November 2011 Archives

 By 9:00 I am eating a small breakfast as I have already made plans to go out, followed by tea at the Four Seasons at Park and Madison late afternoon. It is a Saturday, and even though Fashion Week
is still a couple of months away, I have the day off work. My daughter, Millie,
five, is perched on the window seat overlooking the Upper East Side, struggling
with her shoes. I ask if she is ready to go. She shakes her head stubbornly as
always, yet still manages to follow me to the door.

Six levels down from the top floor penthouse, the elevator opens to reveal the bottom lobby. I
greet good morning to familiar friends, while Millie hides behind my waist,
being the shy toddler she is. She does not fancy the company of unfamiliar
strangers, yet is more the type of person that opens up to the people she knows
well. Despite this, she is incredibly sweet and sure of herself. We make our
way over to the front doorway, and I fiddle with Millie's coat buttons on the
way. The winter air is brisk and icy as I step beyond the final sector of the
revolving door. I bundle my leopard-patterned scarf from Saks once more around
my neck and exhale. My breath freezes over, encircling my mouth.

My hair, freshly showered, begins to accumulate ice crystals that gently interlace amongst the
remaining damp layers. But today I do not fret over my hair, nor do I attempt
in the slightest to fix it. It is either the combination of pure laziness or
that it feels as if someone has taken a syringe and injected me with a bunch of
happiness while I was asleep. I feel optimistic, enthused, and to top it off-
have an abundance of holiday spirit!

  We arrive at the Manhattan School of Classical Ballet. It is an old building much the same as its original
architecture from the late 1920s. Its limestone walls are worn down and
weathered, yet still provide a warm and welcoming entrance. Millie still seems
reluctant to enter. I kiss her on the cheek and tell her to do the best she
can. It is an overrated saying, yet still manages to work, even in this
context.

Her thin blonde bun bounces as she scurries in with her winter coat atop her beginner leotard,
which ironically matches the flushed colour of her cold cheeks. There is a
small hole in her tights that runs as she runs. The material mimics her
movement step by step. I watch the last of her disappear behind the door and then
turn down Fifth Avenue toward Central Park.

I approach the main path leading down the park and walk alongside it for a few moments. Two
boys are playing the saxophone, and an artist is sketching the scene nearby. A
canopy of white from the morning's snowfall lays overhead. Everything is
glittering, sparkly and beautiful. Benches remain covered with frost from the
morning, and a man is sitting atop the icy layer. He looks up as I pass. He
mumbles something to me that I cannot quite catch. I pause for a moment,
utterly perplexed, until I realized he wished me a nice day. It is a very small
action, but it makes me smile a little inside.

After a half hour or so, I return to the ballet school, Millie is waiting inside and unhooks her
coat from the hanger when she sees me. I hold a small paper bag filled with
chocolate croissants from the bakery. We walk back home together, discussing
her Christmas recital next weekend, and what she hopes for 'Santa' to bring
her. My husband, now awake, is sitting at the small table by the window. He is
in his 'writers' trance', and is heavily absorbed in his material. He turns to
me, pulls back his auburn hair, and smiles. We talk for a while, and he shows
me what he has written. I tell him it is extraordinary, even though he begs to
differ, and says it needs more work. He has always been overly modest. I tell
him I will be going out again, and ask him to keep an eye on Millie. I leave
the bag of pastries in the kitchen for when he finishes and head out into the
city once again.

Leisurely, I stroll forward with no purpose, perhaps window shop, and take the time to look
at things I often miss within the daily chaos of the city. There is a lineup
outside the toy store, FAO Schwartz that bends around the block. The crowd at
Tiffany's is just as awful. Everyone is in utter and absolute rush at this time
of the season, desperately trying to finish off last minute Christmas shopping.
Nonetheless streets are covered in decorations, wreaths of ornaments, branches
of holly, and suspended crystal snowflakes. It smells of cinnamon and pretzels,
from a nearby street vender. The sound of merry lighthearted carols plays in
the distance. It is the epitome of perfect.

By the time I return home, it is past noon.  My
husband shares that he just received an e-mail from David Heyman, a British
film producer saying he aspires to create an adaptation of one of his books. I
run to hug him in excitement! We decide to celebrate by going skating at
Rockefeller, since the weather is agreeably a pleasant winter's day. As the
three of us sit on the edge of the rink to knot our skates, the sky begins to
flurry and gust with snow. For the next while, we skate, or at least try.

By late afternoon, my toes have grown raw and numb, and I regret not wearing thicker socks. We
dress up in nice clothes, and stop for tea at the Four Seasons. Millie is
wearing a velvet dress that puffs with grey tulle and sequins at the waist.
Joining us are a few family and friends that happened to be in town for the
day. We sit and talk, laughing, reminiscing to great extent our childhood past.
We watch the children's eyes light up as a waiter brings a two-tiered tray of
mini sized delights. Amongst the platter are peppermint mice, gingerbread
scones, angel meringues, and orange tarts with dollops of English crème, just
to name a few. I lean forward to grab the kettle and watch the tealeaves
collect in a strainer as I pour the liquid. It is made of pale china, and has
intricate carvings of primrose flowers around the top. Taking a sip, I feel the
warmth of the tea as it glides down my throat, almost disappearing every inch of the
frigid weather. 

After tea, we see a show. It turns out to be one of those incredibly cheesy Christmas musicals
that doesn't intend to be humorous, yet somehow is. On top of that, the vocals
are excruciatingly off key, and the costumes are over-the-top dramatic. Millie
starts crying, and I couldn't blame her. We leave the theatre early and walk
back instead of catching a taxi.

On route, we visit the grand tree at Rockefeller Plaza, where we skated earlier today, and admire
the lights. The isolated evergreen must be at least 75 ft, standing tall with a
scintillating gold star balanced atop the highest branch's peak.  I withdraw my vintage 18mm canon, and
take a few pictures of the scene, hoping some light leaks will be noticeable in
the later exposure. The city is awake and vibrant. I hear a faint
clickity-click sound that increasingly grows stronger. A horse drawn carriage
passes to our right. Millie gasps in awe at the two chestnut mares, with
jingling silver bells fastened onto their halters. I politely flag him down and
ask him to stop. Together, the three of us climb in and settle on the well-worn
red velvet pew.

It is late when we return. After I tuck Millie in, and say goodnight to my husband I make my way
to the great room. Guitars are lined up against the sidewall, and a fireplace
that is no longer burning is located opposite. A painting of Paris hangs above
the mantle, as well as various posed, awkward family photos. I sit by the piano
and slide my hands along the keys. Ever so slowly, I begin the soft beginning
of C. Debussy's Clair de Lune. My hands move with the melody, gently striking
each and every key. I sit there for an hour or so, just playing. I improvise,
play old repertoires, and try new songs solely by ear.

My husband is already asleep by the time I crawl into my bed. He awakes enough to
whisper,  "good night love" - but
with his accent it comes across comically as,  "guh nye luh." I kiss his forehead and smile back at him but
his eyelids are already closed. Similarly, I am utterly exhausted, yet would
opt to describe myself with one sole adjective: happy.  It is
not a flowery word or one with such flow, but it describes me now, and
hopefully forever. I fall asleep, in the city that never sleeps, letting my
dreams take me wherever they go. Wherever they take me, I know I am already
there.

Tessa Plakidas

Mr. David Newman

ENG2D (10B)

September 17, 2011

An Ikarian Lifestyle

I wake up and I have a tingling, wet sensation on my left hand. I open my eyes and I look towards my hand, wondering what could be causing this feeling. As I look over Liza (my dog), is staring into my eyes smiling at me like she always has. I pet her small white head and get out of bed. As I am making my way to the shower I can hear Liza's footsteps behind me. I take a quick, hot, relaxing shower and then dry myself. I put on a pair of dark jeans and a grey shirt with a pair of sneakers. I do my makeup casually, same as always, I put on black eyeliner and mascara. I make my way downstairs, and as I enter the kitchen I see Liza by the door reminding me to feed her. I open the kitchen door. Liza runs outside and chases the cats away so that the whole garden is hers. I walk outside with the dog food and feed her. I walk back inside and boil some water for my mint tea. I go back upstairs to grab my jacket and my bag. I pour my hot tea into a mug, call Liza inside and leave the house.

 As I am walking to work I can only see familiar faces. Not many people were able to leave the island, and I finally start to understand how privileged I was to leave and have the option to come back instead of being stuck here. I reach the bakery and get a cheese pie. It tastes just like back in elementary school and I can feel all the childhood memories coming back with every bite.

I finally make it to the office. I open my purse, pull out the keys, and unlock the door. As I walk inside I turn on the lights, and I can hear the door close behind me. I open the windows to admire the beautiful view. I can see the port, the square, the beautiful blue sea and the big green mountains. No one is here yet so I decide to call up my best friends, Marina and Iliana. These are the ones that overcame the distance and were always there for me even if I was thousand of miles away. They answer and I remind them about our Friday tradition: gathering all the good old friends and eating lunch together, and inform them that we will be meeting at the square at three pm and request that they call the others. The first patient arrives. We talk about their family and how she remembers me from when I was young. I start the examination but due to doctor confidentiality I can't reveal any further information. The rest of the day goes by smoothly. I see another twelve patients and then finally it's three pm and it's time to leave. I quickly grab my purse and my macbook, lock the door behind me and walk to the square. 

As I am walking down to the square the road brings back all these memories. I have lived a special moment in every corner of this street and walking down it is like watching my life in replay. As I approach the square I can see everyone standing around waiting for me. As usual, I am the one that is always late. Slowly everyone turns around and looks at me with relief. No one knows where we would be eating today other than me. I could tell them apart from miles away. I could see Marina and Iliana my best  friends, Panagiotis and Nikolas they're cousins and good friends of mine, Nikita my cousin and very close friend, Apostolis who I didn't see much after I moved to Canada but we remained good friends, Antonis also a good friend that was always there for me. Even if we were in huge fights he always came through and helped me. Those are the ones that always stood up for me, and I have to admit I am still surprised that we are friends after all these years, but I always knew that they were friends for life. Even if I wanted to get rid of them I wouldn't be able to because we have been through too much together. Even if most of them were never able to leave the island they seem happy. But they seem even happier now that they can finally eat. Once I reach them I scream at the top of my lungs "let's go eat" and everyone follows me.

We are eating at Fanouris, the restaurant I worked at when I was fourteen. I have to say I miss those days when my boss would call me to remind me that I'm working that evening, or when I would walk into the restaurant and he would always check what I'm wearing and if I am okay. As I walk into the restaurant the smell of souvlaki brings back all the memories. I say hi just the way I would when I signed in for work every day. The only difference this time is that my ex boss comes and hugs me with a big smile on his face. I grab a note pad and a pen and go back outside to our table. As I reach the table everyone is sitting down and the table is set. When everyone sees me with a pen and the note pad in my hand a wave of laughter hits me. I ask them what they found so amusing and they reply they never thought I would be taking their order again. Not to make this too tiring for the readers they order after giving me a really hard time, which I think they did on purpose. After a long debate we decide what we are going to eat and I take our order inside. I put our drinks, glasses, plates and forks on a tray and take it outside. I leave the rest to my ex boss so I can spend some time with my friends. We talk about our week and our plans. It's almost summer so we discuss our vacation destinations. Pretty much everyone wants to go to Athens for a week or two and spend the rest of the summer here. I just want to stay here and maybe go to an island nearby for a few days. My boss appears with a tray full of food and everyone cheers as he approaches. I help him place the food on the table and everyone starts eating. There is no talking for a while. We are too busy eating the food that we ordered. After a while Antonis finally speaks and asks me why I don't want to go back to Canada this summer. I tell him it's because there is no point in me going there since all my friends are coming here for two weeks. We slowly finish all the food and the time to pay the bill comes. Every Friday we would take turns, and this Friday it was my turn to pay, so I walk inside and tell my boss to do the bill, but he refuses. Of course I insist on paying, but as always he wins, but I only leave after I make him promise that next time he will late me pay. I walk outside and see all my friends walking towards me. I know something is up from the look on their faces. When they approach me they announced their plans for the rest of the evening. The party is continuing at my place and of course, I love the idea! I always get so excited when my friends come over.

We all start walking towards my house and after a five-minute walk we reach my house. We can all hear Liza going crazy, barking and crying. I unlock the door and everyone makes themselves comfortable, like they were at their own house. In a way it is, such a big part of their childhood was spent in this house, this garden. Liza is very excited she likes it even more than me when I have people over. Everyone grew up with Liza and knew her since she was an adorable little puppy. I grab eight glasses and a bottle of wine and we sit in the garden. I love my garden. It's right above the sea and you can see the whole village, overall a beautiful view. We sit outside drinking wine, chatting and laughing until the sun goes down. Once it is dark we go back inside and slowly everyone leaves, one by one. By the time the sky is full of stars I am left alone with Liza, finishing up some files. As I go through the files I can't help but think about my past. How I got here. How my life would have been different. All these unanswered questions. I guess I can only be thankful that everything worked out and not wonder why it did.

            It's already 10:35 pm and I finally decide to go to bed after a long day. I go upstairs with Liza following me as usual, brush my teeth and change into a comfy pair of shorts and a big shirt. I walk towards my room, wait for Liza to jump on my bed and close the door. As I approach my bed Liza is wagging her tail and smiling at me which I find very unusual. But then I remember something. Many believe that dogs have a sixth sense and maybe Liza has a good feeling about something. So I lie down under my light blue sheets facing Liza and fall asleep, knowing that everything is going to be okay.