NYC

Be a Frolicker

Jeanna G3 Comments

I came across one of the most endearing posts on social media that I’ve seen in a long time (kitten and puppy pictures not included). It was of a person (@AshyMalik) frolicking and wondering why he had never known about it or done it before, and that a good frolic will turn your bad day around. It cracked me right up, and then made me a little sad to think there are people who never frolic! I’m a frolicker. I skip and gallop from point A to point B. My daughter and I mimic Phoebe Buffay when we’re in a hurry (remember the one when she ran through the park with Rachel?). I used to roll down hills (now I’d probably vomit). I love a good Maria moment when the hills come alive and I spin in circles. My coworker and I reenact the Parkour episode of The Office when our boss is out to lunch. When I taught PE I would have the kids travel to the line by bear walking, spinning, crawling, or inch worming, because walking was just too boring, and idle feet are the devil’s workshop (or something like that). It’s the carefree movements that really make us feel alive. Children are much better at this than adults. I suppose exercise is the grown-up version of frolicking; people can experience a kinetic catharsis without feeling too self conscious.

I used to be a wallflower at school dances, except for the slow dances. Fast dancing had long odds in my life. And then, when I was 24, I went to Webster Hall in New York. I was working as a Program Director at a camp in Jersey that summer, and Asia and Kasia, the two Polish girls who worked in the kitchen, were my cabin mates. They really wanted to tour NYC, and by “tour” I mean “go clubbing.” So I asked my cousin, Ben, where to go, and Webster Hall is where he sent us. So many rooms! So many styles of music! And I stood against the wall listening to the music in each of the seven rooms I wound my way through. Until it hit me. I stood there watching as Asia and Kasia had a ball dancing their asses off. I stood there. They danced. Who stood out like a sore thumb? Me! So, I danced. And the world didn’t end. So I danced some more.

Dancing is frolicking. Making snow angels is frolicking. Jumping in a pile of leaves is frolicking. Splashing in puddles is frolicking. Sneaking up on someone with a water balloon is frolicking, especially the running away part! Don’t be a wallflower. Give in to temptation. Carpe Diem. Be a frolicker.

How do YOU frolic?

A Trip for the Ages

Jeanna G1 Comment

As I’d mentioned in my post “Mementos,” watching the Macy’s parade on Thanksgiving has been a tradition of mine since a very young age. In the early 2000s, the National Dog Show was added to my holiday routine. Every year I tune in to watch while surrounded by family, friends, and food. And every year I’d tell myself I would watch the parade in person one day, and I’d get a dog. Finally, in 2018, I did both. Thanksgiving just happened to fall on my late grandma’s birthday that year, November 22nd. It seemed fitting to finally see the parade in person that I had watched in her living room on Long Island for so many years.

On Wednesday, my daughter and I boarded the Silver Star in Raleigh, which had been delayed because of an accident involving a landscaping truck somewhere in Florida. Because of the delay, we were pushed back in the line going into just about every station along the route, changing our arrival time from 6pm to midnight. The delay put the kibosh on attending the balloon inflation event near the American Museum of Natural History. We’ll just have to go back another year, preferably when the weather is warmer. The parade first began in 1924, and the year my daughter and I went was the coldest in the parade’s history; 19 degrees in Central Park at 11am.

We pulled into Penn Station at midnight, walked to our hotel near Times Square, and slept a few short hours before bundling up and walking toward Columbus Circle. We settled on a spot at the corner of 68th and Central Park West, that also happened to be where a Macy’s employee was allowing ticket holders to cross to the other side of the street, where they could sit on bleachers for a better view. At 10 til 9, there were very few people sitting on the bleachers, so the employee turned to us and asked if we wanted to cross over. I hadn’t even grabbed my chair and my daughter was already halfway across the street. We were gifted with a front row seat over subway vents that blew up coveted gusts of hot air every time a trained passed beneath us. At 9am sharp the parade kicked off, and despite the potential for frostbite, my daughter and I had a ball. The clowns patted her head and tossed confetti all over her. We waved at the stars and were slack-jawed by the immensity of the balloons. And then there was Santa. Time slowed as he and I locked eyes. Always believe in the magic that is Santa Claus. Nothing can transport me back to childhood faster.

When watching on tv, the parade doesn’t end until noon, and you see a good hour of performances in Herald Square, including the quintessential can-can kicks of the Rockettes, before the parade marches through. We were so close to the parade kick-off at 77th street, that it wasn’t even 11am when Santa glided by. From our spot at 68th, we walked up to Strawberry Fields, where we climbed into a bicycle-driven carriage that took us for a spin through the park. It was expensive, but necessary because neither of us could feel our feet anymore. We got out at 7th and Central Park South to find a deli that had an entire roasted turkey as part of its buffet. I made Ellie a take-out box of Thanksgiving fixins, and ordered myself a turkey Reuben. We hobbled back to our hotel, only slowing to gaze at the Christmas displays in the store windows. We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in bed while watching the Dog Show. After thawing out, we dressed up and hailed a taxi to take us to Radio City Music Hall to experience the Rockette’s Christmas Spectacular; a must-see.

The next morning we dashed off to F.A.O Schwarz to dance on the piano. I bought us both a lovie to cuddle on the train home. A quick stop at Junior’s for bagels and a cheesecake (not a slice, but a whole cake), and then we were back on the train headed south.

It was a whirlwind, but it is one of the most satisfying, memorable trips I have ever taken, and one that I hope my daughter will always treasure. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

What’s that one trip you keep telling yourself you’re going to take? What’s stopping you?