Manhattan

First of all, The Ramble 8 doesn’t even qualify as a ramble. Kill me.

Ok, so I ended off with the fact that…I got on the bus. It’s a mega-bus, those rock, so take advantage of that fact and ride them. End of advertisement.

As I’m gesturing through the window towards my friend who is patiently waiting outside, I feel a hard poke on my shoulder. Turning in alarm, I discover the African American bus driver with his long finger pointing at my backpack, which is illegally lying on the seat next to me.

You see, each person is only allowed one seat. So I moved the backpack, and turned back to my friend, wondering why excuse me couldn’t have sufficed in the above situation, as well as a kind request as opposed to a brusquely pointed finger. Whatever.

So, as I was innocently talking to my friend, my poor shoulder was jammed again by a rude pointer finger. Another black man, with a good pair of jeans, (sorry, but I love the dark dark type!) and he says,
“Is anyone sitting here?”

Well, my backpack was a moment ago, but a different finger sent that out the window, so,
“Nooo?….” I reply uncertainly, not sure what he’s getting at. I should have guessed. An instant later, my answer becomes a lie, as he slides in next to me. I breathe in- I’m sitting next to a guy. A thirty year old African-American, not that I’m racist, but anyways, still a guy.

I need not worry, because he pulls out his iPod, puts away his blackberry and starts to read some crazy fantasy book. I know what it was about because I was discreetly reading over his shoulder. Or not discreetly. Whatever, I don’t think he notices.

The only annoying part is that you know how guys always spread their legs out? So I am like crammed into the corner and I fall asleep. I guess he does too because when I wake up, he is sleeping and his leg is taking up way more space than humanly necessary. Remember how my backpack was illegal? I shoulda sued this guy; according to mega-bus standards, I coulda made millions. On the other hand, I should have just poked him; that seems to be the way to do things there. πŸ™‚

Well, switching to past tense here because I find it easier to fall back into it naturally, I got off the bus in the crazy wonderful city of Manhattan. There’s this vibrant hum and it was a little scary watching thousands of people and taxi’s going by, all without taking notice of everyone else. In fact, they seem to notice so little that they probably don’t notice that no one else does either. Get it?

So I waited a while for my uncle to come, and when he did he had to maneuer around alot to get my suitcases in the car, but somehow he did and we headed to Connecticut.

Now, just thinking about this journey makes me feel a little nauseous, because that’s the way I felt then. Probably due to the hot dogs, or the fact that I had just spent three hours in a bus; I don’t care what it was, but I feel like I’m gonna puke right now.

Sorry, you did not need to know that. Ok, let’s pretend everything is fine. It is, you know. I’m not gonna like puke all over hte kyeboard or anything because then you won’t be able to understand a word I type. Huh?

Ok, it’s late, I’m tired, so just ignore the above.

So I went to Connecticut, making a stop at a gas station on hte way. My great grandparents live there- they just celebrated their 69th anniversary, knein a hora. It was really nice to see them again; I haven’t seen them in about a year, so I socialized to the best of my weak ability.

I quizzed my great-grandmother about her life when she was my age, and it was so so sad to hear all hte crazy things she went through. Listening to her quiet voice, digging up old, worn out memories of nearly a century ago, I was suddenly able to understand a little more what my history book meant by all the “times were hard” cliches. Because cliches or not, times were hard. Very hard.

Basically, I won’t bore you but by the time my great-granmother was in high school, she was out of it, because Jews weren’t allowed to practise religion in Germany. She attended a dinky seminary because there was nohting else to do, and all her friends also practised living on a kibbutz, for the day they would go to Israel. Not all of them went, however. My great-grandmother went to America; she was engaged for three years and left the country to meet my great-grandfather in good ol’ USA.

When I asked her what she did as a hobby, or to hang out, she said that they had no choices back then, they worked to eat and ate to work, and there was no time to have fun. No time to blog, not that they could, but no time to chill, talk on the phone, grab a snack….

Crazy world huh? Question is, is it a crazy world now or was it then?

Well, I had a great talk with her, and my great-grandfather told me to serve G-d with joy, and I think I’ll listen and pass it on, because he is almost 97, kenein a hara, so he would know what he’s talking about.

My great-grandmother made me toast, and that was really sweet of her. I felt much better on the way home, had a ginger-ale, and slept a bit. We actually stopped at the same rest stop again, lol, but no-one recognized me, at least they didn’t say they did.

I know this is so long. Too bad.

So then I got back into the city. We had to get from the far left lane into the far right. While traffick was at a stand still. Imagine that. A million almost fender-benders, two million honks, and much antagonizing pain (for me) later, we made it. That is a small fraction of city driving. It’s go or bust. Literally.

I spent that night on the phone a bit, and then I went to a wonderful kosher Indian restaurant. The food that my uncle kept insisting I eat was amazing, absoultely amazing. LIke, out of this friggin world. Which is pretty friggin in this area, anyways. πŸ™‚

I got home, wrote a bit, blah and went to bed by midnight. The end of a long, tiring, amazing day.

I’m on the phone with my mom now, and we’re discussing my future for next year; Israel, college, graduation, etc. Wish me mucho luck!

Keep UNraveling!

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8 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. goodlookin'
    Jun 24, 2010 @ 05:09:32

    i think u meant century, not decade

    Reply

  2. Susan J. Flyweel
    Jun 24, 2010 @ 11:30:13

    That sounds so crazy! Do you know how much I miss you? Anyway, I feel really bad we didn’t get to spend time together when you were in town. Can you comment on my blog with your phone number and I won’t approve it. Then I can call you and I’ll leave you a comment with my phone number. I really hope this doesn’t get approve. I’m gonna see if this gets approved automatically and then if not leave you another comment with my phone number. K? Oh well, I’m doin’ it anyway.

    Reply

    • Susan J. Flyweel
      Jun 24, 2010 @ 11:30:48

      DARN! It got approved. Oh well. Please leave me a comment.

      Reply

    • 2Sense
      Jun 24, 2010 @ 14:24:14

      Hey. Um, I can read that. Ha ha. She probably has it on automatic- once your comment is appoved once, its always approved. That’s the way it is on my blog, anyways.

      Sorry, but I just HAD to put my 2 cents in.

      Reply

      • Susan J. Flyweel
        Jun 25, 2010 @ 00:00:16

        I know you can read that, which is why I didn’t out my phone number there. So you have a blog too? What is it, cause your username is not linked to your blog like mine is. Click on my name and you’ll see my blog.

        Reply

  3. 2Sense
    Jun 25, 2010 @ 06:02:18

    Ah, Susan. That is cool. clicked on your name, and I saw it’s called Bolt? Maybe I’ll read it. My blog must remain anonymous as of now, because of various reasons. But I will let you know if I can share it with you.

    Reply

  4. Susan J. Flyweel
    Jun 25, 2010 @ 08:31:51

    I really need hints!!!! HELP! I used up remaining braincells figuring out that the first number is 2. Or is it? *screeches*

    Reply

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