I snapped these photos yesterday in Washington Square Park , on my way back to work from the dentist’s office.  Located at the foot of Fifth Avenue, WSP has significance to me because I went to New York University, which surrounds it on all sides. Since NYU doesn’t have a formal quad, the park is the next best thing, maybe even better. It’s the gathering place for students, moms, nannies and kids, chess devotees, lovers, and tourists, who come to see the famous Arch, which was erected in 1889 to celebrate the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration.

 

This is the bench ex-husband, Douglas, and I sat on right after we met for the first time, in journalism class at NYU. The year was 1967. Douglas still has the photo of us on the bench, which has been renovated.

Camp kids romping in the park's central fountain

WSP, back in the day

 

 

 

 

 

As I walked by the hordes of people in Times Square tonight, it occurred to me how much I don’t know about the world’s inhabitants. Tourists from every corner of the planet had converged on Broadway and 42 Street to take photos commemorating their visits, stare in awe at the billboards, go to the theatre, chomp on New York’s finest –or foulest–franks, and do whatever it is tourists do when they’re in the greatest city ever.

Who are all these people? What do they think about? How do they live?  What do they do  to help make the world go round?

I am sorry I don’t travel more. I did a lot more of it when I was younger, and loved every minute,  but I have let other things get in the way during the last 10 years. Travel teaches you about the world and its people the way books and movies can’t. Travel is invigorating. Travel gives you new perspectives.

I am going to try to start traveling again. I cannot continue to let the years slip by without making my world larger by seeing the worlds of others.

P.S. I was in Times Square tonight because FOF sister, Shelley, and brother-in-law, Russ, took me to see Tony award-winning play The Normal Heart. If you don’t know, it’s about the beginning of the AIDS epidemic in the early 1980s, when no one in high places wanted to acknowledge this insidious disease because it was primarily infecting gay men. The play is a bit long, but the acting is spectacular, especially by Ellen Barkin and Joe Mantello.

My grandmothers, Rose and Fannie, lived to be 95 and 87,  respectively. I don’t believe they exercised a day in their lives and their diets were horrible. Fats and carbs from dawn to dusk, as in cakes, breads, potatoes, breaded veal chops cooked in rendered chicken fat, and other artery-clogging Jewish cuisine.

Not either of my grandmothers

What’s more, Grandmas R and F didn’t have mammograms, colonoscopies and stress tests; wouldn’t know a beta blocker from a statin and thought a good night’s sleep was anything over five hours. So how is it that I’m exercising obsessively, dieting perpetually, reading food labels compulsively, and taking batteries of medical tests–intent to get through my sixties  intact?

Are good genes worth more than sweating on a treadmill, counting carbs, and having a CT scan of the lungs? If they are, show me the cake.

David and I went to the Gay Pride Parade today, which is always such a happy and colorful event. It was especially joyous because of the new law allowing same-sex marriage in New York! I took some photos to share with you.

New York Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney

Michael Kors' window, facing the parade

Wedding cakes in the Michael Kors window

A pole dancer

Two FOFs celebrating!