we've procured bike maps of the city, explored the bike path which snakes around Manhattan, and covered Central Park comprehensively.

Tomorrow, weather-permitting, we might make our way to Brooklyn to help the Vish by himself a bike of his own too. And then we'll have it, our very own biking club!

Of course, with all this outdoor activity, it's a pretty rotten year to suddenly develop a pollen allergy. I've never actually been plagued by the spring-time allergy season before. So this year, my body naughtily surprised itself by joining the Rudolph-nosed clan of the pollenly stymied. Frustrating, of course, but not a showstopper to this hardy soul (ahem, that's me).

A hard week's work

You can imagine my excitement when I found out I was needed in Seattle last week. That's the advantage of working in a company headquartered in the Starbucks capital, of course. And what a beautiful city it is, too - my occasional taste of London on this side of the pond.

I must have been currying favours with the weather gods this week, because this was the first time I ever experienced Seattle bathed in just warmth and sunshine the entire week. Usually it's just globs of rain plonking overhead (through which I still find the city beautiful) - but this week, it was all golden skies and sparkling blue lakes.*

So I called the Cousin who lives in Seattle ("yep, its that time of the year, I'm going to come visit you again!"), and what did I find out? That my other Cos(2), who normally lives in Atlanta, was going to also be in Seattle the same week! I'd been meaning to go visit her for the past two years, so what a perfect coincidence! It wasn't long before the three of us were sharing hugs, stories and reminisces over wine and dinner.

"Remember the last time we were all together in Atlanta? Has it really been more than two years since then?"
"OMG and your son looks gorgeous! I can't believe how much he's grown!"
"Can you pass the wine please?"
"And you've got a new cat! Gosh he's a cutie."
"When are you guys coming to visit me in NYC?"
"Pass the wine pass the wine!"
"So how's your job going?"
"Are you really thinking of moving home?"
"Oy! More wine!!"

And that's how it was between us, words and thoughts spilling and colliding into each other as we gushed and rushed in our excitement at being together.

And oh yeah, and I got a bit of work done too.

* By the way - a side note, but did you know NYC receives significantly more rainfall (avg 45 inches) per year than Seattle (avg 35 inches). Who woulda thunk, eh.

Oh, Summer Days

What with the advent of summer days biting at our ankles, I've been focusing on getting ready for days of unlimited sunshine. And what better way to do this than to invest in some motely gear and go biking.

I'd been wanting to buy a bike for a while, but had held off (with shrewd strategic foresight) for the end of the 5-borough bike race next week. "After that's over this city will be teeming with second hand bikes being sold at a discount," Delta had assured me. So I'd been patiently (albeit finger-drummingly) biding my time till I could get my gruddy paws on one of those 'cheap second hand bikes'.

But then, as we were driving home from the Catskills last weekend, I suddenly clutched on his arm. "We need to pull over! Quick! I have to pee." So we took the next exit, and found ourselves confronted by one of those large anonymous Targets that seem to be at every exit on the motorway. Scuttling like a crab, I slunk into the Target and made a beeline for the restrooms. It was only when I came back out that we had time to glance around us.

And there, we saw it. The Ficali bike. Exactly my colour. And my size. Just the right type and the right price. Calling out my name. I couldn't believe it.

"But, erm, we have a two-door speedster," Delta, ever the sensible one, broke into my bike-centred reverie. "How are we going to pack it in the car?!"
My face fell.
Sigh. "Okay fine, let's go check the car trunk."

So we lowered the back seat and shuffled the baggage and pushed and crammed and squished and squeezed. Then we removed the front wheel of the bike so it could fold in on itself, and suddenly, there we were. A two seater crammed with two people, their baggage, and a dismantled bike. Just like a scene from a Chevy Chase film.

And now, I have a bike (and a helmet. and gloves. and a bottle in a cycle rack.). Bring on the summer!

Picture Perfect

Have you ever wanted to take a picture of yourself and a friend, but there's no one around to ask, so you just squash your faces together and stretch out your arm as far as you can, and take the picture yourself?

But seriously - has it ever taken you so many attempts to actually manage to get yourself in the frame?
:)

Quick Getaway

A quick getaway from the city never did anyone any harm. So last weekend Delta and I decided to pack our bags and head out to a remote part of the Catskills (strong recommendation for the place, by the way!). So with a lot of plotting and planning and oohing and aahing, and a fair smidgen of gleeful hand-rubbing, we were finally on our way.

Silly Budget gave us a little two-seater sports car, which was so unlike both Delta and myself, that all we could do was gawk and giggle in the initial moments. But as it turned out, it set the tone perfectly for the weekend to follow.

And what a beautiful weekend it was, too. To freshen our urbanised lives, there was boating and hiking. To tan our wintry pallours, we dappled in a bit of biking and tennis. To rest our weary souls, there were large hearths and crackling fireplaces. All in all, an idyllic weekend.

And - oh yes, how could I forget?! - I got to try my hand at driving. I've driven before, of course. And I even have a license. Just that, being as it was a direct conversion of the UK Drivers License, I've always just used it as an ID and never to actually drive. So my first time with the wheel on the other side of the car, driving on the right side of the road, driving an automatic instead of a manual - you know, the works. And (if one were to ignore Delta's occasional yelps), I think I did pretty well. Well, we're both alive to recount the tale anyways.

Don't believe the tense look I have on for the picture - that was, you know - just for the photograph effect.