When I was walking through Dean
& Deluca yesterday, I felt so happy. I have been living in NYC for 26 years
and I am proud to call it my home. I know Woody Allen is getting a lot of
negative attention and there are open questions about him which I choose not to
debate here and I hope that what I say will not sour those aspects of him, and
one can take in my positive associations of what I call, The Woody Allen
Effect.
Before living here I, like many,
watched films about New York City. Nora Ephron also had a knack for the cozy,
intellectualism that romanticized the fictionalized (usually upper middle
class, white) New Yorker. I wanted some of that. And like other romantic
stories with happy endings it never is what it appears while lived in the
moment. So I lived it, and live it, close up. I have been on so many subways,
walked on abandoned streets in dangerous places, shopped at Zabar’s, attended
cozy Shabbat dinners, gone on zany dates with the beautiful NYC scenery set
behind and around me. Every day I live the NYC life and, like most New
Yorker’s, it is bittersweet. Harsh, competitive, expensive, unfair, rude,
quirky, grand and almost always, exciting. The economic inequities, which
exist, also permit and deny me and many others access to many experiences this
place has to offer. I’m personally okay with that. I say “personally” because I know that many
New Yorkers do not have the privileges that I have and I do not support
inequities. Clearly I’m worried about not being PC and maybe if that
categorizes me even more, so be it.
So back the The Woody Allen Effect
and Dean & Deluca. I used to have
and Aunt and Uncle who I thought loved me and liked me. About seven years ago
they chose to reject me because they believed I was ungrateful, and other
things that drove me crazy. But before they totally rejected me, I had a rich
history of their New York City life. My Uncle, who resembles Woody Allen, grew
up in Brooklyn and has taught developmental psychology at CUNY for many years.
He wore burgundy Shetland crew neck sweaters over his plaid button down shirts
over his baggy corduroy pants. Very professorial. He was a wild liberal and I
loved his humor and laughter. When I visited as a kid, he always had a glass of
ale, not beer, and he had an attentive and friendly way of engaging me that
always made me feel special. He wore sensible leather brown laced shoes, and
manner of crossing his legs at the knee and dangling his hanging foot that was
reserved for certain intellectuals. I enjoyed him so much.
My Aunt, also a psychologist, saw
patients in her home. I loved to go through her office toy closet and eat the
candies she had set out on her desk to help her patients feel good, or reward
them for their participation. I’m not sure which, or both. She loved to cook
and always made delicious roasted chicken and soup. My Uncle went through a
making his own bread phase and I loved buttering the bread and knowing that he
made it himself. The earthiness of and
in their home made me feel good and safe.
As I got older, I enjoyed sitting
in their living room doused in sunlight throwing sharp and soft shadows through
ivy plants and potted Madagascar Dragon trees onto their dark hardwood oak floors.
Watercolory artwork made by their friends was tastefully displayed on their
walls. Some of the artwork included poetry and photography. My Uncle liked
Chardonnay and I began to enjoy it as well. We’d sit and chat before retiring
to the dining room with an oak table, chairs and floor and a large tapestry that
their dear friend made hung above us. We were enveloped in soft light from linen
lampshades. At the end of the meal a box
of individually wrapped tea bags was passed around so we might choose what we
liked. Or, there was always coffee:
decaf or regular. After I helped clear the table and loaded the dishwasher,
which I enjoyed doing, the conversation would move back into the living room
where I would listen and participate sitting on their velvet or linen covered
wingchairs.
In some way I had a Woody Allen
Effect piece of life. I had a good guy Uncle who encompassed most of the
positive attributes Woody Allen characterized. The cozy humorous, nervous quirky intellectual life that felt
coherent, then fell off the flat earth and floated away into untethered
zero-gravity. Ungrounded as the newly tiled bathroom walls and the oriental
rugs perfectly centered in each and every room. The small glass paned windows were shattered
either by violent weather or the burglar alarm exploding in great trespassing
force. It did not make any sense and the ideal comfort station was gone for
good.
After several years, I have
recovered.
Walking down the white and grey
marbled aisles of Dean & Deluca perusing the loose tea selection the cherry bowls and
prosciutto counter felt familiar. A worn
out celebrity might ask me where the coffee counter was and I could tell them
without raising any recognition which might embarrass them or deny them their
privacy and dignity.
The set up is just so. Everything
takes a little time.
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