Looks Like We Made It? Wait, Did We?

Ok, so...Kathleen and I set forth on our pilgrimage to the mecca that is Nassau County to worship Barry 

Manilow in the little blue Jag with my Garmin GPS 

firmly in place. We were taking no chances...you know, because like I said, though Long Island is about 20 miles from Wyckoff, I am always confounded by its twisted maze of Turnpikes and Parkways, and how all of a sudden you think you are on the Meadowbrook but you are really on the Northern State and then somehow you end up on the Seaford-Oyster Bay Expressway not to mention taking a detour across Glen Cove Road....aaargh!! Seriously, WTF...I have quite a few bones to pick with the urban planner who mapped out this set up, but I'll get to that another time. At any rate, the Garmin of course directed us across the GWB and Throgs Neck and then to the Cross Island...and Kathleen and I were all extra confident because we had traveled these roads before and we were making good time...but then our trusty Garmin sent us past the L.I.E. and the Northern State to some random exit whose number or name meant 

nothing to us...and we ended up on some two laned road with a succession of lights in some place called Floral Park...and as we got our bearings, we realized it was the fabled Jericho Turnpike.

Ok, so....we are depending on Garmin which was actually working on directing us to Franklin Avenue in Garden City so that we could go on a little Valentine's dinner date prior to the show...Mind you, we had no reservation or plan...we were basically going to ask the Garmin to find us a spot once we arrived in the lovely and fabulous GC...and on top of that, we unintentionally wore matching Burberry coats and were carrying our twin pumpkin-colored LG NV phones...just like all the real lipstick lesbians do. So once we crept down Jericho and crossed the GC border, Garmin directed us to Novita, this wine bar with no less than 45 open tables and a big long bar....but it was V-Day, so the pneumatic hostess in her bright red spaghetti strapped swing dress (this is February, right?), looked around at all 45 empty tables, her brow all knit with concentration, and suggested that it might be hard to squeeze us in...I sh*t you not. So we're like, hey, no worries, we actually want to eat at the bar...done and done.

So I won't bore you with the wines and the cheese plates and the prosciutto and the two bartenders (Michele With One L and Jonathan) who became our BFFs. But I will tell you this, as we were winding down our "meal" we began texting our husbands with status updates...and Jonathan goes: "Making plans with your dates?" And I say: "Oh, no...it's just Kathleen and I tonight." And Jonathan goes: "Well, do you have boyfriends?" And we sort of smile and laugh because we are sure he is trying to figure out our deal...two girls out on V-Day with our matching coats and phones...but we nod along anyway and so Jonathan asks: "Well, where are they tonight?" To which I reply: "They're out with their wives." Jonathan and Michele With One L were struck dumb...but Kathleen and I, in absolute hysterics, came clean (moms, wives, in from New Jersey...), paid the check and waved goodbye...and they called out after us: "Happy Valentine's Day, ladies!"

So the dependable little Garmin got us to the Coliseum in no time at all (we have some questions about the zoning laws out there by the way...another time)...and despite some Long Island traffic on Hempstead Turnpike (another Turnpike!!) we parked and entered and took our seats in Section 105, about 7 rows up from the floor. And we took in the scene...all the Long Island Fanilows in rare form...there was Geriatric Barbie, no less than 55 years old with her ultra-dyed, yellowy-blondy tresses, inappropriate skirt length, melon-sized implants and aerobicized a**...and Jabba The Hutt, who in a stroke of luck for me, Kathleen got stuck sitting next to...and there were the romantic couples, one in particular that I was sitting behind with their PDA all over the joint (I think one of them was caressing my leg at one point...or maybe that was Jabba...ick!)...and then there were a smattering of geeks and freaks and a small selection of normal folks throughout. Even so, Kathleen turned to me and said that she felt like she was trapped in a leper colony...you know, she was not that far off base....Yes, we pretty much laughed until we were out of breath the entire night.

So of course Barry eventually appeared (oh G*d...after his opening act, some spiky-haired, velvet-coated jazz musician whom we found annoying)...but Barry was great and charming and gracious and sweet. And all his crazy female fans who apparently are not aware of his preferences were crying and singing along and waving their little blue "Ultimate Manilow" glow sticks. Of course he sang all the oldies (although he cracked out "Weekend In New England" a little early in the show in my opinion...) and told his darling little Jewish boy from Brooklyn stories...and Kathleen and I shed a tear or two and giggled when Barry announced to the crowd: "Hey, all you guys out there, if you don't get lucky tonight after all these romantic songs, then you need to just give up..." Such a card, that Barry.

So after the finale (at the Copa, Copacabana...Rico went a bit too far, Tony sailed across the bar...you all know the showgirl/lost love saga...) there was a mass exodus and upon reaching the lobby, we found ourselves literally stuck, body-to-body with thousands of concertgoers trying to depart through the same bank of 8 doors. And we weren't moving...and we weren't going to. And people started pushing and for a second Kathleen and I were separated...and then we found each other again and linked arms (well, we were dates an all....) and Kathleen turns to me and delivered the line of the night:

"Well, now I know how that poor WalMart guard felt...."

To which I replied: "Well, we are on Long Island...you know, so some of these people were probably responsible for that too...."

And just then the crowd dispersed and we were spewed out into the parking lot, again in absolute hysterics. We laughed the whole way to the car clutching our t-shirts (oh, did I tell you Kathleen bought me a Manilow t-shirt...a boxy black XL that I wore to bed that night...sexy, huh?). We hopped in the car and the trusty Garmin directed us home...in under an hour.

So, you think my Long Island adventure ends right there with Barry, right? Not so fast....I was back on that Island a mere 36 hours later...this time without a GPS...and, my friends, it was kind of a sh*t show....

It was President's Day and knowing that I was starting my new consulting gig the next morning, I was kind of taking it easy...making some plans, gearing up for my weeklong 34th (don't laugh) birthday celebration, which is fast approaching. So around lunchtime Ellie and I hatched a plan to go to the City for an early dinner...it seemed she was jonesing for some alone time with mommy as well as some calamari. Either way, after a succession of phone calls, my dear Dad became involved, plans were changed and when we finally met him in the parking lot of Arcola Country Club, I exited the Jag, leaving behind the GPS and we agreed to take Ellie to see the old family stomping grounds of Astoria, Queens. You know, no child should make it past 9 without seeing the first home her mommy lived in (even if it was for three short months as an infant....). And so off we went...and Dad, a latecomer to Queens as he lived on the Upper East Side until he met my mom, narrated the tour. We were cruising the streets showing Ellie the first apartment he and Mom shared, the churches they went to, the schools Cath and Dan and Trish attended, my Grandma's house, Ditmars Boulevard and Steinway Street, and the apartment dad's parents lived in with the limestone statue of the Virgin Mary on the front lawn...Dad said he wished he had taped his father's, my beloved Gramps', reaction when the Italian landlord placed the staute there...not fit to print, in the grand style of Gramps. We cracked up though at the thought of it...Then Dad took us past their succession of houses, slightly bigger each time as the family grew...And finally we even saw the place in which they held their wedding reception almost 50 years ago....and it stood there, unchanged. Like much of the neighborhood....

So it was about this time that Ellie started begging for us to please take her for lunch...and I said: "Just a few more minutes, baby."...yet I had no clue how huge a lie that was until much later. Because, I guess our quick little nostalgia trip inspired Dad, and he suggested we take a "minor" detour out to the beachy area in which he and his family spent their summers in a teeny tiny little bungalow. And I agreed, because I knew it was important to him...and also, he claimed it was only another 30 minutes passed where we were...in some little place called Harbour Isle...which 60 years ago was dunes and reeds and row boats...but now was a full-on Long Island suburb. And that is when my 2 and a half tour of the South Shore began...because, you know, without the trusty Garmin, Dad was relying on decades old memories to get him to Harbour Isle.

So we drove haphazardly...taking the Grand Central and the Belt and the Van Wyck and the Little Neck and guess what...we even ended up in that same damn spot on Jericho Turnpike in Floral Park that my Garmin directed me only a day and a half prior. Holy Mother of J*sus...twice in one year would have been excessive...but twice in less than two days??? Ellie whined in the back seat: "When can I get some calamari?" I continued lying...soon, I promised. So as Dad drove around looking for Long Beach Road or Boulevard or Turnpike or whatever it was, I wracked my brain, deftly listing and identifying my Nassau posse, debating whether I should jump out at a red light and make an SOS call...who would come rescue me from this trip to nowhere? And how? But instead I pulled out my pumpkin-colored phone and began furiously texting Kathleen and my sister Trish and my husband...and each of them laughed at me (via text)...enjoying my wrongful and false imprisonment. And I was biting the inside of my cheek as we continued to drive...Dad making last minute decisions and zipping in and out of intersections as he recognized a turn. And Ellie was pleading with me silently, rubbing her belly and mouthing the words: "I am so hungry." So my neck started to hurt as I clenched my teeth...again Ellie started to ask my Dad when she could eat...and he just kept telling her to hang in there. Soon Dad pulled over at some cruddy Shell station and after a brief moment, returned with a mini box of cereal for Ellie and we continued on our way. And I thought, when this dude is on a mission, even his beloved granddaughter could not stop him...and you know, I decided we should respect that....because this was important to him and I loved him and I should give him that, right?

It wasn't long after that we were crossing the causeway and moving through Island Park to Harbour Isle. And Dad was so happy that we made it there...and I was happy that he was happy. We ended up snaking around the little tiny neighborhood to the waterfront and there it was, off in the channel, now obscured by bigger houses on the mainland....the little strip of wetlands upon which the family's bungalow once stood. And it was gone now, but Dad's grandfather's bungalow was there...the lone structure still in tact on this little strip of wetlands. We got out and I took some shots...and Dad told us all about the dunes and the reeds and the row boats...and the uncles and cousins and grandparents who all stayed there together back in the '40's and '50's when it wasn't yet a full-blown suburb of the behemoth that is New York City. And it was so great to hear those stories...so worth hitting every single highway in Queens/Nassau and listening to Ellie beg for food. So worth not making that SOS call...

So we headed back and despite the snails pace on Sunrise Highway (yes, another g*ddamn highway...), we kept going until we made it back to Astoria and stopped at Christos Steak House on 23rd Avenue with its valet parking and giant cuts of meat in display cases along the vestibule. And we went in and ordered up some fried calamari for Ellie and some steaks and fries and all that for dinner...not to mention a giant glass of Cabernet to calm my frazzled nerves.

And after a few bites of calamari, blood sugar fully restored to a healthy level, Ellie said:

"You know, Papa, it was a lot of fun seeing all the places you lived in your life. I had a really good time. Thanks for bringing me."

I beamed because she was so genuine, and I didn't have to prod her at all...Because you know, now that I was safely at Christos sipping Cabernet, I felt the exact same way.... And so we all talked more about the old days and took in the scene...and it was just so nice being there with two people I love so very much. How lucky we were to have such a great day together...to still have time to enjoy silly, fun, nutty and truly unique moments with one another...yet again I find myself marveling at how blessed and lucky I am, really....

Oh, but make no mistake, I don't care how many yummy steaks and glasses of Cabernet are on the other side, next time I get in the car with Dad, I am grabbing the GPS and a list of phone numbers...

xoxo, Suz

Oh and Happy Birthday Alessa! Love you!

Photo 1: There is not one road on that map that I did not travel last weekend...

Photo 2: Long Island - Garmin GPS = Never Again!

Photo 3: Our actual barside Valentine's meal...

Photo 4: Hempstead Turnpike, 7:15 p.m., Saturday the 14th...sea of tailights as seen from the Jag's passenger side...

Photo 5: Barry...total stud...well, maybe that's a stretch...

Photo 6: Kathleen and I...all Fanilow-ed out with our glow sticks...

Photo 7: A little Astoria landscape...

Photo 8: My siblings and cousins, rocking it out Astoria-style circa 1967 (eons before I graced the scene...)

Photo 9: Dad and Gramps...in the '80's...Gramps probably still offended by that tacky Virgin Mary statue...I couldn't agree more. He's looking dapper though...as always...

Photo 10: Reeds, dunes, row boats...ok, not Harbour Isle...but you get the picture, right?

Photo 11: SOS...smoke signals...anything...someone come save me!!!!

Photo 12: Good natured and happy....apparently Ellie was well-fed in this shot...

Photo 13: My great-grandfather's actual bungalow...still standing six decades later...

Photo 14: Finally, calamari! Actual shot as Ellie was scarfing them down...

Photo 15: Ellie and Dad at Christos...exhausted from the journey, but happy to be together...

Photo 16: He's still my best guy...no matter how far out of the way he takes me...