Category Archives: new york city

bountifully broadway bound

Posted on by
go to new york and see this incredible show!

go to new york and see this incredible show!

“six days does not a week make!”

one of my all-time favorite movie quotes, uttered by the plucky jane fonda in the wacky 1968 neil simon film, ‘barefoot in the park’, came to mind often a few weeks ago.

charged with the incomprehensible feat of creating, designing, manufacturing, gift-wrapping and shipping, (in six days time): custom-designed, personalized note cards for the opening night cast & crew gifts (including custom-made wooden gift boxes) for ‘the trip to bountiful’ at the stephen sondheim theatre…(that’s a mouthful!), my team and i managed to pull off a fabulous coup. with ease!

delivering (well, that part is thanks to fed ex) some pretty swell looking goods, if i say so myself, a day earlier than expected, (with only one name misspelled!), i can say that i’d do it all again in a red-hot minute: this is the stuff of creating that never gets old, it only gets better.

here’s a little photo trip through the madcap, amazing project:

in all of the excitement, i never forgot for a moment to have an absolute ball, added by the sheer impossibility othe scope of this project.  working with remarkable people makes my job seem like a lark in the park, i kid you not!

here’s to my ace box maker and bow-tier, maureen; most excellent and fast fab printer, barrington print & copy; charming swag surprise elves, glodesign & swaponz; pat for his most excellent and level-headed packing skills; brian edwards for keeping the information and smiles flowing from coast to coast; cnn for keeping us all entertained during the big friday night rush to get all ready for shipping; and, as always, vw for a totally appreciated, one-of-a-kind, amazing project.

wow.

gloom & gardens

Posted on by
m wood nyc liberty view

the pressure and news is almost too much to bear!  hellish sandy pounding away at the shores of our beloved nyc and the entire eastern shores: the tweets kept me riveted last night until far too late! and in a ridiculous alter-existence, smattered in between one devastating report after another (hospitals being evacuated, fdny unable to reach burning rockaway, crane dangling on w 57th, con ed explosion) was a twitter weekly conversation known as ‘garden chat’ which sandwiched remarks more suitable for a tea trolley with a juniper-infused sweets tray from avid green thumb-ers (jonquils, autumn harvests, rose trimming, someone’s college son who is pursuing a theatrical career, a new puppy): the clash of realities started playing tricks with my brain and the expression ‘dual realities’ slapped a twilight zone quality into the mix.

on top of it, conjuring up an image suitable to munch’s ‘silent scream’, one fellow who i follow decried, “and there’s a presidential election in one week!”: it was just all too much.

the universe has an uncanny way of communicating.  here, whispers of sweet gardens and jubilation over a bumper-crop of hyacinths; there, the jaws of hell and parting of the red sea cripple our very own big apple.  and then this, the side-show: politicians running around, flapping arms and saying, “look at me, choose me, love me”?

how silly and small and ridiculous and brave and undaunted humankind seems in moments like this where the ‘davids’ stand awed and humbled by the ‘goliaths’ of nature and it’s fury.

cliffhangers

Posted on by

m wood grand central station

i say: hooray for the arts, all arts, any arts!

last night found us watching the wrap up of the ‘glee’ season and it’s senior class at mckinley high in lima, ohio.  it also pushed my cute daughter to the edge, crying out in plaintive exasperation:”these rollercoasters that our shows are putting us on!”

as a side note, we’ve suffered and wrangled our hands through the end of wisteria lane, the brutal murder of nice mike, the ghosts of all desperate housewives dead: what a zany trip down memory lane as we spied martha hoover, the evil pharmacist, rex and the whole gang of early demised fairview residents  somberly watching susan delfino drive off in her big jazzy car.

gossip girl sticks forlorn, aimless yet really beautiful serena on a train snorting cocaine next to some creepy dude, harkening back to jacqueline susann’s ‘valley of the dolls’ iconic opening and closing scenes aboard a new york metra train; blair and chuck gambling for love and money in monte carlo; dan and georgina off to rome to plot the ruin of the upper east side (working in tandem with nosy parker lola and her doppelganger, ivy)!

hart of dixie leaves ‘dr.’ rachel bilson ‘torn between two lovers’: nice bartender-country boy wade and stiff ‘he was a better actor in friday night lights’ lawyer george while poor lemon howls alone in the swamps.

parks and rec spelled victory for leslie as the new city councilwoman, though i’m really going to miss bobby rutherford…and tell me, is quincy jones’ daughter really going to move in with tom haverford?

revenge? say it ain’t so: did the white haired man really kill nolan? and since when are we feeling empathy for victoria? nice work of the writers, i’d say, to push us solidly on her slinky morticia-like side.

shonda rhimes killing off sweet little grey?  how on earth is that even fair? we still can’t talk about that at home.

it’s a lot to take, almost too much: stop the ride we have to get off!!!!  thank goodness summer is on schedule and books can calm us down with their sensible

…but back to glee.

yes, rachel weeping, shocked along with all of us, as finn sets her free to follow her dreams to new york and the bright lights of broadway.  we did not see that coming! a totally unpredictable turn of events, it alighted me on a floating raft of high emotion: sorrow and confusion, poor rachel! sweet gentle love, the entire gang gathered at the train platform to send her off!  heart pangs of love love love as finn runs alongside the train window to wave goodbye!  nail-biting worry, yet a growing sense of control and that it’s going to be okay, rachel singing on the train! poor simpering lass, it’s all happened so fast!

could there be, will there be, a turn, a lighter than air step towards that holy grail of happy endings, a feeling of optimism and euphoria?

in pure shiny hollywood this is why i love the arts, hats off to the creative genies who pull our heart strings, twist and turn them, amputate and resuscitate them all in one fell swoop: here comes that universally wonderous moment, a nod to funny girl, and her 70s contemporary clone, mtm, and all gals climbing those mountains: as rachel bounds out of the doors of grand central station in glamorous new york city, brilliantly clad in red pillbox cap and matching coat, her requisite white knee socks and some jaunty black strap dance shoes:

“I’m gonna live and live NOW!
Get what I want, I know how!
One roll for the whole shebang!
One throw that bell will go clang,
Eye on the target and wham,
One shot, one gun shot and bam!”
Hey, Rachel, here you are!

to prep or not…

Posted on by

i’m giggling about something…my latest quandry.

the other night i found myself swaddled by the love and older faces of a few dozen grade school pals.  thank you, yes, oh god of social media, for making something this inexplicable happen with the click of a few buttons.  (and the dispensing of several last minute signs to help direct guests to my bat-cave like secret hideaway).

in the merriment of reconnecting after….38 years (but who’s counting), i found the energy high, the liquor flowing, the smiles cracking past the ear lines, and the love of grounded familiarity ever-present.  i felt instant reconnection to these people, who all fell immediately into close legions of hilarity and recollections.  it was fabulous!

as the evening swept along, i found that my hostessing tasks were keeping me from digging into some of the pow wows, and i longed to hear, too, what the heck these people had been up to for nearly the last 4 decades.  ever ready with unusual ideas, i gathered in the kitchen with jo and omg that dashing ricky, to share my plan.

“a circle of truth?” they replied, sounding a little alarmed?  no doubt, they first thought i meant to orchestrate a pagan ancient rite that involved long brown robes and some sort of sacrificial goings on.  after all, we were all little children together sitting earnestly in rows listening to the hell and brimstone ‘talks’ given by a handful of priests and nuns ‘back in the day’….

i explained to my pals that no, the circle of truth wasn’t a creepy thing, but really just one of those “get to know you” games that teachers and retreat leaders seemed so eager to introduce to groups.  they eased into my plan, though with a few caveats: we need a time limit! (3 minutes was agreed upon per person)…. we need category prompts! (two dozen notes with scribbled ‘category’ topics was whipped out, stat)….we need to get their attention so that they will play the game! (harder to do, someone brought jagermeister…).

finally i was able to corral these people into the living room, forming, yes, a circle.  it took quite a while, and i longed for the day when mr. mullinex or sister bernadette would take out a whistle or a stern beady-eyed glare to get these people obediently moving!  but, eventually, yes, they all refilled their glasses and little tapas dishes and gathered round.

hilarity ensued, like, i mean, hilarity!

one of the gents had a second hand on his watch, and was the timekeeper. (though his eyesight shot, i think he took to just counting “one one-thousand, two one-thousand…”)  the pool of ladies sitting nearby took it upon themselves to thwack the restaurant/hotel desk top bell thingy to begin each ‘talk’, or hit it again eagerly if someone was boring or droned on too long….RING!

fun stuff.  and i got the ‘scoops’ that i was missing during my earlier hours of running, fetching, greeting, hugging, and delegating.  (single gal that i am, i’m prone to accept and rely on the kindness of gentlemen who volunteer for beer, wine, coat or recycling duty).

so here’s the part that i was just giggling about.  as we went around in alphabetical order (which is totally apropos as we all learned the alphabet TOGETHER), we finally wound over to the W’s which meant, as was the st. anne tradition, i was last.  believe me, i was grateful for this, though in the 60s when i was the last to make it back indoors after a freezing recess in the icelandic-ly cold streets, i’d longed to be an A.

anyway, i flew through some sort of engaging cliff note version of my life post the age of 14, landing smack dab into my fabulous current life as a goofball creative 52 year old.  sensing the crowd was sated with my update, i reached for my prosecco, eager to give the floor to anybody else.

out of the blue, my sweet dear old friend leaned forward and said, “missy, can i ask you a personal question?”

oh dear.

here it comes.

uh oh, my reputation proceeds this party……

i took an extra gulp of that italian bubbly beverage and steeled myself for whatever she was poised to ask me.

she leaned forward, intent, and her pose made me prepare for the worst…

“when did you stop being preppy?”

what?

omg, that was the last thing i expected to be asked, and the question so threw me, i was without words or thoughts for several moments…seemed like forever until i put together some sort of unintelligible reply…found my funny side, “oh those teen daughters of mine make sure i look hip so as not to totally embarrass them”, etc. and as i spoke, i felt like i was BETRAYING something deep within me that really…did…like…being…preppy.

it seemed like my answer was a flop.  where was my clever banter that has been my sidekick since i was 5?  worried that they’d think i’d grown up and gotten B O R I N G, i made sure i threw in a few more bon mots to keep my avid audience from frowning.

but since then, i’ve wondered…when did i stop being preppy?  have i? huh?

so here’s the thing.  growing up and making it through the cotton of the 60s and the quiana of the 70s…by the time the 80s came and lisa birnbach’s bible made it to my eager hands, i did feel (get ready for a big fat cliche here, folks) like ‘coming home’.  i mean, how else would i feel when the verbage, illustrations, nicknames, architecture, weekends, expressions, menus, geography and attitudes were things i’d already grown up with.  lobster.  tennis.  sailing.  horseback riding. lacoste. sperry. ll bean.  brooks brothers…a veritable roll call of americana with a bent towards haberdashery history!

well, i don’t know about you, but i grew up with a television.  and on that black and white screen i spent countless hours (added up i’m sure it’s years, oops) learning and living alongside of katherine hepburn’s tracy lord and cary grant’s dexter in ‘the philadelphia story’….plus the hundreds of iconic glory days of starched shirts, shiny loafers, thick leather ladies handbags, summer lobster boils depicted in movie after movie after movie…(hello, doris day’s ‘it happened to jane’…see what i’m saying?).

yep, i grew up staring and learning and assimilating this world that here, sure, aims more towards the east coast than my little sleepy chicago suburb, and it was this button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves world that i wanted more and more of.

duck shoes, penny loafers, top-siders, baggy jeans, crisp white cotton tshirts, headbands (yes, i did do that for a while….), plaid skirts, irish wool sweaters: who wouldn’t embrace this world of natural material and sensible colors and patterns?  and the bloody mary’s….

i could go on.

so, basically, the day that i was given an autographed copy of the preppy handbook (which later fell into the pool from my imbibing on too many preppy g&t’s) was a clarion call to embrace and love the first lifestyle i really had been exposed to, and one that was a mainstay in our culture.

fast forward to life here over fifty, i still have my preppy days, of course i do.  but along with the decades of life since the 80s, i’ve dabbled a bit into something to be described as ‘fashionable’…or at least, again, according to the teen gals in this life of mine, ‘cool’ and ‘hip’.

being creative comes with a burden of attempting to look a bit, well, ‘out there’…but i can assure you, well, at least assure my pal who was compelled to ask me that riveting question: if you hung out in my room and dug a little into my shelves of folded and hanging clothes, you’d surely find enough traces of preppy stuff to know, wholeheartedly, that it’s firmly rooted as part of my bizarre, kookie lifestyle dna.

promise.

nostalgia

Posted on by

m wood airstream dreams "nightfall"

i’ve done the unthinkable.

while my plump, rolled, ready sunday new york times sits in it’s blue bag wrap on the other side of the house, i spent an inordinate amount of time this morning reading the nyt online.

i feel sort of sick about it, actually.

it happened by accident, i swear.  i was up early, tiptoeing off to the kitchen to make my very strong cup of coffee, being especially quiet so as not to wake my special sleepover guests last night.  a busy day and night kept me pretty much away from home for the entire 15 hour saturday, and my dog and cat were so bereft when i finally got home last night, i relaxed the no pets in my bed embargo and tossed them both atop the covers.

so, like toddlers who you hope will just sleep a little longer, savoring my time to just ‘be’, the still before the storm of letting them out, filling their bowls with kibble, i grabbed my coffee, threw a wool sweater on and crawled back into bed with my laptop and a stack of work to be done.  efficient, and cozy all at once, and as i type, hours later, astro and chin chin are still cuddled up to me fast asleep!

so my plan, as i said, was to work.  a bit of research for an illustration came first, and then some follow up work on a few articles that i have to write this week were the big finish to my very productive early sunday morning itinerary.

i should have known better.  flipping on my macbook and clicking on safari and guess what? it’s got that name for a reason!  off i went on an adventure when i spotted a nyt (it’s my home page) article about chelsea clinton embracing her public persona despite trying really hard for 31 years to ignore it….4 pages of that, and i was off and running.  more articles, the arts, a dab of political unrest, a kind of sad piece by dominique browning that prompted me to click onto her blog to find something a little more hopeful…i really couldn’t stop.

despite how sad i am that this is so easy to do, so pleasurable, to click from one piece to the next, to tap into world after world, mind after mind, image after image….it’s so good and here i am, with a sickening acceptance that this universe is now passing firmly and decisively into a norm that has nothing to do with all of the wonderful things that surrounded my entire life.  and i’m one of the masses who have embraced the incredible of invention and progress, guilty pleasure as it is.

last night i watched ‘that touch of mink’ with my birthday buddy.  we share the exact same birthday as well as the exact same insane love of hollywood, film and most notably, doris day.  to round off our great evening that included watching ‘the descendants’ (loved it), dining on lobster-stuffed black and white ravioli (insanely good), and exchanging news and presents, we popped in that beloved movie and savored in a world of cary grant wooing our favorite gal in a world surrounded by rotary phones, automats, pan american airplanes with really wide seats, curlers (okay, it’s not like any of us are going to miss those), men standing up when a lady entered the room, manners, morals and mischief.

thank goodness for film.  at this point, on the tip of turning fifty-two, i see what it is to experience the extinction of worlds.  i’m evolved, i have evolved, i get it, i can keep up with just about everything as it slides along on the big conveyor belt of progress and invention, but it doesn’t mean that i don’t think it was better before.  that grass is greener cliche rings true for me when i dip my mind into this nostalgic place, especially after coming clean about reading nearly an entire news PAPER on my laptop.  am i part of the masses that exact change, sometimes, without really having a say?

but i do want a say.  spotting a post that my friend shared (yes, i went over to facebook too…) added to my woes.  apparently, the post office cuts are prompting a slower delivery of first class mail.  what’s next?  no mail at all?  no stamps?  no envelopes, no dreamy cursive from a lover with earnest proclamations?  no chunky scratchy thank you notes from my little nephew arriving in a laboriously hand addressed envelope?

what is going on that none of us, or not enough of us, are supporting the things that we love?

clearly, i’m as bad as the next guy over this new york times online gaffe.  trust me, i’m never doing it again, i’m sticking with my big newspaper, despite it’s rattling and turning my fingertips a bit inky.  i read just yesterday the obituary of a fellow who, for decades, served as the layout designer for the nyt, responsible for the bold headings on the special sections that the paper introduced in the 80s.  i mean, people spend a lot of time working, writing, designing, editing, traveling, reporting.

why is it fair that any of us expect to get all of this stuff for free?  or not to appreciate the way it looks and feels to actually hold something tangible in our hands?

so, as i step off of my soapbox, officially step up and out for the day, i’ve decided a few things.  i am going to go rogue.  my christmas shopping will all be done locally.  sorry kids, revise your lists.  now, local might mean a town besides the one i’m in, for obvious reasons…but i want to keep things old fashioned.  i will find little shops, real people, face to face merry greetings, pay little volunteer children to wrap an occasional present, toss my coins into the salvation army buckets, buy plenty of real books from the list of local indie booksellers i’ve just printed out.  sorry tom hanks, f-o-x, but in my world, it’s meg ryan and the little shop around the corner who’s going to get my money.

i’m going to smile at strangers, hear the jingle of bells as i shop doors open and close, watch how happy the hunting and gathering of all of us spreads this unspeakable joy, of being alive, of sharing this magic, very real, very present moment.  i’m going to buy a fresh few sheets of stamps from my nice friendly post office, send christmas cards and new years wishes far and wide, hand written, heartfelt, and hope, just hope, that especially now, at christmas time, we all just slow down.  appreciate.  don’t be in such a mad rush for the next thing because before you know it, everything familiar will be gone.

something’s coming

Posted on by

 

10.25.11 something's coming

lately, my daughter and i have been re-investigating the world of carrie bradshaw, from the very beginning.

yes, i know that it’s no rob and laura petrie in plot lines and content, but she’s 16 and it’s a weird world and i’m full of lectures about don’t do what you see, make good choices, etc.  at this point, she’s the one telling me to close my eyes!

so, as none of my kids watched sex and the city in it’s beginning (that would have been cause for a call to dcfs for goodness sakes!), corey and i kill time by carrying out a satc sort of archaeological dig.  in the name of science, humanity and a serious study of life in the 21st century, it’s just another mantle of motherhood, right?

man, these early episodes are kind of dorky and rough. carrie talking directly to the camera? ridiculous and awkward.  the clothes?  not yet maturing into each characters’ signature looks.  the clubs and restaurants? too stark and threadbare and not at all nyc opulent and cool enough. mr. big’s foppish hair?  cringe-worthy.  miranda?  still as gross as ever.  while i love cynthia nixon’s acting, i can never hear her dialogue as the moment she pops up on the tv screen, my kids bellow and howl and scream.  they’re not fans.

a few years ago, we were in new york for a spectacular college tour & spring adventure.  dashing through nyu & barnard, we cleared the calendar one day in particular, which we call the ‘scroll day’, running around the place with my great ny pal, rhonda, checking off lists of things that hallie and corey were determined to do.  see ‘mood’ from project runway (we even saw the little dog!); nibble steak frites at pastis; pausing, barefoot, beneath the arch in washington square in an ode to corey’s namesake; stopping by again at the plaza to see eloise; (where one can only think of katie & hubbell and that bittersweet farewell), accepting an invitation to see sondheim on sondheim from vanessa williams; plus a host of other film-inspired activities.

and the culmination: recreating the pivotal satc scene where steve and miranda, their marriage in peril, decide to meet on the halfway point of the brooklyn bridge to show their solidarity in making ‘it work’.

i can’t even stop laughing as i type this.  the bridge, much longer than the girls realized (we were tired after a long day), was stuffed full of tourists.  (which we, of course, weren’t).  then there was the issue of deciding who would portray miranda, and who steve.  they’re not favs of either, so it really wasn’t too hard to settle after all.  with rhonda holding the video camera, and me doing my best marty scorcese as the director, the scene began to roll.  both girls put on their most earnest love facial expressions, weaved through the oncoming throngs of pedestrians.  i hope i’m not messing this up, but i think corey was playing steve, so she took on his schlumpy sort of shuffley walk, head downcast, eyes peeking up above his nose, brooklyn behind her.  hallie, dressed appropriately in brown (miranda’s favorite color, apparently), did whatever she could to channel her character as she strode, determinedly across manhattan side of the bridge.  yes, people were staring.  but we’re used to that.  we knew, once we made the commitment to reenact this cheesy scene that we were risking making spectacles of ourselves.

so, lights, camera, action: hilarity as usual and the shot was perfect in the first attempt.  the culmination, of course, a weepy hug as our hero and heroine (portrayed, shakespeare style, but same gendered thespians) in the very middle of the majestic brooklyn bridge.

so why am i writing about this?  as usual, i got sidetracked.  what i was going to say was that sometimes i feel like that carrie who poses insane and unanswerable questions to the universe…we see the letters appear across her ‘laptop screen’, and then she ponders for a while, and then the show zooms to the plot, and somewhere, she ends up wrapping up the whole bit in a few wise words as the credits roll.

sure, i’m creative. i could write my own script ahead of time and portray the roll, do the casting and get just the right person in here with me, even come up with my own bright, contented final act.  but that hasn’t worked in the past, so instead, i’ll just sit and throw the question out to the universe, so carrie-like, and say, is it just me, or does the idea of a happy ever after seem cliche and sorely out of reach?

naw, that seems weird.  really, i’m more a pollyanna.  don’t tell my girls, but that cheesy meet-me-halfway-on-the-brooklyn-bridge brings me to the same reaction every time: pinched heart, eyes stinging with tears, a blubbering mess: oh look, oh love: two people ready to work that hard, to see their faces all hopeful and earnest and longing and willing?  and then, so relieved, so happy, so committed?

yes, i’m a sucker for a happy ending, so i’ll take the reverse argument.  something’s coming, something good…i just don’t know what it is yet.