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Kids and the Harsher Realities of Life

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Hypocrite's Almanac

ApplesDear Hypocrite,

The other day I’m walking down Seventh Avenue with my three-year-old son and I notice there’s a panhandler in front of the Citibank.  My son stops to talk to everyone so, although it’s completely out of our way, I cross the street to avoid the woman sitting on the sidewalk holding a cardboard sign.  I don’t want to get in a discussion with him about how some people don’t have places to live or enough food to eat.  I know we’ll have to go there eventually, but I want to put it off for as long as possible.

My question is this:  When and what do you tell your kid about the harsher realities of life?  Our bird Lucky died last week.  I told my son that Lucky went to visit her sister in Brazil.  I’m thinking you’re going to tell me it’s wrong to lie but, I thought he’d really lose it if I told him the truth.

Tracey in Gowanus

Dear Tracey,

I’m sorry to hear about your bird.  It’s hard to lose a pet, but you’re right, I’m a big fan of talking about death with kids at an early age, so in my opinion you blew an opportunity.  You think your son might have “lost it”, but he might not have.  He might have pondered Lucky’s death for a few seconds and then asked to play Fruit Ninja.  There will be countless other opportunities to let him in on life’s little inevitability, of course.  Why not go out and buy a goldfish this afternoon?  In a matter of months you’ll have another chance to have that conversation you just dodged.

I don’t know if you read the last issue of Park Slope Reader, but I moved out of the city.  One of the things I miss most about living in Brooklyn is being around all different types of people behaving in all different ways.  Walking home from the store, my kids and I would see someone or something that would initiate a discussion about why people do the things they do or live the way they live.  Here in the suburbs, we still have occasional conversations around social issues, but they are spawned from news heard on the radio or seen on TV.  While I don’t miss stepping over the dog/human shit on my block, I do miss the intensity and diversity of life that a dense population brings.  And yes, I miss the takeout, too.

So to answer your questions:  When do you tell your kid about the dark side?  My answer is when they ask.  And what do you tell them?  It depends.  I completely get that for a three-year-old the idea of someone being hungry or homeless is very scary.  But kids are capable of understanding that bad things happen: Sometimes it rains the whole weekend, sometimes you don’t get the donut you want, sometimes your toy breaks the day you got it.  The key to addressing the heavy issues is to keep it simple.  With my kids, I give a short introduction (topics recently covered:  Why people do drugs, sexual abuse, the difference between a Catholic and a Protestant) and then let them ask questions.  My son will ask questions rapid fire until he’s satisfied.  My daughter will ask a few and then, in a day or two, a few more.   When all are answered, ask a few of your own.  In the case of the woman with the sign, ask your son how he thinks she ended up on the street.  Help him create the story.  It doesn’t have to be realistic—there can be dinosaurs and aliens involved.  Then ask him how you both could help the person.  You certainly could write a check to New York City Food Bank.  Your son can put on the stamp and draw a picture and sign his name.  It’s really important to teach our kids empathy and compassion.  Get started on this as early as you can.  I’m telling you, go buy that fish.

When he gets older, you can bring up the real factors that cause someone to have to ask for money on the street.  You can discuss the lack of affordable housing, mental illness, unemployment, or healthcare costs.  What fun!  And then if your kid is so inclined, enable him to act.  The two of you can volunteer at a shelter, serve food at CHiPs, or collect coats when the weather turns.  These activities are the antidote to self-absorption for both kids and adults.

I have a friend named Ben who has a kid and lives in Park Slope.  He told me this story recently and I asked him to write it up so I could share it with you.

I was on the F train with my kid.  She’s eight, and we were on our way to Bryant Park to go iceskating.  My kid looked adorable.  She was wearing a matching glove and hat set with stripes, and she had the skates she got for Christmas slung over her shoulder.  It was early in the morning and she was snuggled up against me.  All was good.

And then: “Excuse me Ladies and Gentlemen, pardon for the interruption.  I am homeless—”  Now, I work in the city so I hear this every day and my kid is a city kid and she’s no doubt heard it dozens of times herself.  When she was little I’d dig for a couple quarters and let her put them in the cup.  Since she’s older and we’ve had some discussions about how it’s better to give to organizations than to individuals, this particular day we both gazed downward and waited for the person to pass.  But as he passed, we saw that he had no shoes. His feet were in plastic bags with rubber bands to keep them on.  My daughter’s eyes went from the bags to me and then back to the bags.  She then tugged on my sleeve.  “Daddy,” she said,  “give him your wallet.”

I did not hand over my wallet.  My daughter begged me but I kept my eyes down and told her quietly that after ice skating we would make a donation to New York Cares or somewhere that helps the homeless.  But at that moment, it was not enough for my daughter.  She insisted that we get off the train and go home.  It was unfair that she had three pairs of sneakers, one pair of boots, a pair of dress shoes, and a pair of ice skates while that man had none.  We were going home and collecting all the shoes we didn’t need and donating them to a place that would help people like the man on the train.

I am a pretty strict parent.  My girls have to practice the piano for a half hour everyday.  They have chores and must write thank you notes.  But I felt at that moment forcing my daughter to go iceskating was something I just couldn’t stomach.  She was upset and knew what she could do to make herself feel better, and I thought that if I manipulated her into going skating she might learn to stifle her impulses.  I might sound like I had it all figured out, but believe me, this moment was agonizing.  The shoeless man was long gone, but my daughter was still hysterical and I was completely flummoxed.  At the next stop, I followed her off the train and we boarded the Brooklyn-bound one that had just pulled up.

At home, we went through every closet and came up with six pairs to donate.  Then we went to our neighbors and friends that lived close by.  We gathered forty-two pairs of shoes that day and dropped them off at Housing Works.  We took the children’s shoes to the Red Hook Community Center.

That was a couple of weeks ago.  Since then, we’ve talked about volunteering to help others in different ways.  I’m not sure what we’ll do next, but that man on the train definitely moved us act instead of just think.  I’m so thankful I didn’t get in my daughter’s way that morning.  She taught me a lot.

Tracey in Gowanus, get ready.  The great, wild world of parenting an older kid awaits you.  Just remember, you’re not the only one that will be doing the teaching.  Stay open to what your kid feels strongly about, and like Ben, you’ll be a better parent and person for it.

Wash your hands.  Mind your manners.  See you next time.

To Your Health

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Dispatches From Babyville

ToYourHealthYoung children are cute and lovable; they afford you a sense of purpose and meaning in addition to frequent bouts of heart-exploding joy. So I heartily recommend having one, or two, or hell, even three . . . but not if you want to avoid vomit and the runs and snot and fever and sores and other revolting things that I’m too demure to mention in print.

When I had my first baby, known in these parts as Primo, I was naïve enough to think that good hygiene could ensure good health. The mere recollection of how neurotic I was exhausts me now. No one held newborn Primo without scrubbing up like they were about to enter an OR, and if I heard a sniffle from a visitor, I mandated the use of a surgical mask. That is, by the way, not an exaggeration. Before the baby was born, my cardiologist father equipped me with a handsome supply of surgical masks and gloves, the same kind he and my mother required visitors to wear when I was an infant. That such measures will necessitate therapy later in life is obvious. That they are far from foolproof—that came as a surprise.

To be fair, my germophobic strategy worked as long as I kept it up; Primo sailed through his first nine months without even a hint of congestion. But such hyper-vigilance takes a terrific amount of energy and is nearly impossible to maintain once a baby becomes mobile. Once Primo started crawling, I realized immediately I was fighting a losing battle.

I’d turn around and see Primo’s formerly pristine hands plunged into a mound of “dirt” in the playground—not good, clean country dirt but city dirt, which doesn’t contain soil so much as ash peppered liberally with glass shards, cigarette butts, dog feces, and decomposing rat remains—and I’d watch, horrified, as he lifted the handful of hazardous waste to his mouth. Then, of course, there was his predilection for open-mouth kissing; the objects of his affection were invariably toddlers with pendulous globs of snot hanging out of their noses or hacking coughs that promised pertussis.

So, the bubble burst, and the germs flooded in. Thanks to my early neuroses, Primo’s immune system was totally unpracticed, having led a life of leisure, eating bonbons on chaise lounges instead of battling bacteria. Consequently, my son got roseola, rotavirus, asthma, allergies, strep throat, ear infections, ER-worthy bouts of croup, and an endless parade of colds and stomach bugs.

The kid even got scarlet fever.

I bet you didn’t know that was still around. I, for one, thought it had been eradicated shortly after Little Women was written, along with the consumption. Turns out, scarlet fever is still alive and kicking, though significantly less terrifying now that you can treat it with antibiotics. When scarlet fever hit, I realized all my efforts to protect my little one from contagion were laughable.

Which is why with baby number two, Seconda, I gave up my neuroses cold turkey. I wasn’t some renegade hygiene hypothesizer—didn’t host chicken pox parties or anything. I just did away with the surgical masks and abstained from antibacterial gel. It was a good thing, too. Seconda fared considerably better than her Bubble Boy brother had in his early years. She was a hardy little sucker; her immune system wore steel-toed Doc Martens and carried brass knuckles.

Of course, even healthy kids get sick from time to time, particularly during cold and flu season, no matter how diligent you are with your vaccinations and your Flintstone vitamins. My second time around, I accepted this with aplomb. The coughs and colds and mysterious twenty-four-hour fevers, I learned to tolerate. What I could not abide was the Family-Wide Stomach Flu.

With two kids under three years of age, the stomach bug became a frequent visitor in our home, especially between October and March. If we were lucky, the stomach virus that hit would have a long incubation period that prevented us from all getting sick simultaneously. We were not always lucky, though.

Taking care of a kid with the stomach flu is no fun, and taking care of two is even less fun, but the least fun thing is taking care of them while you yourself have the flu. The misery entailed in such an endeavor cannot possibly be described in English (possibly in German, but I don’t speak that language). Only those who’ve experienced it firsthand can understand how unpleasant it is to have one child barfing on the carpet at the exact moment the other one cries out, “Uh oh! I need to change my pants!” while your own stomach begins to have a not-so-great feeling. I have been there, and I can attest that it’s a roller coaster that only goes down.

You know how people like to say that having three kids isn’t that much harder than having two? This is, clearly, a subject open to debate, but I think it’s fairly safe to assert that as far as caring for puking, pants-crapping kids are concerned, three is harder than two. So, when I had my third child, I decided that while I could be laissez-faire and low-key about germs in general—“Sure, you can get in the sandbox!” “Oh, go ahead and eat it; the floor’s not that dirty.”—protocol would change as soon as someone hurled.

At the first gag, I put the place on lockdown; I dust off the squirt bottle of Purell and break out the medical-grade disinfectant wipes. These, like the surgical masks, were gifted to me by my father and they come in handy when there’s a highly contagious virus afoot. Breathing in the fumes emitted by these wipes may knock you unconscious, but they take no germs prisoner.

First, I scour all the surfaces the afflicted child has touched, all the while dousing whoever ambles by with Purell. Then, I turn my attention to making sure the sick-o stay away from the other children.

“Let’s get you tucked in bed, nice and cozy,” I purr to my greenish-hued progeny.

“But I want to watch TV on the couch,” the sick-o protests.

“Oh no, don’t wear yourself out on the couch,” I reply persuasively, “Here, let me give you the iPad. It’ll be all yours.”

If the child appears in the kitchen, expressing hunger or thirst, I’ll gently take them by the sleeve, averting my face, and guide them back to their warm, cozy, secure convalescence area where all their needs will be attended to. Then I use an industrial-strength wipe to disinfect the doorknob.

In this way, I quarantine my children, in the gentlest possible fashion.

“Mom,” my convalescing son observed a few weeks ago when I intercepted a cookie he was trying to hand to his baby sister, “Do you know what you are?”

I didn’t, of course, but I was dying to find out.

“You’re a sick-ist,” he said.  Even woozy and nauseous, the kid is clever.

“You’ll thank me when you don’t have to fight your sister for the toilet later,” I told him. “And I don’t even use the surgical masks anymore. If you ask me, that’s progress.”

You can read more of Nicole’s misadventures in Mommyland, and beyond, in her forthcoming memoir Now I See You (June 2014, St. Martin’s Press) and on her blog amomamok.com.

Let’s Not Sing the Winter Blues

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Reader Voices

If you were to leave New York right now and go to the country, chances are you would not see many animals.  The image that comes to mind year after year: A bear climbing into her cave and not coming out for a few months.  She falls into a deep, delicious sleep, otherwise known as hibernation.

We are animals, too.  These winter months lend themselves to retreating from the world.  As much as we would like to curl up and put up our email vacation response from January to March, most of us live our lives during a day in February as we would in April.  We would neglect our commitments to work, family, friends, and school if we decided to “check out” for the winter.

Because our natural world is withdrawing, our own natural rhythms can get a bit confused.  The trick is finding the balance between slowing down to honor inner hibernation mode and staying active to avoid succumbing to the winter blues.

This time of year is for reflection and turning inwards.  Take a day or two to stay home, make a pot of soup, cuddle up with a book, and have your journal handy.  Sleep more and allow your body to recuperate from the constant movement of fall and the holiday season.  But mind the extreme. After your mini-staycation, meet up with friends for a movie or go out dancing.  Try not to pull an all-nighter because your body can’t handle it—do a bit and then go home.  Moderation is key!

Our lives usually don’t slow down during this time of year, and a big reason why we get sick is because we are pushing ourselves to (again!) accomplish the same things we did in April.  It’s colder and therefore our bodies have a harder time fighting off viruses and our immunity weakens.  So maybe the after-work happy hours can be replaced with after-work yoga classes or a trip to the museum.  Instead of bottle of wine with dinner, maybe just half.

Set your Kayak.com trip alert to warm places like Mexico or Florida, and if there is a deal you can’t pass up, go away for a couple of days and enjoy some good old fashioned sun and vitamin D.  Fill up on this essential vitamin to not only combat weakened immunity but lighten your mood.

As New Yorkers, we are forced to interact with the weather elements head on.  As the rest of the country defrosts their car windows before they hit the road, we are doing the check list of “gloves, scarf, hat, maybe face mask today???” We incur a lot of stress with our hustle and bustle, especially our commuting reality.  When our bodies can’t handle stress anymore, we get sick.  I like to make an upbeat/hip-hop/disco playlist for the beginning of the day to get me going and a soothing classical playlist for the ride home.

We have opened it up to our Park Slope Reader community by asking, “What is one thing you do to stay healthy in the winter?”  My biggest tip: take time for yourself, but don’t fall into a routine of isolation.  By being around other people, they will usually lift up your spirits.  Staying creative is an important remedy the winter blues, and one these ‘tricks’ may be the missing link to keep you healthy and happy!  Enjoy!

ReaderVoices

I amp up my use of spices and hot sauces. I have no dog-eared scientific study under my arm to back me up, but it makes sense to me to keep the internal body temperature up by using any means available. I also try to go to a sauna once a week and I wear a hat  around the house. Oh, and I wash my hands more. And I kiss people less… just a little less. — Melanie H.

Take apple cider vinegar baths and do wheat grass shots! — Sue K.

Avoid children. Just kidding!! Take vitamin D, get exercise, and wash my hands often. — Michael H.

Wear lots of layers, wear a hat, take baths, intake lots of good oils for my dry skin, put lots of oil on my dry skin, eat a bit more hearty, enjoy resting/hibernation, take extra vitamin D supplements, try to focus on creative projects and art I can do at home, stretch, be romantic! — Rebecca C.

I sleep longer in the winter.  Also, a humidifier is imperative.  And cook with lots of garlic! — Jessy S.

Since I can not stand running in the cold I take my quest for wellness inside in colder  months and practice yoga. My favorite local studio is Bend & Bloom where I take advanced classes to get my heart rate up and build strength or, if I’m not up for a vigorous  flow, I return to Basics where they focus on alignment and the foundational poses. For mental health and a burst of energy I also love their Restorative class on Sunday night! Yoga is a great way to keep fit and feel amazing through the creaky, cold months and Park Slope has tons of yoga options. — Brigitte M.

I think it’s important to exercise even though it’s so difficult to get out of the apartment. I can’t forget to physically take care of my body because it’s so much easier to stay home and stuff my face with food. — Adam S.

Take Echinacea daily. — Lois A.

Wash your hands before meals. To relieve symptoms such as congestion, I make a tea with Korean ginseng, dates, and honey.— Yunhee P.

Rooibos tea saves me in the winter.  It has about 5 times more antioxidants than green tea. — Diana A.

Wear bright warming colors, snuggle a lot, wear hats, avoid raw vegetables.— Meghan K.

Drink lots of homemade broths. — Ronna W.

Keep my hands clean, lots of vitamin C, flu shot and crossing my fingers for luck!  — Donna P.

I purchase and refill liter and a half bottles of water. When it’s cold outside, I never feel the urge to drink; having a bottle that shows me my allotted amount for the day gives me the motivation to stay hydrated. — Nicole C.

Large wheatgrass shot every day. And plenty of red wine 😉 Seriously tho: healthy cocktail… Mix SWITCHEL with vodka or tequila, lots of fresh lime juice…voila!…healthy cocktail! — Rachael O.

New Year’s Resolution: Best Food to Lose?

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Ask Dr. Weil

Q: I’m resolved to make the coming year a healthy one. If I should give up one food, what would it be? And alternatively, if I should add one food to my diet, what would you suggest?

SodaCansA: Congratulations on making such a sensible resolution. My top recommendation for a food you should give up is sweetened drinks of all kinds. Although these beverages are not the only contributor to the obesity epidemic in the United States, they are a major source of the average American intake of an unhealthy amount of sugar, 355 calories per person per day. That amounts to twenty-two teaspoons of sugar daily. A single 12-ounce soda contains about 130 calories and the equivalent of eight teaspoons of sugar. The high glycemic load of these sugary drinks provokes insulin resistance in many people, which underlies much of the obesity in our society and raises risks of Type 2 Diabetes. In addition to soda, I’m concerned about sweetened tea and coffee, energy drinks, and fruit juices.

Recent research also indicates that sugar, rather than saturated fat, is the real culprit in our high rates of cardiovascular disease. An analysis of data from a long-running study of nearly 43,000 male health professionals ages 40 to 75, found that over 22 years, 3,683 of the men had heart attacks and showed that those who drank sweetened beverages most often were 20 percent more likely to have had a heart attack than the men who drank the fewest sugary drinks. The research team calculated that drinking one sugar-sweetened beverage a day was associated with a 19 percent increase in the relative risk of cardiovascular disease.

OliveOilMy suggestion for the one food to add to your diet is olive oil, which has the highest percentage of heart-healthy monounsaturated fat of any edible oil. Quality olive oil also contains abundant antioxidants, substances associated with lower risks of cardiovascular disease and cancer, and a potent anti-inflammatory component. And, of course, quality olive has a very appealing taste; it has helped many Americans realize that there is no need to sacrifice sensory pleasure in pursuit of healthy eating.

Top quality extra-virgin olive oil (which I believe should be used for all cooking, not just bread-dipping and salad-drizzling) has a natural peppery finish and a deep, “green” aroma of grass and artichoke. Such oils are not cheap, because they rely on careful cultivation that preserves olive oil’s legendary taste and health benefits. However, the reward is more than worth it.

When buying olive oil, I suggest choosing small bottles from a reputable company or source. Definitely look for the peppery bite characteristic of high quality products. Certification as organic can also be a sign of quality. If you can find them, choose imported oils with International Olive Oil Council (IOOC) certification on the label. (The California Olive Oil Council [COOC] certifies purity of oil produced in California.)

I wish you well with your year of healthy living. I hope it turns into a lifetime of good health.

Source: Frank B. Hu et al, “Sweetened Beverage Consumption, Incident Coronary Heart Disease and Biomarkers of Risk in Men,” Circulation, doi: 10.1161/?CIRCULATIONAHA.111.067017

Brooklyn’s Winter Wonderland

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Reader Recommendations

It’s a new year—get out and try something new!  The weather might be brisk, but here are a few things that are worth the braving the chill.

LakesideSkatingRinkSharpen Your Skates
Lakeside at Prospect Park
The area formerly known as Wollman Rink has received a major facelift over the past few seasons.  I have been lamenting the lack of an open-air ice rink, but the renovations are proving worth the wait. The unremarkable skating rink and parking lot area have been transformed into the Lakeside Complex at Prospect Park.  The activity center features two new rinks that will be open year-round for ice and roller skating.   One enclosed rink will be covered by a green roof which is comprised of soil ranging from six to eighteen inches deep, allowing for shrubs and small trees to take root—adding to the park’s green landscape.  In addition to skating, the area also provides three additional acres of park space, a new dock for pedal boats, and a terraced walk overlooking the water.  The Parks Department promises that it will offer something for everyone all throughout the year.  The new project is intended to harken back to the park’s original design, which was disrupted by the skating rink and accompanying parking lot in 1960.  It will provide more openness for the borough that so appreciates its green space.

TheBellHousePark Slope’s “Welcome Oasis”
The Bell House – 149 Seventh Street
This past fall the Bell House celebrated its five-year anniversary.  This Park Slope premiere venue offers a more indie alternative to the Barclay’s Center. They host decidedly NYC-centric events such as Trivia Nights with NY1 Anchor Pat Keirnan, Point Break Live, and NPR’s Moth Storyslam.  It’s also the perfect venue to see indie bands such as Yo La Tengo, Bob Mould, and Dean Wareham.  Their schedule of events is compelling and diverse, and always offers something decidedly unique. Entering the large open bar area that acts as the Bell House entry, you immediate feel welcome by the open space and the friendly staff.  Particularly on a cold winter night, it offers home-grown warmth that can only be found in an independent venue.  The ticket prices are so reasonable it almost seems silly not to try something new.  The fact that it’s right around the corner also means you won’t have to wait on that cold subway platform during the wee hours of the night in order to get home.  Check out their website thebellhouseny.com for a complete listing of upcoming shows and events.

TheNational_TroubleWillFindMeWarm, Soothing Sounds
The National: Trouble Will Find Me (4AD)
Hailing from Ditmas Park, the Brooklyn band The National released their sixth album.  If you’re unfamiliar with the band, Trouble Will Find Me is the perfect introduction to their sound.  Moody and highly orchestrated music creates the ideal backdrop for Matt Berringer’s baritone lyrics of insecurity and longing.  It’s contemplative music, lyrical and full of poetry.   Opening track, “I Should Live in Salt,” starts quietly with a pleading that begs to be heard as more than mere background music. The song slowly builds a swell as the entire band comes together finding its full voice.  Later in, “Sea Of Love,” takes this sound and mixes it with a catchy pop that becomes uplifting.  Directly in the middle of the album “Graceless” picks up like a moving freight train. There are no throw away songs on the album.  As a whole, Trouble Will Find Me is rich, warm and complex, like a good cup of coffee.

SunnysBarCrossing the Gowanus
Red Hook, Brooklyn
Our neighbors to the east were hit extremely hard by Hurricane Sandy last year, and some long-standing businesses were forced to shutter for good.  The ones that were able to rebuild and reopen did so at enormous cost.   It’s a true pity, because the neighborhood is ripe with personality and was really coming into its own before the storm.  Although Red Hook is on the rebound, this past summer didn’t bring the traffic necessary for it to fully bounce back.  It’s time to rediscover this sweet and eclectic little hamlet.  Indulge your sweet tooth with a delicious confection from Baked (359 Van Brunt Street) or with a Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pie (204 Van Dyke Street).  Check out what’s on display at the Brooklyn Waterfront Artists Coalition (499 Van Brunt Street) and then take in the unrivaled view of the Statue of Liberty from the Fairway parking lot.  Warm yourself with a libation at Sunny’s Bar (253 Conover Street) and photograph yourself in front the iconic Ye Nautical Garage next door—you can’t miss it, it’s the one with the fishing tackle displayed on the outside.  That short list only scratches the surface; Red Hook is filled with galleries, restaurants, and shops all in a one-of-a-kind setting. There’s so much to see and do, and it’s all within an easy walk.

The Storyteller of Shimokitazawa

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Reporting From A Bar In Brooklyn

It is located in the Roppongi section of Tokyo, known for its night club scene.  On the second floor of an old building is Geronimo, a bar that has not much to offer except for few wooden communal tables for expats who mingle in the bar.

The etiquette for drinking sake is complicated, so I asked the waitress if she knew. She gave me a cup called sakazuki and offered me a brand of sake that is called Kunshu which is popular among foreigners.

The man sitting next to me explained how sake is made from steamed rice.

Thanking the man, I sipped my sake and started thinking about writing a short story connecting the summer drummers who play in Prospect Park, Brooklyn with the Taiko drummers of Japan. I will write a story that takes place in Tokyo—a detective story full of drum beats and music and a clever assassin. Geronimo will be where some of the action takes place.

“Are you from Indonesia?”  He asked with a heavy English accent. His name was Toni.

“South of the border,” I replied, “meaning south of the United States—I am just a tourist in this beautiful city.” He agreed, but was extremely  inquisitive about my background.  I told him that my mother spoke the Inca language called Quechua and drunk chicha which is made of fermented corn.  “How about you, what do you do?” I asked him. He said he was an Englishman who lived in Brooklyn, New York.  “I also live in Brooklyn,” I said as he looked at me attentively.  “What do you do in Tokyo?” I asked.

“I am a speleologist, interested in the famous caves north of Tokyo. They are called the Hyakuana tombs.” He highlighted that there were only eight people in the world who could compare their cave knowledge with his.

“The cave is the first habitat of mankind?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said and went onto explain how cave paintings, for instance, say much about ourselves.

“Do people die or get lost in caves?” I asked because I had read about several speleologists who were found dead outside of a cave in England.

“Look me in the eye,” he said. One of his eyes was glass, so I asked him about it. He explained that it was due to an accident that happened in a cave … “Yes. People die in caves,” he replied.

“Nice meeting you. I have to get up very early to see the biggest wholesale fish market in the world,” I said.

“Do you mean the Tsukiji Market?”

I explained that I was planning to photograph the market and write something about two distant neighborhoods: Tokyo’s Shimokitazawa and Park Slope, Brooklyn.

“Park Slope?”  Toni jumped out of his seat.  “That is my neighborhood in Brooklyn.”  He asked me to sit down and ordered a whiskey for both of us. He mentioned a story dealing with the Brooklyn Academy of Music.

I left the bar at midnight, which coincided with rush hour in Tokyo. I took the Hibiya line to Shibuya and went to Shimokitazawa, a lovely neighborhood in Tokyo. Once there, I felt at home passing through the many narrow streets and many restaurants of the neighborhood. I kept on thinking about the story I wanted to write. A story where sake, a criminal on the loose, drums, samurais, and geishas would all be part of the plot.  The story would include a detective investigating a number of murders that had taken place inside a cave in England. The suspect was now living in Tokyo.  The London detective in charge of the case was Mubasher de Ockam, who was a well-known psychologist and semiologist.  Mubasher was in Tokyo to locate a suspect … a speleologist who had a long criminal record.

The account starts with Mubasher sitting at Café Mogambo in the Roppongi District. The music in the background is that of Danzón No. 2 , conducted by Gustavo Dudamel.  Detective Nishiyama finally arrived. As a former sumo wrestler, he was now somewhat overweight.  He arrived with a book titled Los Detectives Salvajes.  De Ockam looked at Nishiyama and told him that the name of the English criminal they were after was Bertrand Folville. Nishiyama smiled and made a note of it on a napkin. De Ockam stared at Nishiyama and asked him if he believed in mirrors, compasses, maps, labyrinths, and infinity.  Nishiyama smiled at de Ockam and said that he believed in dreams, which according to him is the infinity that mirrors life and is a map to observe unknown places that a compass may or may not show us.  Nishiyama asked de Ockam if he believed in colors. He told detective Nishiyama he was in Tokyo to solve several murders, not to talk about colors.  Nishiyama smiled and told de Ockam that he believed in the color green.

“Green?” asked de Ockam.

“Because the peace, serenity, and tranquility it brings to life,” replied Nishiyama.

“What is wrong with a colorful forest with reds and blues?” asked de Ockam.

“A colorful forest is beautiful but not serene … colors alter our senses,” Nishiyama responded.

The two detectives were intellectually and physically different. The one from England was short and stocky with olive skin and very inquisitive black eyes. Mubasher’s father was from Pakistan and his mother was a direct descendant of the well-known philosopher and theologian, William de Ockham. Nishiyama’s background was also unique. He was born in Peru but went to Japan during his early teens. He read and spoke many languages. including Spanish. The two of them knew the dangers of the mission, and they also knew intuitively that the famous caves north of Tokyo were just the beginning of a puzzle that would lead them to other murders. De Ockam asked detective Nishiyama if he agreed that inside a cave one was unable to see reality as it is outside.

“Mr. De Ockam, for a Zen Buddhist the hand pointing to the moon is not the moon,” replied Nishiyama.

Nishiyama gave de Ockam a letter that had arrived at the police headquarters in Shimokitazawa. De Ockam opened the letter. There was a drawing of a circle like an O in it. It was sent by Bertrand Folville.

“What is the meaning of an O?” de Ockam asked.

“The circle is not a character, but a symbol.  It is the circle of enlightenment known as enso. It is the way of Zen…”  Nishiyama responded.

Read Part 2 in Issue 48

Magic Thinking vs Moving On

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Hypocrite's Almanac

Dear Hypocrite,
I’ve never missed a column since I discovered you six years ago. New to Brooklyn, I ducked into a store (Diana Kane?) on Fifth to escape the rain. When the clouds cleared, I left with a new bathing suit and an issue of this magazine. Since that day, I’ve fallen in love, gotten married and had two kids (twins!). It’s been one of the happiest times of my life. We’ve created a great life in Park Slope. Our kids have great friends, we have great friends, and we live in a sunny apartment close to the park.

Our landlords live in the duplex below us and we’ve always had a good relationship with them. About a month ago, they slipped a letter under our door telling us they have to increase our rent by $1500 a month in order to pay for increasing property taxes and maintenance costs. It was non-negotiable. We didn’t think we were getting a deal to begin with, but when we started looking around to find comparable housing for our family we were shocked at the prices! We don’t think we can afford to live here anymore. We might have to leave Park Slope and maybe Brooklyn. Our hearts are breaking. We can’t imagine living anywhere else.

I’m not sure what I’m asking. Maybe I’m writing for sympathy. How do people do it? How do middle-class people survive here? My husband is thinking about quitting the job he loves to get another one that pays more so we can stay. I keep thinking we’ll find a way to live here somehow. There has to be an affordable apartment somewhere near our school, near the park, right?

Signed, Heartbroken

…

Dear Heartbroken,

Move.

I’m sorry. I feel you. But move. We live in America and are not used to external forces deciding things for us. There’s a lot of magical thinking we Yanks are guilty of, and your thought that you’ll find the perfect, affordable place to relocate to in Park Slope: The Greatest Neighborhood in the World!™ falls into that category. I’m not saying it’s impossible. There might be a huge two bedroom for $2500 on the park just waiting for you … if you could just get the final kinks out of your time machine.

But what do I know? Maybe there’s a way. When I was telling Petal, my friend from Trinidad, that we were only going to have two kids because we couldn’t afford another she said she didn’t see the problem—all the kids can share one bedroom and my husband and I would take the other. That’s what she did growing up and it was fine. Could I share our two-bedroom basement apartment with five, six, seven people and a dog? No. But for Petal, it’d be perfectly cozy. It’s a personal preference issue. Could you downsize in order to keep your friends and your Coop shift? You could find a studio on the park for $2500. I think. Let me check The New York Times site. K. I’m back. It’s not looking good. At 13th and PPW there’s a one bedroom for $2700 but it doesn’t seem to have any windows. Maybe there’s a roof deck they forgot to mention? And if there is, do your kids like to camp?

The option of your husband getting a job that he could potentially hate is not an option. Stress kills. It kills healthy tissue, sex drives, and marriages. Having a job you love is insanely rare—winning-the-lottery rare. Protect this asset, its rewards are incalculable.

Let me introduce you to a new acronym. LAPS. Life After Park Slope. Park Slope: The Greatest Neighborhood in the World!™ is truly great. But it boomed before you even got here. Park Slope hasn’t been affordable for a lot of people for a while now, and at the moment you received the letter from your landlords, it became unaffordable to you. So, what do you do? You can muddle through until things get cheaper/you get richer or, in my opinion, you get out with your shirt on.

The big question is: where do you go? Queens? Deeper into Brooklyn? Westchester, Jersey, Connecticut? Plan some weekend trips with the kids. Find hotels with a pool in commutable areas and try out restaurants, go for nature walks, visit the public library. Check out schools, parks, coffee shops—everything that’s important to you now. And if you start to feel pulled in one direction, make sure you and your husband do the commute by train once or twice. If you both hate it, look closer. Yonkers, baby! If you’re a Yankees fan, the convenience is unbeatable.

As far as outer boroughs vs. suburbs, you’ve got to ask yourself: Am I looking for peace and quiet or a vibrant cultural scene? I’ll tell you, moving to the suburbs can be quite a shock to the system as far as integration goes. In the suburbs, colors tend to stick with their own, and for someone who’s coming from Brooklyn, this can feel pretty awful. If you know that’s not the way you want to live, that you value diversity above most things, then Queens is your new home. You and your kids will have friends and neighbors every hue under the sun. Plus, because there’s such a racial mix, there’s tasty food from every country at your back door. A huge complaint of those who move to the suburbs is that there’s no good take-out. What’d you think? Your favorite Cambodian sandwich place was going to follow you to Larchmont? Sorry. At least you’ll have a kick-ass birdfeeder.

I’ve written up a short letter to give your friends when you move. It’s a contract of sorts. It’s a little suburbs-centric, but with some creative thinking it can be altered to to suit any location (Queens/Ditmas/SI).

Dear Friend,

I’m moving out of Park Slope: The Greatest Neighborhood in the World!™ and I want us to stay friends. The change in our lifestyles and the physical distance between us will undoubtedly test what we experienced in PS as a natural, easy relationship. Below, I list some simple rules that I will follow in order to ease the transition so that we might find ourselves on solid friendship ground in no time.

What you can expect from me:

I will commiserate with you when your bike gets stolen, when you get a ticket for not alternate side parking and when your kids get lice.

I will make a valiant attempt (but ultimately fail) to come to your kid’s school auction to increase the bid on the house in the Catskills for a week in February.

I will occasionally let you keep your car in my driveway when you go on trips so you don’t have to pay for long-term at the airport. (Advance notice required.)

When in the city for cultural events (I have yet to see Wicked!), I will call you and ask you to meet me in Times Square for 6 p.m. drinks. You can say no every time without me thinking you don’t like me anymore.

When we go to Chicago/Denver/Atlanta every year for Passover/Christmas/Thanksgiving, you can stay at our house if you promise to feed the dog and let him sleep in the bed with you.

Here’s what I will not do.

I will not mention how we “got out just in time” or “escaped before it was too late.”
I will not utter the phrase “Queens is the New Brooklyn.”
I will not ask how you can stand living so close to the Barclays Center.
I will not ask how the middle school application process is going.
When visiting, I will not double park in the bike lane.
I will not complain about how shitty your Target is.
I will not ask you to stop at Sahadi’s and pick up some capers and cumin before you come visit.
I will not encourage you to follow me on Instagram where I post way too many pics of my kids petting sheep at the farm where we do a CSA.

Heartbroken, I’m not pulling punches with you. Your days in Brooklyn might very well be numbered. Mine were. What’s that? Oh. I moved two months ago. To the suburbs. And it’s been pretty great.

But I miss my friends and seeing the people from my neighborhood. Terribly.

I considered leaving this column but what sort of hypocrite would I be if I stopped giving Park Slopers advice just because I now live in a quiet house near the woods where my biggest problem is the deer eating my hostas? That would make me one lousy hypocrite. And I’m not. Nothing’s going to change. You write in your letters about life in Park Slope: The Greatest Neighborhood in the World!™ and I’ll do my best to answer them.

And Heartbroken, like Mary Magdalene sang to Jesus before he was nailed to the cross: “Everything’s Going to be Alright.” Believe me. For once, I know. See you next time.  ◆

An Art Scene, a Plan, a Canal: Gowanus

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Shop Local

Gowanus is one of those New York neighborhoods that has a mythical quality about it. It’s a place that many New Yorkers have heard of but few have actually been to, most likely due to the Gowanus Canal, which breaks the neighborhood into sections connected by bridges. Unlike the great canals of Venice or Amsterdam, the Gowanus Canal is anything but scenic. Heavily polluted and surrounded by warehouses and industrial lots full of gravel and garbage, it’s not uncommon to see oil, raw sewage, or trash float by at any given time. When the wind hits it just right the smell is, well, something one has to experience for themselves. The canal has prevented the neighborhood from developing the way that neighboring Park Slope and Carroll Gardens have, and for many that is a blessing. In addition to the lumber yards, car shops, and recycling plants, Gowanus is also home to one of Brooklyn’s—if not New York City’s—most enduring art scenes, one that may not still be there without the canal.

Serrett Metalworks

Although the Gowanus art scene has been gaining notoriety for the last several years, it has actually been around much longer. The Gowanus Open Studios, an event that invites the public to come to the neighborhood and tour artist’s studios and galleries, has been held every October for the last seventeen years. Bushwick Open Studios, which celebrated its seventh anniversary this year, seems young by comparison. Bushwick, of course, has made up for lost time, as denizens of Williamsburg are forced further and further down the L line due to skyrocketing rents. In the seven years since Bushwick Open Studios started there have been condo developments and swank restaurants popping up all over the once mostly passed over neighborhood. In contrast, in the seventeen years since Gowanus Open Studios started the neighborhood has remained mostly the same. There are a few nice restaurants and the shell of a seemingly perpetually delayed Whole Foods, but no condos and no jaded Manhattanites.

The Bell House

Gowanus’ slow development is not for a lack of activity, especially from its art community. In just a five by five block radius there are, among other institutions, The Gowanus Ballroom, which operates as Serett Metalworks during the day, the performing arts hall The Bell House, New York Art Foundry for sculptures and metal workers, Gowanus Loft, and the Trestle Gallery, which is part of the Brooklyn Art Space, a studio space for artists that offers group or semi-private studios, classes and workshops, and even seminars on legal advice for artists. You can walk down any block in Gowanus and you will see the bright, fluttering banners and signs for studios and galleries right next to a scrap metal warehouse or a tour bus depot.

New York Art Foundry

In addition to an abundance of places for art in Gowanus, there is no lack of diversity in the artistic scene. Trying to pinpoint a particular style or aesthetic of those involved in the Gowanus art scene is a fruitless endeavor. Large-scale installation sculpture sits next to water colors, which sit next to woven tapestries, which sit next to modernist abstract paintings. At the Trestle Gallery a small-works show displayed this wide range. Rhia Hurt, an artist who does administrative work with Brooklyn Art Space, gave me a tour of the studios and gallery. When I asked about the types of artists who kept studio space there, she described them as “a good mix of established artists and really talented people just coming out of school, Parsons, Pratt, places like that. There are also a lot of great self-taught artists here as well.” In addition to group and semi-private studio spaces—and even a large studio space for writers called Room 58—Brooklyn Art Space offers workshops and even seminars on legal advice for artists. Walking through the studios it seemed to me that Gowanus is a case of function coming out on top over style. The industrial, harsh nature of the neighborhood and the large warehouses where the artists come to work do not seem to be influencing a style of art, rather, those spaces provide an opportunity for work to be created without limitations. Several painter’s studios I walked by were overflowing with giant, twelve by twelve-foot canvases, which require space that is simply unavailable in most of the city and cost prohibitive in the other art Meccas: Chelsea, SoHo, and even Bushwick.

Build It Green

“I think one of the big advantages for the artists here is that it’s still affordable,” Rhia told me when I asked about why an artist might choose Gowanus to set up shop. “And it will hopefully stay that way.” For the time being it seems that that is likely the case, as the clean-up of the canal is expected to take over a decade, and it’s unlikely that much large-scale development will happen in the meantime.

Another big advantage for Gowanus? It’s between Park Slope and Carroll Gardens, two of Brooklyn’s most affluent neighborhoods. The commercial aspect of the art world can be tricky, especially for people who are unaccustomed to purchasing art at a gallery, or directly from the artist, but Rhia would like to see those bridges broken down in Gowanus. “The goal is to put revenue in the hands of the artists.”

That sentiment was echoed when I visited Ground Floor Gallery, which is located on the Gowanus-Park Slope border. Curators Jill Benson and Krista Saunders opened Ground Floor Gallery in April of 2013 after years of hosting shows in temporary spaces. Outside a sandwich board read: “Original, AFFORDABLE Art by Local, Emerging Artists”, and inside was a show whose quality was typical of what I’d seen from the Gowanus art scene: well curated, diverse, and thoughtful works of art.

Brooklyn Art Space

“We want to build collectors,” they told me while we were on the subject of the untapped potential of Park Slope and Carroll Gardens, adding, “When artists come in to show with us we help them with pricing and selling their works.” Their gallery will be participating in the Gowanus Open Studios, and for the entire month of October they will have a show featuring exclusively artists that are living and working in Gowanus, or as Krista playfully described it, “Jill and Krista on the hunt for Gowanus’ biggest talents.” Gowanus has treated them well and has allowed them greater freedom to present work they really believe in. “We aren’t focused on profit because the costs are manageable,” Jill explained.

Manageable costs is exactly why artists have been able to live and work in the Gowanus area during the past seventeen years and hopefully for much longer. For the time being, the Gowanus Canal is preventing any large-scale gentrification and the art scene is only becoming more popular. Everyone I spoke to agreed that they would like to see Gowanus become a destination for not only artists, but art lovers, and especially art collectors—but they also want to see the spirit of the neighborhood preserved. One possible solution is for the artists and gallery owners to buy their spaces now while it is still reasonably cheap, so that if in ten years—once the Whole Foods is completed and the canal cleaned up—the neighborhood begins to gentrify, they will still have control over their studios and galleries.

Ideally things would be able to work as a perfect symbiotic relationship. Gowanus will stay an artist’s haven, the studios large and the rent cheap, and the art loving citizens in next door Park Slope and Carroll Gardens will benefit by having a wellspring of fantastic, affordable art just a stone’s throw away. As recognition of the Gowanus art scene continues to grow, this doesn’t seem like an impossibility. With the Gowanus Open Studios in October, residents of Park Slope and Carroll Gardens will have a perfect opportunity to see all that their neighbor’s have to offer.

It has been said recently that the dream of being an artist in New York City is an unattainable fantasy, but for the time being there is a small ray of hope, shining right up the putrid waters of one of the country’s most polluted water ways. As long as artists and art lovers are pro-active we can preserve the great tradition of the neighborhood, and keep artists living and working in Brooklyn.

Fashioned in Brooklyn

By Filed Under: Shop Local, Uncategorized

Once upon a time, the most fashionable New Yorkers dwelled somewhere south of Fourteenth Street and north of Canal. They shopped for designer threads in SoHo and bohemian vintage in the East Village, and there was little room for competition in a borough as gritty as Brooklyn. Boy, have times changed.

Thanks to some of the most innovative designers and entrepreneurs who have planted their flags this side of the East River, neighborhoods like Park Slope, Prospect Heights, and Gowanus offer an electrifying array of high-end boutiques, affordable vintage shops, unique jewelry and home goods stores, and even the bridal shop of an unconventional Brooklyn girl’s dreams.

Here is a glimpse into the lives and inspirations of some of your favorite neighborhood designers and shopkeepers:

FLIRT
93 Fifth Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 783-0364
Hours: Mon.–Sun. 11:30 a.m.–7:30 p.m.
flirt-brooklyn.com

Seryn Potter is the first to admit you can trip over cute clothing in Brooklyn. “But cute and looks good on you are two completely different things,” the designer says. “At the end of the day it comes down to flattery of the person wearing it. We are consumed by fit, fabric, and what maximizes the potential of what everyone can wear.” Alongside partners Heather Falcone and Patti Gilstrap, Potter opened the first Flirt boutique in 2000 in Carroll Gardens. In 2004, they expanded and moved to Park Slope, where Flirt has gained a loyal following of women who flip for its shoes, quirky-cute accessories, and vintage-inspired dresses, skirts, and bathing suits by local designers such as Karina Cousineau, Melissa Bell, and Emily G. “Our dresses are built for curvy figures, have nips in the waist, stretchy, soft jersey fabrics that never wrinkle, and can be hand washed,” Potter says. “They’re really great for moms.” And if you’re in the market for something completely different, choose among seven different skirt styles and collaborate with Flirt to design your very own custom skirt.

HOOTI COUTURE
321 Flatbush Avenue, Prospect Heights
(718) 857-1977
Hours: Tue.–Sun. 11a.m.–8 p.m.
hooticouture.com

Before some of her vintage ‘80s-loving customers were even born, Hooti Couture owner Alison Houtte could be seen rocking shoulder pads and dresses by Courrèges in magazines like Vogue. After a successful twelve-year run as a model, Houtte turned her attention to helping others discover the joys of vintage.  Although her first boutique was locate in Park Slope, she has since found a larger space in Prospect Heights to which she credits the “best landlords in the world” for making it possible. “North Flatbush is the Village of thirty years ago,” Houtte says. She fills her shop with eclectic, but wearable pieces that range from ‘50s cropped bolero mink jackets to chunky gold jewelry and ‘70s day dresses. Most pieces are priced twenty-five to eighty-five dollars, with higher-end items mixed in for good measure. “If I like it and it’s funky and fun, I buy it,” she says. “Brooklyn is not about the Gucci and Prada—it’s about where’d you get that funky dress? I’ve hopefully created a welcoming environment that is colorful, fun, and inexpensive.”

COZBI
351 Fifth Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 246-7960
Hours: Tue.-Sat. 11 a.m.–7 p.m., Sun. 12 p.m.–5 p.m.
cozbi.com

If you’re looking to build your wardrobe with well-made, mostly classic pieces that boast an impeccable fit, Cozbi is your haven. Owner and designer Cozbi A. Cabrera got her start designing for Sony Music, where she dabbled at first in creating gorgeous cloth dolls that immediately garnered the attention of art collectors. After experiencing success with her first shop in Carroll Gardens where she sold her dolls and children’s clothing, she felt committed to responding to her client’s needs. “A lot of women had difficulty fitting clothing,” Cabrera says. “What is standard in the fashion industry doesn’t work for them. So I would actually take their measurements and fit the clothes to them.” In 2011, Cabrera moved to her Park Slope location, where she expanded her line of women’s attire. “We’re not offering fast-food clothing,” she says. “We are warm, welcoming, and flexible. And we’re not too sexy for our shorts.”

COG & PEARL
190 Fifth Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 623-8200
Hours: Tue.–Sat. 12 p.m.–8 p.m., Sun. 12 p.m.–6 p.m.
cogandpearl.com

What do you get when a musician and a writer open up a home goods shop in Park Slope? A successful neighborhood favorite that carries everything from terrarium kits to embroidered pillows by Coral & Tusk to gorgeous hand-soldered necklaces by Marjorie Victor made—where else—but in Brooklyn. Since opening in 2002, owners Seth Walter and Kristin Overson have remained committed to offering customers one-of-a-kind goods that won’t break the bank. “Our customers want things that are well priced, beautiful, and functional,” Walter says. The enterprising duo are so immersed in the community that there was no question where they could open shop. “Our favorite restaurants and stores are on Fifth Avenue,” Walter says. “We wanted to be part of the renaissance.”

KIWI
119 Seventh Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 622-5551
Hours: Mon–Fri 11 a.m. –7 p.m., Sat. 11 a.m.–6 p.m.,
Sun. 12 p.m.–6 p.m.
kiwidesignco.com

Before opening Kiwi, Christine Alcalay embarked on a corporate design career that had little to do with Brooklyn—until she met friend and future business partner Marlene Siegel. “I had never stepped foot in Brooklyn, but Marlene convinced me to check out Park Slope,” Alcalay says. “I felt like I walked into this romantic storybook neighborhood.” When they opened shop in 2002, naysayers predicted the high-end boutique wouldn’t last. Eleven years later, they’re still going strong, thanks to the duo’s meticulously selected clothing and accessories by designers like Vince, Splendid, J Brand, Qi Cashmere, and Michael Stars. “Our customers range from women in their early twenties to eighties,” Alcalay says. “They are modern women juggling a million things at a time who want fashion to be effortless.”

DIANA KANE
229-b Fifth Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 638-6520
Hours: Tue.–Fri. 12 p.m.–7 p.m., Sat. 11 a.m.–8 p.m.,
Sun. 11 a.m.–7 p.m.
dianakane.com

Diana Kane admits she followed her husband to Park Slope in 1995 kicking and screaming. “I was like, what do you mean you can’t get Chinese at two in the morning?” Kane laughs. “Then I had kids and realized it was the best place in the world.” The jewelry designer and boutique owner has held court in the Slope since 2002 and her customers have come to trust her instincts when it comes to jewelry, handmade perfumes, beautiful candles, and sustainable and well-made women’s clothing, most of which is manufactured in the USA. Kane focuses on selling pieces that are made from fine quality fabrics and that meet her clientele’s desire for “refined comfort.” Needless to say, she’s changed her tune about the neighborhood. “It’s very much a small town in a big city,” she says. “You have the best of both worlds.”

HOMEBODY BOUTIQUE
449 Seventh Avenue, Park Slope
(718) 369-8980
Hours: Wed.–Sat. 12 p.m.–8 p.m.; Sun. 1p.m.–8 p.m.;
Tue. 12 p.m.–7 p.m.
homebodyboutique.com

Kate Silver may have settled in Williamsburg and Greenpoint when she moved here from Missouri in 1996, but while hunting for spots in which to open her houseware, gift, and jewelry shop, the art school alum fell in love with Park Slope. “I just love how neighborhoody it is,” Silver says. “It’s not like in the city where people don’t know each other. They share.” In addition to selling her own unique line of housewares, Silver has given other Brooklyn artists a chance to display their talents. The result is a shop that carries colorful blown glass goblets alongside gun-shaped combs, skull nightlights, soy candles, and agate snake rings.

REBECCA SCHONEVELD
Bridal Design Studio
516 Third Avenue, Gowanus
(718) 788-3849
Hours: Mon.–Wed. and Fri–Sat. 9 a.m.–5 p.m.
rebeccaschoneveld.com

A few years ago, Rebecca Schoneveld was let go of from her corporate design job. A few weeks later, a fire ripped through her Park Slope apartment—around the same time she discovered she was pregnant. Instead of panicking, the California-born transport cleaned out her studio, designed a few pretty maternity dresses, and tried her luck with them on Etsy. She sold her first dress within two hours and realized she never had to work for someone else again. While creating streamlined and modern bridal dresses within the confines of her 220 square-foot apartment, Schoneveld became overwhelmed with orders and sought a bigger space in Gowanus. She designs each dress with her Brooklyn client in mind. “A lot of girls feel like wedding dresses are so old-fashioned, but they don’t want to upset their moms,” Schoneveld says. “I design dresses that have a really nice fabric, quality fit and cut, and that are easy and not trying too hard.”

1 OF A FIND
633 Vanderbilt Avenue, Prospect Heights
(718) 789-2008
Hours: Daily, 12 p.m.–8 p.m.
1ofafindvintage.com

There’s vintage, and then there’s cocktail vintage. With racks dripping in deliciously decadent dresses and blouses by Guy Laroche, Christian Dior, and Morgane Le Fay, 1 of a Find owner Honey Moon knows her customers expect unique, but impeccably well-made party pieces. The savvy shopper relocated to Prospect Heights three years ago from Park Slope and has since gotten to know her clientele. “Everyone has their own definition of vintage,” Moon says. “We have grandmothers who come in and are amazed by the Victorian pieces and twenty-year-olds who love the ‘90s pieces.”

Sewer Mom

By Leave a Comment Filed Under: Dispatches From Babyville

Recently, I went swimming in sewage. Even for those who enjoy extreme sports, I don’t recommend it. Sewage stinks, in all senses of the word.

Let me say right up front that there is a moral to this story and that moral has nothing to do with climate change or infrastructure failings. The moral is: Listen to your grandmother. Even if she is neurotic. Especially if she is neurotic. You shouldn’t listen all the time, obviously, or you’ll end up a shut-in, so listen only when she is right. How do you know when your overbearing, Doomsday-prepping grandmother will be right? That’s just luck.

It was the end of September, and I was strapping my six-month-old into her stroller so we could pick up her big siblings from after-school, when my grandmother called, as she likes to do, to tell me it was raining. Nonny acts as my own personal weather advisory system, alerting me to hurricanes, flash floods, icy sidewalk conditions, and heat waves. I blew off her warnings, as I like to do, dismissing them as the ravings of a lunatic.

“Is gonna be a looooot a rain,” she cautioned, “Tunderschtorms.”

“We’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’re not going to melt in the water.”

“Leave de baby wit me,” she pleaded.

“Fine,” I conceded. Nonny lives seven blocks away from us, conveniently located near my big kids’ after-school.

Within ten minutes, I was dropping the baby off at her doorstep, and it was apparent already that she’d been right about the rain. It was pouring, the kind of rain which falls not so much in drops but in sheets. Cataclysmic thunder and lightning exploded overhead, making an End-of-Days light show.

“OK,” I told my grandmother as I passed off the baby, “I’ll be back soon.”

“No!” Nonny gasped, “You can’t go out!”

“What, am I gonna get hit by lightning?” I joked. As if replying to my hubris, a peal of thunder erupted outside the window, the subtext of which was clearly, “Keep it up, lady, and see what happens.” Then, for extra measure, the rain was replaced by hail—large chunks of hail—which made a racket on my grandmother’s metal patio set.

Nonny held the baby tighter and shook her head.

“What?” I asked, “I have an umbrella.”

That umbrella might have been useful had not the wind tunnel of Fourth Avenue blown it inside out within five seconds. I got pummeled by hail all the way down to the intersection of Fourth Avenue and First Street, at which point I stopped noticing the hail because I was confronted with bigger problems.

The curb was flooded with the nastiest-looking and most vile-smelling water I’ve ever seen: grayish brown, littered with floating bits of garbage. I looked to my right and realized why.  A manhole had popped off the street, sending a geyser of sewage spewing into the intersection.

Trudging through the puddle, which reached my mid-calf, wasn’t the most pleasant experience of my life—what with the slimy bits of refuse clinging to my bare legs—but it was still significantly less revolting than the time I stepped inside the carcass of a dead rat in Central Park, which is the barometer by which I gauge grossness. And, it was over fast—until I got to the next intersection on Garfield Street where the water level was even higher.

“Gotta love city living,” I grumbled as I waded through, consoling myself with the thought that I was almost there; the kids were just a block away, across Fourth Avenue. But once I’d crossed the mammoth puddle, I saw that getting across the avenue—without an ark at least—was not going to be pretty.

The sewage was lapping in waves over the sidewalk, and on the street, the water reached the car bumpers. Huge black garbage bags were floating down Fourth Avenue, just as if it were a river. I hadn’t passed a pedestrian in a few blocks, but as I stood there, somewhat stunned, a middle-aged woman walked by, mincing her steps as if that might keep her legs from getting coated in toxic sludge.

“This is just naaaaaasty,” she grimaced, “and it’s worse that way. Do NOT go that way.” She pointed across Fourth Avenue.

Then she pulled an iPhone out of her purse and started snapping pictures so people would believe her when she told them about it later, I presumed.

I cowered under my umbrella, holding the rim so it didn’t blow inside out, and weighed my options. I could stand there and wait for the sewage to drain, but, I thought as thunder boomed overhead, only if I was OK with getting electrocuted. I could turn around and wait at my grandmother’s until the storm died down—the kids would be OK at after-school for another half hour—but I’d have to trudge back through the massive puddles I’d just crossed. Besides, I was nearly there, just a block away, and I’d come this far. It was just a puddle, after all. It wasn’t Scylla and Charybdis.

I tucked my diaper bag securely in my armpit and stepped forward, slowly making my way to the crosswalk.

“Ugh blegh crap blegh,” I moaned as the water crept up to my knees.

I crossed Fourth Avenue, the six lanes virtually empty, but instead of the water level receding when I got to the other side, it got higher. Within a few steps I found myself waist-deep.

A gaggle of mechanics in uniform stood under an awning further down the street, watching me.

“Hey lady, get out of there!” one yelled, and then another elaborated, “It’s sewer water!”

“I’m TRYING,” I bellowed back as I tried to move forward against the weight of water. It occurred to me that maybe I should give up walking and start kicking but that option, though expedient, seemed insane.

If I had the baby with me, I thought, she’d be doggie paddling in sewage right now. Nonny was right.
Just when it seemed the mechanics would have to send a tire upstream so I could float down the street, the water level dropped and I was on dry land again.

I speed-walked the rest of the block to the kids’ after school program, yanking up the waist of my skirt because it was so sopping, it was sliding off my hips. My skin wasn’t just wet, but gritty. I tried not to imagine little cartoon bacteria characters crawling under my skin, a devious-looking e. coli, a cackling staph, whatever-the-heck germ causes typhoid fever and cholera, doing a conga line across my epidermis.

It was official: swimming in sewage was worse than stepping in rat guts, if only because it was a far more immersive experience.

As I walked into the storefront where Primo and Seconda were waiting, I spotted a rack of T-shirts for sale—which was fortuitous, since by my estimation, I could tolerate about sixty seconds more of being in the sewer clothes before I went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. In sixty seconds, I would be stripping down naked and it would really be preferable that there be another item of clothing for me to wear at that point because otherwise my children would never be able to show their faces at after school again.

I grabbed the biggest T-shirt I could find, and emerged from the bathroom two minutes later wearing a gray XXL whose hem made it as far as my mid-thigh. A shirt-dress, I reasoned.

“Oh hi Mommy,” my seven-year-old, Primo said, hardly lifting his head from his work, “Did you see the rain?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Seconda, my five-year-old, stared at me: “Mommy,” she asked, “where are your clothes?”

“They were compromised,” I replied, “A little sewage problem.”

Then Primo looked up and began to guffaw: “No offense, Mommy, but you look like a crazy person.”

It was only later, in the shower at my grandmother’s, when I really looked like a crazy person, as I scrubbed my lower half like Lady Macbeth with her damn spot.

Finally, though, I felt satisfied. I had no open wounds and I hadn’t drunk the stuff; I just might avoid cholera after all.

What I would avoid, with certainly, was Fourth Avenue during flash floods. You know what they say: swim in sewage once, shame on you . . .

You can read more of Nicole’s misadventures in Mommyland, and beyond, in her forthcoming memoir Now I See You (June ’14, St. Martin’s Press) and on her blog A Mom Amok).