For the most part, the things we worry about never come to pass.
For years, I have heard that by setting our intentions, we usually hit the mark.
There is a welling up of enthusiasm that needs release, like a pregnancy of possibility.
I have long believed that action is the antidote for anxiety.
I came across this quote in the course of my daily reading:
“Anxiety isn’t a problem, it is a symptom of a problem. (Unresolved stuck energy.)” – Jason Leister
Makes sense.
Some of my friends have pointed out, and rightly so, that some anxiety has to do with body chemistry and requires medical treatment. So noted.
But still – unresolved stuck energy.
That fear of making an important phone call. That putting off of a project that could set your life on a different and better course. That showing up at a gathering that could put you in front of the people that could make a positive impact on your life….
The gnawing feeling that you are not doing what you should, not even taking the first step toward meaningful change. The knowing that if you don’t do something, you’ll be in the same place you were last week, last month, last year…
Start with a single pushup. Prime the pump by calling someone safe. Pick up the phone. Send that card. Knock on that door. Work on that long put-off project for fifteen minutes. Help somebody.
No plan needs to be perfect.
“A good plan, violently executed now, is better than a perfect plan next week” — George Patton
There are uncomfortable things that need to be done to get you into a better situation. Steel yourself. Do them.
There are things you can do now to bring you peace, prosperity, joy…
Stop living on Someday Isle…
Your energy can be resolved. You fill find relief in your solar plexus. Your blood pressure will likely improve. Your sense of self will be restored.
There is nothing wrong with baby steps.
As long as we are walking toward or walking away.
You know what to do. You always did.
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Although our New York trip was six weeks ago, much of it has become jumbled in my memory, like what happened and when it happened. Right now, I am struggling to remember what we did for part of our final day there.
Read my previous post HERE. It will lead you to more.
I know that there were pockets when Wes and I were left to ourselves to explore while Taylor worked. I know that Wes made at least one more visit to Harbor Fitness while I slept in.
It could well be that the birthday cake for the twins from Mary happened on the last day, but I already wrote that it happened on another day. If it’s already on the internet like that, then it must be true.
I remember later having coffee and a pastry with Wes and heading into an organic/specialty grocery store to poke around. We think it was somewhere in Bed-Stuy or thereabouts.
I also remember a bunch of preteens sizing us up on the subway and trying to encircle us – acting like they were just chatting with each other as they moved closer. Wes and I stayed vigilant – eyes on each other’s pockets as we stood near one of the exits until they got off the train. Pickpockets in training, perhaps. You can call me paranoid, but Wes felt the same way. Something was up.
On this final night, we were looking forward to a meal at Gyu-Kaku Japanese BBQ in the East Village.
But we got around in the daytime also. I remember browsing at another bookshop with my twins and (maybe on the same day) ducking into Los Tacos No. 1 in the Times Square area.
Earlier, Wes asked Taylor about the Whole Foods bag he had left with her at Hartley’s the night before. She had no idea what happened to it.
Gyu-Kaku is a sprawling restaurant with personal grills at every table – and an endless array of meats for its patrons to cook – along with soups, salads and a variety of sides.
Seán was waiting for us when we got there, and it was good to see him again. The four of us were led to our table, and the feast ensued. We soon got the hang of the grill, and servers came by randomly to check the heat setting for us.
My hearing plays tricks of me in places like this and seems to go to the background noise instead of the people who are actually talking to me, but I managed. Wes and I sat across from Taylor and Seán, and it was interesting to see them interact. It was like they knew each other for years.
I am particularly pleased with what I think is funniest photo of the trip. I don’t know what Wes said to Taylor, but her expression was priceless, like, “are you fucking kidding me…”
After Gyu-Kaku, Taylor and Seán felt like having a few more beers. We wound up at McSorley’s Old Ale House. The place was established in 1854 and it is said that Abraham Lincoln drank there once. The place oozed history and a bit of controversy. It wasn’t until 1986 that the tavern added a women’s restroom.
The men’s room had a bank of urinals that looked like upended porcelain sarcophagi without the lids, probably not as old as the bar itself, but ancient nonetheless.
Don’t expect hard liquor at McSorley’s. The place serves light and dark ale only, and you order it in pairs. I noticed a food selection on a chalkboard also. The place is about as no-nonsense as you can get.
We made our way to the subway, but Wes ducked into yet another pizza joint for a slice – proving his insatiability on this trip. We parted ways with Seán and headed toward South Slope. Even though Taylor was with us, I was proud of how easily Wes and I managed to navigate the MTA. While not pros by any means, we could get around.
Walking up Taylor’s street, the couch was still outside her apartment building, but most of the cushions had been scavenged. I noticed something odd, though. It was a brown paper bag. As we got closer, I could see the green logo: Whole Foods.
No way.
Don’t ask me how or why. It was Wesley’s food, now festering.
It was full circle – a hilarious bookend to our trip.
We hung out with Taylor and Mary. I was glad Mary was there and enjoyed our conversation. We were now homies. Mary was also kind enough to loan me her carry-on approved backpack, which was much more manageable than the gym bag I brought with me.
Early the next morning, Wes and I made our way onto the subway, took two trains to Penn Station, grabbed a New Jersey Transit train to the AirTrain and caught our flight home to Myrtle Beach.
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I might be beating this New York trip to death, but there are a few more memories I want to set down before they slip away…
For the first three installments, go HERE, HERE and HERE.
After Wes and I finished our pie at John’s of Bleeker Street, we headed off via subway toward Bed-Stuy and Hartley’s Pub for “trad night” – a regular session of traditional Irish Music where Taylor slings Jameson.
Hartley’s (From Facebook)
Hartley’s is a welcoming place. It doesn’t put on airs, and the vibe is chill. It’s a small place. The pub’s website cites it as “Brooklyn’s homiest Irish bar,” and it sits on the border of Bed-Stuy and Clinton Hill.
Taylor told us that a table was reserved for her group, and that’s a good thing because the place soon filled up to elbow-to-elbow status – with the musicians taking up residence at a regular table just across from us.
But Wes and I were early, and hung around outside for a bit until Taylor texted us and said to go in and claim the table. She and boyfriend Seán were en route. The place started to fill up. Before it did, we met bartender Milo, who pointed out the waiting high-top after I shook his hand about 2.5 million times. Sometimes I astonish myself.
Soon, Taylor came in with Seán, and she introduced us. I found him to be calm and kind – and conversation came easily. He is also a tall and a good-looking fellow. Did I mention he was Irish? Did I have to? I enjoyed meeting and speaking with him, and Wes did too – the pair talking about sports and fitness and, for both of them, an early decision to reinvent themselves through physical training.
How many times can you use the word “did” in a paragraph? See above.
Of course, we playfully roasted Taylor, but if you know her, that could be a slippery slope. I am happy to report that we survived.
I met a regular, Ms. Ronnie, and we ducked outside for a vape (me) and a smoke (her). She was born and raised in the area and ascended the municipal ranks from clerk to civil engineer. What a fantastic story.
We also met LG, the chef. About that time, Taylor took Wesley’s beloved Whole Food bag and brought it downstairs to store in the kitchen.
Later, Seán and I would pop out for a vape. Our conversation was relaxed and easy – and I was glad to get to know him.
It’s funny that as soon as Taylor was sure I was coming to New York with Wes, she sent me a selfie with Seán and said something like, “Unfortch, you’re going to meet this guy.”
Maybe it’s because I’m her father and she was about to introduce me to her boyfriend, but I found her choice of words hilarious. I get it. I took it to mean that there was no stopping a runaway freight train. But I asked her why she would say “unfortch,” and she told me Seán asked her the same thing. At any rate, I am glad he knows about it.
When I met him, I told him that “Unfortch” should be his nickname.
Taylor with Seán aka “Unfortch”
There was soon no room at the table – and some of their friends crowded around. Some of them I knew – Deniese, Kaja, Jacob, Mary – and it was great to meet the others. I am heartened that my daughter has a wonderful group of people in her life.
Wes doesn’t drink and has never had an interest in it. Maybe that’s because of my alcoholic incidents over the course of his young life. Taylor is another story, although I have rarely seen her completely shitfaced – rarely being the key word. Because I have been sober for nearly ten years, I never had the chance to drink with her. I mentioned that to her once. Believe me, she’s perfectly OK with that.
But the drinkers were well on their way that night. Come on now, it’s an Irish pub after all.
The music was awesome. No singing. This wasn’t “Dirty Old Town” or “Danny Boy.” It was just as it was supposed to be: Traditional. Instrumental. I seem to remember an Irish whistle, acoustic guitar, a fiddle and either a mandolin, dulcimer or bouzouki. I’m probably missing something. At any rate, the music component contributed to a great vibe – but soon the place was so crowded that the chatter threatened to drown out the musicians, who were strictly acoustic.
Wes and I decided it was time for us to head to Taylor’s apartment. We asked about the Whole Foods bag, and Taylor told us she would bring it home with her later. She also ordered a Lyft for us.
When Wes and I got there, we decided we were still a bit hungry – so we took a short walk in the neighborhood, around the corner to Brothers Pizza for a couple of slices. It’s a small place, the pizza was good and the guys who were working that night were friendly. It’s strange, but we seemed to be getting in more together time than we normally do at home in Myrtle Beach.
We still had one more day to explore.
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Tromping around New York with Wes and Taylor was just what I needed for a reset. My twins were about to turn 30, and my son and I got to spend a few days up there thanks to my daughter-in-law, my daughter and, as I came to find out, my daughter’s boyfriend, Seán.
We were to meet Seán later when we were to return to Hartley’s for “trad night” – a couple of hours of traditional Irish music where Taylor tends bar.
That morning, Wes was up with the chickens to drop in at a local gym called Harbor Fitness in Park Slope, according to my daughter the fancier neighbor of South Slope, where she lives. By the time I woke up, he was back – getting ready to move a couch out of the apartment with Mary, Taylor’s friend and roommate.
Typically, a piece of furniture doesn’t last long once it is put out on the street. It’s an interesting phenomenon. By the time we headed off to check out Strand Book Store and the Union Square Holiday Market, some of the cushions had already disappeared.
But that couch was to play a role in our lives again later. Come to think of it, maybe the couch was moved out the day before. Dammit. I don’t remember.
But that day, we also celebrated the twins’ 30th birthdays early with a cake and candles thanks to Mary. This is a moment I will always cherish. Also grateful that Mary snapped some photos.
I could have stayed the day at Strand Book Shop, exploring its boasted “18 Miles of Books,” but we stayed a good while. This visit, I passed on perusing the stacks out on the sidewalk, but I regret that now. I could have stocked up and asked Taylor to ship the used books to me later.
Catherine and Taylor at Strand Book Store
The holiday market was wonderful – a sprawling bazaar with artisans, food vendors, retailers, music and much more – a feast for the senses, for sure, with the hum of bustling humanity. Taylor bought me a red winter beanie with a patch that reads, “Don’t Be A Dick.” I am proud of that hat, and love wearing it. I am sorry more people don’t actually read what it says, though. I might effect meaningful change if they did. Sometimes I make sure folks can see it, especially my friends.
I was happy that we got to see Catherine – a longtime friend of Taylor’s going back to the sixth or seventh grade – and a young lady who also struck out for NYC after college. She’s family. I always wax nostalgic when I see her and I am proud of both of them. Catherine influenced me and Wes to try the awesome empanadas from a vendor at the holiday market.
Taylor and Catherine
Wes ducked across the street to grab some takeout from the hot bar at Whole Foods. I was glad – because, here I go again, there was a restroom. Armed with what he wanted, we parted ways with Catherine – and Taylor accompanied us around as we made our way toward Greenwich Village – walking through Washington Square Park on the way.
I love seeing the twins – my babies – interacting as adults. If I live long enough, I’ll probably be the same when they are 50.
Wes was intent on trying as much New York pizza as he could – I call it “Pizzaquest” – and we were on our way to John’s of Bleeker Street. Taylor planned on leaving us there so she could scope out a bar called Peg’s Cavalier in Queens, which was to be the site of her 30th birthday soiree. Unfortunately, Wes and I would already be back in Myrtle Beach by their actual birthday.
Soon, it appeared before us as we walked. On the left corner of their burgundy awning were the words, “No Slices.”
Whoops.
Thank Goodness those empanadas were small.
After some debate, Wes and I decided to go in for a whole pie and Taylor took off. We “split” the pizza, meaning Wes had four slices and I had two – more than enough for me. Wes later told me that it was the best pizza he ever had.
All the while, the Whole Foods bag was with him.
More to come.
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In three days, we packed as much adventure into our visit to New York as we could.
Only just a month later, I am having trouble piecing it all together. Memory is a funny thing.
Wes and I arrived in New York just days after KISS played their two final shows at Madison Square Garden, and if you looked, you could see evidence of the band’s “NYC Takeover.”
Taylor handed us a couple of MTA passes with KISS emblazoned on them in full makeup.
I wish I had been able to see the Empire State Building’s tribute to them, the structure alive with video and lights – paying tribute to the “local boys made good” in larger-than-life relief, a fitting farewell indeed.
But we already said our goodbyes to KISS in Raleigh a while back. You can read about that experience HERE.
After we got to Taylor’s apartment in South Slope, we regrouped. Thankfully, Taylor and her friend and roommate Mary let us stay with them.
Mary wasn’t home, but we caught up with her later.
I was happy to finally have unfettered access to a restroom.
We headed out and took the subway to Bed-Stuy with Taylor, en route to her job at an Irish pub called Hartley’s. I like to say she is slinging Jameson now, and the job is a logical fit for her because she was first a regular there. One of her concoctions actually made it onto the menu – she originally called it a “Guinn and Tonic” but it’s on the menu as a Guinness and Tonic.
When we walked into the little place, folks greeted her like on ”Cheers.” After meeting the manager, Aidan, and chitchatting with one of the regulars (who had some very kind things to say about Taylor), we took off in pursuit of pizza.
This was one of the first adventures as a duo with Wes on the subway system. Taylor gave us some pointers, and I was impressed by the sheer detail of Google Maps when it came to navigating public transit in New York.
The first place on Wesley’s pizza quest was Prince Street Pizza in SoHo. We had both been there before, but this time we knew the place was KISS-centric.
We had seen photos of Gene Simmons there with his son, Nick. And there were cutouts of the band at the front of the place. For folks ordering whole pies, the boxes displayed KISS on them also.
We enjoyed the thick, square slices outside. Thick? Square? What? This is New York. I told Wes that the challenge was to eat them before they got cold, because it was something like forty degrees then. There is a counter against the wall inside the narrow place, but it’s usually elbow to elbow.
Wes and I walked around for a bit, and again I was forecasting about when I would need to find a restroom. We ducked into a pastry shop, but couldn’t find a restroom there – but it wasn’t urgent. Wes ordered a pastry and we continued on, deciding to head back to Taylor’s place for the night.
Taylor and Mary live in a cute apartment in an old building with vertical, floor-to-ceiling pipes in every room. I didn’t realize what they were until I got close to one of them. It was old-school boiler heat. I’m 60, and I had never encountered that before. When they heart up, it sounds like somebody is hammering a piece of sheet metal. In fact, I thought somebody was working outside the building when I first heard it.
Reminds me of “I Love Lucy” episodes where Fred Mertz had to go downstairs to check on the furnace.
Mary was home when we got there. Buzzed us in a’la “Seinfeld” – and we had the chance to catch up with her before turning in.
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Roger Yale 