Dreaming big in the big city

Esquire magazine recently held a call for submissions for original works of short short fiction. The criteria? Stories had to have a count of exactly 78 words in honour of Esquire's 78th birthday. Ten winners would be chosen to win a trip to New York City to attend a fiction workshop, and then one of those writers would receive a writing scholarship for next summer. I decided that this contest contained too many good good things for me to pass up, so I accepted the challenge. It was intriguing and fun working on stories that short that would make sense being that short and I came up with a few possibilities before settling on a favourite.

Well I just found out that my submission was not one of the ten finalists in the contest so I thought it should at least get published here:

New York TenaCity

Otis stepped trepidatiously out onto Madison Avenue, He scanned the crowd, removed his tattered fedora, and tipped it onto the sidewalk. A leather strap secured his saxophone against his body as he wrapped his fingers around its neck, raised the mouthpiece towards his lip, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he was jostled by a dapper executive. Determined, he regrouped and proficiently weaved Ellington, releasing a smile when he heard the clinking of coins collecting in his hat.

...thanks for reading!



From South Tower to South Pool

World Trade Center Memorial, NYC

My first thought as I absorbed the tidy, minimalist setting of the reborn World Trade Center site was how glad New Yorkers must be to have had this tribute built for them. But as I looked around, I realised that it wasn't just built for New Yorkers, it was built BY New Yorkers. Everyone who shares these zip codes has shared in the loss and rehabilitation whether they lost loved ones in the attacks or not. Having only visited the city a few times and never having had the bittersweet pleasure of seeing the twin towers standing proudly over this tightly woven metropolitan forest, I can't even imagine the journey that these residents have taken to achieve this level of calm. It was eerily quiet but sublimely serene as I walked around... as if visitors were saddened to see what their towering glories have been reduced to, but realising some level of closure and content that they can now visit the site and see peace.

My young nephew who was travelling with me asked me if I thought that something like 9/11 would happen again. I was surprised at how quickly I came up with my response: I told him that the people who did this have already done their damage and probably don't feel the need to do anything else. I wasn't just providing a reassuring answer to an eleven year old.. that's actually my own opinion about it. Reassuring myself as well perhaps? And although the security process to attain entry to the memorial was elaborate and there were police officers and security guards everywhere - patrolling or remembering or both -  there was nothing foreboding about standing there. In fact, I felt fortunate to have secured the opportunity to stand there. It made me further realise that the damage was not only done to New York, but to everyone who believes in goodness... in humanity... in life...

I observed those who had suffered personal loss as they garnered what they needed from their visit: some were photographing the blue directional and identification signs, some were sitting quietly absorbing their experience, others had secured tiny flowers or rosary beads into a recessed letter that was important to them. A young lady next to me was working on making imprints into sheets of paper by colouring over the letters in the name of a loved one. These names were not simply engraved into the metal skirt that bordered each memorial pool - one pool for each tower's footprint - every letter was cut all the way through the sheet, creating a substantial reminder of those who lost their lives in those events ten years ago. I also thought it poignant that the names were not organised alphabetically, but grouped with family, colleagues, precincts, brigades, and other socially relevant assemblies. Close in life, close in memory.

Mather Arch - Fort Erie, ON

On a bright Sunday afternoon in November, I stood in an audience not to applaud a marvellous musical or theatrical performance, but rather to participate in a mass acknowledgement of feats much more revered. I must admit that I hadn't taken part in a Remembrance Day ceremony in several years, but I was just glad to be doing it in 2011, and even more proud that I brought my two young boys along with me. They stood beside me, at times with arms wrapped calmly around my legs, for a long enough period that I supposed they must have absorbed at least some of the emotion and solemn gratitude that was shared by the attending community.

As a mother who frequently runs around, both with and after, these two terrific, busy boys, I held a great appreciation for the young man in my photo who displayed great discipline and patience and maturity in his service that day. Of course this was my perception. As I'm writing this, I am thinking that perhaps he wouldn't consider it that way at all. Perhaps he would tell me that it didn't take a shred of effort on his part and that he is extremely proud to have been given the opportunity to stand there at all.

Either way, he played a poignant part in the ceremony and unwittingly provided me with one of my favourite images from the afternoon that I spent appreciating my freedom.... I mean, even the simple act of being able to drive to Fort Erie and walk across the grass and stand there in witness of this celebration of honour and remembrance is an example of why we need to attend such events, and being there made me feel incredibly proud to be Canadian.

A Vine Weevil checking out Signal Hill

St. John's, Newfoundland

When I contemplate summer's flame flickering its final breaths of vitality, I realise there are two aspects of this occurence that saddens me. And only two: the hibernation of my pedicure and the demise of the bug community.

I don't think I have to elaborate on the first item in any great detail..donning airy footwear that doesn't pinch at the backs of my heels or smother my painted toes continues to be one of summer's great carefree benefits. And I do miss it when I have to envelop my tootsies in cotton and thrust them into rigid walls of leather until springtime.

The second aspect of summer's end affects me pretty significantly, albeit somewhat indirectly. I personally do not have an affinity for six legged creatures.. I can coexist with them but I don't necessarily need to know they exist. I don't want them to feast on my appendages nor do I desire to share my home with them. I appreciate their quiet tendancies as well as the fact that they are two legs short of an arachnid.. but their absence has never caused a void in my life.

Then I had kids. My fourth grader is and always has been one with the bugs: Bug Lover, Bug Hunter, Bug Protector... his title evolves as he grows. And being incessantly curious and enthralled about the little beings, the onslaught of winter induces aggravating, endless, persistant boredom! Without day to day participation in the activities of nature's smallest tennants, he has minimal desire to venture outdoors at all. "But Mom.. there's no nature in winter!!!" he stresses.

Which induces aggravation for me, being vehemently enthralled about winter and all!!!

I admit I feel excited when I spot something that one just doesn't see every day.. even if it is vicariously. My son is proud to remind me that this phenomenon now even extends to spiders! (I'm proud of that as well but I still don't intend to allow one to graze my skin or clothing!) I will call him over upon discovering something crawling along a wall or fence. I'm excited about his passion, even when we are knee-deep in intermission. 

I consulted with him to obtain the name of the little guy, above, puttering along the rock wall that surrounds the Cabot Tower in Newfoundland! My son loves it when he gets to teach me things, and I think he's pleased to have been instrumental in today's posting because without identification, it would still be tucked away in my Drafts.

When on vacation...

One should always block off time in an itinerary to explore the view from the water in your host city (if such an option exists, of course!) Whether it's an intentional touring event that provides a knowledgable, narrated, and sometimes spirited explanation of the various highlights and notorious stories that flavour the city, or simply an alternate, fluid mode of transportation, it is worth the effort! Even if you aren't on the water, sometimes all you need to do is drive around the harbour and voila.. a skyline!

Similar to contemplating an oil painting, standing back and drinking in the view from afar allows you to appreciate the amalgamation of what makes it great! The towering (or sometimes colourfully modest) assembly of buildings that makes up a skyline is sometimes one of the most recognisable and revered images that can be captured of a city (I believe that it ranks right up there with the view from the highest observatory.. ooh I smell another post idea!!). Drifting along its perimeter, through its veins, or right under its arched connectors, one is granted insight into a different aspect of a city's personality, one that compliments what you see as you stand right on the doorsteps at street level and slide your gaze upwards.

I was thinking about this recently, and I realised that I have done the water view in some of the largest cities in North America. And I will do it again.. each and every time such an option exists.

Architectural Tour

Chicago

Duck Tour

Boston

Staten Island Ferry

Manhattan

Rented Powerboat

Toronto

Southside Road

St. John's

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

The pull of the ocean.

Chapel's Cove, Newfoundland

June 2011

Something magical happens at the ocean's fringe. You feel its pull and its monumental strength, even as your feet remain dry. Common knowledge is burnished away.. you struggle to recite everyday facts such as your address or the current day of the week. Such details matter little here. You brain becomes refreshingly aired out, allowing your thoughts to flow freely in and out of your mind as opposed to taking up valuable cerebral real estate. Your breath is drawn in deeper and your eyes are focusing on the horizon or not at all. It's just a blissful state in which to be immersed. The only questions on your mind are 'how far can you throw'.... who can hit that block of driftwood first'.... 'how many waves come in between the really big ones?'.... (by the way, the consensus is seven)

It always intrigues me how content and occupied my boys are while standing upon a Newfoundland beach - far removed from the familiar faces of their peers and the usual double screened electronic stimulants. This is part of the marine magic I mentioned a few lines back. It is relieving not only to see them enjoying themselves in such a natural and unrestricted, undefined environment, but to learn that such a phenomenon is even possible. (Okay I exaggerate a little, but it is still wholly and genuinely refreshing!!)

The beach in this photo is the only sandy beach I think we've visited.. at least in a long time. The ones near my parents' home in Conception Bay are abundantly occupied by orbed geological inhabitants of varying shades of grey and copper = lots of rocks, no visible sand. I think this granular expanse was a bit of a treat for us all because any discoveries of beached beings were readily visible and easily retrievable. A large yellow bucket became a secure tote for green nubby shards of sea urchins, perpetually positioned starfish, and salmon-hued crab legs either orphaned or still attached to a shell body. It was a cornucopia of irresistable maritime trinkets that would eventually make the three hour flight to Niagara, surprisingly intact, and occupy a prominent space on a family bookshelf.. just a few steps away from the equally entertaining electronic stimulants.

ILLUMINAQUA IN BLUE SEPTEMBER 2, 2011

I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on the grass absorbing the energetic and uniquely artistic Ashley MacIsaac experience. I was close enough to see the strings dancing on the end of his bow and to hear the time keeping pulse of his foot.

His delivery was a little restrained compared to what I was expecting, an opinion echoed by the performer's own acknowledgement of the absence of his previous revealing, kilt-flying antics. But he did not disappoint in any sense of the word. Not only did he and his band explode off the floating stage expertly relaying his stylised version of an already mesmerising musical genre, but he began and ended the show with an intimate and breath arresting solo performance. He proved, especially with the final set depicted in my photo, that he is capable of putting a rock spin on a folk circle.. and also of making his well worn fiddle sing the way it was meant to sing. He started off melodic and mystical and, with the precise timing consistent in Cape Breton music, he increased the tempo and got everyone else's soles helplessly tapping the concrete amphitheatre steps in unison. No drum required.

I should explain that the misty air you see above isn't the by-product of a well-positioned smoke machine nor is it a blush of fog from MacIsaac's birthplace. It made its way to the stage from the many iron pods of fire-burning wood that dot Welland's recreational canal every few Fridays in the summer. The combination of fire, water, music (and another facet that they don't mention in the event's marketing but should: the desirable smell of burning junks of wood!) culminate in a stellar way to spend a summer evening close to home!!

As I was leaning back on my hands in the grass, taking the occasional picture, I kept thinking that I should make my way up against that frame of stone blocks that lined the edge of the bank. I'm so glad I did it for his last set! Perched against the stones with my camera, I was in awe of the reflection cast by the calm canal water that separated me from the stage.