Caught Between the Moon and NYC

When you get caught between the moon and New York City,
I know it's crazy, but it's true.
If you get caught between the moon and New York City,
The best that you can do, the best that you can do, is fall in love.
–Carole Bayer Sager from Arthur’s Theme

I do love New York. I lived there for two years in the late 80’s and get back at every opportunity—which doesn’t seem to happen nearly often enough. Scott had a symposium in Manhattan the week of November 6; and when he offered to book a ticket for me to join him that Friday for a long weekend, the speed of my acceptance exceeded the velocity of light. New York and Scott (not necessarily in that order) for four days—talk about breathless anticipation!

Scott is a LaGuardia Airport fan, but I held out for Newark. That was brilliance on my part—particularly when my flight got delayed to arrive just in time for New Jersey/New York rush hour traffic. My host thoughtfully had a limo service pick me up. The driver was a sweet man, but incapable of changing lanes—so for two hours we were always in the lane being passed by everyone else. Finally he deposited me at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square where Scott was waiting for me. We almost literally threw my bags in the room and set a new land speed record dashing down 50th to meet Scott’s friends, Jack and Maureen, for dinner at Bobby Van’s Steakhouse.

The company was grand, the food delicious, and Milton and Eddie took great care of us. It hurt my heart to leave a full side of beef sitting on my plate, but it was going to hurt my belly even more if I kept eating. Jack and Maureen had to drive back to New Jersey, and Maureen was getting up at dark-thirty the next morning to catch a flight for a business trip to Florida. We bid our adieus.

While friends in Madison were shoveling their walks, Saturday morning in New York dawned sunny and warm. We sashayed around Mid-town trying to figure out where to eat brunch, and finally at a Grand Central Station kiosk we shared some odd mix of chicken chili, an exotic salad, a soda and sangria. It was perfect.

Our plan was to catch the F train to Coney Island, then work our way back to my old Brooklyn neighborhood, and go on my personal Moonstruck tour. We caught the 6 and missed our stop to transfer to the F, ending up at the Brooklyn Bridge stop. When I asked Scott if he wanted to walk across the bridge, he was all for it. When I lived there, I ran and biked across the BB on a regular basis, but hadn’t been on it since I left. It was the perfect thing to do on such a gorgeous day with its breath-taking views of both Brooklyn and Manhattan, with plenty of room for old-time nostalgia. From there we went to the promenade in Brooklyn Heights, an old and lovely part of the Burrough.

Early on we had learned that we both loved the movie Moonstruck, which was filmed in and around my old ‘hood. We watched it together the week before we left, and as we approached the promenade, I took us a bit out of the way down the “fruit streets” First Pineapple. Then Orange. When we got to Cranberry, I headed us south. Scott didn’t question it, probably just assuming that once more I’d lost my mind and gone off on a tangent. Then I pointed to a brownstone at the corner of Willow and Cranberry. “Recognize it?” He did. It was where the Castorini family lived in the movie. I pointed out a few other landmarks as we went along. Eventually we closed in on Carroll Gardens, the Mafia-protected neighborhood where Carrie and I had lived. Along with the Norwegian Seaman’s Church that had been turned into co-ops, my old brownstone, and Carrie’s PS 58 where she attended fourth grade, I was able to point out one more Moonstruck icon. Cammareri Brothers Bakery, where Cher and Nicolas cage first met as Loretta and Ronnie—and more importantly where I used to buy my whole wheat bread—was now sadly gentrified into a sandwich shop.

We were never to catch the F train, which seemed to be out of service for the weekend. But the G was filling in, so across from PS 58 we caught the G and took the meandering, graffiti-filled journey across Brooklyn to Coney Island. A ride on The Cyclone, the terrifying wooden deathtrap of a rollercoaster, was not to be. That, along with most Coney Island operations and sideshows, was closed down for the season. However, just enough hawkers were calling out to entice us to win some hideous stuffed animal to give that carnie atmosphere. We walked down the boardwalk, with volumes of seagulls clouding the sky reminiscent of a Hitchcock flick—but the day was too bright and upbeat to carry the theme much further. We walked down to the beach and gazed at the beauty of the Atlantic Ocean, and I rambled on about the wonderful experiences of the two triathlons I did there. Then… back to the train and eventually Manhattan.

We caught an early dinner at the Grand Central Oyster Bar. Thank God we had enough time to take a quick nap before getting ready for Wicked, the Broadway show chronicling the other side of the Oz story of the Wicked Witch of the West. I had started reading the novel by Gregory Maguire last year, but some combination of personal distraction and not being absorbed enough by the book meant I never finished it. Until Scott suggested it and purchased tickets weeks before our trip, I had no idea it was a play. (As we sat in our orchestra seats in Gershwin Theater and I flipped through my playbill, I turned to him and blurted out, “Ohmigod! This is a musical!” He looked at me as though I had just landed from Mars. Oh my. I am SO out of the New York loop, just newly clued to the fact that this thing is anything but a book, let alone that it is a Broadway musical with 10 Tony Award nominations and 3 wins. Okay, now I know. I’m hip. Kind of.) It was two hours of being delighted and mesmerized with Ana Gasteyer in the lead role. How could anything top this?

Sunday. Rainy. But at least nothing that required shoveling. We had invited my sister Ruth, whom I hadn't seen in seven years, to join us for a New Orleans Sunday brunch at Joe’s Pub where Allen Toussaint would be playing. This was a place recommended by Jack and Maureen. Maureen, off in Florida, couldn’t be there; but Jack and his niece Anya joined us for food, music, and camaraderie. It was great seeing Ruth. At one point as Toussaint was playing, and she and I were both totally rockin' out to the music, she turned to me and said, “Why are we the only ones having fun here?” And I said, “Because as Nazarene girls, we didn’t for so long and are still making up for it.” (I’m sure the others were having fun but not quite as dynamically.) Ruth and I are not close, but there is something about family bonds that hits primal chords that go to some deep bedrock place. I was so happy that she was there. And of course, I was also thrilled to be sharing this with Scott, as well as the joy of new acquaintance that Jack and Anya brought. Oh yeah, I just happened to pass Elvis Costello on the way to the ladies’ room…. He ultimately joined Toussaint onstage for several songs, and it was incredible. Joe's Pub seats maybe 150 people, so this was intimacy almost equivalent to having the concert in my living room. http://www.elviscostello.info/wiki/index.php?title=Concert_2006-11-12

Sunday night Scott and I spent a quality hour at Border’s Books, where I bought Tarot cards and we relaxed with hot tea. Later we went to Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. I had chosen it, and it was right on par with selecting Newark as my airport of choice. (To Scott's credit, he never gave me a bad time about these little miscues.) It was cool being in a funky theater with car seats and where they encouraged you to bring your bar purchases in to enjoy during the show. I guess they weren’t too worried about anyone spilling anything. The music was actually good, but it was so angst-ridden, it became exhausting to experience. I was so glad when it was over.

Not so much the trip. Monday we made our way back to Madison. Our stay had been the perfect amount of time. I was ready to go back home and to day-to-day routine (and Scott certainly was after being gone most of the week)—but it was still hard to see the end of such a fun-filled, love-filled, magical time. However, although the geography has changed, the inimitable sparkle of getting caught between the moon and New York City will continue to reflect its light.