The Newtown Pentacle

Monday

– photo by Mitch Waxman

My beloved creek…

After visiting the Maspeth Plank Road and Maspeth Creek as well, my next destination involved a walk through Blissville, and then to the Kosciuszcko Bridge’s bike and pedestrian path. If you haven’t figured it out, that’s the view from ‘up there’ in the photo above.

I was heading over to Newtown Creek Alliance HQ, in Greenpoint, to touch base with a few former colleagues and extant friends. Oddly, I was actually experiencing emotions, of the sort which literature has suggested to me that the normal humans might. Odd.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Several mentions at the start of this series of NYC posts have alluded to the fact that this trip was actually a bit of an emotional journey for me.

Possibly the last chapter in the broken ankle story? Hope so.

In many ways, I needed to see what my physical capabilities actually are now, and so I returned to the place where I’ve defined that sort of thing for the last sixteen years – since the last major medical situation I found myself in, when I experienced a heart attack at 39. It was a bad moment for me personally, of course, but the recovery from that incident led to everything I’ve been doing ever since – including this, your Newtown Pentacle.

Needless to say, I was in a heightened emotional state during this four day stint. Remarkable, a couple of times I was actually displaying inner emotions to other people. Normally, my armor is up and other than brief flashes of annoyance or anger, trying to read me is difficult.

Never, ever, let anyone know what you’re actually thinking.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The struggle, during the whole recovery period from the broken ankle, was to ‘remain chipper.’ Getting depressed wouldn’t have helped, at all, and I did the usual great job of suppressing and containerizing my emotional tumult, with the intention of releasing the enclosed pressure at some future point, when expedient.

As I always say: Freak out after the crisis.

A lot of this sort of thinking, I think, is a direct reproach of how my Mom handled the world. She had one reaction to everything, a screaming and sweaty fit of anger aimed at whomsoever caused the agitation. Everything was treated with the same intensity. Russian fighter jet just fell out of the sky, and crushed the family car? Spilling a few coffee grinds on the kitchen counter? Dad has cancer? My hair is wet? Too much salt on her fries at the diner? Same reaction, everytime.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

This was Day 3 of the NYC trip, and by this point the ankle was actually pretty sore. Exercise days have been spaced out, with at least a 72 hour recovery period of low activity following a walk. The joint still swells up on me, a situation which the surgeon tells me could last as long as two years after the reconstruction surgery. It was indeed swollen by Day 3, but I was still able to scuttle around pain free. It was the end of Day 4 when it started giving me some trouble, but I was already slouching roughly towards LaGuardia Airport by that point.

Did I mention how hot it was? That’s the end of my Monday morning moaning and self introspection.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Back in Pittsburgh, I laugh and laugh when people describe traffic as being heavy. Even in a slow down ‘rush hour’ scenario, traffic in Pittsburgh is still moving at 10-20 mph. The Brooklyn Queens Expressway at the Meeker Avenue exit, however, was moving at the average speed of vehicle traffic in NYC, which – last time I checked – is estimated to be about 3.2 mph. It was lovely, the way that the sunlight filtered through the shimmering engine exhaust.

The Kosciuszcko Bridge was left behind, and your humble narrator reentered the street grid in Brooklyn’s Greenpoint section. It would be about a 3/4 of a mile scuttle to get to DUGABO (Down Under the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge Onramp) where NCA HQ is found at 520 Kingsland Avenue.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Boy, they just don’t have sewer plants in Pennsylvania like this one, I tell’s ya. We got’s a mammoth series of scary factories out here though, like Brooklyn used to.

After arriving at NCA HQ, I began drinking copious amounts of water, rehydrating after a sweaty few hours on Newtown Creek’s ‘mean streets.’ Several friends actually made a special trip to coincide with my visit, and we had a bit of an NCA reunion going on for a bit. I was faklempt.

Back tomorrow with more.

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