an·o·dyne /ˈanəˌdīn/
1: something that soothes, calms, or comforts
anodyne cocktail /ˈanəˌdīn ˈkɒkˌteɪl/
1: see above, add vermouth and orange rind
I think I have found the trick to surviving (the rain, the winter, the everything).
Showing posts with label cocktails. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cocktails. Show all posts
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
How to Save a Life
Friday night and all is well with the world. I giggled from the moment I woke up right on time and realized I'd forgotten to set my alarm, through the work day of silly children and chilly sunshine, to the last hours of counting down until it was time for Friday night cocktails. Unexpected company and we all felt the tingle of the anodyne cocktail flowing into our veins, the remains of the day finally washed away.
Hours later, I walked home down west 10th street and New York had that weird glow it does when the clouds roll in and every building bounces its lights into the nighttime sky. Front yard trees revealed hints of leaves and Bedford was quiet despite the Friday night buzz. Saturday morning lies waiting with not a care in the world.
There is something inexplicably delicious about such a moment. I do my best, to savor every morsel.
Hours later, I walked home down west 10th street and New York had that weird glow it does when the clouds roll in and every building bounces its lights into the nighttime sky. Front yard trees revealed hints of leaves and Bedford was quiet despite the Friday night buzz. Saturday morning lies waiting with not a care in the world.
There is something inexplicably delicious about such a moment. I do my best, to savor every morsel.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Abridged
It was cold, too cold, there'd be other opportunities for a stroll and the trains run so frequently on weekdays. But before I knew it, I'd reached the Bedford Avenue entrance and was slowly making my way onto the Williamsburg Bridge.
Perhaps the wine helped, kept my legs warm. Perhaps it was the sweet remnants of invaluable friendship, still coursing through my veins and reminding me what an amazing thing that is. Here we are, in the City, all together, how blessed are we?, and I couldn't help but smile. As I climbed to the peak, my ears filled with Axl Rose in his youth and my step kept his quick beat. I felt like an animal released to pasture in the spring, I stretched my tired muscles and sang along.
The Williamsburg bridge, all steel beam prison and glimpses of the world, the city beyond, was nearly empty; lone bikers rode home in the opposite directions. The J train passed below, countless cars, but mostly I felt as though it were all mine, and, with it, so was the city. For that brief moment, how high I was. Literally, too. At the descent on the other end, I looked up and saw nothing but the night sky, and was again reminded how unusual that is. I was lowered past people's 12th story windows, saw the skyscrapers I know as friends disappear behind rising buildings. Considered that if I jumped from here it would still be an awfully long way to go.
And then, suddenly, deposited on Delancey Street as though the whole thing were a mirage. Crossing the Lower East Side streets, my Manhattan streets, as though Brooklyn weren't a world away and hadn't I been here all along? Turn a corner and there is Morton Street. You may act surprised, but in fact it is nothing unusual.
All roads lead to home, if you let them.
Perhaps the wine helped, kept my legs warm. Perhaps it was the sweet remnants of invaluable friendship, still coursing through my veins and reminding me what an amazing thing that is. Here we are, in the City, all together, how blessed are we?, and I couldn't help but smile. As I climbed to the peak, my ears filled with Axl Rose in his youth and my step kept his quick beat. I felt like an animal released to pasture in the spring, I stretched my tired muscles and sang along.
The Williamsburg bridge, all steel beam prison and glimpses of the world, the city beyond, was nearly empty; lone bikers rode home in the opposite directions. The J train passed below, countless cars, but mostly I felt as though it were all mine, and, with it, so was the city. For that brief moment, how high I was. Literally, too. At the descent on the other end, I looked up and saw nothing but the night sky, and was again reminded how unusual that is. I was lowered past people's 12th story windows, saw the skyscrapers I know as friends disappear behind rising buildings. Considered that if I jumped from here it would still be an awfully long way to go.
And then, suddenly, deposited on Delancey Street as though the whole thing were a mirage. Crossing the Lower East Side streets, my Manhattan streets, as though Brooklyn weren't a world away and hadn't I been here all along? Turn a corner and there is Morton Street. You may act surprised, but in fact it is nothing unusual.
All roads lead to home, if you let them.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Friday Nights
We are going to dance! she exlaims for a week, preparing for the weekend of her birthday. A motley crew trundles through Williamsburg to the narrow bar where lumber jack-wannabes crowd onto the nonexistant dance floor, and the DJ loses himself in 1980 and 1991.
Eventually, I walk home alone down glazed streets along a row of cat calls. New York City sleeps when no one is looking and only the garbage gets picked up. Orphan puppy is tumbling about in my week's worth of dirty laundry; when I go to bed she nestles in my armpit and putters happily while I sort through work emails that were lost in the excitement of Friday evening.
How simple the pleasures of life, sometimes.
Eventually, I walk home alone down glazed streets along a row of cat calls. New York City sleeps when no one is looking and only the garbage gets picked up. Orphan puppy is tumbling about in my week's worth of dirty laundry; when I go to bed she nestles in my armpit and putters happily while I sort through work emails that were lost in the excitement of Friday evening.
How simple the pleasures of life, sometimes.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
On Sand
Beaches. Stretching into foreverness, beaches. Miles of sand, squeaky sand under my toes and we never reach the end of it. We pass by the beach with the lifeguards; it is crowded. We learn to read the rip tides and stay on our unprotected stretches in solitude. It will tug at you, but if you survive, you are glad you went there.
We move in to the only inhabitable restaurant and bar in town; when they try to close up, we try to order another bottle. We end up bringing it with us when it's too late to stay: how young the bartenders. This is youth; we are too old to do it over. Stepping lightly onto the beach in the dark, we bring our screw cork with us, and the light house in the distance guides us. Somebody has built a fire but we stay in the black ink of our corner, drinking dredges and filling our clothes with sand. Bruises appear on my body but laughter bubbles in my chest. How dark the night, how light the evening.
If I could stay in this alternate reality forever, perhaps I might. Perhaps I should have, when the chance was offered.
What I've learned so far, is it's never too late to take your chances. It's really only you, who stand in your way.
We move in to the only inhabitable restaurant and bar in town; when they try to close up, we try to order another bottle. We end up bringing it with us when it's too late to stay: how young the bartenders. This is youth; we are too old to do it over. Stepping lightly onto the beach in the dark, we bring our screw cork with us, and the light house in the distance guides us. Somebody has built a fire but we stay in the black ink of our corner, drinking dredges and filling our clothes with sand. Bruises appear on my body but laughter bubbles in my chest. How dark the night, how light the evening.
If I could stay in this alternate reality forever, perhaps I might. Perhaps I should have, when the chance was offered.
What I've learned so far, is it's never too late to take your chances. It's really only you, who stand in your way.
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