2003-05-18 - 1:19 a.m.

And then I had a pedicure and manicure, and talked to the manicurist, who told me that she likes this neighborhood. She used to work "West Side... Up", and she was telling me, in charmingly broken English, that the women weren't nice there. "All the time, talk to each other... nice makeup, nice shirt, nice bag....too much" She shook her head disgustedly and added, "They no talk to me either, only nice shoes each other" When she was done I said, "Oh, thank you so much, I feel like a new woman! " And she said, "Thank you to say that to me. That make my day! You people in West so nice, I told you"

I then headed over to the Jewel of Perry Street's place to drop off my promised donation for his AIDS walk tomorrow, and after I slid it under the big, black wooden door (with a VIOLET colored crystal doorknob, oh my) I headed west for the annual block flea market, and I stopped in at D0ma for coffee to go, where I got a cafe au lait and a glimpse of Fe1icity, from the TV show, in jeans and a white tshirt and a headband. I strolled down the street, bought a beaded necklace from a little girl in a black P.S 41 tshirt. She sat in a little folding chair, with three beaded necklaces on a tray, and a little printed sign that read, "Bead Necklaces designed by Christina, age 10." How cute is that? You know I had to buy one, and I asked her if she had more or if she had to make a new one to fill the empty place on the tray, and I looked up and her mother, presumably, caught my eye from the sidewalk and gave me a huge smile. So cute. I'm going to send it to my niece and tell her who made it.

This flea market is different than the usual street fair, in that only residents of the street are allowed to show, or to sponsor you in their place, and there are a lot of antiques, furniture and pottery and random stuff, and I stopped in front of a woman who had a painting propped up on a chair, green and blue, abstract, with a diffused white light seeming to be in the distance. I eyeballed it a while, and then noticed that she had a panel from the windows at B@lducci's, the piece of plexiglas painted with the store name, with round, primary colored sheer circles around it. I asked her how much she'd charge for both, the plexiglass and the painting, and she got very flustered and said that the painting had been sold, it was amazing to her, she just paints for herself, has no confidence, and decided at the last minute to drag them out to the sidewalk along with the old books and 45s she was selling. She had sold three, and now I wanted one, and she couldn't believe it. So we started talking, about her painting, and she said that she was a cousin of the actor whose name rhymes with De Piro, (hahaha) and his father was an artist, and she's fine if she can stay focused, not fall into all that family crap, and suddenly she went off on an inappropriately personal rant, about how her family situation has ruined her life. I thought about angling for an introduction to her cousin, but I'm pretty sure she's estranged. And probably crazy, as well. Plus she wanted $750 for the plexiglas store sign, so she might have been high, too.

Then to the florist, for peonies and lilacs, and the drugstore and the grocery, and back out to the Village Fair, held on three residential blocks just west of me. I bought a ridiculously gorgeous necklace from a ridiculously gorgeous man, with long dreadlocks and tiny gold hoops and gentle hands. And I talked to Jane on the cell phone, stopping at a small brick stoop to sit, and then I headed home for a little down time before Ken comes in for dinner. I headed down Greenw1ch, and watched a mariachi band, in green uniforms with ornate gold braiding and frogs down the legs, climb into a red Mercury Voyager, which cracked me up - a mariachi band in a minivan. And I followed behind an old woman, wearing what my grandmother and her sisters used to refer to as a housedress, topped with a clashing cardigan sweater. She was walking her dog in suede platform sneakers, and as I passed her I looked at her face - also reminiscent of the old Italian women in my family, prominent nose and a slight mustache, and I smiled to myself as I passed the deli. And John, the neighborhood street person, was sitting out front of the deli. He said hi to her, and she didn't react, but she stopped a foot later and said, "You hungry?" And he said, no, no I'm fine, thanks. And she nodded her head and kept walking. Heh. Exactly like the old women in my family.

And then I turned onto my block, and saw that the giant wisteria across the street had burst into sudden bloom. Lacy purple blossoms, hanging over the street and twisted into the branches of the tree planted on the sidewalk. It's in front of an old white brick carriage house, and I think with envy of the person who lives in the top apartment, who can open their window and stick their head out and be surrounded by those blooms, that scent.

I wish I were a photographer, so I could show you all MY New York. Gloomberg nonewithstanding.

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