Hail Marys on the #66 Bus

The Beatles at the historic Plaza Hotel with Dr. Joyce Brothers @ 1964 press conference.

Take Me to the Plaza

A while back, Sis ordered tickets for a Sniffapalooza [fragrance lovers'] event held today in NYC. It was at the tiny Krigler Perfumery in the Plaza Hotel.

Sis's coworker, a doctor named Nicole, joined us. We sniffed and whiffed figs and florals at the little boutique. We shimmied up to the table out front to get a spritz; the place was crowded with perfumistas waving white fragrance testers in the air and sniffing each other's wrists. We nibbled on Payard coffee, chocolate and passion fruit macarons, sipped white wine. Krigler is a luxury brand that Jackie Kennedy, Grace Kelly and others embraced. Sis bought a bottle. I want one, too. When the checks come in. We received slender sample vials of Ultra Chateau Krigler 12. It reminds me of Chanel, Sis said. I think she's right. But I like Chanel, and I like new No. 12, too.

Scents of Sadness*

But I have a heavy heart. It's a private family thing and I can't go into specifics. I put my arm around Sis's shoulder to lean on her while we lunched, just for her support. I told her I wished things were simple, like when we were girls. We shared a room, and if she had to baby-sit at night, she'd leave me a note on my pillow.

I felt bad missing Mass, but decided to compensate by saying a lot of Hail Marys on the bus. I said them to myself as I stared out the window at other cars, especially a shiny black car-service car that caught my eye; at billboards on the curvy road to the tolls; and at the yellowed tiles in the very long Lincoln Tunnel.

Hail Mary, full of grace

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, 
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

I think I've always liked that prayer--a prayer to a woman, a mother. And Mary is pretty, young, strong, sky-blue; embrace beauty where you find it. Never mind that the prayer talks about death at the end. It offers a soothing phrase right from the top: full of grace. Though they never told me, and I never asked, I think my mother and her mother must have liked it too, because they went to novenas sometimes, and my grandmother had a couple of statues of Mary, including a white china one I was awarded by Sister Agnes in first grade. Give it to Granny for Christmas, my mother had said. She'd really like it.

I have Dad's pocket-sized white prayer book. I think he got it as a boy. The printing date is 1924 and the full name is: The Little Key of Heaven: An Ideal Prayerbook with Beautiful Colored Illustrations. It was in his last possessions.

From one mother to another. Good night. And Dad, are up there? Can you hear me? I miss you, Dad. I can't believe it's been almost a year.

TCOY

1. Big, big news. I ate vegetables today. Seriously, I've been so depressed and frightened and worried lately that I think the only vegetables I ate all week were the sauerkraut on a reuben yesterday and the seaweed in the sushi last night. I just couldn't do it. Too much effort. Mental block. I had asparagus but couldn't bring myself to steam it. But today we shared a salad at the Plaza Food Hall by Todd English and I had a portabello flatbread pizza with lots of broccoli rabe on top [light on the roasted garlic mascarpone cheese]. And H. is making eggplant parmigiana and steamed asparagus now. [FYI, I was eager to try the food hall, and it's trendy and hip, but the food is not a 10. Maybe a 7.5, what we had.]
2. Walked from Port Authority to Plaza Hotel.
3. Prayed.

*What are the scents of sadness? A co-worker once told me carnations made her sad, because her husband had died young and she remembered all the flower arrangements. Someone else told me it was gladiolas. I'm not sure what they are for me, but I'm going to try and pay attention, use all five senses.