Cold, Cold, Go Away

It has been over two weeks since I last wrote, and that's at least a week too long.  I have wanted to, though, numerous times, and I have a slew of barely-begun-but-ready-to-edit blog posts to prove it.  Lots of interesting things have happened, things that I want to discuss and share, but gosh darnit I'm just too tired.

Right after Halloween (specifically, after singing a rousing and vocally challenging Halloween song with six consecutive classes in one day), I began feeling that I was either losing my voice or getting a cold.  It turned out to be a cold. I thought it was on its way out until it came around to throw a few more punches, not unlike the character in a movie who walks away from the fight only to whip around and deck the other guy in a surprise attack.  It hasn't been all bad, though.  There have been a few positive outcomes of this unshakable indisposition:

1. My Contigo travel mug is the new love of my life, and one of very few products I will recommend with the zeal of a street preacher.  Thanks to this, my tea stays warm through a train ride, a walk to school, and about five periods of teaching.  If the tea lasts that long, that is.

2. I am incredibly thankful to my mom's friend who gave me the tea kettle for my wedding shower.  It's easily the single most-used utensil in the kitchen right now.

3. I have been so tired that I've gone to bed at or before 9:00 pm at least four times in the last week, and it's glorious.

4. Thanks to this cold, I have perfected my impression of a 67-year-old man with smoker's lung. It's spot on.  In fact, I think when I'm home for Thanksgiving I should stage a competition with our aging neighbor who thus far has gone unchallenged in the Hocking-Loogies-From-The-Balcony-While-Shirtless event.

It's really the fatigue that gets me, though.  I can live with the phlegm and the sore throat, so long as I have my Contigo to keep me company.  I can live with the sniffling nose and even the occasional mild headache.  But when I have so many things to do, - planning a wedding which is just over a month away, planning a school's winter show which is less than a month away, plus everything else that's part of my daily or weekly routines - feeling unable to do any ounce of work past 6:30 pm doesn't help my stress level.  Thankfully, most of the wedding planning is taken care of at this point.

The other byproduct of this fatigue is not being able to write.  For some reason, I can't sit down and write a creative, coherent, or remotely interesting blog post when I can feel the need for sleep creeping in behind my eyes.  It becomes impossible to concentrate or write freely, even when I have accomplished all my other tasks for the day and have a few hours free.

I hope that when things die down a little and when this cold finally frees me of its burden, I'll be able to write a little more.  Until then, tea and sleep will be my extracurriculars of choice.

The Triangle Place

There's a grocery store three blocks away from our apartment that Tomm and I refer to as "The Triangle Place."  It has a name - something about sanguine trees and a farm - but it sounds silly and doesn't make sense so we call it The Triangle Place.  It is situated on its own tiny, triangular island near a six-way intersection, and its entrance is obscured by the stairs leading to the train platform above.  Its lights are always on, illuminating the produce that lines two sides of the building.  Day and night, heaps of potatoes, mounds of onions, various types of peppers and tomatoes, and numerous other mislabeled vegetables glow in florescent pools of light.  There is fruit, too, usually well-priced if not the most fresh, but certainly a better deal than the next closest grocery store whose produce prices are three times as much.  If I'm going to end up throwing it out anyway, better to throw out the less expensive option.

Inside the isles are cramped, and the old linoleum floor bends unevenly and curls at the edges.  Despite its small size, I often forget where everything is because unlike the large, well-lit grocery stores of the Midwest, this store feels more like the basement office in a house.  You know, the one for which the bright eyed new owners had high hopes and envisioned as the perfect work space, but which instead turned into a storage space for holiday decorations, outgrown clothes, and unappreciated birthday gifts.  Still, the shelves are well-stocked, the products make the best use of the space allotted, and its not uncommon to leave with unexpected goodies instead of the few groceries you went looking for but never found.

The establishment is like the United Nations of grocery stores.  Located on the edge of a Jewish shtetl, it is designed to cater to a Hispanic population, if its tortillas, fajita shells, and the aisle devoted to Goya canned goods are any indication.  Still, nestled between the cans of refried beans and corn, and just below the tortilla wraps, are Jewish foods with Hebrew on the labels, and bottles of Kedem grape juice stand alongside Jarritos.  Meanwhile, behind the counter is usually a young Russian woman in her 20s.  One Friday afternoon when the sun, already hidden behind the apartment buildings, edged toward the horizon, I overheard this cashier wish an undeniably Jewish patron a gut Shabbos.  And tonight, a young Jewish girl payed for her Mexican groceries with a Muslim cashier while Arabic music played from behind the counter.

The Triangle Place is a miniature embodiment of Brooklyn - cramped, dingy, but always available, the things you need usually in stock, and bustling with every nationality represented.  There is nothing glamorous about it, but it has its treasures if you look hard enough.