I finished my Masters degree in architecture in December of 1999. I still remember packing up our little Civic in the cold December winter in Ann Arbor and driving through rural Pennsylvania to travel to our new home, New York City. We arrived in Brooklyn on January 4, 2001 and settled in a tiny studio/1-BR in an iffy part of Brooklyn. Our first year in New York City proved to be an eventful year. September of 2001 brought the events of 9/11. I remember walking home from Manhattan to Brooklyn amongst the tens of thousands of stranded and bewildered New Yorkers in the suffocating summer heat. It took about 4 hours to walk home, primarily because the sidewalks were so packed with people that we could crawl along at a snail’s pace. As I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, practically being pushed along in the dense humanity of Brooklynites, I felt like I was living in the news; millions of people around the world will read about these events and see the pictures, but here I am, actually walking across the Brooklyn Bridge! Later, we all wandered downtown, trying to give blood or donating supplies for the workers. For several years following, I remember looking towards downtown when crossing Brooklyn Bridge on the subway, and seeing the two pillars of light that eerily signified the lost profile of the fallen towers.
Later, we were also there for the Blackout and again found myself walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. Again, it was a hot summer day. As we crossed over to the Brooklyn side on the bridge, I remember people sitting on stoops with big drums, pounding a beat; it was like a festival! I remember people handing out cold bottles of water to strangers. I remember people yelling out encouragement to people obviously not used to walking this distance in the hot weather, their suits drenched with sweat, they yelled out “Welcome to Brooklyn! You’re almost home!”. Shopkeepers were outside handing out ice cream since the power was out and they would all be ruined soon enough. The sense of camaraderie was palpable: The City and all its millions of inhabitants were living through yet another slice of history again.
Since our move to Upstate some three years ago, we have been largely spared of large scale natural disasters. Hurricane Irene did flood our basement, but it was unoccupied (since I knew it was prone to flooding) and mostly harmless; it receded on its own accord in a few days. This time around with Sandy, again we were spared. We had some extra water on hand and tried to keep our cell phones fully charged, but that was the extent of our “disaster” preparation. I think the wind blew the cover off of our picnic table, but that’s about it.
Seeing the images of NYC and especially Brooklyn, I am struck by the immensity of the damage there and the disruption to life, but also the fact that we are this time not part of this latest chapter of NYC’s coming together to pull through this latest disaster. With subway systems paralyzed, no one is going to work, or anywhere for that matter. Everyone is coming out, taking stock of the fallen trees and debris, looking for opportunities to volunteer, clean up, make donations, or to extend a hand to a friend that may have been affected more by this latest disaster. And while I am in no way implying that this is a fun experience or that I would wish it upon myself and family, I am familiar with how events like this brings the community together and everyone’s busy lives stop for a moment as they converge to get through together. A small part of me felt like I was somehow “missing out” when I read the news coverage of the subways being down, people all holed up in their homes, or the photos of the giant tree that fell right in front of our old apartment building. I had lived through the previous events in NYC where among the mass panic and destruction of 9/11, the immense standstill bought on by the blackout, New Yorkers came together to help each other out, to bond, to forget their career ambitions and class divisions for a moment and to come together as a community. This is what I am missing.
We chose one of the more denser neighborhoods in Albany to settle down, and one with a nominal “downtown” within walking distance. We can and do walk to the library, church, and are very close to the various destinations that our family frequents, such as the YMCA, or the town pool. I have biked to Emma’s school, with her on the back seat, and I felt so happy as I coasted along, with friends occasionally passing me by in cars waving out the window. I felt connected to my neighborhood and felt good about being able to physically travel to my destination and live my life without the aid of internal combustion. I love to see cars I recognize when driving or biking around town, to honk or be honked at, and know exactly where they are going right now. In some way, it is my attempt to recapture the experience of living amongst neighbors and friends, where happy accidents can happen, where you can run into friends at the local grocery store.
Once, Yayoi was biking to drop off Emma at her Montessori school one morning when the chain fell off her bike. She was not able to slip it back on, so she decided to push the bike (with Emma sitting in it) all the way to her destination. Our friends, also enrolled in the same Montessori and on her way to drop off her son, noticed Yayoi trudging along and gave Emma a ride. These are the kind of moments when I feel we are successful in finding a new community in our new home in Albany, and while it’s not exactly the same as what we left behind in Brooklyn, it does embody a quality that is important to us in where we live.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Architect as Profession
I don’t want our daughters to go into Architecture, or any design related field. I have been researching some freelance gigs from CL recently. It’s a very depressing exercise. Seemingly, no one values architecture or design, or values it very little. They think it’s superfluous and want it done for close to nothing. It’s even insulting to hear what people think your time/services are worth.
I’m glad that I’m not in a design position now, and I don’t think I want to go back into design. I want to work for myself only, and have a variety of income sources including a salaried position, real estate and others.
One ad wanted a STAMPED drawing/design for $300 for some non-profit offices. For stamped drawings, I’d probably have to get professional insurance, and that alone would cost over $300. Another guy wanted me to give him a quote over the phone to provide him with stamped permit drawings for his house. He said he had hired someone for $600, but he wasn’t happy with the product (shocking). I told him I can’t give him a quote without seeing the house first, and that was the end of that conversation. But again, people simply don’t think architects are necessary or worthwhile. And that’s not how I want my daughters to feel for their entire professional lives.
I think being an MD or a JD is preferable because no one disputes how critical their services are. No matter how crazy or uninformed you are, you will still probably understand you can’t start treating your own physical ailments, popping medicine or cutting yourself open to perform some DIY surgery. You understand that it’s an expensive but non-negotiable expense. Likewise, law is nothing to mess around with or try to skimp on costs. You could end up in jail or lose a case and ruin your life.
On the other hand, the general public sees architecture or design as superfluous and unnecessary. If it weren’t for the law that requires permits, people would go and build whatever they want in any method they want. Of course, we’d probably have a lot more people dying in fires, building collapses, people falling off stairs and building edges, rooms with insufficient light/ventilation, or any matter of less than desirable building environments. But this all sounds terribly self-serving, like an ad claiming that their product is superior and that your lives simply wouldn’t be complete without it. Not exactly an unbiased opinion, I know.
I loved the experience of architecture school. The unbridled freedom to pursue your own creative agenda, the intellectual challenge of learning why humans build architecture rather than simply seeking some shelter from the elements, the incredible studio environment where you are challenged and stimulated by the work of your colleagues, all of this made for a very enjoyable period of my life. But I wonder if it’s been all downhill from there since I graduated. Professionally, architects are so powerless. We are pushed around by owners, engineers, or even contractors. We are seen as easily replaceable and our time and value added is constantly questioned on the project team. Sometimes, I wonder if our education sets us up for a lifetime of constant disappointment because it opens our eyes to things that we will pursue and desire for the rest of our lives, but will rarely attain.
I’m glad that I’m not in a design position now, and I don’t think I want to go back into design. I want to work for myself only, and have a variety of income sources including a salaried position, real estate and others.
One ad wanted a STAMPED drawing/design for $300 for some non-profit offices. For stamped drawings, I’d probably have to get professional insurance, and that alone would cost over $300. Another guy wanted me to give him a quote over the phone to provide him with stamped permit drawings for his house. He said he had hired someone for $600, but he wasn’t happy with the product (shocking). I told him I can’t give him a quote without seeing the house first, and that was the end of that conversation. But again, people simply don’t think architects are necessary or worthwhile. And that’s not how I want my daughters to feel for their entire professional lives.
I think being an MD or a JD is preferable because no one disputes how critical their services are. No matter how crazy or uninformed you are, you will still probably understand you can’t start treating your own physical ailments, popping medicine or cutting yourself open to perform some DIY surgery. You understand that it’s an expensive but non-negotiable expense. Likewise, law is nothing to mess around with or try to skimp on costs. You could end up in jail or lose a case and ruin your life.
On the other hand, the general public sees architecture or design as superfluous and unnecessary. If it weren’t for the law that requires permits, people would go and build whatever they want in any method they want. Of course, we’d probably have a lot more people dying in fires, building collapses, people falling off stairs and building edges, rooms with insufficient light/ventilation, or any matter of less than desirable building environments. But this all sounds terribly self-serving, like an ad claiming that their product is superior and that your lives simply wouldn’t be complete without it. Not exactly an unbiased opinion, I know.
I loved the experience of architecture school. The unbridled freedom to pursue your own creative agenda, the intellectual challenge of learning why humans build architecture rather than simply seeking some shelter from the elements, the incredible studio environment where you are challenged and stimulated by the work of your colleagues, all of this made for a very enjoyable period of my life. But I wonder if it’s been all downhill from there since I graduated. Professionally, architects are so powerless. We are pushed around by owners, engineers, or even contractors. We are seen as easily replaceable and our time and value added is constantly questioned on the project team. Sometimes, I wonder if our education sets us up for a lifetime of constant disappointment because it opens our eyes to things that we will pursue and desire for the rest of our lives, but will rarely attain.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Somewhere over the Rainbow
There was an Ice Cream social at the church tonight. After a quick dinner, I took the girls by myself to give Yayoi the night off. The church is on the corner from us, an easy walk on a pleasant summer evening like this. I attached the Buggy Board to the stroller, and the three of us walked to the church.
We could see the Bouncy Bounce on the front grassy knoll as we approached from down the block. I stopped the stroller and the girls darted off so they could arrive faster rather than enduring the ride on the stroller over the grass for the last fifty yards.
I talked with a recent friend that I had made in town for most of the night. His older child was starting school at Yuna's elementary school in the Fall, and we were talking about schools and teachers and the experience of having your child start school for the first time.
The Ice Cream Social was wrapping up, and the crowd began to thin. I had to tip the Giant Rubbermaid lemonade cooler for several children who had been unsuccessfully trying get the last few drops.
My girls and my friend's family and one other family that I did not know decided to move to the church playground. The light was beginning to thin and the Bouncy House was down, the ice cream put away. But the children were determined to enjoy the last bits of the evening in each other's company, expending energy running around and climbing in joy.
We were typically the among the last families to leave any given event, not unlike the children looking to get the last few drops of the sugary lemonade from the almost empty cooler. I would see who the likewise minded souls were as the crowd began to thin, and people would start putting chairs away and picking up trash. It was like a fog slowly lifting over San Francisco Bay, revealing the beautiful houses built into the hillside. I would often help put the chairs away or join in the clean up crew.
It was now almost completely dark, and the three families decided that the best exit strategy was to leave together simultaneously. That way, it would be clear to the children that there was no point in asking to stay any longer, and there was no more "play" to be had in a empty and dark playground. It worked, and as the other two families loaded their children in their cars, I scooted out with my two girls in the stroller, Yuna riding on the Buggy Board behind me.
Yuna started to sing Somewhere over the Rainbow as we hurried home on the bumpy sidewalk. She had been attending a week long drama camp, and there were many songs she was learning for a Friday performance at the end of the week. Her singing was so beautiful, unadorned, unselfconscious and pure. To her, it was the most natural way to wrap up her evening, in the fading sunlight, zooming home on the stoller pushed by her father, to practice the songs for her performance.
We could see the Bouncy Bounce on the front grassy knoll as we approached from down the block. I stopped the stroller and the girls darted off so they could arrive faster rather than enduring the ride on the stroller over the grass for the last fifty yards.
I talked with a recent friend that I had made in town for most of the night. His older child was starting school at Yuna's elementary school in the Fall, and we were talking about schools and teachers and the experience of having your child start school for the first time.
The Ice Cream Social was wrapping up, and the crowd began to thin. I had to tip the Giant Rubbermaid lemonade cooler for several children who had been unsuccessfully trying get the last few drops.
My girls and my friend's family and one other family that I did not know decided to move to the church playground. The light was beginning to thin and the Bouncy House was down, the ice cream put away. But the children were determined to enjoy the last bits of the evening in each other's company, expending energy running around and climbing in joy.
We were typically the among the last families to leave any given event, not unlike the children looking to get the last few drops of the sugary lemonade from the almost empty cooler. I would see who the likewise minded souls were as the crowd began to thin, and people would start putting chairs away and picking up trash. It was like a fog slowly lifting over San Francisco Bay, revealing the beautiful houses built into the hillside. I would often help put the chairs away or join in the clean up crew.
It was now almost completely dark, and the three families decided that the best exit strategy was to leave together simultaneously. That way, it would be clear to the children that there was no point in asking to stay any longer, and there was no more "play" to be had in a empty and dark playground. It worked, and as the other two families loaded their children in their cars, I scooted out with my two girls in the stroller, Yuna riding on the Buggy Board behind me.
Yuna started to sing Somewhere over the Rainbow as we hurried home on the bumpy sidewalk. She had been attending a week long drama camp, and there were many songs she was learning for a Friday performance at the end of the week. Her singing was so beautiful, unadorned, unselfconscious and pure. To her, it was the most natural way to wrap up her evening, in the fading sunlight, zooming home on the stoller pushed by her father, to practice the songs for her performance.
Dream: Leaning House
I dreamt that my house was leaning. My house in real life is very old and indeed does have myriad problems, but nothing quite so serious in nature as this. The lean was causing the finishes and other layers to start peeling off and fall, and the structural connections were visible from where I stood on the ground, in some cases.
I became extremely worried and went into the house to seek counsel with a wiser, older architect, This middle aged lady that I found in the house told me that there were ways to pushing at the connections with certain equipment, and this would bring the house back in alignment. I thought to myself that this sounded like a very expensive repair.
When I was outside, I noticed that there was a Kindergarten or some sort of children's school next door to me. There was a group of children wearing uniforms sitting around in a circle. One child was off in the corner of the yard, oblivious to the activities of her class, off in her own little world.
There was a electrical source outside the house in the corner. Upon inspecting it with my two companions, one of them concluded that it was not working and that he should have been informed about this earlier.
I was hungry and found three bite sized snacks in my car for myself and my two companions: Halloween sized Kit Kat, Mars Bar, and Twix. I decided to choose first, and told my companions that I will be having half of the Kit Kat, and either the Mars Bar or the Twix (which now I am realizing comprises entirely half of the available snacks, not a third).
I became extremely worried and went into the house to seek counsel with a wiser, older architect, This middle aged lady that I found in the house told me that there were ways to pushing at the connections with certain equipment, and this would bring the house back in alignment. I thought to myself that this sounded like a very expensive repair.
When I was outside, I noticed that there was a Kindergarten or some sort of children's school next door to me. There was a group of children wearing uniforms sitting around in a circle. One child was off in the corner of the yard, oblivious to the activities of her class, off in her own little world.
There was a electrical source outside the house in the corner. Upon inspecting it with my two companions, one of them concluded that it was not working and that he should have been informed about this earlier.
I was hungry and found three bite sized snacks in my car for myself and my two companions: Halloween sized Kit Kat, Mars Bar, and Twix. I decided to choose first, and told my companions that I will be having half of the Kit Kat, and either the Mars Bar or the Twix (which now I am realizing comprises entirely half of the available snacks, not a third).
Monday, July 16, 2012
Schenectady Summer Hard Court Championships
Saturday
The start of the tournament was delayed because of a morning downpour, throwing the schedule into a disarray. My first match didn’t begin until 4:30PM, some two hours after the initial scheduled start. My opponent was apparently some high profile player (my double partner Googled him and turned up a Player Profile), and I was a little intimidated and nervous. I played tight, and lost the first set quickly. I was mentally preparing my concession speech in my head during the second set. I was able to relax a little bit and started to play better, and won the second set. We played a third set. The sun was merciless and there was no shade to be found on the courts. After some two hours of intense exertion, my opponent started to fade physically, stopped moving his feet. I took the third set largely on account of my better fitness.
After a short break, I also played a double match that lasted until the last rays of the sun were fading, 8:30PMish. my partner and I won in three sets. Again, I played nervous and tight in the first set, and basically gave it away on account of my flurry of errors. I felt apologetic to my doubles partner, who had already lost his singles match earlier in the day; lose the doubles, and he was done with the tournament on both fronts. I was cramping in both legs by this point (although I tried not to telegraph it to my opponents). Luckily, doubles is not as physically demanding and the points are shorter. We somehow took the second set, and I started to feel more relaxed and comfortable in the third set. We got an early lead and maintained the momentum to the finish line, winning in three sets. It was starting to get dark and we were the last ones off the court.
Sunday
My doubles partner had played my next singles opponent in the previous round and lost. He warned me about his general awesomeness of his game, and when I stepped on court and started to warm up with my next opponent, I quickly realized my doubles partner had not been exaggerating. He was 52. He looked 30. He was a semi-retired dentist whose true passion in life was sports. He said he trains for track year around (100M, 200M), and in addition to tennis he was the world record holder for a sport called “snow shoe racing”: you race 100M in the snow wearing snow shoes. He held the world record in two divisions. He was incredibly fit and strong. Oh, and he just happens to dabble in tennis when he’s not too busy with his other athletic pursuits, and was once a USTA 5.0 rated tennis player. The inevitable came quickly: 6-1, 6-3. Sure, I was still semi cramping and returned to the courts in less than 12 hours after having logged six sets in the 90-degree heat. But in all honesty, even if I’d been 100%, he would have beat me soundly. Maybe it would have been a more respectable 6-3, 6-4. But my game wasn’t where I needed to be to challenge him.
After a short break for lunch, I teamed up with my partner for our doubles match. It was clear that we were overmatched technically. First of all, the average age of our opponents was probably about 22. Between me (39) and my partner (42), we were almost two decades older. But honestly, it wasn’t the age or fitness that determined this matchup. One half of our opponents team was the winner of the singles division, and was currently on a tennis scholarship at a Division I university (SUNY Stony Brook). His game was miles ahead of where I dreamed of being one day: clean, efficient strokes, excellent movement, basically without any weaknesses. I tried to be optimistic, but one part of me didn’t want to get double bagelled in front of the small crowd that was gathering to watch our match. My wish was granted, as we lost 6-1, 6-1 in a short 30 minutes or so. And just like that, I was out of the tournament. I had played ten sets in two days, and was cramping in both legs, so tired I can hardly climb the stairs. But it was really fun to play with something on the line, to step on the court with a brand new opponent, get to know his game and try to beat him. And I look forward to moving without grimacing and regaining my lithe, catlike movement again soon.
The start of the tournament was delayed because of a morning downpour, throwing the schedule into a disarray. My first match didn’t begin until 4:30PM, some two hours after the initial scheduled start. My opponent was apparently some high profile player (my double partner Googled him and turned up a Player Profile), and I was a little intimidated and nervous. I played tight, and lost the first set quickly. I was mentally preparing my concession speech in my head during the second set. I was able to relax a little bit and started to play better, and won the second set. We played a third set. The sun was merciless and there was no shade to be found on the courts. After some two hours of intense exertion, my opponent started to fade physically, stopped moving his feet. I took the third set largely on account of my better fitness.
After a short break, I also played a double match that lasted until the last rays of the sun were fading, 8:30PMish. my partner and I won in three sets. Again, I played nervous and tight in the first set, and basically gave it away on account of my flurry of errors. I felt apologetic to my doubles partner, who had already lost his singles match earlier in the day; lose the doubles, and he was done with the tournament on both fronts. I was cramping in both legs by this point (although I tried not to telegraph it to my opponents). Luckily, doubles is not as physically demanding and the points are shorter. We somehow took the second set, and I started to feel more relaxed and comfortable in the third set. We got an early lead and maintained the momentum to the finish line, winning in three sets. It was starting to get dark and we were the last ones off the court.
Sunday
My doubles partner had played my next singles opponent in the previous round and lost. He warned me about his general awesomeness of his game, and when I stepped on court and started to warm up with my next opponent, I quickly realized my doubles partner had not been exaggerating. He was 52. He looked 30. He was a semi-retired dentist whose true passion in life was sports. He said he trains for track year around (100M, 200M), and in addition to tennis he was the world record holder for a sport called “snow shoe racing”: you race 100M in the snow wearing snow shoes. He held the world record in two divisions. He was incredibly fit and strong. Oh, and he just happens to dabble in tennis when he’s not too busy with his other athletic pursuits, and was once a USTA 5.0 rated tennis player. The inevitable came quickly: 6-1, 6-3. Sure, I was still semi cramping and returned to the courts in less than 12 hours after having logged six sets in the 90-degree heat. But in all honesty, even if I’d been 100%, he would have beat me soundly. Maybe it would have been a more respectable 6-3, 6-4. But my game wasn’t where I needed to be to challenge him.
After a short break for lunch, I teamed up with my partner for our doubles match. It was clear that we were overmatched technically. First of all, the average age of our opponents was probably about 22. Between me (39) and my partner (42), we were almost two decades older. But honestly, it wasn’t the age or fitness that determined this matchup. One half of our opponents team was the winner of the singles division, and was currently on a tennis scholarship at a Division I university (SUNY Stony Brook). His game was miles ahead of where I dreamed of being one day: clean, efficient strokes, excellent movement, basically without any weaknesses. I tried to be optimistic, but one part of me didn’t want to get double bagelled in front of the small crowd that was gathering to watch our match. My wish was granted, as we lost 6-1, 6-1 in a short 30 minutes or so. And just like that, I was out of the tournament. I had played ten sets in two days, and was cramping in both legs, so tired I can hardly climb the stairs. But it was really fun to play with something on the line, to step on the court with a brand new opponent, get to know his game and try to beat him. And I look forward to moving without grimacing and regaining my lithe, catlike movement again soon.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Picking up Chinese Food
I went to pick up Chinese food from the corner store for dinner tonight. I was a little early, and I had to wait a little bit while our order was filled. It was your typical Chinese takeout place, with peeling laminate countertops, a red/gold Chinese calendar, and a collection of forlorn pieces of furniture in the corner.
There was a little girl, probably about Yuna's age, about 5 or 6 standing behind the counter. She was scribbling absentmindedly on a tall stack of menus. Her older sister started talking to her in English, offering up a Rubik's Cube, almost fully completed. The little girl's eyes lit up, and started to reach for the toy from her sister while excitedly asking about how she'd gotten so far.
What appeared to be the girls' parents were operating the restaurant. It was a family affair, as is often the case. The dad was busy poring over the flaming hot wok, filling the order sheets pinned up by his wife who operated the phones while also busily keeping a steady flow of spring rolls in the fryer. The crew was rounded out by the older daughter, who appeared to be in middle school age, perhaps, cashing out orders and occasionally taking orders when her mom was busy putting together a food order.
I think about the parallels between this little girl, very beautiful, standing behind the counter on a sweltering Sunday afternoon, and my daughter at home. Both are surely beloved by her parents. This girl maybe doesn't have her parents able to spend the same resources, time and finances to fill up her summer with various camps, lessons and other pursuits. But they are at least very much cared for and loved, far from neglected even if one set of parents are not in a place to spend the family resources advancing the child's education during the summer months.
It's unlikely that this family lives in Delmar, with its relatively higher cost of rent/real estate, and corresponding reward: excellent public schools. It's more likely that they live in Albany, or perhaps even further away, with less than stellar public schools and higher crime rates. But again, this girl and her sister are the reason why the parents wake up in the wee hours of every morning, and spend the whole day on their feet, busily feeding the Delmar area with its demand for cheap and quick orders of cashew chicken and beef with asparagus for busy families.
They could be classmates in school next year, bunkmates in camp in the future, and their lives are very different right now. I hope that this litte girl will have the kind of opportunities later in her life, and her daughter or son will not have to spend her afternoons behind the counter at the family's restaurant on Sunday afternoons, and instead she will spend it at the town pool splashing with her friends, going to the park to listen to a children's concert, or taking piano or tennis lessons. This is, in essence the American Dream, that the next generation has it better because of your sacrifice and hard work. And I feel lucky to live in this country that this is still a possibility, or even a reality. And I feel good about my $30 dinner order, surely way more than our family can possibly consume for dinner tonight, and more than likely to provide a few lunches for me at work. My family gets a quick and delicious (albeit greasy) dinner and this family takes a small step towards a better future for these two children.
There was a little girl, probably about Yuna's age, about 5 or 6 standing behind the counter. She was scribbling absentmindedly on a tall stack of menus. Her older sister started talking to her in English, offering up a Rubik's Cube, almost fully completed. The little girl's eyes lit up, and started to reach for the toy from her sister while excitedly asking about how she'd gotten so far.
What appeared to be the girls' parents were operating the restaurant. It was a family affair, as is often the case. The dad was busy poring over the flaming hot wok, filling the order sheets pinned up by his wife who operated the phones while also busily keeping a steady flow of spring rolls in the fryer. The crew was rounded out by the older daughter, who appeared to be in middle school age, perhaps, cashing out orders and occasionally taking orders when her mom was busy putting together a food order.
I think about the parallels between this little girl, very beautiful, standing behind the counter on a sweltering Sunday afternoon, and my daughter at home. Both are surely beloved by her parents. This girl maybe doesn't have her parents able to spend the same resources, time and finances to fill up her summer with various camps, lessons and other pursuits. But they are at least very much cared for and loved, far from neglected even if one set of parents are not in a place to spend the family resources advancing the child's education during the summer months.
It's unlikely that this family lives in Delmar, with its relatively higher cost of rent/real estate, and corresponding reward: excellent public schools. It's more likely that they live in Albany, or perhaps even further away, with less than stellar public schools and higher crime rates. But again, this girl and her sister are the reason why the parents wake up in the wee hours of every morning, and spend the whole day on their feet, busily feeding the Delmar area with its demand for cheap and quick orders of cashew chicken and beef with asparagus for busy families.
They could be classmates in school next year, bunkmates in camp in the future, and their lives are very different right now. I hope that this litte girl will have the kind of opportunities later in her life, and her daughter or son will not have to spend her afternoons behind the counter at the family's restaurant on Sunday afternoons, and instead she will spend it at the town pool splashing with her friends, going to the park to listen to a children's concert, or taking piano or tennis lessons. This is, in essence the American Dream, that the next generation has it better because of your sacrifice and hard work. And I feel lucky to live in this country that this is still a possibility, or even a reality. And I feel good about my $30 dinner order, surely way more than our family can possibly consume for dinner tonight, and more than likely to provide a few lunches for me at work. My family gets a quick and delicious (albeit greasy) dinner and this family takes a small step towards a better future for these two children.
Friday, January 13, 2012
My Snake Dream last night
I was walking down a large lobby, maybe of a high rise? Lots of highly
polished stone on the walls and floors, but curiously no one else is
around. On the walls, I noticed that there is a very large snake, kind
of partially buried into the stone wall. It's like it's cast into the
wall or something. It's not moving.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and instead of leaving well enough
alone, I look for something to poke it with. I notice a pen on the
floor so I pick it up and throw it at the snake. To my great shock,
the snake is aroused by my provocation and manages to quickly free
itself from the wall!! It is now on the floor and looks at me and says
that I will be punished for my unprovoked poke!
I run into an elevator cab and manage to close the doors before the
snake makes its way in! It reaches the top floor and starts to make
its way down to the lobby again, but I am scared that the snake is
still there, waiting for me. So I get off on the next floor that the
doors open.
It's a large and lively bar. Lots of people around, eating and
drinking, chilling. And at one table, I notice YB sitting by himself!
I join him.
polished stone on the walls and floors, but curiously no one else is
around. On the walls, I noticed that there is a very large snake, kind
of partially buried into the stone wall. It's like it's cast into the
wall or something. It's not moving.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and instead of leaving well enough
alone, I look for something to poke it with. I notice a pen on the
floor so I pick it up and throw it at the snake. To my great shock,
the snake is aroused by my provocation and manages to quickly free
itself from the wall!! It is now on the floor and looks at me and says
that I will be punished for my unprovoked poke!
I run into an elevator cab and manage to close the doors before the
snake makes its way in! It reaches the top floor and starts to make
its way down to the lobby again, but I am scared that the snake is
still there, waiting for me. So I get off on the next floor that the
doors open.
It's a large and lively bar. Lots of people around, eating and
drinking, chilling. And at one table, I notice YB sitting by himself!
I join him.
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