Home Is Where The Fog Is - Chapter Two: "Try not to make eye contact ... "

OK, I'm just gonna drop some names for a moment, so please bear with me.

Over the years, I've performed for Pope John Paul II, Sylvester Stallone, Nicole Kidman, Gene Puerling, Adam Egoyan, Anita O'Day and a few others. It doesn't matter how long I've lived in Toronto, nor does it matter how many people I've met or sung with or for .... I still get star struck when I see someone from television or movies.  Thus, the fact that today ended up with me getting a picture taken with Sean McGinley from CBC's "Republic of Doyle" pretty much means I was (a) giddy and (b) thinking that there's no point in writing anything else.

However, there were a few other moments worthy of mentioning so I thought I might as well continue ... 

I usually "sleep like the dead" while in Newfoundland, so when I went to bed last night, I expected not to wake much before noon.  Alas, I was wrong ... I was awake at the crack of stupid, so I thought I might as well rise and tackle the day.  Thank  goodness I did, as I suddenly remembered something of which I hadn't taken care back in Toronto, so that meant I had to take my computer somewhere to get it connected to the internet.  (My parents only just got high speed internet in the past few years, but it's not wireless, and the way things are wired around here, I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with it for fear of having things get screwed up and have them realize I actually wasn't as technologically savvy as they might have thought me to be.)  So, I decided to take the ol' lap top down to "Coffee Matters", a local coffee house that offered free WIFI, as well as good coffee.  (My Dad still enjoys instant coffee.  God love him - the fact that it doesn't take much to please him works for his marriage, but not so much for my coffee requirements!)

Here's the thing about my family and St. John's:  my Dad not only played in a band for a number of years, and is recognized for that, but he's also in the Newfoundland Softball Hall of Fame.  Thus, he's fairly well-known around town.  The other thing is this ... I'm somewhat "known", for lack of a better term, due to my musical endeavors.  Thus, if Dad and I ever go out to run a quick errand, we either (a) can't go together;  or (b) can't make eye contact with anyone, because we'll end up engaged in several conversations that, while quite enjoyable, were never intended to take place.

Thus, when I walked into my parents' kitchen to find fruit salad prepared and on the table, the kettle boiling for several cups of tea, and Mom's homemade break toasting in the oven, I had a hard time telling Mom and Dad that I had to "run a quick errand".  I explained that I had to e-mail some material that was on my laptop and that it meant I had to find WIFI, so my parents understood my predicament and said they'd save some breakfast for me.  I borrowed their car keys, grabbed the ol' computer, and told them I wouldn't be long.  I have no idea whether or not they believed me when I said this, but I did notice them removing the third place setting from the table as I was leaving.

Parking is at a bit of a premium around the coffee house, so when I found free parking on the street, I was delighted.  I pulled slightly forward, ready to demonstrate my parallel parking prowess when I noticed a car pulling in behind me, as if it was intent on taking my spot.  I was just about to demonstrate the depth of my studies in Toronto road rage, when I realized that the driver was inching backwards, so as to allow me to park in front of her.  In fact, she waited until I was clearly and fully in a spot before she secured her own parking locale.  Ah, Newfoundlanders!!!

I went inside the coffee house, ordered my cafe latte, grabbed a table, pulled out my laptop, and began doing the paperwork and correspondence I needed to do.  I was elbow deep into things when  I heard:  "Lord Jesus, look who it is, luh!"  I turned to see my old friend Shelley Neville.

Shelley and I went to high school together.  She was a year ahead of me, but looked a lot older, so she was always the one we'd send into convenience stores to buy beer.  She NEVER got asked for ID.  She was also one of the more clever of my friends and the quickest thinker, so, even if she did get "carded", she'd talk her way out of it.  (One time, after making a purchase, she was once questioned by two young men pretending to be police and attempting to confiscate our beer.  She quickly flashed her medical card and told them she was a Federal Officer and that her cohorts were staked out in a parked car across the street.  She threatened the two guys and said they were interfering with a Federal investigation.  I swear, if those guys had stayed 5 minutes longer, she would have had them buying more beer FOR us!)  Later, Shelley would become a star student at the University of Toronto Faculty of Music as an Opera Performance major, and has since done some amazing things, from working with the Canadian Opera Company, so performing in major productions in Italy.  However, through it all, she has remained very close to home and has done quite well for herself here, in St. John's.

"Missus!" she exclaimed to me.  "Are you here to meet us for coffee?"

"Who's 'us'?"  I asked.

"Me and Kellie Walsh", Shelley replied.

Immediately, my thoughts returned to the last words I said to Mom and Dad:  "I won't be long."  

I don't like lying to my parents, so I started feeling a little guilty when I realized that the aforementioned statement was, in fact, about to become a rather significant source of misinformation.

"Yes, b'y .. "  (there's that accent, again)  "I'll just finish the work I have to do here and then I'll join you", I told Shelley.

With that, in walked Kellie Walsh.

Kellie is the reason I am in Newfoundland right now.  She is a phenomenal choral conductor and is the director of the two award-winning choirs with whom I'm performing this weekend.  She and I also went to school together and, like Shelly, she was a year ahead of me in high school.  Unlike Shelley, Kellie wasn't the best person to have purchasing "adult beverages" for you.  Kellie liked to drink Spumante Bambino in a tumbler with ice.  'Nuf said .... 

After the girls and I reminisced over some old times for a wee bit, they sat at a separate table and I continued working, but not before calling my mother and telling her to go ahead and eat breakfast without me.  I knew where this was going ... 

I finished the work I had to do, started gathering my things to join Kellie and Shelley, when I heard:  "My Gawd, it's Heather Bambrick!"  I turned to find Gillian King awaiting a hug.  Gillian is another school friend who had recently returned to St. John's after having lived "up along" for some time.  (To Newfoundlanders, anything outside of Atlantic Canada is either "the Mainland" or "up along" - the latter, if you're living in the US.)  Gill and I caught up on things, she told me she'd seen "Out of the Fog" the night before, and wished me luck at the concert.

I eventually made it to Shelley and Kellie's table and decided I would have a quick chat before making a run for the door, in order to enjoy some fruit salad and 10 or 12 cups of tea back at my parents.  Just as we were finishing our conversation and I was about to head home, I heard:  "Excuse me, are you Heather Bambrick?"

I looked up to see four women, three of whom had taught at my high school.  At that moment, I found I'd developed the same syndrome that causes my father to forget the names of various people in his life.  Fortunately, they all introduced themselves as teachers who taught at "Holy Heart Regional High School for Girls", but had never taught me .... well, actually, all but one:  Mary Wall had been my "Newfoundland Culture 1200" teacher in Grade 11.  (Yes, that's right!  We instruct / study a course all about what it means to be a Newfoundlander.  This explains our response to Meech Lake .... but I digress ... )  I chatted briefly with the ladies and was then eventually able to take my leave.  

That quick errand took 2 and a half hours!

I returned home, scarfed down some fruit salad and a cup of tea (#3) and went for a walk with my Mom.

My mother is all of 5 feet tall, if that.  However, that compact little body packs a lot of punch.  My mother is a natural wonder for a lot of reasons:

- Her floors are spotless ... I truly mean spotless.  You can literally eat off them.  I think we've probably done so on a couple of occasions.

- She will go for a daily walk no matter what's going on.  I swear:   Danny Williams could call a state of emergency (as he probably might the next time Harper pisses him off) and my mother would still find a way to "go out for her walk".  (It's odd the way she takes ownership of the walking activity ... )

- For someone with such little legs, she sure can motor!!

So, we covered much of the East End of the city in about an hour and returned home.  From here, I showered, practiced for the concert, and prepared for dinner.  Following dinner, it was time to head out for a concert rehearsal.

If you read Chapter 1 of this blog, you might have noticed my comment about the way Newfoundlanders drive.  The thing I didn't mention about this driving practice is their observance of speed limits - or lack thereof.  You see, in Toronto, speed limits are often thought of as suggestions:  it would be nice if people would drive at this speed, but most Toronto drivers add about 20 - 40 kms/hr to any limit.  In St, John's, it's the opposite.  The speed limit "wish list" in St. John's is defied by countless drivers who seem to think one should only accelerate to reach the speed limit when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY ... like in the case of another World War, for example.

I tell you this so that you can understand the level of frustration I felt as I drove to rehearsal that evening.  Nothing more need be said about that!

Rehearsal went smoothly and caused me to become even more excited about the concert program for Saturday evening's show.

Following rehearsal, a few people made their way to the "Duke of Duckworth" pub.  If you've ever watched "Republic of Doyle" you've already seen the inside of the Duke - CBC has constructed a replica "Duke" set for the show.  The Duke is a favourite "hang" for many music folks in St. John's.  It's also the spot where several Jazz musicians have performed over the years, so it's a neat mix of a traditional Newfoundland setting, combined with the cultural cross-pollenation that comes from introducing a "Mainland" influence, such as Jazz.  In any case, it's always a great place to "hang", which we did for a couple of pints.

Upon leaving, I couldn't help but notice actor Sean McGinley, who plays "Malachy Doyle" on "Republic of Doyle".  I have to tell you:  I was a little star struck!  I was about to exit the pub, lamenting the fact that I didn't stop to say anything to him when I realized I had my camera in my purse.  I grabbed the camera, gave it to my friend to snap the pic, approached Sean and said:  "Love you on the show!"  (This seemed a little more subtle and cool than what I imagine many people would have said to him - kind of like what I did to Jim Cuddy of Blue Rodeo when I told him who he was over and over again - "You're Jim Cuddy!  Oh my God ... you're Jim Cuddy!")  I then asked if he would mind snapping a pic (in order for me to take it back to Toronto to prove there some pretty important people in St. John's!)  He was lovely, gracious, and had the most adorable Irish accent!!

My friends and I left the pub, hopped in a car, and were making our way out of the parking spot when we noticed a cab pull up and a familiar pair of jeans hop out of said taxi.  It was Allan Hawko - the producer, writer, and lead actor of "Republic of Doyle".  I was about to ask Kellie to stop the car so I could snap another pic when I realized that it might have seemed a little fanatic to jump out of a moving vehicle, run across the street, and accost my friend's younger brother (yes, I know Allan's younger brother - hi Greg!) to get a picture taken with him.

Besides, he was no doubt wanting to head inside for a quick beer, and would probably have avoided eye contact .... 

Home Is Where The Fog Is - Chapter One: "R-D-F"

Almost any Newfoundlander worth his or her salt (or salt meat) knows that "R-D-F" refers to "rain, drizzle, and fog".  It's as familiar as the smell of homemade bread ... or the feel of your childhood bedroom ... or the sound of jingling bells in December.  For those of us who have moved away, rain, drizzle, and fog means you're "home".

According to Environment Canada, I'll be feeling very much at "home" for the next 6 days ...

I was traveling to St. John's to perform in a fantastic concert happening on Saturday, October 23rd, called "Hot Jazz, Cool Nights", and featuring 2 amazing choirs and a big band.  I had to arrive early for rehearsals, promotion, etc.

The trip began in pretty much the same way that I live my life on a day-to-day basis ... frantically.  I arrived at Pearson, checked in, went through security and followed the friendly, smiling, chatty people in comfortable travel clothes, knowing they had to be Newfoundlanders heading home.  Sure enough, they got me to my gate.

Upon arrival in St. John's, I was met with the familiar scenes from each of my trips home:  the rugged coast line, white caps on the Atlantic just below the plane as we approached the somewhat challenging run way, the grey skies, the slight trace of fog patches, the stream of rain as it landed on the window and slid sideways off the glass.  It was beautiful!!

There are certain things about St. John's that give the city its character.  One of them was the first thing I noticed while at the airport:  everyone knows someone and there's always time for a chat.  I got my luggage from one of the two (yes, 2) baggage carousels at the terminal (yes, terminal - singlular) and was heading for the parking lot when I heard:  "Lord Jesus, luh, it's Heather!"  ("Luh" in Newfanese means "look".)  It was "Libby", mother of my high school friend, who works with the Department of Tourism.  Of course, she immediately left her post at the information booth and came over for a hug and a chat.  (The other thing about St. John's is that scheduling and all its formalities are second to socializing.  The tourists in need of assistance were just going to have to wait a moment.)  We had a brief chat, during which Libby told me about my life ...

Lib:  "You're home for the big show on Saturday."

HB:  "Oh, yes"

Lib:  "And, sure, you're doin' 'Out of the Fog' this evening, aren't you?" (* "Out of the Fog" is a television show on our local Rogers Cable channel.)

HB:  "Yup"

Lib:  "And I hear your sister is in Toronto with you now."

HB:  "Uh-huh"

Lib:  "That's great.  Now, listen, you better go, now, 'cause you have to head to the tv station and rehearse."

HB:  "Yes, b'y"  (* My accent comes out when I'm home.)

Lib:  "Alright, my Darling, well have a great show on Saturday, and I'll say 'hi' to Jennifer for you."

HB:  "Please do, Lib.  God love ya!"

  

Now, some people might find it slightly disconcerting that so many people in St. John's can tell you all about your life.  I, personally, love the fact that if my computer hard drive ever crashes, I have an automatic back-up.  (And, it's nice to reboot over a cup of tea ... )

My Dad and I loaded my luggage into the car and we headed home so I could get ready for my television appearance.  The other thing about St. John's is that everything is very close, and even rush hour traffic isn't bad by Toronto standards.  And if you want proof, check this out ...

At 4:22, we departed the St. John's airport and from there, the following things occurred:

- I had a phone conversation with Bill Brennan and we discussed the songs we would perform on the tv show

- I arrived home and unpacked my luggage

- I changed clothing, and did my hair and make-up preparation for the show

- I  had a cup of tea and some toast  (* I usually consume an exorbitant volume of tea while at home.  I don’t know what it is … the water, the Tetley, the milk … whatever it is, it causes me to “out-tea” the entire case of Coronation Street! )

- I drove across town to the television station (during rush hour)

And, I arrived at the television station .... at 5:19.  Yes, folks, all that in less than an hour!

Bill Brennan and I recorded “Out of the Fog” with no fuss, no muss!  I love playing with Bill.  I also noticed just how much my accent comes out when I’m here.  I’d been in St. John’s for less than 2 hours and I did much of the interview with a St. John’s Drawl that would put Mary Walsh to shame!!

With rush hour still well underway (it was now about 6:10 pm) I braced myself for the ride across town to my parents’ house.  I arrived home at 6:20.

The second thing about St. John’s that gives it its character is a particular method of driving.  Drivers in St. John’s (if not in all of Newfoundland) are oh-so-very gracious.  They’ll stop in the middle of the road to allow another driver to make a left-hand turn in front of them.  They’ll forgo making a green light in order allow a pedestrian to cross the street.  And – best of all – they will drive with enough space in between cars so as to allow those of us who now live “up along” to weave in and out of traffic, thereby marveling at our ability to make it from one end of town to another in 8 minutes or less.  Fantastic!!

I returned home to the a dinner that was just enough Newfoundland and just enough “Mama Bambrick healthy”:  baked cod (possibly caught 45 minutes prior to being put in the oven), long grain brown rise and steamed green beans.  (I am the only person who is able to come home to her mother’s cooking and lose weight!  It’s great!)

Following dinner and another cup of tea (cup #2), I headed out to sit in on a choir rehearsal being conducted by my dear friend, after which we decided to go out for a quick drink to catch up.  It was her suggestion to go to a pub called “Big Ben’s” as there would be little chance of anyone knowing / interrupting us there, so we could have a nice chat.  After the third person entered the pub, saw us, and came over to the table to say “hi”, we decided to call it a night.  But not before she told me some fantastic stories about what’s been going on in the music community here in the city over the last little while.

I have to share with you one of the stories regarding a production of “Hairspray” that had just finished its run.  The production was a great success but didn’t go off without some typical difficulties, some in the way of casting.  You see, over the decades, if not centuries, Newfoundland has been populated by West Country Fishermen and, consequently, the population is of a mainly Irish, British, Scottish, and Welsh background.  In other words, the people here in St. John’s are pretty ... well, uhm, let’s see … how do I put this?  OK, I’ll just say it:  white.  So, in order to get some characters with some soul / r & b essence, he producers had to scout outside of the province.  Thus, the more “soulful” actors were known as “the Mainlanders”.  I love it!  Welcome to Newfoundland!

Day One came and went in no time.  Now I have to concentrate on learning music before the rehearsal tomorrow … which means no interruptions … which means I can’t leave my house - certainly not to go to Big Ben's again!

Newfoundlander in New York - Chapter Eight: Return to Toronto

So, I've returned from the Big Apple to the Big Smoke.  (Hmmm .... anyone notice that if consumed once a day, their "big" thing keeps the doctor away, while our "big" thing can cause emphasema and lung cancer?)

I woke 2 minutes before my alarm (I love it when that happens), showered, packed the last of my things and checked out of the hotel.  The customer sales person (I don't know what they're called these days ... I used to call them "desk clerks") was very helpful and took care of some paperwork regarding my room rate (ah, the joys of booking on line) and then I made my way to Bryant Park to be picked up by the not-so-aptly named "Airport Express".

Here's a word of warning:  when booking travel to and from New York, try to avoid rush hour!  Yup, I had to travel from Manhattan to Newark at 8:15 am, to make it for an 11:00 flight.  Horrors!!

I checked the Express schedule which indicated that the bus would pick me up in the same location as I was dropped off and that the bus arrived every 15 minutes.  Five minutes after I arrived, I saw the approaching coach, right on schedule.  The driver helped some passengers disembark and started to close the doors when I excused myself and asked if I could board the bus.  Here's how that all went down ... 

Driver:  "No"

HB:  "Why not?"

Driver:  "Wrong pick up place"

HB:  "But the schedule says that this is where we are supposed to be picked up, and the sign <pointed to "New Jersey Airport Express" sign> indicates the same thing."

Driver:  "New place"

HB:  "Oh, ... uhm, ... ok.  So, ... uh, ... where do I have to go to get picked up?"

Driver:  "Across the street"

HB:  "Directly across the street?"

Driver:  "No"

HB:  "Oh, ok ... so is there a particular place across the street where I should go, then?"

Driver:  "Yes, across the street"

HB:  "Ok, so I cross the street, and then ..... ?"

Driver:  "Go to 5th Avenue"

HB:  "So, then the pick up spot is at 42nd and 5th?"

Driver:  "Yes, cross the street and go to 5th"

To get the full effect of this conversation, picture the driver walking away from me, up the steps to his seat, and closing the door while this whole exchange was going on.  He was either on a very tight schedule (perhaps he read Chapter Two of my blog and wanted to redeem his company name) or I repulsed him in some way.  I was leaning towards option number one.

I gathered my things and crossed the street, as instructed.  I then walked to 5th Avenue, as instructed.  No sign of an Airport Express pick-up spot.  In fact, no sign of anything except the stairs to the subway.  At this point, 20 minutes had passed and I was worried about not making it to the Newark airport in time for my flight.  I started picturing every scene from every movie where the panic-stricken heroine hyperventilates while in a cab on her way somewhere, and eventually grabs her things, exits the cab, and runs past the immobile traffic to her destination.

Well, I can tell you this much:  I was damn-well not running to Jersey!   So, I did the only thing I could at that point ... i flagged down a cab and asked about the rate to Newark.  Go figure I got the only cabbie in New York who goes by the rules, charges according to the meter, and refuses to turn if off and agree on a flat rate.  However, I was worried about traffic and timing, so I just got in and braced myself for the final bill.

I guess the driver felt badly for me, so he explained that, according to the law, they aren't allowed to turn off the meter for trips like this.  He also explained to me that the meter started at $17.50 and went up from there.  (I was so thrown by this number that I kinda stopped listening after that.)  A few moments passed and he told me that he doesn't drive for a living.  He had a suit store, but things were slow so he had to drive a cab a few times a week to make ends meet.  I then learned that his wife was from Vancouver, that they had 2 kids in their late teens/early 20s and that his wife just had triplets. 

Now, I have no idea if this was all to make up for his sticking to the rules, or what.  All I can say is that the Newfoundlander in me took over and when he dropped me at the airport (in record time, I might add) I gave him a hefty tip.  I'm a sucker for a good Hallmark movie of the week kind of story!

I checked in at the Newark Porter desk and was asked if I wanted to fly out on an earlier flight.  Are you kidding me?  Not only are you not going to cancel or delay my flight, but you're going to get me home sooner?  I looked but didn't see Alan Funt anywhere, so I just said "yes, thank you" to the lovely Porter Agent.

The flight was smooth and comfortable and while it was a little too early for a cocktail, I did enjoy some vegetable crisps.  (Beats the hell out of peanuts!)  We landed, disembarked and headed to customs where I was shocked to see NO LINE-UP!!  There was one person in front of me and that was it!!!  (Again, no Alan Funt.)  The customs agent asked the purpose of my visit and what I had purchased while in New York.  I told him I'd listed everything in my blog, but he didn't seem to like that answer.  (No, that didn't happen ... but wouldn't it have been a laugh if it had? ... or it would make a great story about how I got arrested for the first time!)  Then, he did something interesting.  I'd written a fairly "rounded" figure and he asked what the total really was!!  He was either questioning my integrity or my math skills!  The nerve!!  (Clearly he was picking on me because I am a chick singer and he figures I can't count past 4.)  I gave him the more correct total (not at all sheepishly, I might add) and made sure it was only 3 or 4 dollars less than I'd listed, so I would seem like a good and fair Canadian.  With that, he stamped my card and wished me a good day!  <Phew!>

My luggage arrived fairly quickly, the ferry was at the dock ready for boarding when I arrived, and my Darling One was waiting for me at the door as I exited.  Things seemed to be going to smoothly!  With no Alan Funt in sight, I looked for those annoying "Just for Laffs Gags" cameras, but nothing.  So, I just accepted my good fortune and headed home.  I enjoyed a lovely lunch and some quality time with my Sweetheart and then headed to Humber to teach.  I thought it would be fun to conduct lessons with a Brooklyn accent but that seemed to confuse the students.  (Poor things don't know me very well yet.)

Tonight my two best friends cooked me a beautiful turkey dinner to make up for the Thanksgiving dinner I didn't have while in New York.  I was really and truly touched by this and realized that I had a lot for which to be grateful.  I had just spent a fantastic weekend enjoying wonderful music and food in an amazing city.  I returned home and spent the afternoon with someone I simply adore.  Then, I ended my day with two of the most fantastic Gals in the world who took the time to make sure I enjoyed a proper Thanksgiving dinner complete with not just friends but "family".  Yup, I'm pretty lucky.

And, in the end, I realized that as much as I LOVE to travel, there really is no place like home.

(Is it just me, or was that a "movie of the week" sort of ending?!)

Newfoundlander in New York - Chapter Seven: Day Three - Great Food and all that Jazz

After leaving Harlem, where we had our fantastic lunch, my friend Paul and I hopped back on the A Train (I still have a hard time saying – or typing that – without singing in my head) and headed back downtown.  Paul had to meet his partner and head to the airport (they were returning to Toronto that evening) and I had to go back to Little Italy to retrieve the jacket I’d left there the night before.

We got off at 8th Avenue and 4th Street, and I walked for about 30 – 45 minutes to Little Italy.  Now, here’s where I played a little game with myself.  Never mind “Walk Like An Egyptian” …. I tried to “Walk like a New Yorker”.  I wasn’t quite sure how to do this, but I watched a few others around me and decided that it mainly meant I had to walk at a brisk pace, and look like I knew what I was doing and where I was going.  The pace was fine – I don’t mind walking quickly (I am Joan Bambrick’s daughter, after all.  My mother can motor!).  However, it was the whole “walk like you know where you’re going” part that gave me some trouble.  I had general idea of the direction in which I had to walk - head south on 6th, until it intersected with Canal (which I kinda thought it did), then walk west on Canal to Mulberry Street.  (I still giggle at the fact that that main drag in Little Italy is “Mulberry Street”.  Lemme guess:  the main drag in Little Ireland is “Fuggedaboutit Avenue”, right?)  But beyond that general idea, I was at a loss. 

Anyhoo, I quickly formulated a plan:  keep a map up my sleeve – literally!  That way, I could subtly glance at my watch AND check directions at the same time.  Only problem is that, like an idiot, I’d bought a somewhat large, heavy cardboard, laminated map.  Thus, the whole “up my sleeve thing” didn’t work out so well, unless I wanted to look like a New Yorker with a splint.

So, I just kept walking in the general direction in which I wanted to go, and even got daring with a couple of short cuts.  Said short cuts took me through Soho, which was cool, and eventually got me to my destination.  I’d called the restaurant the night before and told them I’d left the jacket there.  They’d already found it and left it at the bar for me to pick up the next afternoon.  So, you can imagine my surprise when the bartender told me that he knew nothing of a jacket for pick up and that he couldn’t look around for it because they were too busy for him to leave his post at the bar.

At first I thought it was a scam:  hold on to lost items and resell them at one of the many kiosks along the street.  Then I realized that there is no way they’d want - or be able to get much for - my jacket:  I’d bought it at Costco.  Not exactly what you’d call “high fashion”, certainly not by New York standards.

I listened as a couple of waiters asked the bartender what was going on.  (Having an Italian best friend in college was really paying off!)  Then, a wonderfully geeky little Italian waiter suggested that the bartender check a package that was on a shelf right in front of him.  Sure enough, there was my jacket!  I thanked the waiter profusely – in Italian, no less – and started to head out.  I guess hearing a freckle-faced pasty white girl with reddish-brown curly hair intrigued them, because suddenly the bartender and another waiter (who was previously paying absolutely no attention to me) perked up.  One waiter asked how I could leave a jacket behind, and I replied that last night was such I lovely evening, I forgot about it.  Then the geeky waiter told me that a lovely woman should enjoy a lovely evening.  (At least that’s what I heard him say … )  I blushed, giggled like a school girl, wished them a wonderful day and headed back down Mulberry Street.

Feeling rather pleased with myself, I got back on Canal Street to take the subway back uptown. I swiped my Metro pass, strode purposefully toward the appropriate track, and eventually boarded the train in a hurry – just like a real New Yorker.  (The only thing that blew my cover was when I dropped most of the contents of my purse – which included 2 maps of New York and a “What To Do In The Big Apple” booklet - all over the subway car floor.  My cover was officially blown!)

I decided to hop out at an earlier stop and enjoy a little more of a walk.  (It was an absolutely gorgeous day!!)  I eventually returned to the hotel and prepared for my evening.

My sister is a trained chef who now works in the hotel / hospitality business.  When I told her I was coming to New York for the Thanksgiving Weekend, her first comment was:  “You HAVE to go to Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant!  You should go for lunch;  you’ll never afford dinner there!”  I decided to take her advice.  Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant is called “Maze” and it’s in the London Hotel in Manhattan.  I had done some research on line and it seemed they had a reasonable fixed price “pre-theatre” menu, so I had made a booking to have dinner there before attending a concert later that evening.  (More about that in a bit.)

I called ahead to confirm the location, learned that they had a dress code, grappled over what to wear, and eventually headed out to walk the 17 blocks to the restaurant.

It was simply lovely.  For those of you who saw the movie “A Single Man”, the maitre d’ could have passed for Colin Firth’s younger brother.  He was adorable!  I was comforted by the fact that I was seated in an area where there were 3 other people eating dinner alone, so I didn’t feel like, for lack of a better term, a loser.  (As I said in the first chapter, I’m not one to go to dinner alone, so I was struggling a little bit.)  The wait staff was wonderfully attentive and quite informative.  Fernando was my waiter.  (Consequently, I hummed ABBA songs each time he approached my table.)  I ordered a glass of California chardonnay to start and he brought me an espresso cup full of an appetizer that was a welcome “compliments of the Chef”.  I  began to wonder who tipped Gordon off that I was there, but then noticed that the other tables all had the same cups.  <sigh>

For my main course, I had pan-fried salmon with squash, tortellini, topped with a brown butter sauce.  Now, I have to tell you:  after the lunch I’d had at Sylvia’s I wasn’t what you’d call “ravenous”.  Fortunately, however, the portions in restaurants like this are - how can I put this? – “modest”.  The salmon was about 2.5 square inches and there were only about 3 or 4 pieces each of the squash and tortellini.  That said, it was just enough and it tasted simply marvelous.  (Yes, when you eat at restaurants like Maze, you use words like “marvelous”.)

Fernando ( “ … can you hear the drums, Fernando? …. “) asked me if I wanted to see a desert menu and I thought:  why not?  This was my Thanksgiving Dinner, after all.  Truly, I only planned to look at it and didn’t think I would order anything until I saw this:  “chocolate pudding, stout ice cream, pretzel and peanut butter powder”.  Are you kidding me?!?!?!  How could I resist that?  I told Fernando (“ … I remember long ago another starry night like this … “) that I would order it, but in about 15 minutes.  (I wanted to linger over my wine and let me 2.5 square inches of salmon settle.)  In the meantime, I asked to see the scotch list.  (If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right!)  The sommelier came to my table with the list and asked if I had any questions.  We chatted about various tastes and flavours and I eventually settled on an 18-year old Macallum, which we said he would send over following my dessert.

So …. the dessert.  Simply put, it was the best dessert I have ever had in my life!!!!  The pudding was so thick that it came in the form of a rectangular block.  Again the serving was small, but it was just enough!  The texture was beautifully smooth and creamy.  The flavour of that, combined with the stout ice cream and peanut butter powder was a combination that rivaled Abbot & Costello, Martin & Lewis, Bogart & Bacall, and Brangelina.  Amazing!!!!  (I think I might have wept a little bit internally out of sheer joy.

I sipped my scotch, asked for the bill, and thanked Fernando (“ … there was something in the air that night, the stars were bright … “).  Then I hopped in a cab and headed to the Coopers Union Building for an amazing concert courtesy of “NEW YORK VOICES”!!! 

So, just to put things into perspective, New York Voices was the first vocal group that brought my ambition to sing Jazz to new heights.  I was at a concert of theirs in Halifax back in the late 1980s when I made up my mind to pursue music.  When I recorded my first album with the Beehive Singers, we ALL thanked the “Voices” for their guidance and inspiration.  Over the years, our paths have crossed a few times, I’ve taken lessons with one of the Gals in the group, and I’ve even had the opportunity to adjudicate with a couple of “Voices” at music festivals, and have developed a friendship with the individual members of the group.  Simply put:  I adore them.

The only thing is:  they rarely play in New York.  So, I wasn’t exactly holding my breath when I checked their website to see their touring schedule.  You can imagine my amazement when I saw that they were doing a concert on my last night in New York.  It was a no-brainer …. I was there!!!

The show was fantastic.  They sound better than ever.  There’s a maturity and comfort in their sound.  Their rhythm section was just amazing (cute, geeky little Italian drummer named “Marcello”!!), and the program was beautifully planned.  The evening flew by and before I knew it, they were announcing their final tune.

I had sent one of the members (Peter Eldridge) a note saying that I was going to be in town for the show, but he didn’t mention it to the others, so it was really great to get their surprised reactions!  Unfortunately, they were swamped with fans who wanted autographs, pictures, etc.,  and I had to get back to the hotel to pack, so we only had time for some quick catching up.  (Note:  We are hoping they will have an opportunity to perform in Toronto sometime soon, so I will post something if that comes to fruition.  Theirs is a show that’s not to be missed!!)

While we were inside at the concert, a thunder storm was brewing, so by the time I left the hall, it was pretty nasty outside, and – of course – I didn’t have an umbrella.  However, I decided to make the best of it, and pretend I was in one of those movies where the heroine desperately struggles to hail a cab in the middle of a rain storm.  It worked!!!  I got the first cab I hailed!

I returned to the hotel, began packing my things, and fought off the feeling of melancholy that always comes at the end of a vacation.

All in all, it was a great trip … so much so that I was inspired to share it with y’all.

Thanks for reading!!!

P.S.  I’m leaving in a week to do a concert in Newfoundland and I have a feeling there might be some blogging moments in there somewhere.  Stay tuned …..