Come to the Dark Side Easter Egg Hunt

So, I worked in a big, beautiful, important, old theatre when I was quite young.  I looked around the theatre and thought; this would be a great place for an Easter Egg Hunt.  Mind you, I had never been to an Easter Egg Hunt, being of the tribe that does not partake. All my life I dreamt of the scene – me in a pretty pastel dress with pretty shoes and a pretty basket. So here was my opportunity to make one happen, minus the outfit.

I started mentioning it to my fellow workers, they talked it up and suddenly it was an upcoming event.  The House Manager, a scary woman, called me into her office. I went in there shaking. She said,” I understand you’re putting on an Easter Egg Hunt.”  “Yessss,” I said, my voice a quiver. “Well, I’m going to give you money for it.  And I’ll buy the chocolate bunny prize,” said the not so scary now House Manager.  I was grateful and realized the hunt was bigger than I thought.

The engineers sought me out.  “You the one giving the Hunt?”  I nodded. “What kind of eggs?” “Chocolate covered,” I said, thinking – is that not what you use for the Hunt, not being in the know, after all. I was told I had to make a map and know exactly where each egg was placed and after the hunt I had to make sure each and every egg was taken away before the nights performance. They did not want to invite any potential mice that might be in the vicinity.

I invited the front of the house and I put up a sign backstage inviting the cast and backstage crew.  With the money the House Manager gave me, we had a lovely spread. And her prize for the winner - a giant white chocolate squirrel.  I thought this is a little odd, but what did I know?

Suddenly it was time and the Hunt began.  Guess who came to my Easter Egg Hunt?  James Earl Jones.  Yes, Darth Vadar came to my Easter Egg Hunt. And Christopher Plummer. They were so nice and fun, crawling all over the theatre looking for eggs.  We had refreshments after and lots of laughs.

I had labeled it as the First Annual Easter Egg Hunt of the Theatre. Well, it was the only one. A juggernaut of a show moved in, and that was that.  Darth and I, well, we have our memories.

Included With The Apartment

So, I have a friend who has a friend I shall call Audrey.  Audrey is over the age of 70, retired, and decided to be careful with her money.  She came to the conclusion that it would be good to rent a room in an apartment.  Audrey looked and looked and couldn’t seem to find anything decent.

Finally, Audrey came upon an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. A couple was renting out one of their bedrooms.  The apartment was large, had light and was in a great location. 

Audrey sat in the living room as the couple enumerated all of the benefits.  Audrey could share the kitchen and the living room.   And the couple mentioned something else that was included – a ménage a trois. 

Audrey’s first thought was – Me?  Couldn’t you find anyone younger?  The couple was in their 60s, so maybe Audrey was exactly what they wanted.  Audrey decided the package was not what she was looking for.

When I was very young, I had a boyfriend.  We liked to think we were adventurous.  So we talked about the possibility of a ménage a trois.  My boyfriend lived with his friend, he asked his friend and his friend agreed.  We made plans for the event.  About a week before, I freaked out.  I could not do it.  Something deep in me swelled up and said –NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! 

So, I’m not that adventurous.  I wonder how many people really are.  And what the aftermath is like. 

Sophia

So, I first met Sophia in my ancient Greek history class at university.  Apparently, I would enter the class by dancing down the aisle (I don’t recall it, but don’t deny the possibility) and she thought I must meet that girl. As the world would have it, we lived on the same floor in the dormitory.  Eventually we would share an apartment off campus. 

Sophia was tall and strikingly beautiful.  She was Greek and looked like an ancient statue come to life.  She was intense, looked intimidating but was a kind and golden soul. We were very different people but had much in common.  She was getting her degree in art history and I loved art.  I was getting my degree in history and she was fascinated by it. She took a modern Japanese literature course and I read every single one of the books. When it was her turn to cook dinner, she did it with a zeal usually seen in conductors of great symphonies.  A towel thrown over her shoulder, her hair in an eighteenth century bun and the chopping, peeling or brazing would commence.  The meal was always an event.

When Sophia came to visit one summer, I had the brilliant idea of introducing her to Alana, a friend from home. I thought they’d be fast friends, after all they had so much in common.  Both specializing in the same period of art history, they read the same books, liked the same music and so on.  The setting was my bedroom.  The dislike for each other was instantaneous.  I tried to get the party started, playing favorite songs, reminding them of conversations we had, but they weren’t interested. An hour was eternity.  It was a life lesson, just because everything points to friendship doesn’t mean it will happen.

One very cold snowy night (this describes every night at school) we were comfy in our apartment when Sophia got a phone call.  Professor xxx was coming over.  She grabbed me and said, “Do not leave the room.  You stay with me.  Promise!”  I promised.  Ostensibly he needed to go over Sophia’s senior thesis.  All three of us knew otherwise.  He came over and was chatty and chatty.  Time passed. He got less chatty. Sophia went to make popcorn.  The professor glared at me.  I was taking his class at the time.  He was a prominent art historian and his Modern Art class was a must.  I’m thinking, he’s going to fail me!!!  The night stretched on and on.  It was a battle of wits.  I never left Sophia’s side.  Eventually we wore him out and he left.  We both aced our classes.

 

Upon graduation Sophia married her childhood sweetheart and moved to Chicago.  We lost touch. A few years ago I went to run the Chicago marathon, and I thought how nice it would be to connect up with her.  I discovered that Sophia had passed away from the same cancer that killed my mother.  I ran the marathon in Sophia’s honor.  It hurts to think of her.  She provided a mooring in my life when things were rather untethered.  I will always be grateful.  Golden Sophia.

Piglets In A Basket

So, many years ago I rode my bicycle in Vietnam.  It wasn’t a tourist bike group with van support; it was two girls with panniers and a map.  This was long after the war and just at the time that Vietnam was beginning to open up. 

This friend I went with had ridden her bike all over the planet.  It was she that got me into endurance sports.  She was all about the basics.  She mocked fancy equipment.  All you needed was spit and guts.  So for a long time I felt the same. Vietnam was a country of bikes and our mountain bikes attracted a lot of attention. 

Vietnam at that time was one of the poorest countries in the world.  Upon arriving I was shocked at the level of the poverty.  I had been to poor countries but not on this level.   It was beautiful and the people were very kind.   I began to understand that people who have nothing give everything.  It’s when you get some worldly goods that you clutch onto them.  Camel and the eye of the needle and all that.

I had many adventures, but for now I will tell but a few.  We rode south from Hanoi, there was one main road and we’d pass through many towns.  It seemed everyone was learning English and would like to practice on us.  Hello!  Where are you from!  Often people would ride with us.   People would be on their way to market, and sometimes you’d see piglets in a basket.  One time a guy had a large hog strapped on the back of his bike.  He rode a little too close to me.  I wanted to say, “excuse me sir, your pigs nose is rubbing against my thigh.”  I didn’t, I tried to create space but he wanted to ride with me.  Fortunately it was a small town.  

Frequently, schoolboys would want to race me.  I’d say, “guys, I’m happy to ride with you, but I’m going another 40 miles and I’m not racing you right now.”  They might not have understood the exact words but they understood the sentiment, and seemed to content to ride alongside me, each waving as they made the turn to their homes.

We landed in a small beautiful fishing village and stayed for a bit.  One day I went to the market with my bike just as kindergarten let out.  Instantly, 50 little children surrounded me, each wanting to touch my bike.  I smiled and let them.  And then it was time to go.  They weren’t letting me.  I said, please, please, please.  They answered back in high-pitched voices, please, please, please.  I said, lam on, lam on, lam on (please in Vietnamese).  They answered back, lam on, lam on, lam on (okay they probably didn’t know I was trying to speak their language, but they were very good mimics).  I tried, I must go.  They responded, go, go, go.  This went on for a bit.  I’m not sure how I managed to untangle myself.  They were very cute, but wow, the power of multiple 5 year olds!

It’s a wonderful country and a fabulous trip.  Perhaps I shall write more about it. 

Fear of Dinosaurs

So, I have a friend whose young son developed a fear of dinosaurs.  Most children love them, but not 4-year old Jackson as evidenced by his nightmares. So she told him, don’t worry they lived a long, long time ago way before humans were ever on the planet.  You'll never see a dinosaur walking down the street or in the supermarket.  Jackson thought for a bit and asked, how do we know what they look like then? A good question, because scientists are smart, Jackson.  Jackson then developed a fear of crocodiles.  Don’t worry, my friend said, you won't see a crocodile on our street, in the neighborhood or in the supermarket.

True for a suburb of New York.  Just don’t go to Florida.  My father lived on a golf course.  He was playing a round of golf and he kicked a rock out of the way.  It didn’t move, so he kicked it again.  Still didn’t move so this time he gave it a harder kick.  Again this rock was not budging.  He looked down to discover he’d been kicking an alligator.

Suddenly I remembered an incident that happened to a friend.  He lived in a very nice doorman apartment on the Upper West Side.  He had a long day at work and came home. His kitchen was off to the side of his door, he was hungry so he went in and started to prepare dinner.  He went into his living room turned on the light and there right in the center of the floor was a snake. A large snake. He backed out of the room trying not to spook the snake, ran out of the door and out of the building.  He called 911 and the Department of Animal Care and Control arrived to capture the snake.  Probably someone’s pet snake had escaped. 

My friend cleaned his apartment and that was that.  Me, I’d have to move.  I certainly would not be able to stay there that night or any night.

65.5 million years ago dinosaurs went extinct.  An asteroid hit the earth causing an ice age.  Fear of a dinosaur is a little unfounded.  Another asteroid?  That could happen.  And fear of snakes, well, that is quite common.  Just ask Indiana Jones.

Skateboarding on Thin Ice

So, it was a gorgeous sun soaked pre spring day and I took a long walk.  It seemed as if everybody was out and about.  I found myself in Washington Square Park on a bench. The promenade was warm and the trees provided shade.  There was no end to the cast of characters vying for attention, but one stood out.  

     

He had a skateboard and he wanted to show he knew how to use it. He wasn’t in the first blush of youth, or the second or the third.  He made a grand announcement that he would ride over one garbage pail.  Those around me barely paid attention.  Not even when he crashed.

He then made an announcement that he would attempt the very difficult feat of riding over two garbage pails.   Again, he crashed.  He didn’t appear to hurt himself because he would quickly pick himself up and make his next announcement.  Attention Ladies and Gentlemen - this time he would attempt the difficult feat of…. three garbage pails. The crowd around me started paying attention.  And, down he came. 

By his fourth announcement, the person sitting next to me (a stranger) and I were holding onto each other laughing so hard we had tears streaming down our faces.  Once again, the skateboarder didn’t fail to fail.  He scrambled up, and started again.

He didn’t seem to hurt himself.  Drunks and children, perhaps.  Though he never made any of the great leaps, or any leap, I have to admire the fact that he kept trying with bigger and bigger bravado. I do hope, however, that he gives up this form of entertainment.  Ah, the joys of a sunny Sunday.

Wild Girls

So, I coach fourth graders in swimming for an Upper East Side school.  There are 3 classes in the grade and they rotate.  This next class 4A I know from coaching cross country.  They are wild. Big personalities, hilarious, smart and fun and I like them a lot. But wild. With swimming you really need the girls to pay attention, so throughout the day I was anticipating the crazy.

We take a bus to the swimming pool.  The big girls (6th graders) take a bus to the bronx and their bus is always on time, waiting for them down the block.  We wait and wait for our bus that always stops right in front of the school. That day a bus stops, we get on and go. We were on the wrong bus.  The bus driver adjusts quickly and heads to our pool located just 10 blocks away.  My fellow coach on the phone, tells me, “you wouldn’t believe what’s going on.” More on this in a bit.

I’m not paying too much attention because the girls are hilarious.  They want to see Fifty Shades Darker.  Ummm, in about 9 years I say.  Why, they say, is it scary?  You could say that I say.  Are there ghosts?  I laugh.

One of the hardest parts of coaching 9 year old girls  is getting them dressed after swimming.  They move frantically about but somehow all that movement doesn’t seem to involve getting dressed and drying their hair.  The locker room is chaos.   I’m calling out – 7 minutes left, 6, when someone hands me a baby.

A woman with two toddlers and a baby, had entered the locker room and thrusted the baby into my hands. Will you take him? she asks, as she enters the rest room.  Uh, yeah, I say. I continue to move the girls along.  The girls ask the obvious question, “how did you get that baby?” “Someone gave him to me,” I say.  The baby is red faced and screaming so I’m holding him at arms length.  I think, okay, enough screaming baby and hand him off to my fellow coach.  So the woman with the toddlers hands the baby to one woman and retrieves it from another.

We arrive back to school and learn the complete story of the wrong bus.  The swim coach of the 6th graders (whose bus we took) made a big scene.   In front of parents and school administrators.  Screaming - that’s not my bus!  That’s not my bus driver!  The Syrian Ambassador was in residence down the street and the cops needed to keep traffic moving.  Move it, move it, they screamed.  And here’s this coach acting like a maniac because it was the wrong bus.  Well, she got to where she needed to go and so did we.

The girls were great.  The world around them was chaotic but they were great.  All in a day's work.  This week it's a new class.  Stay tuned.