Dear Readers,
First things first, we hope that you all had a very happy holiday! We're sorry that we've been totally lame (not to mention lazy) with not posting. While we haven't posted re: fun things in our lives in Brooklyn lately, things have in fact, been happening. We'll try to catch everyone up in the next days/weeks.
When I think about the last couple of weeks of December, and what I want to share with you, the first thing that comes to mind is not that me and Wasp had a Holiday Party with more than 20 people and that I cooked successfully for all of those people. It is not that I passed my first semester of graduate school. Nor is it that Brooklyn got more than 6 inches of snow my last weekend there, and that me, Wasp, and a few of our friends pretty much lived in our living room for more than 48 hours. No, loyal readers. What I want to tell you has to do nothing with either of us directly and everything to do with the photo at the beginning of this post.
The last week that I was working, my job had a holiday party on Wednesday. I only work from 12-5 on Wednesdays, and while I usually go to the library from 9-12 I didn't on this day, because I had a bag filled with pie and cookies (left over from the party). Clearly, I couldn't take pie to the library, especially not with all those angry, nervous undergraduates. So instead, I slept late and took my time. I even made myself eggs for breakfast. It was the start of what I assumed was going to be a pretty boring morning. That burning morning was shattered when I got on the subway, giant bag of desserts dragging behind me.
I got on the train, and seat myself at the window, rummaged through my bag, took out my Kindle (love!) and settled in for a calm commute. There weren't that many people on the train. But there was this man across the isle from me, wearing a pair of jeans, a leather jacket and tattoos all over his hands. Strange, I thought to myself. But not too crazy...so I went back to reading. Then, this man's cell phone rang. And this is the conversation that ensued.
Man: "Hello? Hi, Cathy. No, I can't talk right now, I have to go downtown to take care of some stuff. I can't talk to you right now." Pause. "Why? What do you mean why? I just got out of prison after 20 years. I spoke to you once every two weeks for those 20 years. I love you, but I need some space." Pause. "I've been traveling for seven hours! I have to go downtown! You've called me seven times! I'll be home soon".
Then the man hangs up. We go about two stops, and his phone rings again.
Man: "CRISTINA! Its Dad!" Pause. "I'm OUT! The last time I saw you were a BABY! And now your a grown woman!" Pause. "Hey, listen, while I was in prison, I got your name tattooed across my chest!" Pause. "Some guy in prison did it for me. Yeah, I can't remember his name...he was asthmatic." Pause. Hey listen, want to go get your feets (not a typo) done? There's $300 in the drawer in your mother's room. Go, take it. Get your feets done, get your face done, do whatever you want. I'll see you in a few hours. I love you".
The man hangs up. Then he calls the first woman back. Man: "Hey, its me. Listen, did you spend that $300? I hope not. I told Cristina she could have it to get her feets done." Pause. "Yeah, yeah, go with her, get your feets done. Wax whatever. Just go with her. Tell her everything we talked about telling her. I'll be home in a few hours." Pause. "I love you too. I'm so happy to be coming home."
Now, while I probably should have been a little bit freaked out (what kind of crime makes you go to prison for 20 years?) my heart actually warmed a little bit. It was the week before Christmas, and he got out of prison and was going home to his family, newly tattooed, but going home none the less.
There you have it. A little Christmas cheer from Brooklyn.
