Little one and I made 32 valentines for her classmates the other night, and nearly burned down the house. As I was cutting the valentines, and gluing different colored versions together, as per her instructions, the tissue paper suddenly caught fire with a burning candle flame that had flared up. I grabbed the smouldering stack of multicolored construction paper and threw it in the kitchen sink, after stomping on it. We were both frightened by the swiftness of the flames -and the combustibility of the tissue paper. After that, little one decided to blow out another candle, which was burning quietly on a corner table. As we met for our regular weekend lunch date on Saturday, my dear friend, Lady E., wondered if the fire was a warning. Her comment is well-taken. Love and passion, like fire - have a way of burning out of control and then subsiding, sometimes into ashes. The prior evening, during good food and conversation,(part of her weekly Friday evening dinner with friends at home), Big Daughter inadvertently said "I wouldn't want to be without a valentine on Valentine's Day. As her long-time friend Ms. R winced, Big Daughter started laughing, after I observed that I was none for the worse as the day approached. Of course, on Saturday afternoon, Big Daughter presented me with a beautiful, and delicate silver ring inscribed with tiny black diamonds. At Christmas, I had swooned over a stunning ring with black diamonds given to Lady L., a dear friend, and the elegant mother of little one's best friend, by her husband, Sir M. Big Daughter remembered how much I loved that ring. I was thinking about my valentines this past weekend. Big Daughter and Little one of course, but also the myriad friends and varied joys I have in my life. Another dear friend, Lady S., had commiserated with me about the making of valentines. She observed that in the preparations, Valentine's Day is not always so sweet. Lady S. also had the dubious honor of making 32 valentines with her sweet 7-year-old. We compared notes. By the 25th valentine, both of our daughters became tired and asked us to write the word "valentine," for them. Despite their weariness, Lady S. and I were touched by their sense of fairness. When we began to waver, after cutting out so many hearts, they insisted that each kid in their class receive a card. Earlier on Friday, I stopped in at Bond Street Chocolate, 63 E. 4th Street, between Second and Third Avenues, to buy a chocolate Jesus Christ for Big Daughter, along with four chocolate skulls, one chocolate Ganesh for Lady S, and little printed chocolates for little one. At the request of little one, I picked up a mix of four bonbons for Carl. I reminded her that "daddy doesn't always like gifts." Little one confidently said "he will from me," and she was right. A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting Lynda Stern, the very cool proprietress of Bond Street Chocolates, when I stopped in to check out her beautiful store. We ended up talking about kids and motherhood, and I brought home some amazing chocolate toffees. They disappeared that same afternoon. Big Daughter, her boyfriend, Young Sir. C, and little one, pretty much inhaled them. The Friday before Valentine's Day, I was happy to see customers buying large boxes of bonbons and other chocolates. Ms. Stern was cool and collected, despite negotiating a delay for an order of additional gift boxes, and needing to replenish some of her offerings. In this uncertain economic climate, it is comforting to see a new business thriving. It was also sweet to see that Young Sir C., and Big Daughter both purchased gifts for the other at Tiffany's. Despite a minor upset due to miscommunication, they made it to Valentine's Day. Young Sir C. narrowly avoided the doghouse. I threatened Big Daughter with puppy biscuits with Valium in them, after she tossed his Valentine gift at him. I was on my way to collect Minnie, our Himalayan Persian cat, from the very loving, pet groomers at Puppy Love and Kitty Kat, 420 E. 9th between First Avenue and Avenue A. I was afraid they'd report me to the ASPCA, because Minnie was so matted. I'd cut some large sections of matted fur off, leaving her looking slightly grotesque. After we moved to the E. Village, Minnie hid behind a closet for awhile. When she emerged, Gigi, the dog, was a little too loving -and she continued hiding. I also fell off the wagon with her daily grooming. Minnie came home looking like a gorgeous little lion. Later, I went to collect little one from Carl. We decided to have dinner at Sharaku, a good, reliable Japanese restaurant at 14 Stuyvesant Street, actually 9th street, between 2nd and 3rd Avenues. When I arrived, little one handed me a big pink stuffed rabbit and a box of German-made cookies, along with a beautiful bouquet of pink and white roses. She excitedly showed me a purple, stuffed rabbit and cookies for her sister, and loved the chocolates for Carl.

This past Sunday, I stopped in at Lassi, 28 Greenwich Avenue, to try their jasmine-infused hot chocolate. It was mentioned in a listing of hot chocolate offerings in Page Six, New York Post's Sunday magazine, and sounded good to me. I loved it, but could only drink a little -it was so rich. I ended up carrying it, while I walked with Lady E. to a late lunch in Little India on Lexington Avenue, between 28th and
26th streets. Lady E. wanted to try something new, so we ended up at Tiffin Walla on 28th Street, between Park Avenue South and Lexington. They are a sister restaurant to Chennai Garden, a few blocks away on 27th street. Both places have pretty decent weekday lunch buffets for $6. My few sips of Lassi's hot chocolate carried such a pleasurable punch, I was unable to drink the excellent chai tea at Tiffin Walla. I took it home as well. Lady E. and I shared the South Indian Thali, and a chaat, both of which were good. Tiffin Walla is peppy in decor, and while the staff appears grouchy, they are actually quite nice. Hot chocolate makes me think of kindness and warmth, both of which seem to be in short supply these days. As the world as we know it comes to a crashing end, I find myself dodging bullets, as per my dear friend, Lady M.'s recent observation. After several difficult, and ultimately disappointing job interviews, I am realizing that working for myself is the better proposition. Those who are working in organizations seem more scared than those who are independent. Speaking of kindness and warmth, little one was excited on Saturday, when I rented The Sound of Music for her, at our local Blockbuster on Broadway at Ninth street. In our family, The Sound of Music is a big tradition. I remember pilgrimages to the local movie theater, after returning from Africa. During a family trip one summer to Austria, my sisters and I each received the traditional Austrian dresses. I actually wore mine to a family reunion in Minnesota. Big Daughter watched The Sound of Music throughout her childhood as well. As she and little one began watching the film, I reflected on the comfort it always provided me. The opening scene over the Alps brought it all back. I was happy to comply, when little one, and her Big Sister both requested chocolate chip cookies, after I finished making dinner. Even better was hearing that the cookies "tasted like clouds." The East Village kitchen is so tiny, I run out of places to put things. I ended up adding the brown sugar directly to the flour, rather than the egg and butter -and skipped the white sugar. Hence the "cloud" sensation. Early Monday evening, sweetness was in the air at Gottino's, 52 Greenwich Avenue between Perry and Charles streets, where I met up with another friend named Lady E., for some Vin Brule and little tasting plates. We had some catching up to do. We were content to wait for the Vin Brule, while we talked about her recent engagement, and upcoming wedding ceremony. I ordered the La Tur cheese, a soft cheese made with sheep's, cow and goat milk, served like a delectable dessert with berries, some sliced porchetta and an amazing glass of sparkling wine called Bracetto. From the little I read about them, both La Tur and Bracetto hail from the Piedmont region of Italy. It would be great to visit Piedmont and savor more tastes. Lady E. ordered the Kunik and Robiola cheeses, both served with fruit preserves. She liked the Bracetto so much, she also ordered a glass. When the Vin Brule arrived, it was accompanied by two figs dipped in chocolate. As we bit into them, the chocolate and fig merged with a crunchy nut in the middle, which delighted us. Big Daughter could give me chocolate-covered figs for Valentine's Day, and I would be in heaven. I took the remaining porchetta home, since I couldn't finish it. When I opened the bag, I found a beautiful, caramel-colored Bartlett pear, and was thrilled to receive that unexpected gift.

Hot mulled cider and the winter of my discontent

In the nick of time, my dear friend, Lady E., called me on Monday to check in. I was tapped out, after hosting little one's birthday party at the Chinatown Y, on Bowery near Houston on Sunday. Despite positive reviews, I worried that the food, from Pizza n Kebabs, 9th street at First Avenue, was late. Carl wanted the pizzas and salad delivered between 1-1:30 p.m. I suggested 12:30. He prevailed. The snacks were gone by 12:30, and I was mortified. My friend Lady S., and her delightful twins mistakenly went to the Y at Hester street. They arrived cold and hungry, after trudging around Chinatown, searching for the party. She was relieved that food remained. Other party goers were clearly having fun. It was hostess anxiety. As the party ended, Carl quickly visited DeRobertis Bakery, First Avenue between 10th and 11th, for an extra birthday cake, and a box of assorted cookies. It was a nice touch. As she departed, Lady S. accepted my offer of the remaining cookies. Several friends observed that little one gave no indication of the recent big changes with our family. She was happy and engaged throughout the party, and even made me dance the cha-cha-cha with her. Lady E. had stopped by with a present, but we didn't have a chance to talk. Monday afternoon, we ended up at Gottino's, 52 Greenwich Avenue at Perry Street, for a late-day snack. Normally, Gottino's is half-full on a weekday afternoon. Martin Luther King's birthday notwithstanding - almost all the seats at the bar were taken. Through the window, the falling snow was a pretty sight. Recently, the cold weather has left me feeling like a beached whale on an especially frozen shore. New York is in a deep freeze. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it evinces my first introduction to the U.S. Arriving in St. Paul, Minnesota, during the heart of winter was no picnic, for a tropical girl. Looming towers of snow lined the streets, accompanied by below-zero wind chill. Sometimes snow can be like ashes. In the parlance of my profession, I've been feeling dysthymic -always irritable. The wonders, or terrors of therapy. At Gottino, I struggled to maintain some optimism. It was hard going, until we received the perfect treat of mulled wine, or Vin Brule, as per Jody Williams, the proprietress. She had arrived while we were eating. Her unabashed enthusiasm was contagious, as she stood at the bar, and proudly surveyed her full house. Ms. Williams explained that small glasses of mulled wine are customarily imbibed by skiers on the slopes of Northern Italy. Earlier, I caught a whiff of something spiced, and warm. After observing the counterman filling a small glass from a silver tureen behind the bar, I asked him about it. He explained what it was, and offered us two glasses. Lady E. does not like alcohol. I assured her that a tiny glass of mulled wine was simply for comfort, and it was. For a brief moment, life tilted back to the side of warmth and sustenance. Thursday morning, en route to Carl's apartment, I stopped for breakfast at Falai, 265 Lafayette Street, just below Prince. Big Daughter was packing the last of her belongings. Since her return from Belgrade, we have been fighting our way through the pain of moving. Today's fight was particularly messy, after my melancholy meal. In a fit of pique, I threw the remote. A silly gesture, since I rarely watch television. Two summers ago, little one, Carl and I frequently ate breakfast at Falai, before her Sunday morning soccer practice at the Pace High School track. All white with glass chandeliers, there is a regal, Italian air. Falai has been redesigned since my last visit. Sitting at the counter, I noticed the precise order of wineglasses, and pans and microwaves. There's a different brand of tea, of which the English Breakfast flavor was very good. I hadn't counted on the feeling of dislocation evoked by my visit. Luckily, I calibrated the milk and sugar to make several perfect cups of tea. Not an easy balance at all.

The New Order and the Big Chill

As Carl and I have settled into a routine of separate homes and a shared child, we find ourselves spending time together with Little one on Saturday afternoons. After her afternoon ballet class, we generally get a snack and run errands. Now that she mostly gets unlimited attention from one parent, Little one appreciates these positive times with both of us - at least once a week. In recent months, I was mostly angry with Carl. It was not good for her, or Big Daughter to observe this. I'm becoming accustomed to my nights apart from Little One. Big Daughter remains in Belgrade, visiting her father and his family. It helps that Sunny's Flowers is close by, at the corner of 102 Second Avenue, corner of 6th Street. I can always buy myself an exquisite bouquet of flowers, like I did yesterday; little miniature pink roses, a tulip with waffled edges and something perfectly green with white blossoms. One block from Sunny's, is Podunk, my favorite tea room on E. 5th street, between 2nd and Bowery. Elspeth, the delightful proprietress, changed the menu over the Christmas break. I love the danish cookies with dipping sauce, a thin frosting that usually drips onto my clothes. Last Saturday, Carl raved over his spicy Malaysian noodles at Egg Custard King II in Chinatown, on Mott Street just off Canal. The staff is sweet with me. I keep ordering iced milk teas, despite the chilly weather. Once we picked up the Zipcar, and headed out of NYC, we were possibly the only fools driving upstate in a snowstorm. Carl had graciously offered to take me to the Theory outlet at Woodbury Commons in Harriman, NY, to purchase a suit. Interviewing requires suits, and I was lacking one. When we exited off the slippery Palisades Parkway, to the more-icy Route 17, Little one began oohing and ahhing at the blizzard-like snow rushing past the car windows. After stopping for gas, Carl became nervous about the low visibility, as he resumed driving. Seeing that we were behind a snow plow, spreading salt on the road, I observed this as positive. Little one began announcing every snow plow that passed. Privately, I began to feel guilty about the whole trip, and wondered if we were on a foolhardy expedition. Ironically, the roads were plowed and clear at Woodbury Commons. Small snowplows continually kept the sidewalks clear for shoppers. Little one enjoyed running in and out of the dressing room, until the saleslady was satisfied with my choice. I began to weary of the search, but she insisted that we find the right size pants, and a properly-fitted jacket. The savings were worth the harrowing trip. A $600 suit for $168. Big Daughter called from Belgrade, as we were heading back to NYC. She checked the suit out online, and approved. The wonders of the Internet. This Saturday, there are myriad errands for little one's birthday party, which is scheduled for Sunday at the Chinatown Y on Bowery at Houston Street. Due to a forecast of bitter cold, I requested that Carl again rent a Zipcar, since we must travel all over the city. My friend Lady S. suggested that we visit both the State News Store, 112 E. 86th Street, between Lexington and Park, and the Children's General Store, at 168 E. 91st Street, for party favors. They reportedly have many small toys to fit in several party favor bags, without breaking the bank. Heading back to the East Village we will order one chocolate, and one strawberry shortcake at De Robertis Italian Bakery, 176 First Avenue between 10th and 11th streets. When I first moved to NYC in 1982, I would spend a fair amount of time in DeRobertis. I remember buying small cookies with fig filling, when I didn't feel well. Then, I discovered their Hot Cross buns for Easter. A small pillow of sweet dough. We had the same cakes at last year's birthday. Despite himself, Carl began laughing, when I suggested that we head out to Bay Ridge to eat at Al Safa, 8002 Fifth Avenue, a Middle-Eastern restaurant in Bay Ridge, and then go to Nablus, a nearby restaurant for Middle Eastern sweets, 6812 Fifth Avenue, after the errands are done. Carl is the last of a dying breed; a New York bachelor through and through. He is content to regain ownership of his space and prepare for March Madness, which is soon approaching. I think of the image of Buffalo roaming the open plains, before the settlers came.

Porchetta, Apple Cider and the New Year

Every year, New Year's Day slams into me like a brick hitting a wall, and I don't even have a hangover. It's not the quietness of the city that bothers me on New Year's Day. There's a deeper feeling - it's like temporarily crossing a narrow strait without direction. Maybe that's why so many people drink the night away. On New Year's Day, my friend Lady E. agreed to meet for lunch. We decided to eat North Indian food at Dhaba, on Lexington Avenue between 27th and 28th streets. Apparently, Dhaba is part of a group of several Indian restaurants in NYC. The decor had a larger-than-life quality. It was very modern, all bold reds and purples, with elegant booths. We declined to sit in the window, and regretted our decision for the meal's duration. Every time the door opened, whoosh, a blast of cold air blew in. The chai tea was served in glasses. We were tickled to get sugar, but no spoon for stirring. We used our knives to mix in the sugar. Dhaba offers several kinds of Indian street snacks called chaat. We selected one called Purani Delhi Ki Papri chaat. It came with semolina, flour chips, chutneys and was sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. We also ordered Aloo Gobi Samosa. Samosas are a triangle of dough filled with mashed potato and spices. When I was a child, my mother would make samosas for us to eat during long road trips in Nigeria. Lastly, we shared a mild curry with chicken, green peppers and onions, with an order of Poori, a big puffed, whole wheat bread. Midway through lunch, I had a mini anxiety attack, but kept it to myself. Afterwards, when Lady E. invited me to join her and friends to see the movie, The Day The Earth Stood Still, I declined. It felt little too close to my truth, but I didn't say that. Little one was with Carl, visiting a friend in New Jersey. Big Daughter was in Belgrade. During the holidays, New York City can feel unkind when family is not nearby. It is a humbling feeling. By contrast, New Year's Eve was low-key. It was nice to stay home and read. After finishing some errands on New Year's Eve, little one and I stopped for roasted pork sandwiches at Porchetta. Located at 110 E. 7th street, between First Avenue and Avenue A, it's a few blocks from the E. Village apartment. In late October, I tried to visit with Carl, but was put off by the crowd. True to form, the small storefront (recently voted No. 1 in New York Magazine's Where to Eat 2009 issue), was bustling. People spilled out of the space, into the doorway and onto the street. To escape the crush, we stood outside, amidst miniature, swirling snowflakes, while we waited for our sandwich. Through the window, a man eating inside at the counter, smiled periodically at us. After awhile, little one was cold. We went back in, and found seats at the counter. I was amused to see that 7th street is developing into it's own little foodie destination. After ordering, several patrons, headed over to Butter Lane, a new bakery specializing in cupcakes with really creamy frosting. The frosting is like a cloud of sweet cream. As they left Porchetta, several of them said "cupcakes", with a question mark. I pointed them across the street, almost to Avenue A. I had stopped in at Butter Lane and purchased one cupcake to go, the Thursday that Big Daughter ended up in the E.R. at St. Vincent's Hospital. After we returned home from the hospital that morning at 1:30 a.m., she was thrilled to eat the cupcake, and pronounced it "amazing." Once our sandwich was ready, little one said she liked the ciabatta roll. I liked the pork. We were content. I didn't mind spending $9 for a sandwich on New Year's Eve. Little one expressed a wish to watch the ball drop at midnight. When I returned home at 8, after seeing two clients, she was fast asleep. Carl had come over to watch her. At our request, he kindly brought Carr's crackers - (my favorite), cheese straws for little one, along with cheddar cheese, salami and one 8 oz bottle of sparkling apple cider. He was worried that he bought too little cheese. Bazzini's, in Tribeca -where he bought the food - drives him crazy. He remembers when they were wholesale, Tribeca was like a desert. I was upset that little one and I would not be able to toast the New Year with that single bottle of apple cider. In the spirit of graciousness, I kept quiet. Sure enough, the cider was finished when I returned. Carl had a New Year's Eve party to attend. He agreed to return in the morning and help me recycle the Christmas tree in Tompkins Square Park, before collecting little one. While she slept, I read Under the Tuscan Sun, by Francis Mayes. My mother had mailed the book to me in late October. It was surprisingly comforting to lie on the couch, and read Ms. Mayes' account of a house restoration, interspersed with recipes and musings on eating porchetta. I'd been planning to make a ragu when Big Daughter gets home, and here was not the recipe.

The Ties that bind

Friday evening, Big Daughter flew off to Belgrade for a three week visit with her father. Given our recent changes, little one and Carl both took it hard. We have established a smooth routine between our two homes. It's possible that Big Daughter's trip kicked up the realization of the change. She had a hard time at JFK on Friday night. Luckily, she was accompanied by her dog, Gigi. Little one asked why we didn't go to Belgrade as well. Big Daughter's absence hit me on Sunday. It was a wrenching feeling. I kept thinking I would lose my keys and be locked out of the apartment. After awhile, it occurred to me that if this happened, I could call the locksmith. He had recently changed the lock at the E. Village apartment, when we first moved in, (all the while talking about his bird, a cockatoo which is driving him crazy.) Between the holidays, the city feels empty. This morning, when I stopped at Jacques Torres Chocolate at 350 Hudson, on King Street, for a wicked, a spicy hot chocolate, the space felt cavernous and empty. After a while, customers began trickling in. I am slightly bereft, but know that such is the consequence of ties that bind. My friend, Lady E. was reassuring and observed that these are "old" feelings, i.e. evoking the numerous trips that Big Daughter took, when it was just she and I. Saturday, I invited Lady E. to a belated birthday lunch at Saravannas -I should add the Bhavan to its title - at 26th street and Lexington Avenue. It was a nice treat, following several make-up sessions with clients. After missing Lady E.'s surprise birthday, when Big Daughter was in the E.R., Saravanna's fit the bill. Lady E. loved their chai, and the South Indian thali, an assortment of several, spicy, vegetarian offerings arranged circularly on a metal tray. They are centered around a dish of rice, and some papadum. Of course, we also ordered the Mini Tiffin, with a Masala Dosa and some dips. I liked the feeling of home. Despite a huge number of people waiting, we were welcomed, and seated quickly. It's nice to be a regular. Lady E. was interested to hear that the atmosphere -lively Indian families -reminded me of my childhood in Africa. She remembered going to elementary school in Hong Kong with mostly Indian children. I nibbled on all the desserts, and felt content. During this time of transition, comfort is found in old habits. Yesterday, I found solace in visiting the Duane Reade at 2nd Street and Avenue B to buy Hello Kitty band aids, for little one's next mishap. Every customer looked like a member of that band, The Killers. I'm certain it is the hippest Duane Reade in the entire country, including L.A. Courtesy of Santa, little one received a miniature baking set, replete with miniature cookie cutters, shaped like hearts, crescents, four leaf clovers and circles, a baking sheet and a little rolling pin. She was curious about my method of communicating with Santa, and only partially convinced that I did so via email. We made the peanut butter cookie dough on Friday- since those ingredients were at hand -and then chilled the dough. Yesterday, was the appointed day to roll out the dough, cut the shapes and bake the cookies. They actually turned out well. I used some maple-flavored peanut butter from the The Peanut Butter and Company. They are at 240 Sullivan Street, between Bleecker and West Third, in the West Village. I like to eat their peanut butter plain, sometimes before bed, if I skipped dinner. I had bought a five pack of flavored peanut butters at the recent NYC Chocolate Show. Using the Mighty Maple allowed us to skip the sugar, and the little miniature cookies were not overly sweet. Before baking, we took a little trip to Pearl River Trading, my favorite new emporium at 477 Broadway, below Broome, to get a step-stool. Without it, little one couldn't reach the counter in our minuscule East Village kitchen. As we walked through Chinatown, we made sure to get an iced tea at Egg Custard King II, Mott Street between Canal and Bayard, right below Canal. We find the M9 bus to Chatham Square is our easiest option of travel, if little one resists walking. I was able to restrain her from clamoring for additional purchases, despite her admiration of elaborate fountains and intricate stone Buddhas, as we perused the wares on the second floor at Pearl River Trading. She liked seeing the selection of jewelry boxes, from which I chose Big Daughter's Christmas present. We also stopped at the tea room on the 2nd floor balcony, and smelled the different types of tea, but did not partake. On our return trip, we stopped at Saxelby Cheese at the Essex Market, Delancey and Essex, to pick up some sharp cheddar and maple smoked Gouda. Carrying the stool, the Sunday NY Times, the cheese, and some fruit from Chinatown was slightly challenging, but we were still able to stop for a phone card, so we could call Big Daughter, later in the day.

Sugar lollipops, hot chocolate and cold fingers

At times, Christmas feels like a mirage this holiday season. Since yesterday, I've dodged several unsettling moments. Yesterday morning, an introductory meeting suddenly became aggressive, and slightly hostile. Afterwards, as I bought a hot chocolate at La Colombe d'Or, 319 Church at Lispenard street in Tribeca, an irritable woman, wearing strikingly beautiful rings, glowered at me. As I fumbled for my change, I apologized to the counterman for my cold fingers. The glowering woman loudly stated, "it's not cold out," and I smiled at her. As I walked home from my office tonight, for a brief heart-stopping minute, a young man refused to let me walk by him. In a playful, yet menacing manner, he said "I'm just playing wid you." In each case, I opted for grace, and continued on unscathed. We find the Christmas spirit in the most unlikely places. Last evening, Big Daughter and I visited St. Vincent Hospital's emergency room. She had complained of excruciating pain for a day and a half,  and I insisted it get checked out. We arrived at 5 p.m., and she was discharged at midnight, diagnosed with a kidney infection.  Our time in the E.R. was not bruising nor frightening. It served instead, as an affirmation of human kindness. When Big Daughter was finally admitted to the E.R., it was so crowded, her bed was the third, in a lane that staff would normally walk. As she cried from the pain, I cradled her. Waiting for the doctor, we gazed at the sea of hospital beds surrounding us, each with its unique story. The E.R. staff were efficient, yet overwhelmingly kind and gentle. Despite the pervasive aura of pain and discomfort, there was a sense of community. Everyone was unfailingly polite and considerate. To our right, was a long row of several men of varying ages. One of them was sporting a large black eye. I heard him say ruefully on his cellphone, "I started the fight." The doctor finished her initial exam of Big Daughter, and went off to order tests. Mr. Black Eye called out to me, "Excuse me, do you work in fashion?" Big Daughter momentarily forgot her pain, and said "she looks like Nina Garcia, right? That's what people always say." A few minutes later, the man to his left - who looked like a old revolutionary - said "this reminds me of communist Russia." He caught my eye, and we began laughing together. Later a young resident walking by smiled, and said, "it looks like you all are having a party back there." We were talking to our newest neighbors, a screenwriter and his sweet, loving wife, who had just flown in from L.A. He was unable to eat without pain, and due to travel to Aruba this morning. In that moment, our stories were all the same - we were seeking comfort for those we loved. Young Sir C., Big Daughter's boyfriend, arrived around 8:30 p.m. When they whisked her off for a CAT scan, we joked at our sudden sense of dislocation, and awaited her return. The angry, psychotic man behind us began mumbling "white trash," and the nurse told him to hush. She and I looked at each other and smiled, as we shook our heads. Young Sir C went out to buy snacks. He returned with baby bell cheese, mozzarella sticks and oranges, and a Pepsi. We ended up eating dinner at Veselka's, Second Avenue and 9th street in the East Village, at 1 a.m.. They ordered pierogis, and I had a glass each of seltzer, and homemade apple cider. I ordered Kutya, a Ukranian dish with wheat berries, raisins, honey and poppy seed. It was not too sweet, but very rich in flavor. I couldn't finish it. Next week, our family will eat together, for the first time since our break-up. In the spirit of harmony and friendship, we will join Young Sir C, Carl, and our dear friends, Lady S, and Sir H, and their twins, at Sal Anthony's Lanzas, First Avenue and 10th street in the East Village. Our annual Christmas Eve dinner.  It has been fun to buy the presents that are handed out at dinner. On a recent Monday, little one's school celebrated a religious holiday. We used the opportunity to visit Kiosk, a whimsical store in Soho, 95 Spring Street, between Broadway and Mercer. It's been on my radar screen for awhile. The wind was unstintingly fierce on Lafayette Street, and I suggested we get Chai at Hampton Chutney, on Prince and Lafayette. Little one rebuffed me, and requested a visit to Think Coffee, 248 Mercer street, on the campus of New York University. She likes their Chai Latte, because the barista piles it high with whipped cream, especially for her. For that reason, little one told me, "I love him." She also ordered a surprisingly tasty sandwich of green apple slices and brie, on a baguette. We were adrift in an ocean of college students. I thought of Big Daughter at class at New School. Astoundingly, little one finished the entire sandwich. I complimented her on her good choice. At Kiosk, we were delighted to find balsa gliders, popsicle stick building kits, old-fashioned sugar lollipops and brightly-colored plastic birds from Mexico which tweet, when filled with water. She spied a vintage copy of Twas the Night Before Christmas, and sang the verses, as I paid for the gifts. When we got home, as instructed, little one placed the lollipops in the fridge until Christmas Eve, so they would not melt beforehand.