Thanksgiving at Chez Coco

I’ll start with Wednesday night. Thanksgiving eve. My plan was to spend the night at my friend Michael’s apartment so that I could get up the next morning and make monkey bread. You may know it as pull-apart bread. It seemed like the perfect, decadent, overly sweet goodness to have for breakfast on the morning of a holiday – a holiday that is all about eating. Well, not really all about eating, I mean it’s about being thankful and taking the time to acknowledge what you’re thankful for, but then it’s about eating.

So, with work over for the day by 8:30pm, I took my list out of my backpack and headed to Food Emporium. It was crowded, but not as crowded as I expected it to be on the eve of Thanksgiving. I don't really shop for groceries at Food Emporium any more since I moved from Manhattan to Astoria Therefore my lack of knowledge of the store’s layout became apparent when it came to finding the necessities on my list that happen to be non-necessities in my everyday life. Some things I knew exactly where to find, but I had to search for vinegar and oil and Hershey’s cocoa. Then there was the matter of the buttermilk and the Karo syrup. The buttermilk was an ingredient in my red velvet cake recipe and the Karo syrup was needed for the butter cream frosting. So I'm standing in front of the milk products and all I'm seeing is Lite Buttermilk with 1/3 less fat or some amount of less fat. I was thinking to myself, this is red velvet cake; it's decadent and deserving of all the fat that buttermilk has to offer. I did make a quick phone call to my friend Neal, from whom I had gotten the recipe, to ask about the "less fat" buttermilk. There was no answer so I just made the decision myself. I didn’t buy it. Now on to the Karo syrup. I needed Light Karo syrup. I found the aisle with the cake mixes, flour, sugar, spices, syrup etc. This is where the crowd was. Seriously, one just had to park a buggy and walk because there were so many people in that aisle looking for baking soda, sugar and spices etc. that walking was nearly impossible. I found the cinnamon, baking soda, flour and sugar that I needed. I was happily surprised to find the syrup also on that aisle. Unfortunately all they had was Lite Karo syrup. Really, I thought, only Lite Karo syrup? Had the pecan pie lovers hoarded all of the Light Karo? First the buttermilk now the syrup! I'm all about the healthy eating, but some things just beg for the full-fat, full-bodied ingredients. Frustrated I exited the aisle and found myself standing in front of a Thanksgiving staples end cap. There on the second shelf was one bottle of Light Karo syrup. It was slightly to front of the shelf as if to say, "Here I am Michael; I've been waiting for you."

I boarded the R train to Queens with three bags full of ingredients. I still had to go to my apartment, repack the supplies into my Urban Luggage bag (green is the way), pack pajamas and clothes for the next day then walk to Michael's house. It was a time consuming amount of things to do, but I was working at warp speed. I might have been dillying a little, but I was not dallying at all.

I got home and filled my Gladware with the measured amounts of flour, sugar and cinnamon that I would need to prepare the next day's sweet delights. I thought it would be better to compartmentalize and consolidate than to take the full bags of flour and sugar. There was no need to carry the extra weight to Michael's and I was ahead of the game for measuring out the dry goods the next day.

I managed to get out my door slightly before 10pm. It’s a 20-minute walk to Michael's. Even with the extra weight I was anticipating a 10:30pm arrival. I was prepared for a long evening as he thought it best that I bake the cake that night. I had to stop at the grocery store on the way to his house and buy the buttermilk. Imagine the look on my face when all I found at C Town was the same 1/3 less fat buttermilk I had not purchased at Food Emporium. I just thought screw it! I'm not going to another grocery store for a little more fat. I didn’t mention that I also needed to buy some vanilla extract. I purposefully didn’t buy it at Food Emporium, as I knew I had a bottle at my house. Much to my surprise I found my vanilla extract had dried up. I had only had it 5 years. Who knew? Obviously, not this guy.

I did arrive at Michael's around 10:30pm. It wasn't before, but it was shortly after. It was cold that night, but with the coat and the scarf and the walking and the extra baggage, I was sweating by the time I got there. I was so glad to shed my coat and top-layer shirt.

Michael had spent the day preparing everything he needed to in order to make Thanksgiving Day as smooth as possible. We weren't planning to eat until 7pm with a guest arrival time at 5pm. That meant the turkey didn't have to be put in the oven until 2pm. You know what that meant for me? I didn't have to make the cake that night. I uncorked a bottle of wine, threw on my pj's and parked myself on the sofa to watch Modern Family and let the wine relax my tension away.

Thanksgiving Day morning I was up by 8:30am. I went to the kitchen to start making the monkey bread. First thing on the agenda – preheat the oven to 350°. Then I started cutting the first of three tubes of 10 Pillsbury® buttermilk biscuits into quarters. After the first tube was quartered, I sprayed Pam®, with flour for baking, into my bundt pan and then started shaking the biscuit pieces in the sugar/cinnamon mixture I had prepared the night before. I couldn’t help but feel like the little girl in the commercial for Shake ‘N Bake; “It’s Shake ‘N Bake, and I helped.” With my southern roots, I had no problem sounding just as southern as she did, probably even more as I tend to find humor in an over-exaggerated southern accent. Skip to all three tubes quartered, shaken and waiting patiently in the bundt pan for a caramel brown sauce to smother them with sugary goodness. I just had to make it – two sticks of real butter, ½ cup of brown sugar and ½ cup of the remaining sugar/cinnamon mixture heated over low heat until bubbling brown. I poured it over the biscuit pieces and placed the pan into the over. Only 30 minutes to go until breakfast sweet enough to rot your teeth would be ready.

How to pass the time? Watch the parade.

Yes, it was time for a Thanksgiving Day tradition – the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I’ve watched it for more than 20 years. I can remember times at my parents’ house watching it while sitting in the living room floor cutting up apples or grapes or bananas for mom’s fruit salad. I also have the best memory of all. It involves my mom, sister and packages of craisins flying through the air.

In November of 1997, my mom and sister came to NYC for the first time. I had moved here in May of that year so it was my first Thanksgiving in NYC and the perfect excuse for their visit. It was only natural that we go to the parade. We arrived on the parade route about 6:30am that morning. We already had to fight for a place to see. We ended up on the corner of Broadway and 34th, right where the parade made it’s finally turn after stopping in Herald Square. We were blocked part of the time by a woman in a red hat. I can’t tell you how happy we all three were when she left. The funniest memory of that day comes at my mom’s expense. There were people walking the parade route that year throwing airplane snack size packages of craisins. Well, wouldn’t you know one of them would have to hit mom, square in the face. We still laugh about it to this day. We also wondered that year about the people dressed as a clown or slice of pizza or piece of cake. We imagined what it must have been like to tell their family that they were going to be in the parade dressed as a slice of pizza or wedge of cheese. On Thanksgiving morning 2010 while talking to my mom, I told her what I was in the parade this year. I used the most downtrodden voice I could when I told her I was carrying a pumpkin and waving. My sister was a slice of pizza and my nephew Dylan, not even a thought in our heads in 1997, was craisins. Yes, the craisins live on! Mom had yet to decide what she was in the 2010 parade when we spoke that morning.

The timer went off alerting us that the monkey bread had spent the required time in the over and was now ready for us to behold it in all it brown, glistening, ooey-gooey glory. I dumped it onto a cake platter and removed the bundt pan. It was beautiful and it was ooey-gooey. I’m not sure if I had never made it with real butter before or what the difference was, but the coating looked like caramel and as it cooled while running down the side, it just froze mid drip. It was amazing; so rich, so warm, so sweet. Add the cup of coffee I was enjoying along with the parade and you’ve got a Thanksgiving Day morning that got off to the right start.


When the parade ended at noon, I had two hours, in which to make my first-ever red velvet cake from scratch, before Michael had to put the turkey in the oven to bake. I found myself in the kitchen staring at the ingredients. I was intimidated. I don’t know why. I think I’ve always thought red velvet cake was difficult to make and that everything had to be done perfectly or it would be ruined. I decided the best thing for me to do was to jump in and get started. I must admit that I was shocked at how much oil went into the batter of this cake – 1¼ cup. I just let myself be in the moment. I’d wanted to make this cake for about 5 years and I was finally doing it. One thing I had to remember is that it should be fun. I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed. Failure is not an option. I wanted the cake to be amazing and was freaking myself out about it. Honestly, it’s just ingredients, blended together, placed in a pan and baked. It’s not like I was removing someone’s liver.

Because I made the monkey bread that morning, and it required a bundt pan, I decided, at Michael’s suggestion, to make the red velvet cake in the bundt pan. It was a beautiful, shimmering shade of red. I must confess that I licked the beaters. Is there anything better than licking the beaters? Only eating the cake, in my opinion. Anyway, the batter tasted amazing. I could only hope the finished product tasted as good. On that thought it occurred to me that unless I burned the cake, it had to taste good. It could only taste like the baked version of the wet batter I had licked off of those beaters. Relax Michael, I had to tell myself.

Once it was in the oven, the hardest part was over. I poured myself a glass of wine. It was noon! The smell of cake filled the air as I waited for the timer to beep and alert me to check the progress. Back to the intimidation. I found myself whispering as I opened the oven door to look at it. What was this a soufflé? No! It was merely a cake. Intimidation be gone. It was baking and it was fine. It took longer because of the thickness of the cake due to the bundt pan, but I checked it every five minutes for about 50 minutes and when it was done, the toothpick was clean.

Twenty minutes into the cooling time of the cake I started making the frosting. I like butter cream frosting for red velvet cake. It’s much richer and more elegant on such a gorgeous cake than the easier, and in my opinion, cheaper, cream cheese frosting. I will admit that I was a bit confused by the fact that the frosting recipe I was using did not call for butter. Call me crazy, but I would think butter cream frosting would have butter in it. I got the recipe from a reliable source and chose to not question it any further and just combine the ingredients of the recipe and hope for the best.

I learned two things about frosting. I had no idea what “soft ball stage” was. Michael had to Google it. Turns out that sugar syrup dropped into cold water will form a soft, flexible ball. That’s the first thing I learned, as I had to cook the sugar concoction until it did that. The second thing I learned was that I had merely made white icing. It was perfect for drizzling over my red velvet cake, but it tasted like marshmallow cream and hardened as it cooled. My mom is sending me her butter cream recipe for next time.


The drizzled cake reminded me of a candy cane. There was nothing wrong with the frosting either. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it worked. The cake was very moist and the crunchy texture of the hardened icing was a nice compliment.

I can actually say I was proud of myself for both of my sweet creations on Thanksgiving Day. I’m thankful that I didn’t burn either one. I’m thankful that I tried something new.

The friends arrived at Michael’s apartment; the wine flowed, the food was eaten, laughs were laughed over dinner and during games of Celebrity and Apples to Apples. Michael’s table was gorgeous. It was his grandmother’s. He also has her china. He wanted to host Thanksgiving dinner at his house this year to use the china and the table that had once belonged to such an important person in his life. I know about that importance in my own life. I think she would have been proud. The day was lovely and joyful. The only thing missing was Tynan, who thankfully joined us twice that day via Skype.


While I’m being thankful I want to take the opportunity to say that it is a wonderful thing to have people in this world that you can be with on special holidays when you can’t be with your family. Those people become your family. For much of my life, being a theatre performer, I wasn’t home for Thanksgiving Day. Now, working in an NYC theatre box office, our business not only don’t close for holidays, we add more performances during the week. So I am thankful to have people to laugh with, eat with, share with, cry with and drink wine with.

I am truly blessed everyday of my life. I have a wonderful family, beautiful friends, good health, a great job, an amazing home and a red velvet cake recipe that will now become part of my baking repertoire.

Thanksgiving at Chez Coco

Dinner at Seven

If you're reading the fiction I'm writing, you may have noticed a trend in the posting. I tend to post them Wednesday morning or late Tuesday night. There is a reason. I meet with my friend Mandy on Tuesday night and we have a pseudo writer's night. For the past 12 weeks (at least) we have gotten together on Tuesday evening to read the new work that the other has written over the past 7 days. We generally meet at Cosmic Diner. We take the opportunity to catch up on each others week, eat a meal and then order coffee or tea and settle in to read the new pages. It's a very gratifying experience that I look forward to each week.

This past Tuesday night I asked Mandy if she would mind coming my apartment in Astoria after she got off work. As it happened, I worked on Monday of this week instead of Tuesday. That meant I didn't really have a reason to go into Manhattan on Tuesday except to meet Mandy. I had the brilliant idea of making dinner for the two of us at my apartment which would allow us to eat, read and watch Glee in comfort and style. The idea was not only agreeable with me, Mandy liked it as well. My next step was to plan our meal. I asked Mandy if she liked or disliked a few of the items I wanted to make. Her only restriction was guacamole. I wasn't making anything with guacamole so it was time to shop.

When I returned home from Trade Fair (my grocery store), the first thing I had to do was marinate the chicken breasts. I purchased a marinade that I'd never used before - Mrs. Dash Zesty Garlic Herb with a Touch of Orange. Sounded good to me. I used a chop stick to poke several holes in each chicken breast ensuring that the flavor of the marinade would soak in and through the breasts. When I poured the marinade over the chicken breasts I was shocked. I'm used to a marinade that has the consistency of Italian dressing. This was no Italian dressing. It was thick and opaque with a hint of orange that permeated the air. I wanted the chicken breasts sit in the garlicky orange bath for three hours.

Time for the tomato salad. I had purchased five large vine tomatoes. I washed them all and then cut them into large chunks. I sprinkled a bit of Goya Sazonador Total - a complete seasoning including garlic powder, onion powder, salt, parsley and cumin - on top of them, then coated them with Brianna's Champagne Caper Vinaigrette Dressing. Let the salivating begin. The early prep of the tomatoes was to give them ample time to soak in the vinaigrette.

The next step for me was peeling a cucumber. Mandy isn't a big wine drinker so I didn't pick up a bottle for dinner. Instead I wanted to make cucumber water. After peeling, I cut the cucumber into four long quarters, seeded them then placed them into a pitcher of water. Time to chill in the refrigerator. The chicken was marinating, the tomatoes were soaking and the cucumbers were permeating the water. I was off to a good start.

Go time. I put the brown rice on the stove around 5:45pm. Mandy got off work at 6pm, so I was trying to coincide cooking completion with her arrival which I guessed would be roughly 7pm.

The brown rice recipe I made this time was two cups of coconut milk, two cups of chicken broth, 1/2 tsp of garlic salt, 1 TBS of EVOO and 1 1/2 cups of brown rice. It takes the rice at least an hour to cook. The smell is amazing. The coconut milk gives off the best aroma and provides the rice with a lovely flavor. I'm not sure that the EVOO is necessary though. Next time I think I'll do without it as the coconut milk has oil in it already. It seemed like oil overkill.

Fifteen minutes into cooking the rice, the oven dinged to alert me that it had reached 400 degrees. I pulled the chicken breasts out of the refrigerator and out of the marinade. It clung to both of them. The were still completely covered when I put them in the oven. Salivating again.

With twenty minutes left on the timer, I took the brussel sprouts out of the freezer. I dumped them briefly into a hot water bath then put them in a mixing bowl. I sprinkled them with the Goya seasoning and garlic salt then coated them with EVOO. I used my hands to make sure each sprout was coated. Fifteen minutes left on the timer. I placed the brussel sprouts in the over with the chicken. My house was filling with all kinds of amazing smells.

Mandy arrived at my apartment with five minutes left on the timer. I had done a pretty good job in the timing department if I do say so myself. The only thing left was to taste the food.

After plating the brown rice, I spritzed it with lime juice. This was a suggestion from my friend Kim. It seemed like a good idea to me. After all, the rice had coconut milk in it and the chicken marinade had orange in it. The lime juice was a compliment to the tropical and citrus ingredients that were already present. I placed the chicken breast on top of the rice. Still sizzling from the over, I placed a healthy spoonful of brussel sprouts on the plates. Then the tomato salad. It smelled amazing and looked even better. The true test was the taste.

The chicken was juicy with a hint of orange hidden underneath the garlic. The rice was sweet and the lime juice offset the whole thing with a slight tangy punch. The brussel spouts were perfectly seasoned and there was enough oil to keep them from being dry. The tomato salad was, again, tangy, but a different tangy more like, zesty. I wanted to jump into the bottom of the tomato salad bowl and swim around in the vinaigrette goodness. I can honestly say it tasted as good as it looked, maybe better. This is no horn toot either. I was so proud.

It was just another opportunity to try something new. I've been challenging myself to write more than "this is what I did yesterday" blog entries. I've been writing fiction and about things that mean something to me. This was an extension of that challenge; making myself cook something other than what comes in a box. I have to test my strengths and limits.

There is one more thing I prepared for us that night - Dessert. It was kind of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of dessert. I knew I was going to have coconut milk left over so I was thinking about how I could use it. The first thing I thought of was mixing it with ice cream. As a person who limits his fat intake, I chose vanilla frozen yogurt instead. I also bought two fresh mangos. I had no intention of a theme when I was buying groceries, but with coconut, orange, lime and mango on the menu, it seemed kind of tropical without being tropical. Anyway, I threw many scoops of the frozen yogurt, the remaining coconut milk, some skim milk, a pour or two of Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka and several chunks of mango into my blender. At the last minute I decided to add a squeeze of Hershey's® syrup to the bottom of each glass. When the smoothie was completely blended, I poured it into the glasses. The force of the liquid hitting the chocolate brought of ribbon of chocolate to the top. I did not stir the chocolate into the smoothie; I just let it sit at the bottom of the glass. It was pretty and interesting. While drinking, it delivered just a hint of chocolate on the taste buds, intensifying as you got closer and closer to the bottom of the glass.

All in all, the evening was a win. The food was amazing, the conversation was wonderful, the words we had written were met with excitement and constructive criticism, the dessert was a pleasant surprise and Glee was funny, as usual.

A Summer of Discovery & Rediscovery

It's been a while since I've concentrated on writing about what I'm doing. It's been since August 19th to be exact. I've been doing things. Living life.

It's been a great summer. I hate to think of it as being over. Technically it isn't, but the kids have gone back to school.

This was my first summer as a resident of Astoria. I enjoyed the peace that my home brought into my life. I've had to remind myself that what I'm feeling these days is happiness. It's been a while since I felt truly happy.

One major thing that has been going on with me this summer is: I've been meeting with my friend Mandy on Tuesday nights to read. We're not reading books. We're reading what the other one is writing. It's been amazing. We meet for dinner and catch up on the goings on in each other's lives over the past week. We talk and laugh and eat. After the plates are taken away, we order coffee and pull out the pages for that night's reading. It has been so exciting and pleasurable to read what Mandy has been working on. It's a funny story and I can't wait to read the new pages each week. I look forward to finding out what new, ridiculous experience she puts her characters through. Sometimes it's just a paragraph or line that is the stand out. Other times it's the entire scene. I never fail to laugh though.

It's also been a confidence boost for me to have her read and critique my first foray into fiction writing. She sort of acts as an editor. She helps me clarify things that don't make sense. She doesn't necessarily know that I listen to her entire reaction though. There were things in my first story, Ocean Point, that I wrote because she mentioned that she couldn't wait to find out about such and such. They were things that I maybe wasn't even concerned with. However, writing those descriptions or explanations made the piece better. So thank you Mandy for just being you and wanting to know.

I have now moved on to another story - 327 Chesterfield Road. It's a different tale than the first. More challenging really. The first one was a challenge, don't get me wrong. When I'm writing about something that I did or experienced, I can give you every detail because it happened to me. I can describe it to the point where you feel like you're there. Writing something that is unfolding in my mind makes the details very difficult.

I think about where I want the piece to go. Then I concentrate on getting the words on the page. Then I concentrate on editing and clarifying and making sure that what it says conjures the image I have in my head. That's why I'm publishing one installment a week.

I'm constantly thinking about whatever piece I'm writing at the moment. The ideas swirl around in my head like water swirling down the drain of the sink after the plug has been pulled. And just like that stray piece of corn or that manages to cling to the sink, instead of going down the drain, I have kernels of ideas that stick. I have pulled out my BlackBerry® on the train more times than I can count and started to write about the people in these stories. Thank God for memo pad or I'd be screwed.

Anyway, it's been a great summer. My blog turned a year old. I went to Newport, RI. I went to Amagansett in East Hampton. I went to Boston - twice. I hung out in Central Park. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge - twice. I ate at new restaurants in Astoria and Brooklyn. I hung out with friends in Astoria. I smoked a hookah for the first time. I published my first piece of fiction. I watched a lot of True Blood, Mad Men and SYTYCD. I reconnected with a cousin and met his family. I started publishing my second piece of fiction. I tried new wines. I cooked new dishes. I read three books. I got new music. I got a couple of new pieces of furniture. I took lots of pictures. I found happy again.

Thanks to all of you who continue to keep up with my life. Keep reading. I'm going to keep writing about me and keep creating characters with interesting stories to tell.

Cheers!

Hypersexual Sunday Nights (Bon Temps Style)

Fresh blueberries, green grapes, Bartlett Pears, carrots with hummus and a German beer concoction is a great start to a beautiful Sunday evening.

I got off work yesterday at 4pm. It seemed like the perfect excuse to hang out with my friend Tynan. She too was getting off work at 4pm. Around 5pm, she was heading home to Astoria, so I headed to Astoria myself. I landed at her apartment about 30 minutes later. I found a very tired Tynan. Not surprising when she told me about the night she had had previously. Nothing crazy, just late. She wanted a low-key evening at home and I'm usually always pretty down with that. There are times when I need to blow off some steam and turn it out, but most of the time I'm a sit-on-the-sofa-and-have-a-glass-of-wine-with-some-good-tv-or-conversation kind of guy.

When Tynan headed to the shower, I headed to the Trade Fair to pick up some supplies. On a hot summer evening, the first thought I had was fruit. Juicy, fresh fruit. There's nothing more beautiful that a colorful plate of fresh fruit sitting there waiting to be enjoyed. Anticipating the burst of the juice in your mouth from the first blueberry. I wanted a plate full of more color than green and purple, but upon examination of what was available at Trade Fair, blueberries, pears and grapes were my best option. I wanted the peaches and the plums, but I just wasn't sure they were ripe enough yet. I kept coming back to the peaches. I make a fantastic fruit salad with peaches, mango, blueberries, grapes and pears in the summer. Yum! Alas, last night was not the night for that particular salad.

The next thing I wanted was beer and Sprite. I know it may sound strange, but it is utterly refreshing. We usually drink what we call "white trash sangria" on Sunday evenings. You know, equal parts wine and ginger ale. It's usually red wine in the winter and white in the summer. I've taken to adding fresh oranges and limes or lemons to the mix. Anyway, last night, beer felt more refreshing. About a year ago I was with my German friend, Katrin, at the Beer Garden in Astoria, and we had this beer/Sprite concoction. I needed to revisit that refreshing beverage last night. So with Miller Lite, Sprite and the fruit purchased, I headed back to Tynan's to prepare it all.

After I washed and plated the fruit, Tynan added baby carrots and hummus to the mix, as well as, a Spanish cheese, the name of which escapes me. She added small slices of the cheese to the fruit plate, on top of the pear slices. It was a little bit of heaven right here in Astoria. Anticipation was building for that first bite. We moved everything to the living room, where the low lights and sound of the air conditioner whirring, lulled us to the sofa with a "come and relax on me for a while" ambiance.


Faced with what to watch while passing the time waiting for True Blood to start Tynan started searching HBO on demand. We stumbled upon a series that neither of us had heard of called Masterclass. Some discoveries are good and some bad. This was good. Like Columbus discovering America! Well, maybe not exactly like that, but for a couple of artists, it was pretty damn good. Masterclass is a series where professional artists give a master class to young artists. The first one we watched was Placido Domingo. Perfect for Tynan as she is an opera singer. For me, it was just amazing to sit back and watch those kids react and learn from their hero. The next one we watched was with Jacques d'Ambroise. He was a dancer and is now a respected choreographer. I reverted right back to my early days in college when I was just discovering dance and the joy that I felt back then. It was hard, but I wanted to be good at it so bad that I practiced it. I don't practice any more. Anything. It's sad, really. There was a time when I studied and practiced to learn and get better at something. Now, if I can't do it right away, I kind of give up on it. There are episodes with Liv Ullmann and Bill T. Jones, as well as other names I didn't recognize. I can't wait to watch and discover their magic.

During the first episode of Masterclass, we decided it was time to order dinner. I know, with all that fruit you're thinking how could we possible be hungry for more. Well, we were. We ordered sushi. Another tasty idea for a hot day. Hot and raw don't really go together where food is concerned, but sushi is kept cold and prepared fresh so that made it perfect for the hot summer evening. Salmon, California, mango/avocado and peanut/avocado rolls were ordered and Masterclass was resumed.

Instead of having the food delivered, we decided to walk the block and pick it up ourselves. Not typical New Yorker, but the evening was beautiful and the walk was a joy.

With our appetites satisfied, it was time to satiate our minds with the sexual world of True Blood. That is never hard to do. The world created by Charlaine Harris in her Sookie Stackhouse novels, and translated to the small screen by the mind of Alan Ball, is always sexual. It's full of comedy, intrigue, mystery, thrills and sex. What would you expect from vampires, but sex? It seems to be the nature of the beast. Hypersexual is a good word to describe the vampires of True Blood and the series itself. Let's just say, it's good to have HBO on Sunday nights when the summer starts.

Food, friends, good television. Is there a better way to spend an evening? Well, maybe at a beach or a New England bed & breakfast with a lover, but having no option for that last night, my choices were the perfect ones for me.

Tuesday in the Park in need of Sculptures and Shade

Come with me on a small journey. It's more of a walk really. It's not very far. It's just across Astoria. Start walking South on 47th Street until you get reach 31st Avenue. At 31st Avenue, take a right and walk West. We're going to walk all the way down 31st Avenue until we can't walk any more. We're walking in the direction of the Manhattan skyline. We're also walking toward the East River. Before we find ourselves in the river though, we are going to stop at the Socrates Sculpture Park.


Taken directly from the Socrates Sculpture Park website, the history of the park is described as follows: Socrates Sculpture Park was an abandoned riverside landfill and illegal dumpsite until 1986 when a coalition of artists and community members, under the leadership of artist Mark di Suvero, transformed it into an open studio and exhibition space for artists and a neighborhood park for local residents. Today it is an internationally renowned outdoor museum and artist residency program that also serves as a vital New York City park offering a wide variety of public services.


You can imagine my excitement to see the park. I had only recently heard about it from friends who live in Astoria. So I decided to take myself there on Tuesday. Now imagine you're me, full of expectations, imagining something on a grand scale. Large sculptural pieces that use the open air and space to breathe. Nothing to hold them back. Nothing to reign in the largeness. Well, it wasn't grand. I don't know if it's because Winter just ended and there is nothing new yet or if what is there currently is just what is there. I hope that as Spring turns to Summer there are more installations. Better installations.


As is, it was a park. That's for sure. There were people with dogs. The dogs chasing balls. Mother's with children. There were also ugly bare spots where the grass was completely warn away. There was a view of Manhattan, but only four benches on which to sit and look at it. None of those benches were in the shade either. It was a gorgeous, sunny day on Tuesday and all I wanted to do was sit in the park and read. I did sit and read when I finally found an unoccupied bench. What I left with though was a lovely red burn on the left side of my neck and on my left arm. I'm not complaining, really. I'm glad the outdoor space is there. I'm also going to go back and see if it indeed changes as the season progresses. As I am prone to do, I set myself up for disappointment with higher expectations than this park for creative expression could provide.


The trip to the park was not a complete waste of time. I did get to sit and read that book. I did find the bench in order to sit and read and stare at Manhattan. I also saw more of Spring in bloom. Again, I couldn't resist taking photos of what it looks like to be reborn after a cold, dormant winter.

Springtime State of Mind

I never know where inspiration is going to strike. Yesterday on the way to work I saw a bouquet of daffodils. Growing up we called them March flowers or Easter flowers. It being Easter Sunday morning I was moved to take a photo. They were such a perfect bouquet. They were in someones front yard behind a fence. I got close enough with my Blackberry to pass the bars of the fence and just capture the flowers. On the way home from work that afternoon I saw red and yellow tulips growing in a patch of dirt cut out of the sidewalk. One of those patches where a tree grows. The tulips weren't surrounding the tree, they were just there. Planted as a bunch of yellow and a bunch of red together, but segregated. I was seeing the yellow just beyond the red. From the angle I approached them, they looked so beautiful. Probably because they reminded me of my sofa and the Taittenger print that hangs behind it. Deep red and gold. Such interesting colors together. Maybe it's a subconscious memory of my high school colors of maroon and gold. I don't know. Of course when I see tulips I think of my mom. She loves tulips and has planted them since I was in high school. That means she's had tulips for more than 20 years. It's such a beautiful sign of Spring when the tulips bloom.

This morning I needed to run to the Trade Fair and pick up some coffee. You don't really want to be around me when I haven't had coffee. I'm not very easy to be around. Some might say I'm not easy to be around even with the coffee, but you don't want to find out the answer to that question. Trust me. I don't even like me without coffee. But I digress. On the walk to the grocery store I saw the most beautiful tulip tree in full bloom. I don't know exactly why, but when I see a tulip tree I am always reminded of my mom's parents. We lived in a trailer in the lot next door to them until I was 3 years old. I have a memory of them having a tulip tree. It could be real or fabricated. I don't know, I was 3. That house is no longer standing, it's just a memory. The tulip blossoms were blowing gently in the breeze this morning and I couldn't resist the photo. Then there was the lovely bouquet of hyacinth growing next to someones sidewalk on the walk home. The colors of Spring in full bloom: pink, purple, white, yellow, red. Gorgeous! Just try not to smile.

Such beauty can't go unnoticed. It needs to be acknowledged. It needs to be shared.