The Adventures of a Lifetime
On my daughter's and grandaughter's birthday, my daughter was 35 yo and my grandaughter was 19 yo. I sat with her and her expired driver's license on a hard wooden bench at the DMV, shifting around to give my bones a rest from time to time I'd get up and pace for a bit to walk away from any back pain caused by sitting too long. The PA system blasted out numbers as if in a Bingo Hall -- "B30" "I20" -- to summon ticket holders to the desk of an eye test, a written test or renew a registration. I felt as though we were at a bingo game, waiting for the winning number to be called, a winner's excitement at winning and his or her leap up to collect the prize at hand.
And on the bench, I had a revelation: The seemingly mundane event(s) I've shared with my daughter and grandaughter were both ny adventures and my rewards for just showing up.
I grew up in a Suburb of New York City, in a house above a restaurant that my immigrant parents bought as the key to a new life for themselves and their children. A vacation for us was a subway ride to Central Park or some park like Prospect Park, which was closer, past the Salvation Army bell ringers at Xmas then down the subway or into the bus for a day trip further into the City of New York to the Museum of Natural History or Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. Then down into the subway, again or into a bus for yet another day trip further into the city for it's perennial cultural events at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the Museum of Modern Art. As we wander under the ornate ceilings, or walk the meandering round ramp and staircases, mesmerized by the audaciously colored avant-garde paintings, montages and sculptures while looking up until our necks cramped and talking about the lives of the artists and sculptors.
I may have mentioned at some point in our relationship that I’m from The Brooklyn and I have visited all the boroughs to include The Bronx.
Which, if you’re unaware, is one of the outer boroughs of New York City, famed for Yankee Stadium, open spaces (we’ve got parks, yo), the birthplace of hip-hop and the famed Ogden Nash couplet “The Bronx; No Thonx.” It’s one of the few places that begins with “The,” and the most diverse area in the country. I grew up learning about German delis, Chinese restaurants, Latin bodegas and, of course, pizzerias. And this is true for all the New York City Borough, each has its uniqueness.
Even better - train ride to Rockaway Beach or Coney Island Beach, with shopping bags and picnic baskets filled with versions of gourmet delicacies like hard-boiled eggs, home made sandwiches, fried chicken, wine colored beets, juicy apples, pears and purple plums, followed by sand at our toes.
Lincoln Center - Avery Fischer Hall is great. A great concert hall, in one outing we saw Puccini's La Bohème, an opera. It was composed by Giacomo Puccini to an Italian libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa, based on Scènes de la vie de bohème by Henri Murger. The world premiere performance of La bohème was in Turin on 1 February 1896 at the Teatro Regio, conducted by the young Arturo Toscanini; its U.S. premiere took place the following year, 1897, in Los Angeles. La bohème has become part of the standard Italian opera repertory and is one of the most frequently performed operas worldwide. A collection of vignettes portraying young bohemians living in the Latin Quarter of Paris in the 1840s. The opera's libretto focuses on the relationship between Rodolfo and Mimì, ending with her death. In 1946, fifty years after the opera's premiere, Toscanini conducted a performance of it on radio with the NBC Symphony Orchestra. This performance was eventually released on vinyl record, on compact disc and DVD. It is the only recording of a Puccini opera by its original conductor.
On another, we were drawn into a musical orchestra amphitheater within an auditorium like children following the Pied Piper, hypnotized by the sound of a classical symphony like Beethoven's 5th, as performed by the New York Philharmonic, at Lincoln Center. The Symphony No. 5 in C minor of Ludwig van Beethoven, Op. 67, was written between 1804–1808. It is one of the best-known compositions in classical music, and one of the most frequently played symphonies. As is typical of symphonies in the classical period, Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is in four movements. The symphony, and the four-note opening motif in particular, are known worldwide, with the motif appearing frequently in popular culture, from disco versions, to rock and roll covers, to uses in film and television.
The first concert of the Philharmonic Society took place on December 7, 1842 in the Apollo Rooms on lower Broadway New York before an audience of about 600. The concert opened with Beethoven's Symphony No. 5. The New York Philharmonic, globally known as New York Philharmonic Orchestra (NYPO) or New York Philharmonic-Symphony Orchestra, is a symphony orchestra based in New York City in the United States. It is one of the leading American orchestras popularly referred to as the "Big Five". The Philharmonic's home is David Geffen Hall, located in New York's Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts.
Founded in 1842, the orchestra is one of the oldest musical institutions in the United States and the oldest of the "Big Five" orchestras. Its record-setting 14,000th concert was given in December 2004.[10]
We would go on to discuss the lives of the composers. And that day we in addition discussed the genius of Beethoven and Puccini.
We would occasionally visit family in the city proper and the suburbs of Providence, Rhode Island (RI) - Cranston, Pawtucket, Woonsocket, E. Providence, and Riverside RI. Often they were first cousins and other members of the family and friends from the old country - Nova Sintra, Brava, Cape Verde Islands, Africa - who stayed, in a house their immigrant parents, grandparents bought themselves or they bought for themselves as the key to a new life for themselves and their children. Another type of vacation for us. We would travel to Boston a bus trip to Central Square, past the Salvation Army band, playing "Amazing Grace," on the corner then down into the subway for a day trip further in to Boston Commons or the Market. Ever better - train ride to Carson Beach, with shopping bags filled with versions of gourmet delicacies like home made sandwiches, fried chicken, hard-boiled deviled eggs, wine colored beets, and juicy purple plums, followed by muddy sand sucking at our toes. Or ever better and closer - ta car ride to Rehoboth Beach, a historic town in Bristol County, Massachusetts with shopping bags filled with versions of gourmet delicacies like home made sandwiches, fried chicken, hard-boiled deviled eggs, wine colored beets, juicy oranges, apples, pears and purple plums, followed by muddy sand sucking at our toes.
I looked forward to these small outings and never developed a flair for the dramatic vacation to far away places.
It sounds boring to seek out simpler pleasures, but it was not. I have since traveled the world been to tropical islands, to Europe, The old World in the Middle East and many of America's cities. Those trips were restful and refreshing and provided fuel for a retake or reflection on life, but they were welcomed breaks from the routine. I prefer the mainstream ordinary.
I like the day trips and the routines of showing up to be a chauffeur for my daughter and grandaughter. They foster conversations that make me feel like a mentor. I drive. I make snacks. I offer small excursions. On one trip to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston we wander under the Chiluly glass ceiling, mesmerized by the audacious colors while looking up until our necks cramped and talking about the lives of the artists. On another, again, we were drawn into musical instruments room like children following the Pied Piper, hypnotized by the sound of a Mozart sonata or Bach's Fugue played on an antique harpsichord. That day we discussed Mozart's & Bach's genius. At a Red Sox game night at Fenway Park, lit up by a thousand bulbs, we sang "The Star-Spangled banner," ate Fenway Franks with mustard squeezed out of the buns, and talked about the rules of the game.
Or at a Yankee's game night at Yankee Stadium, lit up by a thousand halogen bulbs, we sang "The Star-Spangled banner," ate classic Ball Park Franks with onions, sauerkraut, mustard and ketchup squeezed out onto the buns, and talked about the rules of the game, as a refresher later on that year.
Or at Foxborough MA's Gillette Stadium, during the New England Patriots' game night, again lit up by a thousand halogen bulbs, we sang "The Star-Spangled banner," during half time, ate classic Ball Park Franks with onions, sauerkraut, mustard and ketchup squeezed out onto the buns, and talked about the rules of the game, later on that year.
But the best times were in the car, dinning room or the kitchen. We commiserated about homework assignments, playing the roles of two philosophers discussing the Enlightenment. We had our private club, reading A Prayer for Owen Meany and typing emails in UPPER CASE to mimic the voice of the main character. When Kylee was filling out her driver's license renewal forms, we talked about organ donors and voter registration.
If I added up all theses Irreplaceable ordinary moments in time, they would far exceed the time it would take to travel around the world and I have been around the world several times in my lifetime. That makes me think I should be more adventurous and perhaps have a bucket list of experiences and Kodak or brand cc/dc card worthy moments that are priceless, like base jumping the ole WTC - Twin Towers - skydiving, scuba-diving, being in the ISS or climbing Mount Everest. But that's not who I am. IN the end, it turns out that getting dressed and just showing up is enough for me.
The Train of Life
At birth we board the train and met our parents
and grand parents, with the belief they will always travel on our side, with us.
However, at some point they'll step off the train, leaving us on this journey alone.
For we're pretty much alone, again naturally ...we're born alone, learn to live
our lives alone, and die alone, no one but none can do it for us.
As time goes by, other people will board the train, including but not limited to siblings,
friends, fans, followers, children and even the love(s) of our life.
Over the course of time, however, many will step off and leave a permanent vacuum
others will leave footprints on our hearts, from which we are never the same, again.
One has to remember, these are object lesson - life's lessons and not a life sentence.
Others will go so unnoticed that we don't realize they have changed seats, vacated
their seats or are gone from our lives, forever.
This train will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and
farewells. Success consists of having a good relationship with all passengers requiring that
we give the best of ourselves.
What's good for you must also benefit the other person as well, whether you're setting up a
date with you next conquest or putting together a big business deal.
The mystery of the travel is that we don't know at which station we ourselves will step off.
So, we must live in the best way we can; live, love, laugh, forgive often and be happy:
don't worry be happy -- in so doing, offer the best of who we are.
After all, Life is too short, Break the rules. Forgive quickly, Kiss slowly. Love truly.
Laugh uncontrollably And Never, ever Regret Anything That Makes You Smile!
It's important to do this, because when the time comes to step off and leave an empty
seat in the train of life, we should leave behind beautifully memorable moments and fond
memories for those who will continue the journey without us for us, on our behalf as we
travel with the train of life.
I wish all of you a joyful journey on the train. Reap much success,
give lots of love. More importantly, thank your higher power, however you define - God
for the journey. Remember it's the journey not the destination that matters.
Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train.
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