‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the Slope there was gift wrap and packaging in the apartment building garbage pails.

Daughter and I were walking to a friends when we saw something quite extraordinary in front of one of the limestone buildings just a few doors away.

A beautiful doll house — a three-story mansion, really — with a small shopping bag full of faux-elegant doll furniture.

It was being discarded, we surmised, because its owner had to make space for her new gifts. The bedrooms are quite small in the buildings on Third Street. We knew that most of the girls in that building are ten or older — perhaps its owner had finally outgrown the doll house.

Maybe it was some kind of spiritual exchange. The child had been taught that in order to receive a gift, she had to give something away….

All possible explanations for the doll house’s presence on the Third Street pavement.

The doll house was in good condition. Nothing a little Fantastik couldn’t shine up. And the small shopping bag filled with doll furniture was a gesture that said: here take this. It’s yours if you want to carry it away.

First we looked at the house, discussed whether or not to take it, and decided it was too much trouble as we had somewhere to be. I was surprised that Daughter was able to pass it by.

Then she backed up.

"Can we take it? Please?" she begged.
"Where are you going to put it?" I said. Her room is tiny.
"Please?"
"You already have a doll house," I said reminding her of the mid-century modern doll house I’d bought for $20 dollars at a stoop sale on Third Street complete with a shopping bag full of incredible doll furniture.
"I know. But one’s a mansion…"

A mansion maybe. But it’s made out of molded plastic and says Fisher Price right on it. The mid-century modern one we’ve already got is so much more tasteful.

Still, we carried it into the vestibule of our building. "You’re going to need to clean this thing up." I said. "I know," she said. "I know."

The large plastic doll mansion is sitting on top of Daughter’s homework desk until we clear more space in her room. Her Polly Pocket dolls have already taken up residence. The scale isn’t quite right. Whatever.

Let’s see. What item can we choose to discard, to place on the street with a note that says: Take this. It’s yours if you want to carry it away.

We topped off our Christmas day/first night of Hanukkah with the 3-hour "King Kong" at the Pavillion.

At our Hanukkah lox and bagels brunch, my cousins, who had seen the film the previous day, could not say enough bad things about the movie.  "Horrible," one cousin said. "Way too long," said another. "Stupid," said a third.

My cousin’s son did, however, enjoy it.

So off we went. I was pretty sure I was going to hate it. Husband really wanted to see it and thought it would be worthwhile. Daughter kept saying, "Why does everyone say we shouldn’t see this movie. I want to see it," she said. Son wouldn’t even cease napping in order to schlep over to the Pavillion in the rain to see the spectacle.

There is something about a 3-hour movie. You settle in for the long haul and prepare to get really wrapped up in the show or get comfy for a looooooooong nap.

Surprise. Surprise. Right from the start, I found the computer-created scenes of New York City during the Depression very compelling. Naomi Watts, as a down-at-the-heels depression era vaudevillian and Jack Black, as a maniacally driven movie director, are really fun to watch. 

I realized pretty soon that the film is as much homage to the original King Kong and its subtext of the little guy triumphing over the double threat of the depression and on-coming European menace as it is a contemporary attempt at a blockbuster. And yes, beauty conquers the beast in what is an erotically charged relationship between a woman and a super-sized Kong.

The film also reminded me that even if computer effects take over Hollywood, there is still a need for great actors who know how to act with blue screens as their co-stars.

Leeches, dinosaurs, huge insects, and more, the middle section of the film on Skull Island is quite a scary/joy ride. But it would be pretty awful if we didn’t care about the actors and their characters. 

The cast is great. The beautiful Naomi Watts, could have been a silent movie star with her wonderful facial expressions and expressivity. Her big eyes and looks of longing communicate affection for the big ape in a moving and real way. Jack Black, Adrian Brody, and a crew of great character actors, do a lot with their roles, as well. Andy Cirkus, as the motion actor for Kong, is incredible and makes this computer ape into the highly emotional, big baby he is.

The last hour of the film, the New York section, is worth the price of admission. You’ve seen it before but it is well worth seeing again: Naomi and Kong on the tip of the Empire State Building…

Luckily, my suspension of disbelief was established hours before. The occasional thought: wouldn’t she be cold in that summer dress in the dead of winter in Central Park?; How does she run through the jungle with bare feet?; Wouldn’t she be terribly injured or dead by now…

Ah, but those were but small blips of distance during what was is basically a very entertaining experience. Peter Jackson, who is a obsessive student of one of the most popular films of all time, remakes it with all the computer bells and whistles money can buy.

He also had the smarts to cast a great slew of actors and to not use his special effects at the expense of narrative, pacing, and a great respect for the original.

Today is the first time since 1959 that Christmas and Hanukkah are on the same day. And for an inter-faith family, that’s pretty cool.

Sometimes we joke that we’re Jewish in Brooklyn and Christian in California. That divides thing up pretty neatly. My Jewish family is here in New York City and his Presbyterian are scattered around northern California.

Latkes in Brooklyn. Baked ham, mashed potatoes, and scalloped oysters in California.

On the eight nights of Hanukkah we light candles and exchange small gifts. Some years, Husband makes latkes (he may be Presbyterian but the better cook around here). When Son was younger, we’d read I.B. Singer stories like "Zlatah the Goat."

For my kids, Christmas morning usually means waking up with their cousins in a big house on a farm in Northern California. waiting impatiently for the grown ups to wake up. They open their stockings and then have to wait until after breakfast to open their gifts.

The morning has a slow ritual to it. Timeless, really. Roaring fire in the fire place. Fragrant tree. Sweet rolls for breakfast. It’s the way they’ve been doing things on the farm for years and years.

So for our first Chirstmas in New York in nine years — we had to figure out how to approach things. For my daughter, this is her first Christmas ever in Brooklyn. For Son, only his second.

Getting a Christmas tree was a no-brainer. I knew it might aggravate my Jewish relatives but I also knew it would be the best way to honor the Christian side of our inter-faith family.

We owned no ornaments so I went to a 99 Cent store on Fifth Avenue and bought up a bunch of made-in-China decorations. In the past few days, friends have given up special ornaments, as well.

Colorful — non-flashing lights — were the way to go. I love sitting in the living room with the lights off looking at our tree almost as much as I love sitting in a dark room watching the menorah candles as they burn low.

Having celebrated Christmas for the past 17 years, a Chris mas tree doesn’t seem so foreign or alien. It’s part of my life too as I am part of my husband’s families and their traditions.

Luckily, Son and Daughter were thrilled to spend Christmas in Brooklyn. It’s novel and different. Son gets to hang out with his friends and Daughter can see her best friend — who lives in the building — and play with their presents before breakfast (what could be better?).

That said,  I didn’t feel like I had to meet some impossibly high expectation of Christmas with a capital C (Christmas in California IS an impossibly high standard to match so why bother?). I knew that Christmas in  Brooklyn had to be what it is and simply that.

The fact that Hanukkah and Christmas fall on the same day — for the first time since 1959 — makes me feel centered and whole. The bringing together of both traditions is making things so much easier for all of us inter-faith families.

Being able to celebrate both parts of our family on the same day is a treat, really. And something we are thrilled to do here in Brooklyn. This morning we opened Christmas presents, tonight we will light the first candle for Hanukkah.

The presents are done. Enough is enough. No reason to keep on giving. We have too much already. And for that we are grateful.

This year we’re spending Christmas at home, our home, the home we’ve created for ourselves in Brooklyn. It feels different and special.

Usually we spend Christmas on the farm in Northern California, where Husband grew up. It is a holiday imbued with family traditions: mulled cider, Mexican creches placed throughout the house, handmade advent calendars, a tall, potted Christmas tree decorated with handmade ornaments and heirlooms.

In the days before and after Christmas, we spend quality, family-togetherness time with Husband’s family playing scrabble, working on puzzles, watching old movies together. It is a model of a perfect family Christmas.

And there are no fights. There’s barely an unpleasant word uttered.

The days before we fly off to Oakland on Jet Blue, I usually find myself feeling anxious and sad. While I enjoy our special trips to California, it is still difficult to leave my family behind during the holidays.

As I have spent 18 Christmases in California, I don’t even know what it’s like to spend the holidays in New York. All my sensorial associations with Christmas are Californian: the smell of eucalyptus, warmish weather, ranch housea —  in a big sky landscape — festooned with Christmas decorations.

In California, we spend Christmas in two worlds – the timeless world of a family farm in the Central Valley of Northern California not far from the Sierras. AND, just miles away, the suburban-freeway-mall-mutiplex-stripmall-SUV-world that is everywhere in California.

I love being on the family farm for its beauty, its quiet, its connection to nature and the way things grow; I am grateful for the fact that I have had the opportunity to be a part of that. The romance of California looms large for me and  I even love the suburban freeway mall-multiplex-stripmall-SUV-world because it is exotic to me and interesting (sociologically, anyway). We usually go to San Francisco and Berkeley which is like candy for me. After a few days on the farm I am desparate to explore two truly great cities less than 80 miles away.

But this year, we find ourselves here. The decision was made about a month ago. And it’s turned out to be a good decision, afterall. Our babysitterandsomuchmore says, "There was a reason for this. There was a reason."

Indeed. Husband started a new job (it was an offer he couldn’t refuse) that he hadn’t even heard about a month ago. He rode his bike to work on Wednesday, his first day on the job and the 2nd day of the transit strike.

We’re all busy. Son has a gig on New Year’s Eve at the Liberty Heights Tap Room. Daughter is thrilled to be decorating our house and creating a Christmas/Hanukah that feels like us.

For me, I am near friends and family — and that feels very special. I can still go to my office to write, which I really want to do. I’ll go running in Prospect Park and ice skating at Kate Wollman Rink. We might even check out the decorations in Dyker Heights. I’ll meditate. We’ve got a bunch of parties to go to. If there’s downtime, there are closets to clean, things to organize…

At home in Brooklyn, we’re finding out what our friends and family do while we’re in California. And we’re learning  what we want to do as a family and what this time means to us, here, in Brooklyn.

Christmas Eve, we’re having a dinner party. In homage to California, I am setting the table with Husband’s grandmother’s Wedgewood plates. There will be ceramic bowls and serving dishes handmade by my mother-in-law, and mulled cider on the stove.

But I can’t replace the smell of Eucalyptus and lavender growing outside the house, the scrabble games with family, Aunt Beth’s almond Roca, eating "befores" from Trader Joe’s, watching my kids play with their cousins, Son reading his father’s TinTin books in the kid’s room, Daughter learning to sew on her grandmother’s sewing machine, lighting sparklers in the backyard on New Year’s Eve…

But this year we’re doing it here. In our home, the home we’ve created in this apartment in Brooklyn.

The two photographs, by Hugh Crawford, were taken on the farm in California.

Thanks to Eugene Patron, Press and Communications Director for Prospect Park,  who keeps me posted on what’s going on in Prospect Park, I’ve learned that Wollman Rink is open on Christmas Day from 10 am until 1 p.m and from 2 pm until 6 pm.

In general, Prospect Park is Open For FUN During the Holidays! Head to the Wollman Rink for ice skating and hot chocolate! Hit the Indoor Courts at the Prospect Park Tennis Center! Discover nature up-close with FREE hands-on exhibits and activities at the Prospect Park Audubon Center! Special Winter break hours for everything.  AND DON’T FORGET. FIREWORKS AT MIDNIGHT ON NEW YEAR’S EVE!!!

For schedules and information go  to Prospect Park’s website

Our babysitterandsomuchmore called this morning, she calls every morning at 7:30 to wake us up – to say that she goes lovingly beyond the call of duty is an understatement.

I can always tell how she is from her tone of voice. Today she sounded weary, even sad. "I feel trapped in the apartment," she said. "I want to get to work, need to do some shopping, was supposed to go to the dentist on Nostrand Avenue."

I realized how trapped she must feel. Living all the way out in Coney Island, she is really far away from everywere she needs to be (Nostrand Avenue, Park Slope, downtown Brooklyn) Her son works in the Bronx and it took him hours to get to work yesterday. The strike is a huge inconvenience for so many people.

Our babysitterandsomuchmore said she’d been watching the news and praying that the strike would be settled. She tried to get Eastern Car Service on the phone but the line was busy most of the day. Local Coney Island car services are jacking the prices up. "It’s more than $30 dollars to get to Park Slope," she said. Usually it costs about $12 dollars.

There’s Christmas shopping to be done, health matters to be attended to, jobs to get to (I was supposed to have my lipoma bandage removed yesterday).  I think New Yorkers are going to get sick of this realy fast. Historically, this city pulls together in adversity and this is no diffrerent. And this is also a city that has strong labor leanings. So it’s not about that. It’s the convenience factor. We are dependent on our mass transit.

My heart goes out to the Union, to the businesses of New York, and all of us are being inconvenienced by the situation. The Union is being fined millions of dollars a day. Businesses are losing money during what is usally the busiest week of the year, and New Yorkers are unable to go about their lives.

Everyone loses in the short term.

I told our babysitterandsomuchmore not to worry about coming in today. But that, of course, was not the point. She wants to come in, she wants to get out of the apartment and do what she loves to do. She feels trapped in Coney Island and I feel bad for her. Really, really bad.

For those who left Christmas shopping to the last minute all I can say is this: TROUBLE.

Take my friend, she  was desperate to buy something at the American Girl Place for her daughter and spent the day on the phone (or on hold) with the store, and  on-line trying to locate the desired item for her girl.

The desired item were sold out on the American Girl Internet site. They did have one left at the store. But that was at 4 pm and she couldn’t get into town. She didn’t really believe that there was going to be a transit strike, no doubt.

My friend even looked on eBay to see if they had any of the items she needed. She ended up buying an outfit for a limited edition American Girl doll for close to $50 dollars.

Yeesh. The pull to please one’s children can be pretty strong.

When I spoke to my friend last night, she sounded extremely drained by the entire experience: a day on the telephone and the Internet in hot pursuit of the seemingly unattainable American Girl accessory.

She was flabbergasted when I told her that I’d gone into Manhattan on Monday morning to secure that horse (it’s a gift from my father to Daughter). "If I had known, we could have gone together," she said. I was pretty sure there was going to be a transit strike so I figured it was Monday or Noday.

I was just lucky to get there so close to opening. The store was already packed but I imagine it was still much less crowded than it would become in the ensuing hours.

Rockefeller Center was full to bursting with tourists, school groups, and others lining up to see the Christmas tree and the ice skating rink before the transit strike. I had planned to just jump in and out of the city via the F train – but, you know how it is, once you’re in the big city it takes hold and won’t let go.

One thing led to another (and numerous uses of the debit card) and I found myself on 18th Street and Sixth Avenue. When the plastic handle on the BIG cardboard box with the horse in it was on the verge of breaking, I went into Bed, Bath, and Beyond and asked one of the men in packing to put a string and a new handle on my big horse box. He did it with such friendliness and helpfulness I wanted to KISS him. I loved the machine he used to wrap and cut the string.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I had my horse. I had my handle. I had a perfect shopping morning before the transit strike. And it was done. The shopping that is.

On Tuesday morning,  my friend had to give in and order on-line and pay for premium shipping (guaranteed to arrive before Christmas). I’m not gloating. Really not. We probably should have talked Sunday night and compared notes on gift shopping for our close in age daughters. She had to forgo the stable and the horse. But she did get some other things that will make her daughter very, very happy.

First day of the transit strike and the Slope feels busy and festive. The public school kids started school two hours later than usual. The  parents I saw looked cheerful, happy for the extra hours of sleep (if they didn’t have to schlep into the city themselves). One friend in front of PS 321 said, "You’ve got a story for your blog today."

My personal angle: despite the extra two hours to get ready, Daughter was still a tiny bit late for school. It did seem that a lot of people were late or taking it slow getting to school.  The assistant principal and the math specialist were standing at the entrance and smiling as the kids and parents streamed in.

Seventh Avenue was packed with people as if it were a weekend. At 11:00 this morning, Grand Canyon was full of leisurely breakfast eaters (what? brunch on a Tuesday). At 1 pm, every table at the  Park Diner on Seventh Avenue between Berkeley and Union was full and there was barely room for the waiters to move around.

The Slope feels like a weekend this Tuesday with no subways or buses working in the city. Not so sure about Bloomberg’s line: "The city is working even if the subways and buses are not." He said it this morning crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, having spent the night on a cot at the Department of Emergency Managment, which is in Brooklyn.

But it looks to me like people aren’t going into the office today.

The main difference between this strike and the one in 1980: we’ve got computers now and many of us can work from home.

The phenomenon of women wearing sneakers to work (keeping their heels in their bags) started at the last transit strike. I wonder if there will be any fashion breakthroughs this time around.

Husband was supposed to start a new job today. Not. He decided not to walk to mid-town. Son’s school is already on vacation. Daughter still has a few more days left before Christmas: and she really appreciated the later start time.

Overall, it’s probably a boon to local shops and car services. I haven’t even TRIED to call Eastern Car Service today. I wonder if they’re jacking up the prices.

Hope not. I’d lose all respect for them if they did.

Returning to the scene of "the crime," my sister, Ducky, and I went to the Cocoa Room yesterday in the late afternoon for iced tea and conversation.

We sat in the front of the shop where there is one table, the infamous window seat and shelves with wonderful chocolate gifts. We sat at the table, not daring to return to the site of our much blogged about faux pas.

I saw the Barista, a young woman in a brown Cocoa Bar t-shirt, who’d told us very politely, that it was unlawful and unhygenic to change a baby in a cafe. She seemed to be smiling at me and I was sure that she remembered the incident. Perhaps, she’d  seen the blog.

When I went to the counter to pick up our iced teas, I struck up the conversation with this friendly young woman.

"I’m really sorry about last week," I offered. She looked genuinely puzzled.

"Remember when my sister changed her baby’s diaper on the windowseat," I said.

"Oh yeah. That was the day the bathroom was out-of-order. We’re sorry too," she said.

I went back to our table with the iced teas pleased that she seemed to hold no grudge against us. I was also fairly sure that she hadn’t seen anything about the incident on curbed, brownstoner, or OTBKB.

Sipping our iced teas, my sister and I caught up on the day’s events. I was facing the window seat, when a couple, a man in a wool overcoat and a tall Nordic- looking  woman with a baby in a sling, walked into the cafe. A regular at the cafe, the European woman introduced her husband to the owner and went to the window seat to wait for her husband to bring their coffee drinks and sweets.

Sitting in the window seat, she took her baby out of the sling, unbuttoned her shirt, and began to breastfeed the tiny infant without bothering to cover her breast with a discreet breast blanket. I found her lack of inhibition refreshing. She’s German, I  figured, and they’re so much more progressive about these matters than we Americans are.

Her husband brought her a cup cake and a coffee drink. The woman seemed annoyed with her husband. He went back to the counter and she screamed out: "I vanted the chocolate cake with the vanilla frosting," with a look of total exasperation on her face, as she continued to breastfeed her infant.

My sister and I continued talking but my sister could tell that my attention was divided. "I’m sorry what I have to say isn’t as interesting as what’s going on at the window seat." I apologized and tried to be less obvious about following what was going on between the European woman and her husband.

And then it happened. The woman began to diaper her infant on the window seat – no diaper pad, no nothing.

"You’re not going to believe this," I said to my sister. "Look at the window seat."
"I wonder if they’re going to tell her to stop,"  my sister said.
"Maybe this’ll become the most popular place in Brooklyn to diaper your baby," I said. "They should just put a changing table there."

We watched, fascinated, as the woman quickly and cleanly changed the baby’s diaper.

First she undressed her little one and cleaned his adorable bottom with a wipe. She then exchanged the dirty for a clean diaper, folded the "dirty" diaper and put it into the diaper bag ( I assume) and snapped her infant into his onesie.

Very efficient. Quite discreet. No muss, no fuss.

"This isn’t disgusting," I said to my sister.
"The diaper wasn’t that dirty," she said.
"It’s the most natural thing in the world. I guess I’m immune to it," I said.
‘I bet she won’t be reprimanded she seems to be friendly with the owner." my sister said.
"I don’t think anyone saw. And if anyone says anything, I bet she’ll be pretty irrate," I secretly hoped someone would say something so we could see what the European woman would say.

During the diaper change, she and her husband continued to bicker. I bet she barely gave a thought to the fact that she was diapering her baby in a cafe. It was so matter-of-fact, so simple. The most natural thing in the world.

Which doesn’t mean that my sister will ever change her baby in a cafe again. If the rest room is in order, there’s no reason NOT to do it in three. Yet, as demonstrated yesterday, it is easier and quicker to do it this way.

As far as I can tell, the removal of my lipoma went exceedingly well. I traveled to the hospital in Manhattan early Wednesday morning by subway and arrived in the Ambulatory Care Unit at 8:30 a.m.

By 9 a.m., I was in a hospital gown, paper bathrobe, cap, and cute booties sitting in a Barker lounger being questioned by a friendly Caribbean nurse.
"Where’s your Health Care Proxy?" she asked.
"Oh, was I supposed to bring that in? " I asked.
"Yes, but don’t worry about it," she said.

After conversing with the anesthesiologist, who I found to be warm and friendly (it must be  the nature of the specialty: those in the business of preventing pain tend to be nice), I was interviewed by a physicians assistant and more than one nurse.

The doctor showed up just minutes before I was to be wheeled into the operating room. I’d only met her once at her office about two months ago.

<>

"So what are we doing to you," she asked abruptly.
"You’re removing a lipoma on my sternum." I said helpfully.
"Show me," she said. I pulled my gown down to reveal my ping pong ball size lump.
"Oh yeah," she remembered. "Did you talk to the anesthesiologist? What did he say," she asked.
"He said it was basically a local but that I’d be woozy but not asleep," I said.
"I want you to be out," the surgeon said.
"I don’t mind being woozy but not out," I said.

"But I do. It’s easier for me if you’re out," she said.

OKAY. Needless to say, the surgeon’s somewhat cold demeanor was the only bump of the morning.

The physician assistant and nurse wheeled me into the operating room. I guess I wasn’t expecting the procedure to be such a big deal. I felt like I’d entered a set of the television show, "E.R." It was icy cold in the enormous white tiled room with the bright lights. A nurse covered me in a heated blanket.

"Isn’t that delicious?" the surgeon said suddenly warming up now that we were in the O.R. It did feel incredibly nice. The next thing I knew, the anesthesiologist was putting an IV in me and I was getting very W O O Z Y. More than woozy, I fell asleep. OUT just the way the surgeon wanted.

I woke up in sunny recovery room discussing the possibility of a transit strike with a nurse. Relieved that it was over (and I didn’t remember a thing), I rested for a few minutes until my  surgeon arrived.

"We removed your fatty tumor. Everything went well," she said.
"Thank you so much," I said. "I’m really glad to be rid of that thing."

There was much activity around me. Nurses kept coming by to see how I was doing. One helped me sit up. A nurse offered the guy next to me various juices, coffee, saltines and graham crackers.

"I’ll have all of that," I said feeling a little giddy from relief and hungry since I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.

Soon, a nurse arrived with two graham crackers and a cup of coffee. Later my clothing arrived in a big plastic bag. I was able to dress myself, and she eventually wheeled me into lobby, where I waited for various members of my family to show up to take me home.

I’ve got a waterproof bandage on my sternum where my ping pong ball used to be. I still feel like there’s a lump there – phantom limb and all that. I look forward to removing the bandage next week and seeing what the scar, if any, looks like.

A highly informative letter arrived home via my 3rd grade daughter’s backpack from PS 321’s Principal Elizabeth Phillips. In it, she discussed a new United Federations of Teachers contract and the ways in which it will change the school schedule and some intervention services. There was also detailed information about the construction projects going on at PS 321, that have  caused the building to be completely covered in scaffolding.

Beginning on FEBRUARY 1, 2006, the school day for most NYC public school students will be 6 hours and 20 minutes instead of 6 hours and 30 minutes. At PS 321, for instance, school will begin at 8:40 and end at 3:00 (NOTE THAT UNTIL 2/1, SCHOOL WILL CONTINUE TO BEGIN AT 8:30.

At most schools, teachers and paraprofessionals will then work with small groups of students for 37 1/2 minutes four days a week, Monday – Thursday. Citywide, this time is designated as a time with students who need extra support and the mandate is no more than a 10 to 1 ratio of students to teachers. "We believe that groups should be smaller than that, and they will be at PS 321," writes principal Elizabeth Phillips, in the note she sent home on December 14. "We will identify the children who need extra support, and they will attend either two or four days per week depending on their needs."

The new UFT contract provides for two additional school days, and school will begin next year on the Tuesday after Labor Day.

In the letter, Principal Phillips also explained the construction projects going on at the school, in which all work is done after 4:30 p.m. so that children are not in the building when construction workers are.

The third floor bathrooms have been renovated. And in January, work will move down to the second floor, and then later on, the first floor.

The other main work is repairs on the outside of the building, including pointing of the brick. According to Phillips, the scaffolding will be up the entire year.

The mini-school, the Quonset hut-type building in the backyard, which houses various classrooms, an art studio and offices, is being re-sided, piece by piece. In February, new windows will be installed. In addition, there is work toward the back of the school yard on both the first and Second Street sides.

Apparently, houses that border the school have water seeping in because of drainage and grading problems, and repairs are being done to rectify this problems. Unfortunately, this means that the new playground at the back of the back yard needs to closed for several months.

MORE NEWS: Through a grant from an Department of Education initiative called "Project Connect," our entire main building and mini-school have been wired for wireless Internet access. PS 321 has received a few different Capital Improvement Grants from he City Council and the State Assembly to purchase equipment so that we can take advantage of this new access.

Tomorrow I’m going under the knife. Nothing serious. I’m having a
lipoma removed, a small, fatty mass I discovered about eight years ago
on my sternum. I decided a few weeks back to finally take care of it
because I’m sick and tired of feeling it and worrying that maybe, just
maybe, it’s something more serious. (There’s a statistically TINY chance
that a lipoma will develop into Cancer.)

Truth be told, I just want to get rid of it, be done with it for good.

So on Monday I went to the hospital for my  "pre-testing" appointment. A secretary took down information about me. Insurance. Address. Phone number. Allergies. Emergency contact. That
sort of thing.

Then it came time for the Health Care Proxy. On a small white card, I
had to appoint someone to be, in the words of the proxy, my health care
agent who will make all health decisions for me if I become unable to
decide for myself if my agent knows my wishes, decisions about
artifical nutrition and hydration. It said on the card that the proxy will remain in effect
indefinitely, unless I revoke it or state an expiration date.

Whoa. That was sobering. For the most part, I’d been downplaying this
minor surgical procedure. It’s an in and out kind of thing.  In at 8:30
a.m. out by 2 pm. What could go wrong? My surgeon comes highly respected.
Yada. Yada.

But sitting at the desk with that secretary, I knew I was making this
incredibly important, life and death decision. And it got me thinking
about all sorts of life and death stuff. And that just wasn’t what I wanted to be thinking about on Monday morning at 11:30.

But I got there real fast. I wrote my husband’s name on the white card
and started to  visualize him making important decisions for me when I
no longer could.

Hideous, awful, morbid thoughts floated through my mind. Never seeing
my children again.  My husband. My sister. My parents. Family. Friends.
My therapist.

Never again would I see Third Street, Northern California, Florence, Monhegan Island,  Riverside Drive, a painting by Cezanne, Rothko, a photograph by Irving Penn, Atget, Hugh Crawford.

Wouldn’t hear Billie Holiday sing, Suite Bergamasque by Debussy, Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Guys and Dolls, Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited, Schubert lieder…

As these thoughts passed through my mind, I casually filled out the
card like it was the most normal  thing in the world. A school form.
An application. A petition.

But there I was, deciding who would be my proxy if I was no longer,
unthinkably, able to make a decision.  Unable to think. Not conscious.
Not around…

Denial is a good thing. I just went about my business writing out our
address, phone number. "Do you want his cell phone number," I asked
cheerfully thinking that it might be useful if they needed to find my husband in an emergency. "No that won’t be necessary," she said.

It was as if I was talking about someone else. Someone else’s healthcare proxy, someone’s else’s…

Then I noticed the Organ and/or Tissue Donation Donation section and
suddenly I felt quite excited. A good friend of ours needs to have a
kidney transplant sometime in the next year or two. Excitedly, I
checked off the box that said: "any needed organs and/or tissues."
Below that there was a space to write specific instructions. I asked
the nurse if I could specifiy who I wanted to give my kidneys to. I
must say, she looked a little baffled. "No one’s ever asked me that
before," she said. She thought for a moment. "Sure go ahead," she said.

So I wrote down my friend’s name. Give my kidneys to __________  And underneath that I wrote his phone number.

It felt really clear. Name, phone number. All set. Suddenly I felt so much better about something
really awful happening to me when I go under the knife. I’d be able to
help a good friend out, that is, if  our blood types are compatible and
his body will accept my kidneys.

When I was done with the paperwork, a nurse took my blood. I winced a bit but didn’t  really mind having a needle stuck into my skin. When she put the
Band Aid on my arm, she asked, "Do you know how to get to Loehman’s on
Seventh Avenue?"

This took me by surprise and took my mind off the health care proxy and
Wednesday’s minor surgery. "Just take the number 6 train to Union
Sqaure. Walk over to Seventh Avenue or you can take a crosstown bus.
What are you shopping for at Loehmans…" I said.

Then my mind was elsewhere. Oh the small details of life that divert
and distract us from the bigger things from time to time.

Such a good thing. Really.

My friend went with her daughters to see RENT on Friday night. I haven’t seen it yet but I was interested to read her intense reaction.

I saw the movie RENT and having never seen the play, and not having ANY IDEA what
it was all  about

I just came back from shopping for cheese and pate at the little shop that could, the newly enlarged D’Vine Taste on Seventh Avenue between Garfield and Carroll.

For years,
D’Vine Taste was Park Slope’s slightly tepid answer to Zabars. At one time, it was practically the only place in the neighborhood you could get gourmet cheeses, sliced meats, pate, cornichons, a huge selection of olive oil and beers. It was also a great source of homemade middle-eastern specialties like pita bread, tabouli, babaganoush, tahini, and spinach pie. They also had a great selection of spices, dried fruits and nuts sold by the pound.

The smaller D’Vine Tastewas a classic Seventh Avenue establishment: quirky, idiosyncratic, eccentric. They did it their way. It wasn’t the most convenient place to shop or the most comprehensive but we loved it because it was ours.

With the expansion, I am thrilled that D’Vine Taste decided to fight the big guys in their own way. They’ve been in this neighborhood for 18 years and were there for Park Slope when there was nothing else.  

They were there for us, and now it’s our turn to be there for them. And it seems that the neighborhood is coming through.
I asked one of the owners, the tall bearded man, how things were going. 

"We’re going crazy."  he said. "So many people are coming in. It’s good."
"Were you planning the expansion for a long time," I asked.
"For years and years," he said. More than five years," he added.
"So why didn’t you do it sooner?"
"The lady who owns the building wouldn’t rent it to us. She only wanted to rent to Koreans," he said.

The following is some history of the storefront now occupied by D’Vine Taste as told to me by the tall beared man (whose name I don’t know). I didn’t have my notebook with me so I am paraphrasing here. But my memory is good.

According to the tall bearded man, prior to 2000, the space was a laudromat for many years. But in 2000, the laundromat closed and the owner of the building was unwilling to rent to non-Koreans.
Instead, she rented it to some Asians who then rented it to a 99 Cents Store, which was actually owned by Palestineans.

According to the tall, bearded man, the owners of the 99 Cemt Store rarely paid their rent. The owner of the building took them to court many times. They’d pay a few months rent then stop paying again. This went on for five years. Finally, the landlord got them out. Or the Marshals did. And the store was empty for months.

The tall, bearded man asked the owner of that building many times if she’d be willing to rent it to them. But she said, she’d never rent to Arabs again. He suggested she talk to his landlord. "Our landlord told her that we’ve been here for 18 years and we always pay our rent EARLY. We never call them when there is a leak, or a problem. We take care of it ourself. We have NEVER given him any problem."

Still, she would not rent it to them. "In one of our conversations, I said to her: ‘Look at your hand, are all your fingers the same?’ And she said ‘no.’ STILL she wouldn’t rent us the storefront."

The owners of D’Vine Taste were desparate to expand, the knew that the shop could not stay the way it was. In time, they did find a 3000 sq. ft. space on Seventh Avenue above 9th Street and put a 6-month deposit down and began planning a massive renovation.

One day, the tall, bearded man was walking down Seventh, coming back from the new location when he ran into the Korean landlord.
"Do you still want to rent the store?" she asked him. "’We just put down 6 months rent,’ I told her, ‘and we are about to begin fixing up the new store. I wish you had asked me sooner.’" he told me. 

Still, they longed to expand their original location. So the tall, bearded man spoke with his sister and they decided that even if they had to kiss their $60,000 deposit good- bye what they really wanted to do was stay in the same location and expand. And that is  what they did.

The Korean landlord made them promise to do no cooking in her storefront. "I told her we would not. We have a huge kitchen in the other store," he pointed to the other side of the expanded shop. In the back of the new storefront is a gigantic storage refrigerator with an enormous quantity of in it.

I could tell that he feels really good about that decision. And it’s great to see them in their newly expanded digs. The shop is huge, spacious and attractive in a simple way with lovely brick walls. They now have 240 varieties of cheese and are about to feature over 100 different kinds of olives. In every way, they are offering more and better food items.

I hope the new D’Vine Taste can survive the coming onslaught of the large, customer oriented giants — Whole Foods, Fairway, and Trader Joes. Already there’s Union Market, and Blue Apron. But you can’t say they aren’t prepared to go head to head with the big- name grocery Goliaths. 

Yes, it might be easier and faster to shop at some of these other places – but  it won’t be as fun or site specific to Seventh Avenue. 18 years they’ve been here. 18years. I’d miss saying hello to the nice woman with the skunk gray hair and the tall bearded man who was so nice today telling me in such detail the story of his store’s journey.
I for one am pleased and moved that they did it and will do my part by shopping there for some of the gourmet items that are staples around here.

Life is good at the Third Street Commune.

Last night First Floor Neighbor dropped her two kids off in our apartment when she ran out for provisions at Met Food. "There’s a big snowstorm coming. I need to get basics: Annie’s Mac and Cheese, Gorilla Cereal, Organic milk," she said. "Dja need anything?" 

Granny Smiths and dishwasher detergent.

As soon as she left, Husband and I struggled with that age old question: what do we want for dinner? Son wanted burgers, Daughter didn’t know. Husband was too distracted to even think about it. And he’s the cook.

"Let’s order out from Grand Canyon," I said.
"Grand Canyon? I love Grand Canyon," First Floor Neighbor’s 5-year old son shouted from the other end of the apartment.
"Order me some waffles, please. I love their waffles," FFN 8-year-old daughter said.
"Waffles. Waffles," Daughter chanted.
"Franks and beans, please," FFN’s son said.

So I called Grand Canyon and spoke to the man who would make everything right.  When FFN returned with the green apples and soap,  I told her that we’d ordered from Grand Canyon, that underrated and oft-ignored coffee shop on Seventh Avenue next to Pino’s. She agreed that its the perfect dinner solution when everyone’s in the mood for something different, the cook is too distracted to cook, and a healthy dinner isn’t the number one priority.

"That’s great," she said. Except now
they know that Grand Canyon delivers. I’ll never hear the end of it," she said. "

I set the table for 6 trying to create some semblance of a civilized family (or commune) dinner. Before long, the doorbell rang and my husband went down to pay the deliveryman and bring the food upstairs. 

Son didn’t even bother to transfer his hamburger and fries out of its Styrofoam take-out container; he just put it on top of his plate. FFN’s son needed help combing his  frank with his  beans, which came in a coffee cup. The girls wanted their waffles cut into pieces and they enjoyed slathering it with syrup.

Husband and I shared a cheese burger. He plated it and served me a glass of wine; very civilized. FFN just wanted a pickle.

After the feeding frenzy, the girls took a one-hour bubble bath together, FFN’s son waited patiently for them to come out. FFN and I shared news of the day, the world, the neighborhood.

It really makes so much sense to be communal. Sure it helps that our kids are best friends and that we like each other a great deal. Life is overwhelming enough. The company, the collaboration, and the convivialitiy really makes things just a little bit easier.

 

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t in New York on December 8, 1980, the night John Lennon died.

At 10:15 p.m., the time he was murdered in front of the Dakota on West 72nd Street, I was asleep in a rooming house in London.

A high school friend, who was studying with a famous English opera teacher, invited me to stay with her for a few weeks at the Repton House in London’s Bloomsbury section, where she was also working as a chambermaid.

I was en-route to Israel set to spend a year on a kibbutz. My planned 2-week stay in London turned into more than a month for reasons I don’t now remember. Perhaps we were were just having too good a time exploring that city and being on our own in a foreign country.

Most of the guests at the Repton House were foreigners who, for one reason or another, were living in London for an extended period of time. The University of London was nearby and  there were quite a few graduate students in the mix. The other chambermaids were young Italian women from Naples, who were studying English in London.

We got friendly with these women who taught us how to curse in Italian. One of them, Rosaria, used to say: Porco Dio, which translates as Pork God.  She’d pronounce it dramatically as she railed against the Repton’s owner who was exploiting the chambermaids terribly.

During my stay at the Repton House, a catastrophic earthquake hit Naples, and we comforted Rosaria in the chambermaid’s kitchen as she cried, uncertain of the fate of her family. She finally spoke to her mother and learned that everyone was okay. She was holding the London Times, which had a photograph of elderly Italian women in black shawls mourning the earthquake dead on its cover.

We used to hang out in the chambermaid’s kitchen in the basement of the hotel, boiling water for tea, which we’d learned to add milk and sugar to. For dinner, we’d make fried eggs and toast slathered with plenty of butter and English jam.

Our room was on the top floor with a perfect view of the rooftops of Bloomsbury. Like an artist’s garret, it felt to me the perfect place to be an American abroad, keeping copious notes in my journal, writing letters home, discovering one of the great cities of the world.

On the night of December 8th there was late-night party at the rooming house. It may have been a party for me as I was leaving the next morning on a flight to Jerusalem. It was a raucous evening, running up and down the stairs, going in and out of each other’s rooms.

There must have been wine, food. Surely we played music and danced. I barely remember anymore what went on. But I do remember there was a wistful feeling in the air. I wasn’t ready to leave, to go off on my own to a part of the world I had never been.

We barely slept that night. The party went late and after it ended, we packed up my things and talked until the first light of dawn.

(Were we awake at the moment of his death? What were we doing? )

On the morning of December 9th, when we went down to the lobby, I noticed that the woman at the reception desk, a cheerful person who reminded me of Lulu, the British singer in "To Sir with Love," was crying. Her dark eye make-up was running; I wondered why she looked so uncharacteristically sad.

"John Lennon died. He was shot." she said. I thought I was hearing things.
"What did you say? " I said certain that I’d misunderstood.
"John Lennon is dead."

I don’t remember how I found out the rest. My friend and I took the Underground to Heathrow, where she waited with me to board the plane. A quiet day at the airport, everyone seemed unaffected by the news. Maybe it was too early. Little did we know of the crowds in Central Park, on West 72nd Street, in Hyde Park.

It was the most awful of good byes. Me flying off alone, my friend returning to a foreign city on her own. John Lennon had been murdered in Manhattan. What was happening to the world?

We discussed my staying longer. Everything seemed up in the air. But I decided to get
on the plane, to go forward with my plans despite the fact that nothing
was the same.

The flight to Jerusalem passed in an instant; a blur of absence and regret. I do remember some Hasidic men standing in the aisles praying. They were davening, moving their upper bodies up and down, while reciting words from tiny Hebrew prayer books. I remember thinking: Say a prayer for John.

My first days in Israel, I stayed with a group of counter-culture Americans who founded a Kibbutz near Jerusalem. They played Beatles records all day in their one-room houses and wanted to talk to me about what had happened, what it had been like in London, in New York. I was a witness from the outside world, but there wasn’t much I could say:

(I woke up in London. Got the terrible news from Lulu. Cried at the airport. Said good bye to a friend. And flew to Jerusalem in a mournful daze.)

Weeks later on another kibbutz, I got a letter from my cousin sadly detailing the
events of the days after John’s death in Manhattan. In her neat, all lower-case print, she conveyed her loss in words I still remember. "nothing
seems to matter. john’s dead. a piece of ourselves is gone." My sister
sent me a similarly sad note and clippings from the  Times and
the Voice about John, which I cherished.

In my no-frills room at the kibbutz, I read and re-read those articles my sister sent and  relived the details of that night.  If I couldn’t have been there, I still wanted to visualize it all: the taxi, the street, the hospital, his bloody eyeglasses. Yoko’s look of utter despair.

(John and Yoko had spent the early part of the evening of December 8th recording Yoko’s single, "Walking on Thin Ice." — "Starting Over: Lennon’s hit single from his new album, Double Fantasy, had been on the radio constantly in the chambermaid’s kitchen.)

I wanted, no needed, to know what 72nd Street looked like with those mournful crowds singing ‘Give Peace a Chance." I tried to imagine those moments of silence in Central Park when an entire city grieved together.

All those miles away, all these years away now, it is still so close — that terrible night. Those awful days after. All these years later it still hurts.

It really does.

 

 

Continue reading POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_The Day John Lennon Died →

As Husband and I lunched at the Second Street Cafe, I overheard two women talking and figured out right away that one of them was the  woman whose house and family were featured in an article called: "When A House is Not Exactly a Home" in the Habitats column of the Sunday Time’s real estate section.

I spotted her three kids and handsome, hip-looking husband sitting a a table; I knew right away it was them having just seen their pictures in the New York Times.

She was telling her friend that she’d gotten a lot of e-mails since the article was printed; a few were quite nasty.

"Sorry to interupt but I recognize you," I said. "I really liked your story." She smiled and seemed to appreciate my saying that.

"I get some really unpleasant comments on my blog when people disagree with me," I told her,  adding that I write Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn. "Oh you’re Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn," she said. I definitely appreciated that she knew the blog. "I’ve been called entitled, stereotypical, stupid, idiotic, and worse," I said.

Aside from the fact that the article evoked volcanic rivers of envy *in me for a limestone in Park Slope, a Litchfield County second home AND the ability to afford $7000 a month for anything, I thought she came across as extremely likable in the article and in the restaurant.

To me, the article was really about mid-life restlessness

Crazy, crazy me. I went to nearly every store on 7th and 5th Avenues from Flatbush to 16th Street that I thought might have interesting gifts. I selected at least one gift item per store that caught my eye. Sometimes I mention more. It was an interesting exercise: trying to zone in on the best and most unique gifts in every shop. In a few rare cases, it was difficult to find even one thing. Usually it was incredibly easy because there was so much good stuff to choose from.

EVERY DAY, I keep adding NEW stores. On Monday I did the 99 cent and discount stores above 11th Street on Fifth Avenue, which are pretty fun. I even went into Mandee and found quite a bounty of beaded and embroidered evening bags for under $12.00. On Seventh Avenue, I added Prospect Gardens Pharmacy on the corner of Union and 7th. Best of all, there’s a special list of indie rock CD’s by Henry Crawford for Music Matters on Seventh Avenue between 13th and 14th Streets.

I hope you have as much fun reading this highly subjective Brooklyn Holiday Gift Guide as I did schlepping from one end of Park Slope to the other. Support the singularity of our local shops: buy local, it’s more fun that way and good for the community.  Tomorrow: blog shopping.

7th AVENUE 7th AVENUE 7th AVENUE 7th….

SEVENTH AVENUE Lincoln to Berkeley

Slope Sports: Pearl iZumi hats for winter running in cool patterns.

Orange Blossom Kids: On Lincoln east of 7th Avenue. Mini ugly doll. Onesies that say "burp" and "I’m Not A Boy." Sterling silver bubble wands.

Stitch Therapy: On Lincoln east of 7th Avenue. Yarn kits for kids.

Frajean: Hair care products. African art from Kenya (under $40.00) Hat, glove, and scarf sets for ($21.00).

SEVENTH AVENUE Berkeley to Union

Peekaboo Kids: Kitano ultra soft hat and scarf sets in cool colors.

Kiwi: Shearling gloves in nice colors (pricey).

Leaf and Bean: Dr. Seuss and retro-style alarm clocks, European truffles, Nigella Lawson sugar and creamer.

Zuzu’s Petals: Berkeley west of Seventh Avenue. Motion Sensitive chirping bird.

Prospect Gardens Pharmacy" A veritible toy emporium right in the window.

SEVENTH AVENUE Union to President

Blue Apron (just east of 7th Avenue): Hanukkah themed marzipan shaped like challah bread, Torahs, menorahs, Hebrew letters and more ($8.95). To die for chocolates: Mademoiselle de Margaux dark chocolate ($10.95). Small blue bottle of rose flower water. High quality bottles of vanilla and anise. Altman and Kuhn Viennese chocolates in small gorgeous boxes. Pumpkin cheesecake caramels.

Newstand: Lottery ticket.

Facets:  Swiss Army pocket watches ($130.00), Swiss Army travel watches in compact case – can also sit on a table ($80.00), Swiss Army watches on a leather pant strap ($80.00).

Aersoles:  To come

SEVENTH AVENUE President to Carroll

Loom: Beaded elastic belts. Cavallini & Co. desk calendar illustrated with vintage postcards ($13.00). Sockerbageriet gingerbread candies in neat packaging. Vintage-style paint by numbers kits. 8 Days a Week calendar pages, 52 large pages. Monday thru Saturday and Another Day ($22.00). White ceramic cheese plate with color drawings of cheese on it.

Lisa Polansky: To Come.

Sound Track: Anthony and the Johnsons,
Walk the Line Soundtrack, Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltraine,
new Fiona Apple, Sinead O’Connor’s "Throw Down Your Arms," Tracy Chapman, "Where You Live." "Careless Love" by Madeleine Peyroux

SEVENTH AVENUE Carroll to Garfield

Jack Rabbit: Brooklyn Half-Marathon Training Program.

D’Vine Taste: Dried Fruits. Halvah. Fancy olive oils. Proustian Madeleine Cakes.

Community Bookstore:
"The Complete New Yorker,"  "A Field Guide to Getting Lost" by Rebecca
Solnit, "Veronica" by Mary Gaitskill, "Brooklyn Follies" by Paul
Auster,  "Brooklyn Is: Southeast of the Island, Travel Notes" by James
Agee.

Little Things: eeboo Bugs, Color, or Life on Earth Dominoes Game. Creativity For Kids: Feather Fru Fru kit. eeboo Candy Matching Game.

Back to the Land: Dr. Hanuschka, Avalon, Kiss My Face, California Baby, and other skin and hair care products.

Possibilities: White platter with illustration of a cat in black that says: "Everything tastes better with cat hair on it." Mousepad that says: What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?" Magnetic poetry kit: words to inspire the Haiku hidden in you. Stick to your fridge words, locker, or any steel surface (9.95), Magnetic Poetry is now making Poetry Beads: Over 75 two-side word beads to make necklaces, bracelets, and more. Comes with string and colorful plastic beads ($9.95).
 

SEVENTH AVENUE Garfield to 1st

Artesana: Mexican Ornaments. Black ceramic candelabras.

The Clay Pot: Hilary Druxman necklaces and earrings.

Treasure Chest: Pylones mod dog leash. Beautiful jewelry boxes. Hairbrushes will cool illustrations on them.

Lolli:
"Sharing is Overrated," "My Mom doesn’t do anything all day," My
parents call me "no," "Time Outs Don’t Phase Me" t-shirts from Wise
Guy.

Mr. Choi: Socks, yoga pants

SEVENTH AVENUE 2nd to 3rd Streets

Seventh Avenue Books: "Elements of Style" by E.B. White illustrated by Maira Kalmam, "The Brooklyn Bridge, A Cultural History," "Mao: The Unknown Story" by Jung Chang,

Park Slope Books: "A Notebook at Random" by Irving Penn, rare art books.

Good Footing: Ice skates with velcro closures.

Tarzian West: Creuset ceramic jar for utensils.

SEVENTH AVENUE 3rd to 4th Streets

Living on Seventh: Soft fleecy bathrobes in nice colors ($79.00).

City Casuals: Paisley shawls.

The Cocoa Bar: Tin of hot chocolate mix with a nicely wrapped package of homemade marshmallows in three flavors: mint, spicy, and plain.

SEVENTH AVENUE 4th to 5th Streets

Lumiere: plexi hands (for holding jewelry), plexi nudes for earrings.

SEVENTH AVENUE 7th to 8th Streets

Root Stock: Java Coffee fire log. Buddha statue ($64.00). Ceramic apples ($20.00) Veitver sachets.

SEVENTH AVENUE 8th to 9th Streets

Brooklyn Industries: Soft laptop sleeve in fun patterns

Park Slope Stationers: Claire Fontaine notebooks.

SEVENTH AVENUE 9th to 10th

Otto: "3 dots" polka dot cashmere sweaters (pricey). Bathing cap
bags. Nethermeade Perfume from Brooklyn Apothecary Sexy underwear

SEVENTH AVENUE 10th to 11th

4 Play:  To Come

Park Slope Sports: Brooklyn t’s and hoodies. Great scarf/hat for winter runners.

SEVENTH AVENUE 11th to 12th

Nest: Paper curtains

SEVENTH AVENUE 12th to 13th

El Milagro: Frida Kahlo earrings, necklaces, pins, bracelets, etc.

SEVENTH AVENUE 13th to 14th

Sweet Charity: Plastic bowls in hot colors. Nigella Lawson measuring cups

Neda: Striped Bakelite bracelets in window

Music Matters: Indie albums handpicked by Henry Crawford: "Funeral" by Arcade Fire. Album by "Ratatat" by Ratatat, "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" by The Flaming Lips."Moon and Antartica" by Modest Mouse. "Fevers and Mirrors" by Bright Eyes, "Santanic Panic in the Attic" by Of Montreal. "Kesby Nights" by Catch 22.  "Set Yourself on Fire" by Stars. "Everything Goes Numb" by Streetlight Manifesto. "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. "Feel Good Lost" by Broken Social Scene.

SEVENTH AVENUE 14th to 15th

Toy Space: Anatomically correct soft baby dolls ($10.00).

Baby Bird: Snoopy t-shirts for babies.

Bird: Shell & fabric scarves/belts ($42.00).

SEVENTH AVENUE 15th to 16th

Rare Device: Tiny birthday books. Letter press notecards. Fleece cell phone holders .

Greenjeans: Handcrafted toys.

5th Avenue 5th Avenue 5th Avenue 5th…..

FIFTH AVENUE Bergen to St. Marks

Lulu’s: Fairy Tales:All Natural, organic hair care products for children including de-tangler and leave-in conditioner. Fun wood animals and people on bungee cords. Extensive stock of bubble-blowing gear. Barettes and hair bands. Nostalgic Toys a go go.

FIFTH AVENUE St. Marks to Prospect lace

Buttercup’s Paw-tisserie:  Liver and cheese brownies for dogs and much more (it’s a bakery for dogs).

Umkarna: Handmade fertility dolls made out of rabbit fur by dollmaker Christian Fastrup (designs based on ancient African shape) in black, white and natural ($65.00). Cavallini & Co. file folders and Ex-Libris book plates with a picture of an old typewriter on them. Utterly beautiful black shawl from India with colorful appliques ($225.00).

Gorilla Coffee: Paint can covered in Gorilla Coffee graphics with 1 lb of Gorilla Coffee, Me Love Brooklyn mug, coasters and magnet ($30.00).

Tabeel Aromatherapy Gift Shop and Hair Locking Center: Microwavable teddy bears for muscle soreness, arthritis, backaches, sprains and headaches.

FIFTH AVENUE Prospect Place to Park Place

Flirt: Cuckoo clock cardigan clip ($19.00). Ozone brand knee-high and over-the-knee socks ($19.00). Yule log box, Lacquered hard candy rings, Lacquered cake decorations earrings ($29.00). Nano iPod case ($18.00). Plastic wallet with vintage ilustration that says: "Greetings from Park Slope Where the Girls Are." The Star of David Lemon Eucalyptus Kosher Soap ($5.00)

The Chocolate Room: Milk chocolate with white chocolate drizzle Dale and Thomas Popcorn ($4.95). Fabulous chocolates.

FIFTH AVENUE Douglas to Degraw

At Home: Fresh pumpkin scented sachet. Kafus small Japanese cast iron teapot. Beautiful Italian pottery in bold colors.

Wrappers Delight: Sweet Sentiments: Nicely wrapped dark and milk chocolate bars that say love, peace, smooch, mazel tov, or thanks  ($5.00). ncredibly artful Marabelle Chocolate squares in a box. Angie’s Caribbean style rum cake. Chukar Cherries: Chcolate covered dried, bing and rainer tart cherries.

FIFTH AVENUE Degraw to Sackett

Reverse: Tacky costume jewelry. Tensor lamp, misc.

FIFTH AVENUE St. Johns to Lincoln

Romp: Black t-shirt for toddlers that says: "Anti-Crib," "No Nap," "Bedtime Sucker," "Born to Destroy," "The  Wide Awakes," "Keep Your Diaper." Wonderful wooden toys from Germany, Antquarium: space age ant farm. Bilibo: a plastic rocking, spinning open-ended plastic toy. Eggling: crack this plastic egg and it grows herbs and plants inside. Mongolian hats with Asian fabric and fun fur, metal potholder loom

Body Essentials: Dr. Hanuschka skincare products and gift sets.

FIFTH AVENUE Lincoln to Berkeley

Organic Cafe: Bazzini fancy dried fruit assortment ($13.00). Reeds Crystallized Ginger, Tasmanian honey in a beautiful can. Wilkins and Sons Lemon Curd.

FIFTH AVENUE  Sackett to President

Cog and Pearl: Restored vintage phones by Art Thang in cool colors ($150.00). Holga Camera Kit ($75.00). Laura Gilkey handmade felt bags. Viewmaster with homemade views by Vladmaster: Franz Kafka and Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino ($27.00). Blown glass beehive vase ($170.00). "Love Letters Lost" a collection of found love letters by Babbette Hines. "Lost and Found Pet Posters from Around the World." Tiny racehorse earrings, squirrel and acorn earrings ($70.).

FIFTH AVENUE Berkeley to  Union

Extraordinary: Frank Lloyd Wright business card cases ($32.00). Kama Sutra Game. Silver plated yo yo ($20.00)

FIFTH AVENUE Union to Carroll Streets.

Something Else: Wonder Woman hoodie ($55.00). "Kiss me I’m 1/2 Ubekistani" t-shirt, Adidas scarves.

Bob & Judi’s Coolectibles: Handmade in Brooklyn: Mah Jong tile Hanukkah menorahs ($42.00)  Vintage Brooklyn news
photos ($10.00), Tiny Betty Boo tea set. Vintage plastic charm
bracelets ($10.00). Pool balls ($5.00). Vintage 1940’s Santa wrapping
paper ($3.00 per sheet).

Goldy and Mac: Leopard print rubber rain boots ($92.00). Black velvet and fun fur ear muffs ($32.00)

Beacon’s Closet:
Neckerchiefs ($6.00). Polka dot shoelaces($2.50). Chinese notebooks with socialist realist covers
($4.50). Clown and owl nesting dolls ($12.50). plastic rose rings
($6.00). Crochet earrings ($10.00)

FIFTH AVENUE President  to Garfield Streets.

Matter: "I’ve never met anyone as beautiful as you," rubber stamp ($45.00). The Design Encyclopedia (from MOMA). Pixel Blocks Building System, old fashioned phone receiver that attaches to a cell
phone ($70.00). Jack Spade bags and wallets. Abart watches.

Scaredy Kat: Reissued Golden Books:
"Doctor Dan and the Band aids," and "The Monster at the End of this Book
Starring Lovable Furry Old Grover." Devil Girl Hot Kisses Hot Cinnamon
Candy in tins designed by R. Crumb. "Smart Women Never Miss" Fly
swatters. Barbie Hanukkah gelt. Dim Sum and Sushi Flashcards.

Diana Kane: PF Flyers leather sneakers in great colors (brown, tan, green, maroon) high top and low ($65 – $80)

Eidolan: Soft hand-knit neck warmer ($25.00). Arianne camisoles, night gowns and
pajamas in an unbelievably soft new micro fiber fabric ($48.00).

Nancy Nancy:
Great Revolutionaries finger puppets. Tins of: Placebo Mint 2 Cure All. "Who’d of
thought you’d turn out to be the gay one in the family" spiral notebook.

Hers and Mine: Chinese red lacquered magnifying glass ($26.00)

FIFTH AVENUE Garfield to 1st Streets.

Kimera: Black wool cardigan with fur collar ($110.00).

3R Living:
Sweep
Dreams’ fireplace broom. Meyer’s Clean Day cleaning products. Meyer’s
Clean Day dog shampoo.Boat wood frames and trays. Newspaper vases. Paint Your Own Wooden Ornaments Kit. Oriental carpet patterned plastic
mats. Bicycle chain bracelets. Rings made out of beer and soda cans.

Lucia: Hand-knit indoor/outdoor slippers with rubber soles ($32.00). Sequined clutch bags ($32.00). Slouchy sock boots ($68.00).

La Rosa Dance Supply: Rainbow toe socks ($3.50).

FIFTH AVENUE 1st to Second Streets

Jonathan Blum: Paintings by Brooklyn’s hometown artist.

FIFTH AVENUE Second to Third Streets

Zelda Victoria: To come.

FIFTH AVENUE 3rd to 4th Streets

Living on Fifth : Honeysuckle candle in a glass, striped wool scarves. Nice shirts.
Razor: Men’s old fashioned wool caps
Serene Rose: Hand-dyed, boiled wool scarves in unusual shapes and colors ($69.00)

FIFTH AVENUE 4th to 5th Streets

Pink Pussycat: Kinky hosiery

Under the Pig Antiques: Phrenology head, vintage Christmas ornaments and decorations.

FIFTH AVENUE 6th to 7th Streets

Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co: Secret Identity kits, Great clocks, capes. McSweeneys’ books, zany superhero stuff, great stocking stuffers.

Zuzu’s Petals: Blown glass bear ornaments, set of 12 ($40.00). Boxed set of four colorful bowls ($30.00), Glitter pine cones: ($1.50)

FIFTH AVENUE 7th to 8th Streets

Office Equipment and Furniture: Great coat racks ($40.00)

Save on
Fifth: Paint by Number sets. Matchbox Carwash. Minnie Mouse watches
(6.99). Mod patterned mops and brooms ($9.99). Decorations a go go.

FIFTH AVENUE 8th to 9th Streets

Galaxy Comics: Family Guy figurines.Corpse Bride figurines. X-Men
Christmas ornaments. Richard Nixon and other presidential dolls. Charlie Brown and many other character bobble heads.

Record and Tape Shots: Huge collection of LPs.

Tip Top Gifts: Commando sweaters with elbow and shoulder patches. Pea coats. Flame wallets. Everlast boxing clubs in red. Punching bags. Timex watches with night light.

FIFTH AVENUE 10th to 11th Streets

Payless Shoe Source: Hello Kitty slippers. Furry bags. Colorful embroidered slippers that look Indian Blingy evening bags

Jeans Express: Big t-shirt nightgowns with rapper expressions on them about money. PJ bottoms in fun patterns and colors ($3.99)

FIFTH AVENUE 11th to 12th Streets

Beauty and Hair Supply Shop:  Bandanna fabric by the yard in many colors.

FIFTH AVENUE 12th to 13th Streets

Mandee:  Small embroidered and/or beaded evening bags $7.99 – $11.99.

Jeans Stop: Official street greeting cards with fun homeboy illustrations that say: "I can’t knock your hustle you broke my heart," "No one else I’d roll wit," "I can’t knock your hustle, you broke my heart," "Let’s light it up. I meant the cake, you fools," "Ain’t no shorty like the one I got."

FIFTH AVENUE 13th to 14th Streets

Tower Electronics: Spider Man, Disney Princesses, and Spongebob small-size metal folding tables and chairs. Jack Jack (from The Incredibles) doll. Disney princesses night lights. 

H&A Jewelry: Silver and gold lockets.

Amazing 99 cents Store: Christmas ornaments.

Sister, Ducky (her 15-month old baby), and I were in The Cocoa Bar, our new favorite place to sit and sip latte. We were sitting in the window seat, a good place for watching the people walk by on Seventh Avenue.

Ducky had a dirty diaper. Sister knew that the public bathroom was out-of-order so she started to change her on the seat, with her trusty diaper pad. Knowing this was a dicey thing to do, in a cafe and all, I stood in front of her so no one would have to see what she was doing.

"Make sure you have everything you need," I said in an attempt to make it a speedy operation. She got out the diaper, the wipes, a plastic bag for the dirty diaper.

Everything she needed.

I stood in front of Sister trying to hide the baby from view. Ducky wasn’t real happy about being changed in public and she twisted and cried a bit. But it all went very quickly and cleanly.  The whole operation took less than two minutes.

Afterwards, Ducky went back to sitting in the stroller, sucking on a rattle. My sister packed up the dirty diaper and I took it out to the garbage pail on the corner of Third Street and Seventh Avenue. Sister went into the out-of-order bathroom and washed her hands. Then I went in there. We were sipping our lattes when one of the cafe barista’s came over to us.

"I know you had to do it. But we can’t allow you to do that here," the barista said.

"Sorry," Sister said.

"We did it here because the bathroom was out of order," I chimed in aware that I might sound defensive.

"I know. But for future reference. You can’t do it here. It’s against the law," the barista said.

"I’m really sorry," Sister said looking really embarrassed.

"Thanks for telling us," I said.

"Okay," she said and walked back to the coffee bar.

All in all, it was a very civilized exchange. I could tell that Sister felt funny about the whole thing. I knew it wasn’t the best idea in the world to do it in the first place. Who likes to see a baby being diapered in a restaurant? Actually it’s pretty damn gross. But what were we to do?

"Did you ever imagine that you’d be diapering a baby in a cafe," I said to my Sister.

"Nope," she said.

Sister became a mom just over three months ago after longing for a baby for years and years. Pre-baby, she would sometimes get annoyed by the child-centered parents of  Park Slope. The stroller grid-lock. The kids running wild in restaurants. The public breast feeding (Sister says she didn’t mind this: it was just that everyone had babies and she didn’t.) The parents gloating over their so-called adorable children. 

It was hard enough
not having her own child. And worse to be surrounded by so many people with children. But then it happened, Ducky arrived and everything changed.

Three months into motherhood, Sister is already becoming one of those child-absorbed Park Slope parents. And we’re all thrilled.

Diapering a baby in a cafe. Imagine.

Even though we both knew it was a terrible thing to do. Terrible. I must admit, it was kinda cool being reprimanded by the barista after Sister diapered  Ducky.

BECAUSE she was diapering Ducky, her baby, her very own little girl.

We co-exist quite easily with the people who live above us. In fact, we like
them very, much although we never socialize and rarely borrow sugar,
eggs, or milk.

It’s a friendship with healthy boundaries.

We converse on Seventh Avenue, in the stairwell, the
vestibule, in the lobby at PS 321. But we’ve never invited
them over for dinner, or a cocktail. (We really should.)

But we’re pretty close already, sort of. 

It’s not like we know the intimate details of each other’s lives
because we don’t. Yet,  we’re "close" in that New York City neighbor sort of
way: we can hear the pitter patter and loud THUMPING of their children’s feet. The baby’s
crying. The murmur of voices. But we NEVER hear exactly what they are saying. Nor do we want to.
.
I know when they have dinner parties, when their kids have play dates (it gets really noisy then), how well one of them plays guitar. That sort of thing.

I am also aware of their comings and goings. I guess that’s pretty
intimate. I know that HE wakes up around 5 a.m. and goes downstairs to
get his New York Times off the stoop.

Years ago, pre-kids, SHE went running in the Park every morning.
I admired her as I continued to sleep in my warm winter bed.

Pre-kids ,they used to vacuum their apartment on Sunday mornings and we’d listen to it roar.

It’s actually kind of a one-sided relationship. We hear their noise but they don’t hear ours
(the people below us get that in spades). THe people above us are on the top-floor, so they don’t have to listen to  the comings and
goings of anyone (except maybe the occasional pigeon).

Fact: This apartment building is
minimally insulated between floors. Running, thumping, banging,
falling: the sound of two active children running up and down a hallway
is a bit like a roller derby.

Strangely, it doesn’t bother me that much. I know SHE worries about her kids being noisy. SHE told me that
once and I said something like: "What are you going to do? It’s just the way it is in this building. Please don’t think about it." And I meant it.

Because in a way, our upstairs neighbors are like family. A family in that "we live in the same building" kind of way.

Once, in the middle of the night, they got a phone call which was
unusual. I got worried: ‘I hope everything is alright,’ I said to
Husband while trying to fall back to sleep. The next day, I asked if
everything was okay. He seemed a little startled (maybe I did push a
boundary?) but it was some kind of family
health emergency.

About a year ago, we heard them get up in the middle of the
night someone ran down the hallway. But we didn’t think much of it. I
figured they had a kid throwing up or something.

Turned out that a wall of kitchen cabinets fell off the kitchen wall.
We didn’t hear THAT because it was in the front of the
apartment and the bedrooms are in the back.

They lost almost all of their china, bowls, glasses, and other breakable kitchen supplies.
It was a horrible mess. The next day, we went upstairs to commiserate, observe the wreckage, and listen to the tale.

These thought came to mind because this morning HE was playing blues guitar. He’s really talented and I love to catch a little bit of his music — even if it is very muffled. I know he sings, but I can just barely hear
it. Sometimes I am tempted to take one of my guitars upstairs and jam
along.

But that would REALLY be crossing boundaries.

HE plays guitar really well. He told that he was in a  a rock and roll musician when he was in his twenties, a roots rock band. I can and
can’t imagine it. Now, he’s got an important job and wears a suit and tie every
day.

But he used to play in a rock ‘n roll band. And he’s still really, really good.

Nice story on WNYC Saturday morning about the water polo team at St. Francis College in Brooklyn Heights. I reproduce it here, but urge you to check out WNYC’s website. Better yet, listen to WNYC (AM 820).

REPORTER: The USC water polo team generally practices and competes in an Olympic-size pool in the open California air. But this is not southern California. This is a 25-yard-by-40-foot pool in the basement of St. Francis College. The school has 24-hundred students, most of them commuters and many of them the first in their family to go to college. The pool here in Brooklyn Heights is so small, that during water polo season, it is filled almost to overflowing, so that players are forced to swim in the shallow end, rather than stand. But even with modest facilities and without widespread prestige, St. Francis has become a magnet for water polo players from around the world. Carl Quigley has coached the team since graduating here 30 years ago.

QUIGLEY: Kids go home over the summer, and their friends ask them,

Everybody loves Saturday in Brooklyn. And this one’s a busy one. Here’s some stuff you WON’T want to miss this  SATURDAY DECEMBER 3rd:

DESIGN COLLECTIVE GIFT FAIR at the OLD STONE HOUSE: In JJ Byrne Park on Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets. Over 20 local designers will be selling their clothing, jewelry, bags, obects d’art, skincare products, paintings,  and MORE. Organized by Fofolle designer Kathy Malone.

FIRST NIGHT AT THE BROOKLYN MUSEUM: Warm up your winter with sizzling Latin music, dance, and film. Discover Brooklyn

My Warholian 15-minutes of fame have been going on for nearly an hour. Well, they started when I got an  e-mail from a friend around 8:00 this morning.

It

We’ve decided to stay in Brooklyn for the holidays. Well, it was my idea. I told Husband I need to be here instead of on the farm, the walnut farm, in Northern California.

It took days to get up the nerve. I knew Husband wouldn’t take it well. He looks forward to our visits to the family farm he grew up on. Our twice-yearly trips make him feel grounded; they connect him to his past. They’re also a much-needed chance to spend time with his mother, his siblings, their children, and other members of his family.

For as long as we’ve been together, we’ve spent the holidays out there. That’s a lot of years and a lot of Chirstmases with my husband’s family. I don’t even know what the holidays are like in New York with my family anymore.

I must say, Christmas in California is pretty special: a real goyisha treat for a Jewish girl from the Upper West Side of Manhattan. There’s a tall Christmas tree festooned with family heirloom ornaments. The house, fragrant with mulled cider and eucaplytus branches, is decorated with colorful Mexican folkart Mexican nativity creches. There are hot cinnamon buns on Christmas morning.

Best of all, my kids get to spend days on the farm with their cousins in a
kind of free-form indoor/outdoor existence that’s so unlike life in Park Slope. Climbing a fig tree, taking walks in a walnut orchard,
lighting sparklers in the backyard, it’s all part of the Christmas they know.

So I finally blurted it out one night before dinner in the kitchen.  "I don’t think I can go to California this Christmas."

There was a stunned silence.

I offered up my reasons like non-sequiters: My work. Son’s New year’s Eve gig at the Liberty Heights Tap Room. Our new neice Ducky.

Husband immediately looked disappointed but he seemed to understand. "Well, I guess that means I’ll be going to California with Daughter and Son."  he said.

Son, who was standing by the sink, cleared his throat, "Um, Dad, if you don’t mind I think I want to stay in New York with mom," To which my husband replied:

"Well, I guess it’ll just be me and Daughter."

"I’m not going without mom," she shouted from the dining room where she was working on her homework.

"Well, I guess I’m going alone," Husband said sadly. "I’m sorry, Dad," Son said, giving his dad a big hug.

By morning Husband had decided that he was going to spend Christmas in Brooklyn with us.

"I don’t want to go without my family."

So it was decided that we will spend the holidays in Brooklyn. Together.  We’ll have to figure out what to do here: reinvent our holiday ritual as we rediscover New York at Christmastime.

Ice skating in Prospect Park, Christmas decorations in Dyker Heights, fireworks on New Years Eve at Grand Army Plaza, after the show at the Liberty Heights Tap Room…

It just might be fun to do something a little different.

For weeks I’ve been smelling a skunk. A dead one. It seemed pretty unlikely: there aren’t too many skunks in Brooklyn as far as I know. Especially dead ones.

But still. I kept smelling skunk.

At first, I though it was my boots. I actually took them off and sniffed. They didn’t smell that great. But they didn’t smelll like a skunk.

Then I smelled my nylon knee-highs. Same thing. Not the most fragrant things in the world But no dead skunk.

The smell seemed to follow me around. I smelled it in my bedroom. On the street. In my office. The kitchen. I could be anywhere and I’d smell dead skunk.

In my office, the smell was especially bad. On a few occassions, I emptied out the garbage pail thinking that maybe there was something rotten in there. Then I looked under the couch, behind my desk, the bookcase, and underneath my office mate’s desk, too.

I wondered if, perhaps, there was a dead animal: mouse, or even a rat. But it didn’t really smell like a dead rodent. It smelled like a skunk. A dead one.

When my office mate came in the other day I finally told her about the skunk smell. "Maybe it’s me," she said. But I assured her that I’d been smelling it even when she wasn’t around. She seemed relieved.

Yesterday, I started smelling the dead skunk again. I was in my office and frankly feeling pretty fed up about the whole thing.

So when my office mate came in, we spent a good deal of time sniffing around the room. She looked inside one of my desk drawers, which is an embarassing mess.

"You don’t want to look in there," I said.

"Maybe I do," she said mischeviously.

"Do you smell it in there?" I said excitedly."

"No," she said shutting the drawer.

Then my office mate had a theory: "Maybe it’s the desk chair. Over a month  ago we switched chairs, remember? " she said. "And that’s about when you said you started smelling it, right? " she was being quite the junior detective.

"Yeah, you’re right." I said as I raced to put my nose on the seat of her black office chair:  "It smells like me. It doesn’t smell like a skunk. It smells like me."

We left it at that. I had to get home and she had other things to concentrate on other than searching for the source of the dead skunk smell.

Tonight, watching the video of "Yours, Mine, and Ours," the original with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball, I smelled the skunk again. I was sitting inthe living room, typing on a Dell laptop computer.

"Maybe it’s the computer," I said to myself feeling weary of the whole situation. And then it happened. I suddenly knew where the smell was coming from.

"It’s my watch," I said out loud to the family. "ssssh, we’re watching the movie," Daughter said.

No-one seemed to care very much that I’d discovered the source of the skunk smeel. But I was thrilled.  My new digital watch with the wide striped band I bought at a shop on Spring Street off Lafayette called Pylones for $10.00. The plastic on the watch smells like a dead skunk. I took off the watch and took a long, deep breath.

Yup. Pure, unadulterated skunk.

I got the watch about a month ago, maybe a little more. I wear it every so often. That’s why the smell comes and goes. I only smell it on the days when I wear the watch.

Mystery solved. Now, what do I do with my groovy new $10.00 watch? I really like it but I can’t wear it.

Unless I want to smell dead skunk all the time.

On Tuesday night, my daughter and I walked from 3rd Street to Union Street to check out the shops. There was a lot to see and all the store owners were really friendly. Especially after I told them I was doing an on-line gift guide.

Many pointed out what they consider their best gifts. The woman at Scaredy Cat showed me her stock of re-issued Golden books which, she said, evoked a kind of sense memory in her because she read them as a child.

Judi at Bob and Judi’s Coolectibles told me that the Mah Jong menorahs she sells are made by an 80-year old man who lives in Kensington. "He gets the tiles in Florida and makes them up here," she said. "He’s been bringing those to us for years."

At 3R Living, the shop girl was more than happy to show me all kinds of cool things in the shop including the oriental rug patterned plastic floor mats in various sizes that may just be my gift to myself.

One of the owners of Eidolan suggested the hand knit neck warmers that come in lovely colors. She also showed me "a new groovy micro fiber" used in some of the Arianne camisoles, pajamas and nightgowns they sell there.

The owner of  Nancy Nancy says that he is now carrying more political stuff. "Check out our  anti-Bush section and our religious (we call it our sacrilegious) section over there." He apologized for how much stuff was in the store. "But we’re stocking up for Christmas. We have to." he said.

Fifth Avenue Union to Carroll Streets.

Something Else: Wonder Woman hoodie ($55.00), "Kiss me I’m 1/2 Ubekistani" t-shirt, Adidas scarves.

Bob & Judi’s Coolectibles: handmade in Brooklyn Mah Jong tile menorahs, vintage Brooklyn news photos ($10.00), tiny Betty Boo tea set, vintage plastic charm braclets ($10.00). pool balls ($5.00), vintage 1940’s Santa wrapping paper ($3.00 per sheet)

Goldy and Mac: Leopard print rubber boots ($92.00), black velvet and fur ear muffs ($32.00)

Beacon’s CLoset: Neckerchiefs ($6.00), polka dot shoelaces($2.50), Chinese notebooks ($4.50), Clown and owl nesting dolls ($12.50), plastic rose rings ($6.00), crochet earrings ($10.00)

Fifth Avenue President  to Garfield Streets.

Matter: The Design Encyclopedia from MOMA, pixel blocks building system, old fashioned phone receiver that attaches to a cell phone ($70.00)

Scaredy Cat: Reissued Golden Books: "Doctor Dan and the Bandaids," and "The Monster at the End of this Book Starring Lovable Furry Old Grover," Devil Girl Hot Kisses Hot Cinamon Candy in a tin designed by R. Crumb, "Smart Women Never Miss" fly swatter, Barbie Hanukkah gelt. Dim Sum and Sushi Flashcards.

Diana Kane: PF Flyers leather sneakers high top and low ($65 – $80)

Eidolan: Soft hand knit neck warmer ($25.00), Arianne camisoles and night gown and pajamas made of an unbelievably soft micro fiber ($48.00).

Nancy Nancy: Great Revolutionaries finger puppets, tins of Placebo Mint 2 Cure All, "Who’d of thought you’d turn out to be the gay one in the family" spiral notebooks.

Hers and Mine: Chinese red laquered magnifying glass ($26.00)

Fifth Avenue Garfield to 1st Streets.

Kimera: Black wool cardigan with wool collar ($110.00)

3R Living:Sweep Dreams child-size broom, Meyer’s Clean Day cleaning products, Meyer’s Clean Day dog shampoo, boat wood frams and trays, newspaper vases, paint your own ornamnent, necklaces and jewelry made out of wooden rulers.

Lucia: Handknit indoor/outdoor slippers with rubber soles ($32.00), sequined clutch bags ($32.00), slouchy sock boots ($68.00).

La Rosa Dance Supply: Rainbow toe socks ($3.50)

Fifth Avenue 1st to Second Streets

Jonanath Blum: Wonderful paintings of dogs, bridges, dancing Jews and others by Fifth Avenue’s hometown artist.

Fifth Avenue Second to Third Streets

Zelda Victoria: To come.

FOR THE COMPLETE "OTBKB BROOKLYN HOLIDAY GIFT GUIDE" go to today’s scoop du jour.

Walking back from my therapy appointment on 11th Street, I got to stop in all my favorite shops on Fifth Avenue to see what they had to offer in the way of holiday gifts. What a bounty!

As you’ll see, Fifth Avenue between 10th and Union Street has it all. From the Pink Pussycat to Tip Top Gifts, it’s a holiday wonderland.

GIFTS ON FIFTH AVENUE

FIFTH AVENUE 3rd to 4th Streets

Living on Seventh:
Razor: Men’s old fashioned wool caps
Serene Rose: Hand dyed, boiled wool scarves in unusual shapes ($69.00)

FIFTH AVENUE 4th to 5th Streets

Pink Pussycat: Kinky hosiery
Under the Pig: Phrenology head

FIFTH AVENUE 6th to 7th Streets

Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co: Great clocks, capes, McSweeneys’ books, zany superhero stuff, great stocking stuffers.

Zuzu’s: Blown glass bear oranments, set of 12 ($40.00). Boxed set of four colorful bowls ($30.00), Glitter pine cones: ($1.50)

FIFTH AVENUE 7th to 8th Streets

Office Equipment and Furniture: Great coat racks ($40.00)
Save on
Fifth: Paint by Number sets, Matchbox Carwash, Minnie Mouse watches
(6.99), mod patterned mops and brooms ($9.99), decorations a go go.

FIFTH AVENUE 8th to 9th Streets

Galaxy Comics: Family Guy figurines, Corpse Bride figurines, X-Men
Christmas ornaments, Richard Nixon doll, Charlie Brown bobble heads.

Tip Top Gifts: Commando sweaters with elbow and shoulder patches,
pea coats, flame wallets, Everlast boxing clubs in red, punching bag,
Timex watches

FIFTH AVENUE 10th to 11th Streets

Payless Shoe Source: Hello Kitty slippers, furry bags, colorful embroidered slippers that look Indian, blingy evening bags

Next: Fifth Avenue Union to 3rd Streets….

FOR THE COMPLETE "OTBKB BROOKLYN HOLIDAY GIFT GUIDE" go to today’s scoop du jou

NIGHT AND DAY
230 FIFTH AVENUE (AT PRESIDENT)
PARK SLOPE, BROOKLYN NY 11215
718-399-2161

PERFORMANCES DECEMBER 2005

SUNDAY DECEMBER 4

6PM SEX SCENES
Erotic Stories by Polly Frost & Ray Sawhill
Read by: Jake Thomas, Karen Grenke, Lyndsay Becker, Jason Jacobs, Mason Pettit, Tami Mansfield & Sarah Kozinn

MONDAY DECEMBER 5

6PM ARTISTS SALON–all welcome

TUESDAY DECEMBER 6

7PM Kevin Ray

My sister, Ducky, and I walked from 3rd Street to 15th Street on Sunday shopping for a birthday present for our stepmother. On the way, we stopped into all our favorite  stores to see what they had in stock for the gift giving season.

One of the things I like best about shopping in the neighborhood is the chance to converse with the shopkeepers.

Today I learned that the owner of Otto is now featuring her own label of clothing and bags. Sweet Charity gives a small portion of their profits to animal rescue organizations in upstate New York and Utah, and Root Stock has logs that smell like coffee.

The complete Broklyn Gift Shopping list is on Scoop du Jour (below).

GIFTS ON Seventh Avenue

3rd to 4th Streets

Living on Seventh: Soft fleecy bathrobes in nice colors
City Casuals: Paisley shawls

4th to 5th Streets

Lumiere: plexi hands (good for holding jewelry), plexi nudes for earrings.

7th to 8th Streets

Root Stock: Java Coffee fire log (yup), Buddha statue, ceramic apples, Veitver sachets.

8th to 9th Streets

Brooklyn Industries: Soft laptop sleeve in fun patterns
Park Slope Stationers: Claire Fontaine notebooks.

9th to 10th

Otto: "3 dots" polka dot cashmere sweaters (pricey), bathing cap bags, Nethermeade Perfume from Brooklyn Apothocary, sexy underwear

11th to 12th

Nest: Paper curtains

13th to 14th

Sweet Charity: plastic bowls in hot colors, Nigella Lawson measuring cups
Shop next door: Striped Bakelite braclets in window

14th to 15th

Toy Space: anatomically correct soft baby dolls
Baby Bird: Snoopy t-shirts for babies
Bird: Shell & fabric scarves/belts

15th to 16th

Rare Device: Hand printed notecards, fleece cell phone holders, tiny birthday books.

 

Lucky for us, we in Park Slope don’t have to go to malls to purchase Christmas/Hanukah gifts for friends and family.

Instead of the stifling, claustrophobic atmosphere of a mall with its national brand uniformity and commercialism, we can WALK from one end of the Slope to another and support our favorite local merchants.

On my ramblings from 3rd Street to Lincoln Place on Seventh Avenue. I selected one item per store that tickled my fancy. Coming soon: Fifth Avenue, South Slope, and more.

Please send any great gifts you’ve seen in our local shops to louisecrawford@gmail.com

GIFTS ON 7th Avenue:

3rd to 2nd Streets

–Seventh Avenue Books: "Elements of Style" by E.B. White illustrated by Maira Kalmam
–Park Slope Books:A rare photography book
—Good Footing: Ice skates with velcro closures
—Tarzian West: Creuset ceramic jar for utensils

1st to Garfield

—Artesana: Mexican Ornaments, black ceramic candleabras
—The Clay Pot: Hilary Druxman necklaces or earrings
—Treasure Chest: Pylones mod dog leash
—Lolli: Colorful terri cloth bibs
—Mr. Choi: Socks, yoga pants

Garfield to Carroll

—Jack Rabbit: Brooklyn Half-Marathon Training Program
—D’Vine Taste: Dried Fruits, Halvah
—Community Bookstore: "The Complete New Yorker,"  "A Field Guide to Getting Lost" by Rebecca Solnit, "Veronica" by Mary Gaitskill, "Brooklyn Follies" by Paul Auster
—Little Things: Candy Dominoes Game

Carroll to President

—Loom: Beaded elastic belts, Cavallini & Co. desk calendar illustrated with vintage postcards.
—Sound Track: Anthony and the Johnsons, Walk the Line Soundtrack, Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltraine,

Union to Berkeley

—Peekaboo Kids: Ultra soft hat and scarf sets in cool colors
—Kiwi: Cashmere gloves
—Zuzu’s Petals: Motion Sensitive chirping bird

Berkeley to Lincoln

—Slope Sports: Pearl iZumi hats for winter running in cool patterns
—Orange Blossom Kids: Mini ugly doll
—Stitch Therapy: Yarn kits for kids