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Favorite Places

The life aquatic

I went swimming recently at the Asphalt Green community center in Manhattan’s Battery Park City. The pool, which has six lanes that extend for 25 yards, opened in June. The depth runs from 3’ 6” at one end to nine feet at the other.

The pool is part of a 52,000-square-foot facility that includes a fitness area, locker rooms and basketball courts. The building, which occupies three levels, has earned a LEED gold-level certification for environmental friendliness.

Swimmers can leave the locker rooms and walk directly into the pool area.

The pool feels wonderful. Lanes are marked by green lines on the bottom and divided by blue and green dividers. While swimming, I loved looking at the pool’s bottom, which has none of the grime that can build up between tiles. The walls felt great on flip turns. The water was crystal clear.

After my swim and a shower, I thanked the people at the front desk, headed into the sunshine, boarded a Citi Bike and pedaled along Hudson River Park. The ride took me past Tribeca and the West Village and the new Whitney Museum that’s under construction

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Home

Moving day…

moving day“South Africa, that’s halfway around the world,” Kelly, the mailman, said to me while I waited on the street for the movers to finish loading the contents of my apartment into a van.

It was an 88-degree day that felt like July. A woman walked by holding a battery-powered fan.

“Tough day to do move,” said a cyclist who dismounted near me, soaked in sweat.

Turned out to be an easy day to move. My girlfriend and I drove the van from Manhattan to Wallingford, Conn., where I rented a 5 x 10 climate-controlled storage locker. We encountered little traffic and arrived back in the city at 9:00 p.m.

Later we headed downtown for a margarita. As it happened, the day marked the 12th anniversary of 9/11. We stopped en route at Engine 24, which has a memorial for firefighters from the company who died at ground zero on 9/11.

“Take care, it’s been great knowing you,” Kelly had said as we fist-bumped. I later overheard him greeting a man at the building next door. “I don’t know the neighborhood very well,” the man said. “I just moved here.”

That’s how it goes in New York. You leave and someone else arrives. That’s part of the rhythm of this great city.

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Escape Velocity

esb_dusk2A spacecraft trying to leave the Earth needs to be traveling seven miles per second, or about 25,000 miles per hour, to overcome the planet’s gravity and avoid falling back to the surface.

Scientists call that speed escape velocity, which also describes what I feel I’m attaining as I prepare to leave New York City after a decade. Like a rocket that appears to bounce haltingly in the seconds before it breaks free of the launch pad, I’ve felt this summer the force of a life lived in one place.

In July, when I began the process of relocating to South Africa, I wobbled under the weight of my to-do list. I felt handcuffed by possessions, especially those I needed to inventory, photograph and describe for Craigslist. That’s not to mention the things that had piled up over the years: papers, books, photographs, magazines, Band-Aids, toothbrushes, notebooks, t-shirts, coffee mugs, bottle openers, eyeglass cases, towels, Sharpies, a chess set, bed sheets, receipts, bandanas, magazines, magnets, seashells and business cards.

I’ve encountered a battery of medical appointments and filled out a mountain of forms for a visa. I’ve planned what to pack and ended my lease. I have friends to see.

Leaving also means escaping the pull of the familiar. After 10 years in one home I can pad around in the dark without my eyeglasses and not bash into things. I know how far to turn the knob to release a full stream of water into the shower and how long the sink takes to drain. (I won’t recall wistfully the vagaries of my apartment’s 85-year-old plumbing.)

Outside I navigate largely by intuition. I know the city underfoot sufficiently well that often I can tell where I happen to be by looking at the pavement. I read on the subway until I feel my stop.

You might say New York exerts its own gravitational force. I suppose that’s because I love it here. Especially on summer evenings when cafes spill onto the sidewalks and trees overhang the streets and the neighborhoods become park-like and the parks themselves become the loveliest refuges. Or when I’m riding the subway to Manhattan from Brooklyn on a Thursday night and feel tired in a good way and can read for a dozen stops. I love the newsstands and movie theaters and the bodegas that sell Mexican Coca-Cola. I love the people.

I don’t think one can live in New York and not fear the day that your being a denizen might end. That you won’t be around for the change of season. That you’ll have to give up your apartment. That the dailiness of your life here will disappear.

About a decade ago, I left New York for Nashville. During my year away I felt as if I would never get to live here again. “It seems that the moment you left town they put up a wall around the place, and that you will never manage to vault over it and get back into the city again,” Nora Ephron wrote in a 2006 essay about moving away. But I later learned what Ephron also knew: you can come back.

Now summer is fading and the tide of my life here is receding. An echo fills my apartment where furniture and books and the clutter of life once absorbed conversations and footfalls. The last time I heard the echo was 10 years ago when I had just moved in and gazed out my window at the Empire State Building. I thought then I was the luckiest person in all of New York to have that view. I still feel that way.

Categories
People

Connection

I’ve long felt that New York is my macro-friend, that I am encircled by others like me. The feeling has been with me a lot recently as I’ve turned to Craigslist to sell much of the contents of my apartment.

“There’s nobody, not Ikea or anyone, who has one like this,” Allyson, who came to buy my bookcase told me. I painted the bookcase, which stands eight feet, when I moved to the city 15 years ago. Now I’m leaving and Allyson and her husband, Sean, who works in oil exploration, are arriving. “I should have worn sneakers,” said Sean, who wore sandals and had to carry the bookcase about a mile to their apartment.

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Angel, an aspiring Frank Sinatra impersonator, paid $40 for my Roland Mini-Cube amplifier. “I step out of the shower and sing but this will be my first attempt to sing publicly, said Angel, who likes “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” has a Marine Corp fade and wore white high tops with matching crew socks. “Buy yourselves a couple of Frappuccinos,” he told my girlfriend and me as he passed me two crisp $20s.

Dena, a teacher who lives with her boyfriend in the financial district, bought my blue couch with a pullout sofa ($400). “I love this,” she said. “I was looking for something extremely clean and comfortable.” The next day she came with two movers, who mummified the sofa in plastic wrap and tape before carrying it away.

Dickson, who lives in the Bronx, paid $45 for my AM/FM table radio with wooden cabinet. “It’s for my aunt, who is 94,” he said. “So she can listen to the Chinese radio station. She had a handheld radio but the sound was fuzzy. This radio has a grounding. She lives in a tenement building.”

Helen from the Upper East Side bought the antique Coca-Cola crate for $10. “This is a clean one,” she said. “I like the look of them.” Two weeks later, Helen returned to buy my antique tool box ($10).

John from Brooklyn paid $25 for the Mac Airport Extreme wi-fi router. He showed up on a bamboo bike. “Built one with my lady,” he explained. “The materials come from Ghana.” John said his sister and her husband “have a sweet patch of land in Kenya” after I told him about my moving to South Africa.

Susan arrived in a dusty blue Ford with a Penn decal in the rear window. “I’m sorry the inside of the car looks like a garbage pit,” she said. (Whirpool microwave, $50).

“It’s heavy,” Roswell said as he hoisted the Ryobi 7.25-inch circular saw he bought from me ($25). “It’s for a friend.”

Dan and I bonded over an Ikea end table ($15). “These things are super-useful,” I said as I handed it to him. “Yeah, I have two already, use ’em for books,” Dan said.

Gregory from Trinidad bought the Andis trimmer ($15). He commutes by car from his home in Queens to his job at the U.S. Postal Service vehicle maintenance facility in Chelsea.

“I’m stopping by before my kickball game so please don’t judge me for looking like an idiot,” emailed Drew (Queen-size bed base, $150). He wore tube socks and a white t-shirt with blue long sleeves that had “Kickball” written in script across the front.

Bruce from Connecticut (Brother compact laser printer, $25): “I’ll pay you $30 if you can drop it off at my son’s place who lives near you.” No sale.

“I was a speechwriter in Perth but now I’m hoping to get into international relations,” said Andrew, who together with his girlfriend, Anna, bought two bedside tables and a matching six-drawer dresser ($350).

Cate, from Williamsburg, bought the glo ball lamp ($40). “I’m thinking of moving to Spain,” she said. “I’ve been here ten years.”

Lydia came on Sunday to see the Heywood-Wakefield mirror ($80). She said she liked it and would run to the ATM for cash. Then she said she needed to measure the mirror and left abruptly. Lydia returned on Monday, handed me the money and left with the mirror, which she planned to take home to Brooklyn. “Just got home and it’s perfect,” she emailed later. “Thanks again.”