Change In Plans

Happy Halloween from Greenwich Village!

A year ago, we were wandering around in Tokyo, our kids lamenting that they were trick-or-treating far from home. Halloween is not a big holiday in Japan, but it is very well organized. Households register on the internet if they are accepting visits from trick or treaters. Our friends printed a color-coded map, which we followed to find candy.

This year, we are in the white-hot, freaky epicenter of the American Halloween celebration. The Greenwich Village parade passes 25 feet from our front door. There are tens of thousands of spectators and participants, and hundreds of police officers on the street.

It should be an interesting evening. Lu is a cat, Zola is a hobo. He has fake rotten teeth, and a great cardboard sign that reads “Will work for candy! God bless U”.

India is some kind of leather-clad Superheroine for Peace. Think Emma Peel from ‘The Avengers.’

‘m dressed as a grumpy old Halloween humbug. It’s a stretch role for me.

All around us are sexy French maids, sexy Mario Brothers, sexy skeletons, and sexy Pilgrims (???). Transvestism abounds. These are only the spectators. Because the marathon is tomorrow, there are many European and Latin American visitors standing on the parade route, wondering what to make of it all.

Start flying the freak flag, America. Magic is afoot, and the goddesses are wearing leather chaps on 6th Avenue.

PostScript- much later. We stood on 6th Avenue for over an hour, waiting for the parade to start. Zola sat on the curb with his sign, and an abject look on his face. A few people gave him money. Lu sat on my shoulders. More people packed in, until the spectators were at least ten deep behind the barricades on both sides of the street. I’m glad I’m tall.

Finally, the parade started. Unfortunately, the rain started at about the same time. It’s a very democratic parade: anyone can march, costumed or not. We saw some incredibly elaborate group costumes, some giant skeletons, many people in no costumes at all, and scores of ’sexy policewomen.’. There were several elaborate Michael Jackson group tributes (think Thriller video).

Despite what I had thought, the whole experience was surprisingly wholesome. Despite the masses, everyone was very polite and calm. It was a pleasant, only modestly chaotic environment. You get the sense that the NYPD has things under control.

After watching for over an hour, we walked to a party at the townhouse home of one Zola’s classmates. The nearly mile-long walk in the pouring rain and with the crowds took about 45 minutes. We were happy when we got there.

When it stopped raining, we walked back. The crowds had doubled at least, and at times we could not move at all, hemmed in by people. I’m glad Lu was on my shoulders. Still, everyone was polite and calm.

Lying in bed, I can hear the crowds roaring outside. The actual parade ended a few minutes ago, after three hours of continuous marchers. I’m not so sure it stays entirely wholesome as the night deepens.

We had fun, and are all exhausted. Lu fell asleep on my shoulders, and Zola asked me to stop reading after only two pages of ‘Red Badge of Courage.’ Happy Halloween!

Greetings from Bernardsville, New Jersey.

It is a rainy and cold Sunday. We made the long trek out to New Jersey from the city, visiting our old neighborhood and our storage space for the first time in a year.

It seems strange that we lived out here for nearly four years. As we drove, I recognized sights, and they resonated intellectually. Emotionally, though, they did not raise much of a response, except, “Did we really live here?” It seems like a long time ago.

Everywhere else we have lived, even for a short while, made a lasting impression, and evokes emotion around specific sounds, sights, smells. Not sure yet why this place does not.

Seeing all of our stuff - three storage units full of furniture, clothes, toys - evoked more emotion.

I was glad to find a pair of boots that I was looking for. It saved me from buying a new pair.

I laughed as India pulled another ten pairs of her shoes from boxes. She doesn’t like when I refer to her as Mrs. Marcos.

She was happy to find a photo exhibit she had been holding for a South African friend. Apparently, the exhibit is being displayed in Washington on November 1st, so if we hadn’t been able to find it, India’s life would have gotten a little complicated.

Mostly, though, I re-experienced the great feeling of liberation we had when we started our travels. Shedding all of our possessions, even temporarily, for the (relatively) unencumbered life on the open road was just great. I remember how excited and eager we were to get going. We locked the units, drove to the airport, and forgot about 95% of our possessions.

Now we are in rented-house limbo, so we don’t really need our furniture or most of our other stuff. When we move back to Cape Town in December, we will have to figure out what to ship, what to continue storing, and what to give away. My emotional response is “give it all away.”

At some point, though, we will own another house, and need things. In the meantime, I’m happy to know they are safe, dry, and there if we want them.

I hve been reading Bruce Chatwin’s book, “The Songlines”.  In part it is a travelogue of his time in the Australian Outback, trying to understand the role of Aboriginal culture in Australian society.  A big part of the book, though, is Chatwin’s debate with himself on the role of travel in human civilization.  From his own experiences, plus excerpts from anthropology, philosophy, and paleontology, he concludes (basically) on balance that mobility is the source of humanity’s ennobling characteristics.  When societies settle, they become warlike to their neighbors and repressive to their weaker elements.

The trip to the storage space goes directly to the root of the tension that Chatwin describes.  The act of putting our possessions in storage represents freedom and mobility.  The existence, and importance to us, of these things represents stability.  “Mobility vs. Stability” is the perpetual and unresolved conflict in India’s and my life together.  It is no wonder that we have been arguing nastily from the moment we arrived here. 

We have to hurry back to see They Might Be Giants in a family concert at NYU. The drummer’s daughter is in Lu’s class at the Blue School. I think we have swapped experiences for possessions for the last 16 months. Not a bad trade, but also possibly not sustainable.  More to come.