TO NARNIA / SPRING BREAK

Spring break has never meant too much to us. It comes and goes each year without occasion, save for the noticeably fewer NYU students downtown. The streets quiet down a bit. You might randomly run into a few old friends who you haven't seen in years, fellow old-fashioned city dwellers who stick around town when everyone else goes away. But aside from that, spring break means business as usual. Or at least it did. Before we had a daughter in school. 

What does it mean now? It means sleeping late, cooking more. Long, slow-roasted meals with fresh vegetables from the farmers market. Strawberries for breakfast. Painting our toes bright colors. Paul McCartney and Beirut and Iggy Pop. It means adventures in the daytime with my brood, weaving through the sidewalks of the village, taking our time, manifesting adventure. I may not be taking my kids around the world, but we discover whole universes here at home. Like our favorite treehouse, hiding in plain site in a magnificent city garden. 

We've been to most of the gardens in the neighborhood, but this one is special- almost wild, and always full of music and wonder.  The plants are luscious and unkempt in a way where you feel not the precision of what man can create but the fury or what nature can. The dirt feels different- it almost pulsates under your feet. The birds sing louder. When you stand in this garden, in the heart of Alphabet City, you're no longer in the city at all. You've entered a storybook. We like to call it Narnia.   

To Narnia we walk, hand in hand like a string of paper dolls, a happy little band of outsiders. Biet is on one side clasping Lou's hand, anchoring him at street lights, leading the way. I am on the other with Levon slumbering on my chest. I pace my steps to his tiny breath and walk with the rounded gait of a woman with child. After three pregnancies I don't think that cloud-like walk will ever fully leave, as if my body now completely expects to always be carrying a child in one way or another, and has compensated with a slightly softer, slower step. Biet cautions us each time we pass an open sidewalk gate. With a devilish grin and quick laugh, Lou excitedly tries to derail us down random side streets. The sun shines warm on our backs and we march south. The garden awaits, with its fresh tulip bulbs and slanted wooden treehouse. Spring is here.

Inside the garden we meet a man who feeds the pigeons and tends to the vegetables. Tomatoes, carrots, basil, we grow it all, he says. The children are enchanted. He looks Lou in the eyes and speaks to him like a man, and then hands him a rake. Get to work. Lou's eyes widen with pride and a grin spreads across his face. He rakes and rakes the patch of dirt he's assigned to until he's worn himself out. I am so proud of him.  The man brings a bag of birdseed and teaches them how to call pigeons. Plumes of seed fly from their tiny hands and fill the air, and suddenly pigeons are everywhere, gracefully spreading their wings above us and perching on the branches at our sides. Biet says she thinks they are beautiful. The white one is her favorite.  

We climb the ancient wooden ladder up into the treehouse for lunch. Laying upon the weathered wooden beams, we share mangos, apples, and cheese. I nurse Levon. I don't even know what time it is now. It doesn't matter. Biet disappears down the ladder and goes wandering, and after a little while of spending time with just my boys, I climb down to find her.  I see her standing stoically in front an empty flower bed of overturned soil with a dusty found pocket mirror in her hand.  A dozen or so pigeons hop about at her feet, combing the stones for rogue seeds and breadcrumbs. Her gentle hands silently tilt the mirror back and forth, up and down, until it catches the sunlight and beams it across the flowerbed, like a tiny golden spotlight coming from her fingertips. She sees me watching her and tilts the mirror up, shining the light into my eyes and blinding me momentarily. She laughs mischievously. The notion that she can control the sunlight is so grand, so otherworldly, that it overtakes her and she excitedly reports, "Mama look! I can make magic!"

My Biet. I love that you believe in magic. I do too. I love that you consider the birds of the city your kin. I love that you dive into your own little worlds sometimes, twirling your fingers in front of your face in spastic circles and crossing your eyes and not giving a damn who sees you doing it. And when I gently ask you what you're doing, you tell me matter-of-factly, "Oh Mama, I'm just making pixie dust." I love that you know that you're strong enough to build anything you dream of and wise enough to always come up with a plan to get it done. I love that you're a planner. I'm one too, you know. And I love that you are the most stubborn person I know when it comes to following through with your plans.  

The sun is getting low in the sky and we say goodbye to the man. The birds are fed and the soil is raked, and it is time to say farewell. We plan to come back tomorrow, and every day of spring break, to tend to our garden. Next time we will bring seeds. 

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JUST A PERFECT DAY / CENTRAL PARK

After the MOMA, on we went.. over to 6th Avenue and northbound, past the ballooning crowds of tourists and the sizzling falafel stands on the corners with their clouds of oddly appetizing shawarma smoke, past the old cigar shop where fancily suited men hold court in the street-side windows and stare out at you creepily with cigars in their mouths and newspapers in their hands, past the overworked sign-holders standing in the sun on the side streets, beckoning you to rent a bike for the day (if they rented kids' seats for said bikes I would be all over that), past the white-gloved doormen of 59th Street and the decorated horses and carriages of Central Drive, and on to that great manmade kingdom of kingdoms in the city, Central Park.

Onward we went, through the manicured pathways and wild brush, through the trees heavy with green and the arching footbridges and the brightly colored fauna.  A little further in and a little further in, until the wilderness surrounded us on all sides and the city felt far away.  Then all was calm.

Deep within Central Park lies another world; a world where the woes and the stress of city life cease to exist, where one can sit alone and remember, or forget, or listen to the music of nature, or listen to silence.  You enter the park for a pretty afternoon stroll and you wander along, and one moment you're watching taxis and Clydesdales clamor for road space, and the next, you're away. Far away. You see the building rising above the trees in the distance, but the sounds and smells of the city are nowhere to be found.  It is there that lies this other world, the magical respite where one can find peace.

Just as the exhaustion began to creep in to our bones from our lengthy adventures through the museum, the park, and the carousel, we came to this place.  We spotted a cool stone island in the grass and made it our own personal bench.  Away from the city and the commotion of the everyday, we rested.  We ate.  We laughed.  Lucien nursed while Biet put on a show for passerby's.  Stealthily stealing the hat off my head and dancing around with a smirk, she brought many a smile to our faces.  Then the wind began to blow as the afternoon sun sank lower, so I zipped up my dress and buckled up the babies, and with hats our heads and dirt on our feet, we made our way home, thinking all the while, what a perfect day.

A GOLDEN DAY

There's a brief window each year, in between the first warm breeze of spring and the first sticky rush of summer's humidity, when the world is perfect. Winter's stark tree branches suddenly fill with blossoms, the people on the streets slow their buzzing just long enough to smile at one another, and the sun beams a certain cheer across the land.  These are the golden days of New York City.

I'm not sure if I coined "the golden days" or if I heard it somewhere, but each year right around this time, I sense the energy changing on the streets, and feel the sun warming my face, and I know that they're here.  I turn to Gaby and say "they're here, baby- these are the golden days!".  Each year they last for only a couple of weeks before morphing back into mother nature's steady four-season rhythm, but those couple of weeks always feel magical.  It's that in-between time, when the days are long, and the temperature is perfect, and the city is calm and optimistic and cheerful all at the same time.  It's the feeling of wanting to be outside all day long.  It's the feeling of wanting to dance down the street.  It's the feeling of new beginnings.

This year's golden days are upon us now. The city is magnificent. And the only thing to do is to grab your partner in crime, do a jig down the street, share an ice cream, and bestow the beauty all around.  New York City doesn't get much better than this.

WE FOUND A MAGICAL GARDEN

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden is pure magic.  You step through the gates and suddenly the sounds of the city are replaced by birds chirping and water running downstream, the air becomes crisp and fragrant, colors glow all around you, and every now and again fresh flower petals drift through the air and land on your face.  Unreal.

We somehow found ourselves with yearlong passes to this wonderland of sorts, so we decided to try to catch the field of cherry blossom trees blooming.  Alas, the cherry blossoms are being stubborn this year and taking their sweet time, but the rest of the place is in full springtime mode.  We sat by the stream, ran through the fields of grass, and relaxed in the shade of  ancient trees.  To suddenly find yourself in the midst of unadulterated nature, when your senses have become so accustomed to the sights and sounds of city life, is absolutely liberating.  It's truly like stepping into another world.  Biet loved it and ran like crazy through the meadows, and before we knew it we were frollicking right alongside her, chasing each other down trails and dancing around tree trunks and unknowingly reenacting scenes from classic movies (I noticed The Sound of Music and Dirty Dancing in these photos- do you see it?).

Yes, I have a feeling that the Brooklyn Botanic Garden will be seeing a lot of us this summer.  It feels like a fairytale in there, and I love it.

WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK IN SPRING

When you find a place that matches your energy, makes you feel alive, calms and excites and inspires you all at the same time- when you find that place, you want to spend every waking moment there.  For me (and Biet too, it seems) that place is Washington Square Park in the spring.  We spent a ridiculously long afternoon in the park today, running around the fountain and dancing to the constant stream of street music and jaunting through the playgrounds (Biet's new obsession is slides- crazy steep death-trap slides down which she insists to slide alone. I have to hold my breath each time she flies down).  We devoured giant slices of pizza and individual chocolate mousses.  We put on a dance show for passerby's, which led strangely to a group of Japanese tourists running up to pose and snap pictures with Biet as she threw down her moves (she was on fire!).  We went on the baby swings for the gazillionth time and on the big swings for the first time (!!!).  We met old friends and made new ones.  Under the falling blossoms and the shadow of the arch we frolicked until we could frolic no more.  Oh it was a gloriously day.  How I cherish these golden days of spring.