Mom Duty in a Tribeca Loft -#42
Mom Duty in a Tribeca Loft -#42
Malu and Nani Take Manhattan
Whew! Thank you for joining me as the year 1997 roars along. If you are new to They Keep Telling Me I Should Write My Memoir, welcome! If you have been reading for a while, welcome back! In any case, if you want to catch up on past installments, and have not yet subscribed, you can click the button below to get a welcome email with all the posts in order. You can also find them in the Archives on the Substack website or app. Subscribing is free, and you will get my future writing by email. Reading optional.
Nancy and I co-existed for a bit, with me vacating the apartment during the day, but using my computer and sleeping on the extra massage table at night. I knew I was overstaying my welcome as I had when I arrived on Oʻahu that January, but just could not get a clear read on where I should go.
And then Marlies called. Susie had been hit by a car and died.
Letʻs back up to the previous year when I first met Malu, who had stayed behind in Durango to tend to her new puppy while her mother and sister went to Europe. That golden puppy was named Susie. Now Susie was dead, and Malu and Nani could not bear to spend another day with Joe in Paradox where all they could think about was the sad turn of events that robbed them of their playmate. The girls were begging to join Marlies and Prageet, but that was impossible because they had not arranged accommodations for four with their workshop venues. “Fine!” the girls said. “Then we want to stay with Beth.”
At first Marlies said that was also impossible, but the girls argued it was unfair to say it was impossible without asking me. Hence her call. Malu and Nani were right; I said yes without hesitation. This was the sign I was waiting for. I needed to find a space big enough for me and the two girls.
In 1997 the way one looked for housing in Manhattan was to hover near a newsstand on Wednesday to grab The Village Voice the moment it was delivered. Then you jumped on the phone and called each suitable listing. I was looking for a place to sublet at least through October, one that would accept me with two well behaved preteen girls - not an easy task. Still, there was one listing that called to me. An artist was traveling to Santa Fe for work, and wanted to sublet his Tribeca loft while he was away - his dates corresponding perfectly with my need. I centered in my intention and left a message using my most professional, trustworthy voice.
I was pleased but not surprised to get a call that evening. I had been the first message on his answering machine, the loft owner told me, and one of the few that sounded like a sane person. I laughed and explained my situation, vouching for my two “nieces.” Somehow, within a few minutes of conversation we discovered we had a friend in common - the brilliant Brazilian photographer Valdir Cruz. That was reference enough. Any friend of Valdir was a friend of his. The place was ours.
A week later I picked up the girls at the airport. In 1997 it was still customary to meet passengers at the gate, but that day there were flight delays and an overflow of departing and arriving passengers. Families and friends were being asked to wait in the main part of the terminal for the arrivals to emerge from the concourse - or better yet in the baggage claim area. The problem was that the two unaccompanied minors had been told to deplane and wait in the gate lounge for the person authorized to collect them. It took me a while to convince Security to let me through, pleading that the girls would be upset at being alone. A reasonable concern if it had been any other children. Accustomed to waiting, and confident I would collect them, Malu and Nani were calmly reading their books when I appeared.
The security agent escorting me laughed at the scene. The girls had come with two backpacks, one tiny suitcase - and Maluʻs harp. No checked bags.
Yes, they arrived with an empty suitcase, but the harp made the trip from Paradox to Tribeca.
When we got to the loft, I discovered that the little carryon suitcase was essentially empty. Joe had allowed them to pack for themselves, and being no stranger to the big cities of Europe to which they traveled with their parents, they judged the thrift store wardrobe that sufficed at the off-grid organic farm in Paradise, Colorado would be unsuitable for Manhattan. They packed nightgowns and toothbrushes. And books and art supplies, of course. And the harp. The smallest floor harp imaginable, but nevertheless, bigger than any instrument I had previously seen allowed on an airplane. And perfectly at home in the loft.
In the months of my absence Old Navy had opened in New York City and the next morning we made it our first stop. I bought the girls a wardrobe that would take them through the summer into fall, from New York to Europe. They chose their own accessories to take the edge off the preppy look.
The girls soon were styling in their new City clothes.
We had a fabulous time together in Manhattan. Since they were home schooled, we spent some time each day with their books and workbooks. But the real education was outside of the loft. Carman played music for and with them. Our friend Carol, an artist whose husband is a renowned musician on 18th century keyboard instruments, drew with them. We visited museums and rambled in parks. One day playing in Battery Park the girls ran back to me stuffing ripe sweet fruits into their mouths. They found a tree with edible fruit in the middle of the Park, and could not stop giggling that even the birds in the City did not recognize real food when they saw it.
Mothering was not a full time job for me. They entertained themselves for hours when I had calls to make or meetings to attend, and helped with the cooking and cleaning chores. The only television we watched was the coverage of Princess Dianaʻs funeral.
At last the end of October arrived. Marlies and Prageet came to collect the girls and stayed for a few days before the four of them flew out to Europe. One evening they told me they had a strong sense that I should join them in late November in Switzerland and had put the logistics in place. They were scheduled to give a nine-day advanced workshop to train students who were ready to run their own Stargate sessions, and I could assist them. They had already spoken with their good friend Cassandra who was on the support team, and she could pick me up at Zurich airport a few days before the workshop. I would stay at her home in a village near Zurich and then ride with her to the venue in the Bernese mountains. The workshop ended the day before Thanksgiving, and then I could travel with them to another familyʻs home in Thun, and celebrate the holiday before flying home that weekend.
I had not been to Europe since 1994, and the idea was appealing. I would enjoy mountain hiking amid the last fall colors. My mouth watered at the thought of seasonal delicacies like wild mushrooms and game. I imagined giving them a little support at the workshop would be easy after the recent months with Marlies. Besides, I was set to be introduced to the members of International Skye at the Annual Conference the first week in December, and it seemed unlikely I would have the chance to travel again for a while once I assumed responsibility for the organization. The timing seemed perfect.
Knowing we would see one another in a few weekʻs time, I hugged the girls goodbye without tears. Little did I know that Switzerland would bring one more monumental turning point. In an alpine village I would discover the last piece of the puzzle composing the phase of my life that was just beginning as 1997 came to an end.