Jersey Blues

Not really “blue,” except my fingers, just traveling. Brrrr. It’s hecka cold out here — some 20 degrees colder then NY, where it was merely chilly. It was 40 there, gotta be 20 here. Snow flurries over and over yesterday and threatening today. Cold fingers….my *favorite* thing! Good thing I packed layers.

Flight here was fine, just seemed endless. In Long Beach we had to deplane on the tarmac; I’ve never done that before, felt like a 1940s movie star. Warmish with palm trees and the art-deco style of the airport, felt kinda glam. Then endlessly onto NY’s JFK, where we grabbed bags, got into the queue and grabbed a cab to Haaaarlem (the old original spelling had like 20 As in it, so that’s how I’m spelling it). Mia’s place is CUTE, about the size of Savanna’s bedroom (a small bedroom, 10 x 10?) and has a teeny galley kitchen, half a teenyweeny closet and a cute little bathroom. We learned how to use a toilet plunger right away (I knew, Mia didn’t and had never used one, didn’t own one = trip to the corner market). Yay, Mommy imparts new knowledge Just Like That. I get the twin bed, Mia and Ana are swapping the love seat (we’re short people) and the sleeping bag on alternate nights.

We took the subway downtown and booked seats on the Chinatown bus via the library’s Internet, then went on to Chinatown and grabbed the bus. We had a just few little snacks with us and were famished by the time we arrived, 2 hrs later, at the Cherry Hill Mall in NJ. The bus pulled off the Pennsylvania Turnpike and shoved us out onto the verge by Red Lobster. So freaky-deaky cold, we were not expecting it. Yes, join me in a big fat Brrrrr.

Our niece Abby, 5, is the sweetest thing, hilariously funny. Her animal impersonations had Ana and me rolling on the floor: flap wings and run around yelling “moo.” That’s a cow. Don’t ask about the wings. It went onlike that…And Brendan is a doll, little he-man beating his chest. I was doing my gorilla impression when it was my turn and Abby said, “Brendan!” Too funny.

Bri and I ended up chatting late into the night, East Coast time. For me, it was 10 pm. For Bri and Amanda, zzzzzz. Then I awoke at 8:30 — my usual time at home! Missin’ my man, I must say.

Happy Easter to all — we went to Mass this morning and I sat behind one of the Sopranos, I swear. White pinstripe trousers and a black and white Prada bag to die for. Heels to match. To church… Is it wrong, I ask you, to want a Prada bag at the holiest Mass of the year? It is. I know this. But here we are. And outside a handful of more Soparnos saying, “Hey, Faddah, great service…” I can’t do the accent. But I knows it when I hears it.

Brian whipped up an awesome Easter feast, eggs, bacon, snausages, French toast, cinnamon rolls, fruit, deviled eggs and Mimosas, with Irish coffees to follow. Urp. We aren’t gonna be hungry on the bus home. Leaving in about half an hour, and no telling what we’re doing next. I think tomorrow Ana and I will hit Bloomingdales, Macy’s, Tiffany, etc., on Lexington, Fifth Ave, etc. Just wander and shop, looking for the elusive wedding gown. We’ll have more luck in vintage shops, I’ll wager. The perfect dress is out there…somewhere. In the afternoon, the Circle Line and Statue of Liber-tay, I believe. Will stop to blog when able.

And poetry has begun to bloom in my notebook (up in my bag, can’t transcribe it now, no time). But here, without pause for thought:

Garden State

The winter landscape, still sere,
has begun to blush.
Sap rises. Redbuds flush
the tree tips with a faint pink haze.
Woods crowd thick against the turnpike,
a maze.

The Garden State awakens.

The road rolls under, wheels churn.
But below the river, my mouth tastes exhaust.
The city beckons.
And I yearn.

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