Half Dot Brooklyn

It finally feels like winter here in New York City.

When it’s so cold outside your ears hurt, it’s time to look for things to do with the family indoors: see Beetlejuice, Batman, and the rest of Tim Burton’s original cast of characters, stop by the Bauhaus labs so the little ones can create their own Bauhaus-inspired masterpieces, and if you happen to be downtown, head over to Moomah for warm meal in an arts-and-crafts haven for kids.

I came across this after seeing her introduce her work, making real-time conversation drawing, as the current artist-in-residence for LIVE at the New York Public Library.

“Marooned in Penn Station, Far From Hometown”
by Flash Rosenberg

Instead of being with my family in Delaware as planned, I was spending a miserable Thanksgiving Day stuck in Penn Station.

Trains weren’t departing but people kept arriving until the place was packed with squalling kids and weary parents… and me, strangely envious: Where’s MY husband? Where’s MY kids?

Going home is unsettling. It’s like a visit to the hole where I was supposed to be. Here among my peers in New York City, we’re so busy pursuing our grand ambitions, I hardly pay attention to any latent rumbles about putting together a household. But my trips back to the suburbs are so overwhelmingly about “Family,” I’m forced to question my single life and wonder, How DOES a family happen? Then suddenly, in the voice of the station’s public address system, I discovered the secret: “Will Doris Johnson please come and meet her husband and children at the Information Booth?” Ahh-haa! So I waited all day in Penn Station listening for: “Will Flash Rosenberg please come and meet her husband and children at the Information Booth?” So I could rush over and introduce myself. I always knew I had a family here somewhere. We just haven’t been paged to meet yet.

Reprinted from The New York Times, Sunday, Nov. 24, 1996

A trip to Kinokuniya, picked up the latest issue of Kids magazine (which I can’t read a word of), and really like Couprio, Luco and Bonton.

Reminded of her illustrations this past weekend during a trip uptown to the Children’s Museum of Manhattan.

Maira Kalman is one of those amazing people whose work never ceases to amaze and inspire. She’s so prolific, and through her artwork you can always hear her voice and opinions. There are more than just pretty pictures here.

Earlier this autumn, a week spent in Kyoto, Japan. Consumed some ridiculously delicious bento boxes, explored the city on foot, bus, and subway.

Wished we had Tomorrowland, Takeo Kikuchi, and Rabokigoshi Works here in New York City. Photographed some really picturesque temples. And had little son draw water from the wishing well that makes babies sleep through the night (it worked apparently). Hope to visit again soon, Kyoto.

We hopped on the train to our friends’ beautiful apartment in Dumbo, Brooklyn, where they cooked up a storm and we feasted on an amazing breakfast of egg’s benedict, oven-baked pancakes, with fruit and veggie salad. Mister baby giggled in delight when we let him try apple chunks dipped in maple syrup and some Almondine brioche with jam. After brunch, a stroll along the waterfront. We checked out the Brooklyn Flea in search of a writing desk, and we stopped into the newly-opened Trunk where I picked up my new favorite accessory for the season, Samoy-Lenko’s hooded cowl in yellow tweed.

I am kicking myself, I truly truly am, at finding out about and then realizing that we will be on the other side of the ocean and miss this entire event. If we were here, I could quite literally put mister baby in the stroller and mosey on over to Books of Wonder to bump shoulders with some amazing illustrators — ahem, like Maira Kalman, whose work I absolutely adore. In case you’re wondering what all this is about, 18 renown childrens’ book illustrators have donated works of art to be auctioned to benefit the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art; they, alongside their peers, will be munching on wine and cheese at the September 10 debut at the Books of Wonder store, with doors open to all.

There is something so insanely picturesque about San Jose.

Some indispensable things that made traveling with mister baby so much more pleasant: the wriggle wrapper for every place that did not have a highchair and for keeping him from jumping onto our neighbor’s lap during the plane ride, the capri that packed up easily and lightly while being so sturdy to transport our little guy in, and the babycook for churning out fresh meals.

We’re making a much longer trans-atlantic trip soon, and these will be amongst the many essentials we’ll be toting along with us.

There has been so much talk about the Highline – good, bad, and mixed reviews about the decade-long project of converting an abandoned strip of raised railroad track into a city park. There’s even a story circulating about how the curse of the Highline is responsible for New York City’s near daily downpours (and yes, it is pouring buckets outside as I type).

Other opinions aside, my response to being on the Highline is that it is absolutely amazing, it really is an incredible architectural feat. You stand amidst this strange mix of concrete and carefully-tended-to overgrowth, and every few yards you see a piece of the original aged railroad track. The suspended perspective you have of Manhattan – you’re far enough above the traffic but you still feel tiny between the towering buildings – is completely surreal. And perhaps because the Highline exudes such an extraordinary atmosphere, it seems to transform everyone into happy, polite and considerate sunbathing promenade-walkers. It’s a very different side to New York City, and we’ll be going back for more.

We tagged along with our architect friends on a trip to the Philip Johnson Glass House in New Canaan, Conneticut. Clearly Mister Johnson did not design his masterpiece home with children in mind, we realized as we pushed the baby stroller along the bumpy winding pathways. But beautiful nonetheless.

Notable things – the contrast between the glass house and the brick house (of course), the disproportionately large landscape on which the tiny houses stand, the cone-shaped swimming pool – how exactly does one “swim” in such a thing, and the super bunker art gallery where a Warhol piece is hidden behind a moving wall. Oh, and the giant copper log en route to the very sun-filled atrium. My summary doesn’t do justice to all the things you’d see there. You’ll have to plan far in advance for a visit to the Glass House though – tickets are sold out almost a year ahead of time. We got ours before mister baby was even born.