We left Vermont for NY in the early afternoon on Monday. It snowed most of the way. Small, early winter snow flakes that barely kissed the car. And like magic, as we turned off of 22A and into NY state, it stopped and the sun came out.
On Tuesday I went to the Spanish Embassy on East 58th street. I don’t think I’ve been there since I got married. I had to get some authorization forms for Isabel’s Spanish passport. I was somewhat successful.
It was a perfectly warm autumn day. Sunny. Open coat, open scarf, sunglasses on, almost sweating as I walked. And so I walked. I walked down Lexington from 58th to Kalustyans on 28th and Lex. Then further south, around Gramercy Park and then on to Union Square. It felt good to move my body after having driven the day before. It felt good to walk in my city. NY is a good city for walking. It was lunchtime and my walking companions were business people out getting lunch. Men and women in their work clothes and sunglasses, taking their time with bags of takeout in their hands. Everyone knows how to walk. I did get stuck behind an old lady with a cane and some dolt with their head in phone as we walked under construction scaffolding, but I got past. I do love a city where people know how to walk.
Wednesday Dad and I shopped. Thursday, Thanksgiving, we cooked.
I used to host Thanksgiving dinner when I lived in Spain. At first I thought it would be an orphan’s Thanksgiving for fellow Americans who were in Madrid. But everyone hosts one of those and so my Thanksgiving morphed into an American Thanksgiving for Spaniards. Alfonso would invite his friends and cousins, my sister-in-law. It was a lot of work for me to prepare a “Traditional American Thanksgiving Dinner” alone – but I did it. And somewhat enjoyed it. Cranberries were impossible to find. One year, I had my dad send me some. Turkeys had to be pre-ordered from the pollería. I’d make stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce (when I had whole cranberries — no can shaped cranberry disks for me!) mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, simple green beans, an apple pie and a pumpkin pie and the turkey of course. Generally, Spaniards think no one knows how to eat as well as they do. They also tend to think that Americans only eat hamburgers and french fries. I relished in showing them that that was untrue. We would drink many bottles of wine. It was fun. One year a friend of A’s cousin insisted on bringing bread. “I can’t eat without bread.” I said, ok, but there is bread in the stuffing… He also wanted turkey drippings to sop up with said bread. I said, ok, but there is gravy (with drippings in it).
The last year I hosted I was pregnant. Newly pregnant, first trimester. We weren’t telling anyone yet. Halfway through cooking the turkey, our oven (which had been on the fritz for a long time coming) completely broke. I cried. Alfonso drove the turkey and the stuffing and a pie to his sister’s house where she finished cooking everything in her oven, sending me photos all along to make sure things looked ok. Guests came, they were none the wiser. Everyone drank wine. I did not. Everyone stayed late. I wanted to go to bed. Cooking thanksgiving dinner while 2 months pregnant is not for the faint hearted. It was the last one that I hosted in Spain and the last one that I did alone.
This year, the day after Thanksgiving I had to return to the Spanish Embassy. I was worried about Black Friday traffic and crowds. But I was in luck. I hopped on the express bus, got downtown from The Bronx in record time. And also surprisingly, the Spanish bureaucracy was also on my side. The person at the first desk seemed to understand and know exactly what I needed and so I was allowed in to wait to see someone at the next desk. I had to wait a good hour. The Spanish Embassy of NYC is on the 30th floor of a high-rise on East 58th Street. The airy room has large windows with expansive views north. The room was filled mostly with bi-national families. I easily marked who was Spanish and who American in each set. The kids spoke freely in unaccented English and unaccented Spanish. I felt, how did I feel? I felt a strange sense of sadness and comfort. Right, I too was a part of a bi-national family. It felt totally comfortable to wait in that sparse, clean room with gorgeous views. (More than one person took selfies as they waited). But it also felt sad. I *was* part of a Spanish American family.
The young and pretty Spanish woman finally called my name (mispronounced as I expected) and she responded in lovely English as I spoke in my unpracticed Spanish. All would be taken care of – no problem. Isabel will be able to renew her Spanish passport while in Spain without me being there. It was almost too easy even with the hour long wait.
With my afternoon to myself I decided to take myself to see a movie, Lady Bird. As luck would have it, there was a showing in about 40 minutes at the Lowes on Broadway and 19th. I hopped on the N train at 59th which arrived just as I stepped on the platform – more luck!
While not pleased with $15 price tag for ONE person for an afternoon showing, I was pleasantly surprised that the bathroom was a mess, toilets overflowing, holes in the wall – AH – NY still has some dirt, its not all so shiny.
Lady Bird was great. I laughed and cried. I loved the 17 year old main character. Ostensibly it is a coming of age story about the relationship between mother and daughter. But also, underneath it all, is about the desire to live somewhere else, to leave your home, to fantasize and dream of living somewhere other than where you are.
I got it. I get it. I did that too.
I took the bus back up to The Bronx, the same bus that I’ve been taking all my life. Sitting in the same seat on the bus up to my parents’ house. No traffic (lucky again!). I sat with thoughts of the movie, and sat with thoughts of the Spanish American families at the embassy and sat with the idea of home. The Bronx is home. Madrid is home. Vermont is home. I am home.
Home is Here 