New York: A Rambling Recap

About 47 months ago in blog years (last June), the kids and I and The Rock took a trip to New York to visit with my siblings. My brother, Marky, and other brother, Dane, recently bought and remodeled a house on Long Island and they, my sister, and I, along with our respective families, convened on the home in typical fashion – loudly and with much exuberance.

But first things first. We’re scattered all over the world. Marky lives in Brooklyn, Dane’s in Singapore, and my sister parks it in North Dakota. No we don’t know why. Yes we tried to talked her out of it.

Because we live far from each other, we don’t visit as often as we’d like. There’s a Christmas here, a dad’s open heart surgery there, and random trips everywhere. To have us all in one place is a special treat, until we revert back to childhood and annoy the crap out of each other. A marination process that usually takes about two days.

But still. We’re a close family. We regularly indulge in deep conversations (I remember at my sister’s wedding reception – when the four of us were huddled around a table talking our philosophies and collectively gazing at our navels – that my aunt asked us wonderingly – “do you always talk this way with each other?”). When we reunite, we fall back into the old routines of commenting on life, and the soul, and the meaning of it all. Our significant others hate it and usually leave us to ponder and pontificate around the fire pit all by ourselves.

That’s neither here nor there. This is about New York.

So we went. For those who don’t know me, I hate to fly. Getting myself across the country in the first place was a feat worthy of some kind of award. I mean, five hours on a plane. What the hell? Can’t we supersonic a Google car? Just get me to another state without requiring me to step foot in a capsule that hovers 30,000 feet above Earth.

But, my kids had never flown before, so I had to be strong. I didn’t want either of them to know that I was having anxiety diarrhea every night just THINKING about getting on a plane. The amount of times I texted my brother, “Am I going to die?” could set mental health world records. Yet kids are tuned into all the things, and so Booger absorbed my seemingly hidden panic and began to ask me every day, “Are we going to crash?” I’m so superstitious, I couldn’t even reassure her with a “no.” Instead I mumbled a kind of half-hearted “ehmewnah” that wouldn’t anger the gods into thinking I was full of hubris for believing I might actually survive a cross-country flight.

Again, neither here nor there. I put on a weird fake happy face and got on that damn plane and made it in one piece. But not before calling my brother as I stepped over the boarding threshold, gasping, “It’s a woman pilot!” (My fear is irrational and believes only middle-aged, graying, former-military pilots can fly planes.) As I continued to tell him I had a bad feeling about “this,” he answered, “Your little voice has been talking to you all your life.” {Pregnant pause} “And it’s always been wrong.”

So there was that.

He picked us up from JFK about five hours later, and refrained from saying “I told you so.” Because irrational fears and unbidden panic runs in the family and he gets it. Also I would have ripped his brains out of his face.

What was I saying?

Apparently that’s neither here* nor there.**

*So much more to tell about New York. Like how we did stuff. And the fire-pit talks. And the barn. Have I told you about the barn? Oh! And the haunted house!

**Looks like I’m on a roll. Stay tuned for more in-depth, detailed reporting on our trip to New York!