As we confront conversion to robots and drones taking over our everyday lives. Hearken back to another time. The clang clang of a bell out the window. Mister Softee? No. Much more resonant. Like a trolley. What could it be? Mike taps the disk with a blade. A relic from 1941 still serving the community. The Knife Sharpening truck. And a customer. Perfect after Turkey-carving day.
Or. For those scissors to cut down NO PARKING signs.
Balloonistas from far and wide have left the ‘hood. Bleachers still up. Banging and clanging to come for the annual return of our sidewalk. Soon. We hope. Along Central Park West. Can park on our block again. Even if the No Parking signs linger. Scissors at the ready or they’d be up until May.
A rollicking fun weekend. Delicious non-turkey feast at the Oxbow. Parades. Family visits. Post Stuffington Frittata. Respite from politics. Even if. Some wore their opinions on t-shirts for lively dinner conversations. Until next year.
Howling frigid wind kept this year’s balloons low. Coldest in NYC Thanksgiving history. Die-hard parade goers came with their usual ladders and snacks. Most only lasted 10 minutes before retreating. More face masks than turkey hats. Even they didn’t help. Really lucky in our cozy warm perch.
See ya next year!
It’s that time of year again. Bleachers banging and clanging until they’re up. San Remo and Langham building guys erect wooden barriers around their shrubs. Slanted boards across windows. No Parking Signs for 3 days. Sweepers screaming and cleaning. Tow trucks at dawn. Opening up the streets. Taking down the traffic lights. Room for the balloons. Metal gates sliding and gliding along the curbs. Ready for the Macy’s madness to descend upon the ‘hood.
If anybody comes this year. Forecast. Windy and cold. Even the Grinch may stay indoors.
So lucky our microwave is big enough for a 25-lb. frozen turkey!!
6″ of snow in Central Park. Heavy and horizontal. While. Bleachers going up for the parade. Hope next Thursday will be clearer. In the meantime, enjoy a Diego Rivera mural as Matt Weiner paints a gorgeous tableau about love. The Romanoff’s in Mexico City. Sweet vignettes. Best one yet.
And. Can easily buy guns and drugs online. Yet. Still can’t figure out how to vote. Sad.
New York Marathon 2018. Our street and Central Park West closed. As usual. However. This year. Runners were funneled out of the park behind a fenced-in tarp. They used to run free with their winning capes happily flapping as family and friends greeted them. This year. Everyone with celebratory signs and flowers turned away by a bevy of cops. A constant stream of enthusiastic fans going toward the race then sullenly shlepping back under our window all day. They couldn’t post a sign? Silly. Then. They opened the street to traffic at 7pm. Yay! Not. Cars were backed up and honking. What? Oops. Central Park West still closed. For at least another hour. What a mess.
Security gets tighter every year. Wonder if they’ll let the balloons fly on Thanksgiving?!
Halloween costumes this year. Nope!!
Ghost. Appropriating unsettled dead people.
Witch. Appropriating coven worshippers.
Fortnite Blue Hair. Appropriating Smurfness.
Chimney Sweep. Black face.
Appropriating Mexican grave dwellers.
You get the idea. Skippy Hallow. 2018.