1500 High-kicks Per Day

Mom and I went to see the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular on Friday night. It was UNBELIEVABLE. I say that with the utmost sincerity. We were oohing and aahing from the opening scene all the way through the living Nativity at the end. That had, I might add, not one, not two, but three camels onstage. I'm not even sure where you store camels backstage. But apparently they made it happen. And everything else. A few weeks ago in the Sunday Times, an article was written about being a Rockette. How stressful and wonderful it was, how it was the most solid dance gig in town. The girls have to do five shows a day at the peak of the season and train for several months beforehand. They spend the between takes in bathtubs full of ice, trying to keep their legs from swelling too much so they can go back to kicking and smiling for another show. They literally perform 1500 high kicks a day, wreaking havoc on their bodies. I have never been so impressed in my life.

As for Mom, she was impressed with my life. She loved my apartment, as tiny as it is, and felt safe being in the neighborhood we were in. I teased her about gangs and crime, but for the most part the Village feels just as safe as my college town did, and I'm happy with living there. I explained that it was amazing to be able to have everything delivered, laundry and dry cleaning done for me, pick up and delivery and take-out of any food ever invented, and a variety of languages. All in a day's work. I told her that I was walking more and eating better and feeling better about myself over all. I was happy living in a 400 square foot space. And then I realized it was true. That I could, in theory, spend the rest of my life living here if I wanted to. I like having a place here and really absorbing everything that is importantin life- arts, food, wine, friends. I love not having a car and still being able to get everywhere.

Of course, she was not very impressed with the subway. On Friday night we took the N out to Astoria to eat in a really good restaurant. We waited on the platform for ever it seemed, and when the train came we stepped inside and boom, there was a drunk guy passed out on the floor in blood and vomit. Wonderful sight for a woman who refused to take the subway because of things like this. So we moved to another car, and I spent the next twenty minutes being lectured on why not to be out alone after dark. A typical parental move.

But for the most part it was normal. Everything went as planned, we walked around, we shopped at Pearl River Mart. She fell in love with the little street vendors down in SoHo and the super-adorable dogs that live on my block. My goal for her was to experience something different than the standard mid-town visit and I th ink it worked. I hope it worked. My goal was also for her to go home feeling secure about her daughter's decision to move to an island that holds 10 million people. We'll have to see how that works out.