Month: June 2018

Today I did something I’ve been avoiding for as long as I can remember.  I went to Central Park and confronted the horses.  These are the horses that are lined up and made to pull loaded carriages of those who pay for the romanticized experience of “old New York”.    Tourists flock to be taken on a ride through the park or anywhere else they want to go and are willing to pay for.   I hate this.  These horses are abused and made to work in less than stellar conditions against their will.  Today, in New York City, the temperature was around 90 degrees.   I had no idea when I awoke that this would be how I would spend my morning.

A Belgian photographer contacted me a little over a month ago because he is working on a documentary portrait series of mystical New York.  I was excited to receive his email asking me to be part of something extremely up my alley.  After looking at his work and seeing he used an old camera from 1962 (not digital!), I looked forward to being a subject of his art.  He interviewed me and expressed enormous interest in what I do and my intuitive process.  It is always refreshing when a person shows interest and is not in a rush to talk about themselves.  This is a man committed to the truth, and travels all around the globe in a quest to match his vision with his creativity.

He had come over to my apartment weeks ago and taken several photos, but they were unsatisfactory; they in no way showed what I do with regard to animals.  After all, it is not easy to capture someone being psychic.  My mother had an idea which I really did not like.  She suggested that we go to Central Park, a place I stay away from because of the sight of horses that are, in my opinion, suffering in atrocious circumstances.  I ran it by Thomas (the photographer) and his eyes lit up with inspiration.  The park is a ten minute subway ride from my apartment, and even though I feared how unpleasant this outing could be, it felt right to do it.

I am someone who will do anything to avoid a horse walking amid all of the chaos of cars, taxi’s, trucks, buses, motorcycles, pedestrians, honking, etc.  If I even hear the telltale clanking  I walk the other way or go into the nearest store to avoid the pain I feel.  I use my wild, curly hair to block my peripheral vision because I just can’t take it.  My empathy knows no bounds, it’s so intense.

I did it, and I survived.  I even was able to stay completely composed while staring into the eyes of a horse named Max.  I told him how much I loved him, and how I empathized with his situation.  I apologized for mankind and all the ignorance and naivete that encourages these hansom cabs to be such a tourist draw.  I just sat with him sending him love.  That was all I could do.

As out of towners went for rides in a haze of humidity and nonchalance, I left to go home.  Sorry carriage horses.  If I ruled the world this wouldn’t be your fate.

I could never pick one favorite food.  When that question is posed it strikes me as absurd.  There are so many options when it comes to eating, it’s impossible to say any food is better than all the rest.  What I can say is that one of my great pleasures in life is simply the avocado.

Since I was a child the allure of guacamole was strong.  I wanted it all of the time, and would beg my mother when we went out to eat to take me to a Mexican restaurant.  I liked the other food on the plate, but none of it would have meant anything without a big dollop of green on top.  I gravitated towards that color, but really, only in food.  I would actually get excited if I was going somewhere and knew that guacamole and chips were being served.  You would think all these years later the excitement would die down or at least not be as inviting, but nope, I am in love with avocados all the time, every day, still.  Not a day goes by where I don’t think of slicing one open and incorporating it into a meal.  I eat them with almost everything: salads, soups, pasta, sandwiches, vegetables, grains, etc… They never bore me or disappoint.

I have even come to exhibit what I refer to as avocado anxiety.  Sometimes, like a bad apple that’s bruised, an avocado can look intact and perfect from the outside, but when cut open it’s black.  Those are some of the worst moments food wise when what’s usually a home run is instantly turned into a strike out.  The few times I had a piece of black avocado in my mouth the taste was vile, like garbage that had been sitting out in a heatwave.  Sickening.  Nauseating.  I have become somewhat of an expert when picking them out over the years.  I feel them and examine their skin, looking for any possible blemish that could cause this awful syndrome.  But, it’s never foolproof.  Nine out of ten times they’re perfect, and their creamy goodness is present waiting for me to appreciate it like it’s a great work of art, which to me it is.

Avocados only start to ripen when they’re picked from a tree.  Knowing when it’s in it’s prime and ready to be consumed necessitates attention.  I like to buy them hard so I can monitor their progress closely.  I don’t mess around with this.  When I have several ripe ones at the same time, I immediately refrigerate them to stave off future decay.  I hate losing one, they’re all so precious.

Avocados are always going up and down in cost.  Most come from California and Mexico.  Because of climate change and droughts, shortages can occur with not much warning.  When I come across an article admonishing avocado lovers beware: there’s gonna be a scarcity soon and prices will skyrocket, I start to panic.  Just the idea that there won’t be an ample supply is enough to drive me to a melancholic state.

The good news:  my animals have never been interested in them, so I’ve never had to share.