Friday, August 11, 2006

Catch-all

75 w/ a gentle, cooling breeze? HA!

But yes, 'tis for real. It was a long time coming.

Enough small talk. Had to put mine out there though, you know, being part of this weather-obsessed culture as I am. Say, speaking of politics, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?!

This may be so silly as to move beyond reproach. What's the point, you know? Pea made the point that the only people who'll likely comment/ask questions are little kids, considering the way the commercial's presented--kindergarteners puffing on dandelions, jumprope, bubble blowing. Looks to be made w/ this demographic in mind, in fact. Probably the smartest thing about it, as who else would possibly buy into such idiocy? (Not that your kid's an idiot, or any kid for that matter, but you know what I'm saying.) Of course, when the small fry go to ask the question, "But Mommy, the evil environmentalists are making the trees go bye-bye!", Mommy, after passing out then coming to, still clutching her head in pained disbelief, will set little Chloe straight. But still, the embarrassment, the insult one feels in belonging to the same species as those responsible for producing this smut. (Because I'm feeling extreme.) It's got to be a joke. Yes, I've convinced myself it is. Moving on...

My bestest just left town. T-Rae paid me a surprise visit over the w/e, training it to NY following a week of bizniz in Boston. A large chunk of our time was spent lingering over drawn-out brunches, catching up on all things K & T, so little time we get to spend together. We also hit up the Met (finally. finally. finally.), which--shock--didn't disappoint. Particularly enjoyed the Frank Lloyd Wright room, save one teensy disruption. (!) The British fashion retrospective, "AngloMania: Tradition and Transgression in British Fashion," was also a kick, and I got to lay eyes on a kouros, an artifact I'd been curious about since reading Blink, which Gladwell begins w/ an account of the Getty Museum's near-mistake in purchasing an inauthentic kouros, saved just in time by a few experts whose 'thin-slicing' proved correct. Then of course, there was a Mondrian...

We capped the w/e w/ a Staten Island ferry ride, which although I'd done before, is just a really cool way to view Manhattan. Doesn't get old. Also neat to see the bridges--four are visible--from this perspective, love affair that I have w/ them. Speaking of bridges, I finally got an up-close take on the Verazzano, a month or so ago while running long. The schedule called for 1-1/2 hours, and as I'd wanted to see the V for as long as I've lived here, and the nearby Bay Ridge and Sunset Park neighborhoods too, I figured I'd killed off a few birds (not really--my daughter, remember!) at once. And this I did. It was hot and I started too late in the day, but loaded up w/ Gu, Lemon-Lime Gatorade, and a Metrocard that would ride me back home, I set out.

The first two miles were rough, per the usual, but then it got... Oh geez, I'll spare you the details and cut to the chase: Yet another love affair was initiated along this route, this one w/ Brooklyn Heights. While I'd been to the neighboring Carroll Gardens and Park Slope 'hoods before, I'd never had occasion to check out BH. Until now, and accidentally. (Also accidental was yesterday's encounter w/ Red Hook, the soon-to-be home to, what else, Ikea. RH is weathered, rough around the edges, but strikes me as a decent dwelling place--that is, were it reasonably close to a train, which it is not.) I found the loveliest little promenade, flanked by wooden benches and tree-canopied brick apartments looking none too inexpensive. Some preliminary craigslist searching turns up a few affordable sublets, but in the wake of our last let-experience, the wisdom's iffy. Anyway, we've still got time on our current lease, and are far from deciding to leave The Island.

BH behind me, I ran through Greenwood for what seemed like forever, 'forever' gauged by the incredible duration of the Morrissey version of "Moon River" reaching me via the Pod. Speaking of, the combination of intense heat and the sedative quality of this song makes for a hell of an out-of-body experience. Really! Or maybe it's heat stroke. Regardless, it also slows me down.

Anyway, I later realized that Sunset Park had been part of this endlesssss stretch as well. When I reached Bay Ridge and the V entered my line of vision, I felt the giddiness wash over me. Again, not ruling out heat stroke. (Such extreme language today!) But really, big ol' bridges have this effect on me, especially when seen from afar. This one, which as recently as 1981 was the largest suspension brige in the world and is the starting point of the NYC Marathon, is the most staggering at a distance while being the plainest up close. Thankfully, or regrettably, the massive structure remained way beyond arm's reach for a good long time. In fact, as the minutes ticked by, it actually appeared to recede. Perhaps in my heat-induced confusion, I was running backwards for a spell? I'll never know. Anyhow, I'd anticipated making it all the way to its base by the time 1-1/2 was up, but it wasn't to be. After grabbing a chocolate-dipped pretzel at a charming Italian deli--all meat and sugar (the deli, not the pretzel)--I walked the rest of the way, 15 minutes or so.

Like I said, stark, unadorned. Not like the Manhattan Bridge (pretty blue color) or the Brooklyn Bridge (elegant, complex), the latter across which a writer cannot walk w/o imagining Whitman skipping along composing stanzas. But it's expansive, which is impressive enough.

From here I proceeded to head north on foot, spending the next two hours walking the streets of Bay Ridge/Sunset Park/Bay Ridge/Sunset Park, in desperate, desperate search of something to indicate that the area was, in fact, once home to the thousands of Scandinavian immigrants I'd read about on some blog a week earlier. A bakery peddling kransekake, a deli offering open-faced sandwiches, even a kitschy gift shop w/ a nice troll scene in the window--something. But what's this? Irish pubs? Italian restaurants ad infinitum? Chinatown? Don't get me wrong, I'd expected plenty of diversity/overlapping ethnic groups. But accordingly, I'd expected a sliver, a hint, a speck, of the blond-haired/blue-eyed legacy. I was on the phone w/ Pea every 20 minutes, asking him to 'check that blog,' requesting exact addresses of any remaining businesses. However frustrating, it felt exciting, like I'd struck out on my own private little adventure, scouring the streets for some lost treasure, for my own history, really. An early sighting--a miniature Norsk flag resting in a miniature stand in the window of some service club--piqued my enthusiasm, and I kept on.

In time I managed to locate exactly three outlets--a bakery (w/ kransekake to boot!), a deli/catering service (had to splurge on some tube-food), and a bakery/gift shop (closed for the entire month of July). In other words, what I'd expected, only fewer in number. In asking shopkeepers what was up, they just shook their heads. They've all closed, they said. Most have been gone for years. Later that evening, a Web search alerted me to one retail venue I'd missed, and at the rate these businesses seem to fall by the wayside, I figure I'd best not wait long to pay a visit.

Non-retail landmarks are greater in number, although none too visible. There's the Norwegian Christian Home on 67th; the Norwegian Lutheran Deaconess Home and Hospital, now Lutheran Medical Center, on 55th; Sporting Club GJOA on 62nd Street near 8th--one of the only soccer clubs w/ significant Scandinavian presence that's still in existence (apparently there used to be several); the Danish Athletic Club on 65th; and the Scandinavian East Coast Museum on Ovington. And let's not forget the Norwegian Folk Dance Society of New York, its homebase the GJOA. Excepting Lutheran Med Center, I missed them all. What I didn't miss was Leif Ericson Park & Square, a sizable green space w/ plaques commemorating Ericson's contributions as an explorer, the man having discovered Newfoundland in the 11th century. There are also some artful depictions of Norse myths involving Odin, Thor & the gang. Neat!

After plopping down on the lawn for a breather, I started back toward the train. But wait, what's this? Leif Tavern?? Too good! And who am I to pass up the chance to enjoy an ice-cold Ringes, or perhaps a refreshing pint of Aass Genuine Pilsner? I saunter on in, shamelessly sweaty and ruddy-faced. What'll it be? Well, whadaya got for Norwegian beers? Oh [laughing], nothing. We're an Irish bar! Oh, yeah, of course. Leif Ericson, Irish. I pan the room. Emerging from the darkness is indeed a conventional Irish pub scene, complete w/ soccer tourny posters and crusty regular-types slumped over the counter. At two in the afternoon, of course.

Damnit anyway.

Before taking refuge on the N (or was it the R?), I decide to make one last pit stop: a short sidestreet where, allegedly, I would find housing containing elements of traditional Scandinavian architecture. Picking up my ankles w/ my hands and moving them forward in customary walking fashion, I trip there. For nothing. Actually, I did invent something, tricking myself into seeing rosemaling where there wasn't any, but after the heat/brain damage wore off, there was just no foolin'. Strangely, later Web research showed me images that I swear were not those I'd taken in.

This journey felt really important to me. I took the small relics I succeeded in finding and held them close to me for days after, reflecting on the significance of family in my life, a significance that's more evident than ever these days, being as I'm so many miles from home. There was also the challenge aspect, because while a person need only walk down Ballard's Market Street for a satisfying bit of Scandinavia, clearly it's not so easy here--surprising, considering the prominence of so many different cultures. Yet while I never got my big 'a-ha' moment, the park was reasonable consolation.

And you know, the fact that so many landmarks evaded me (well, several anyway) made the experience almost dreamlike; it was like I was chasing down something that resisted being found, which, really, is what one's family history is about. Because while a person can pore over geneology research for years on end, obtaining vast stores of information on births, deaths, marriages, places of origin, livelihood, circus stints (my great-granny's sister, I want to say), etc., there will always be that missing element, namely, the way a person lived truly, internally. And even if I'd located every last inkling of Scandinavianism in Brooklyn, I still would've come away wanting. Because, for instance, I'll never know what it was like to be Nils Nilsson, my great-grandfather who journeyed westward from Sweden in 1887, or more plausibly, to know him and engage w/ him, making me wistful and nostalgic for something only daydreams can bring.

Just thought I'd share.












Verazzano Narrows.













The Norwegian Day Parade (2005?), commemorating Norway's adoption of its constitution on May 17, 1814. Not my pic.










Tube-food. It was gone in a week.










Tiff & I atop the Met.










Tiff w/ a utensiled dinosaur.










En route to S.I.










En route to N.Y.










And in the meantime...

Posted by princess kanomanom @ 8:07 AM