I thought this exercise would be a break from obsessing about the Gowanus rezoning – it wasn’t. I find it hard to walk through Gowanus without checking the proposed rezoning plan maps and mentally saying good-by to so many buildings and streetscapes.
The here and now: Looking north on 3rd Avenue from Sackett to Degraw. (Hard to beat Google maps for panoramic views.) Not a particularly “pretty” street – there’s a big lot for car sales and an auto repair shop on the west side and a large construction business that takes up the whole block on the east side.
On the other hand, the south-facing view from Degraw hits you right away with “commercial.” I like the bright colors of both buildings and signs on the west side of this block.
The east side of the street is a whole different story. A monolithic building, in an almost colonial brick style, hogs the block and is home to A. William Construction, “Celebrating 30 Years of Service”. The architecture vaguely reminds me of a two story funeral home, but it looks solid and sturdy (probably good for business).
The block begins at Sackett with a garage type structure with “KEISAL” mysteriously embossed on the first garage-like building, but there’s no hint of what that refers to. There is a courtyard type space where some heavy equipment is stored and then the faux colonial building.
So, what makes this block interesting? — well, it’s all going to change – in fact, disappear as we know it – with the proposed Gowanus rezoning.
Trying to be lyrical about this block sticks in my throat. I know what’s up. Love the idea of more affordable housing, but affordable for who? Hate the idea of more crap (literally) in the Canal and watching this funky ugly duckling turning into a fit-for-Dubai swan. Visions of developers looking like Monopoly bankers swim in my brain.
The future:
City Planning has marked most of this block (highlighted) as a projected development site in their rezoning plan – which means that they see a likelihood of a someone buying the property and putting a new building on it within a 15-year period. On this block, that which isn’t “projected” is “potential,” or less likely to be developed, but still possible.
And what will this new block look like? According to the proposed zoning map, the block (highlighted) will be at M1-4 R7X (in zoning speak) which means they would have a maximum height of 145 feet, which translates into about 13 stories. Uses could be residential with ground floor commercial, community facility, or commercial/manufacturing. It will all be up to “THE MARKET.” (She sighs deeply and thinks of Monopoly bankers.)
When
I came to this block in 2014, I was 41 and had just broken up with my partner
of 6 years, lost my corporate job, moved to Bushwick with only one cat (used to
live with three), and would soon lose in January of 2015, my car of 20 years
(oh, sweet BGY200 of 1994, manual transmission Toyota Corolla with a heart of
gold). Things were so different than
anything I had yet to experience. No one
ever told me that the forties were the new twenties. Hello freedom and experimentation! I had the opportunity to “follow my
‘Ooo.’” That’s what I called it then—the
freedom to choose anything that made you go, “Ooo!” inside—some curiosity or
excitement.
My
best friend and old roommate from college came to visit that summer, and on
this humid, stormy August day, I took her to the block of 3rd Ave between Union
and President so I could start my assignment.
We sat in the car and took selfies, just like real 20 year olds. They were the first selfies of our
friendship. We were giddy just to be
together, sitting in my old 1994 corolla just like we used to, except now in
our frisky 40 year old bodies and fresh from our break ups (her marriage of 10
years was ending then too).
The
block gave me messages in every storefront window. Each awning told the story of where I was. The bicycle shop, the wheels, The Canal Bar,
Union Street (ending of unions), President Street (“secret president” was a
term my ex had coined, and I thought it accurately described how he functioned
in my life — not just the sounding board, but kind of the behind-the-scenes
approval-giver and direction provider).
Even 2 Tom’s Restaurant — my ex’s name.
I
think it may have taken me 5 years to complete this assignment because the
piece that I started was so personal. I
usually write songs about books—other people’s lives, other people’s words,
fictional characters. I’m much more
comfortable with some distance (hello, intimacy issues!). So maybe 5 years has given me the distance I
needed to complete this song, if “complete” is the right word. It’s still feels very much like a
presentation of ideas—an experiment.
The
distance has also given me this new perspective on pain. Honestly, I can’t decide anymore whether pain
is good or bad. This is confusing for me
as a lifelong avoider of pain. It used to
be clear that pain was bad, and I should avoid it at all costs, and also that
it was my job to protect those I loved from pain (hence, lying to my mother and
staying in relationships longer than necessary). And it’s only taken me 46 years to even begin
to come to the understanding that it may not be good to do what you think is
protecting others from pain, and besides, it’s not possible. You can’t do it, and it shouldn’t be
done. It’s still a mind fuck even to
write it aloud.
Also,
what about the thought that some pain is good.
After the break up, loss of job, change of residence, losing my car,
etc… my ovaries decided that things were not safe out there in my life, so
they were calling it a day. They freaked
out and stopped working… for a year.
One whole year with no periods.
And that’s after being rock solid on schedule,
three-days-bleeding-and-out since I was 13.
I went to doctors, and they told me terrible things like I was probably
prematurely menopausal, and they used terrible words like “vaginal atrophy” to
describe what I had to look forward too.
It was then that I decided the new rule for my life would be that the
word “atrophy” would never get anywhere near my vagina. No, sir, not this one… you’ve got the wrong
vagina. Keep it moving.
My
period eventually came back (I started making some money doing freelance
assisting for an old friend, and all of a sudden it looked like I had a way to
survive on earth, so the survival trauma let go, and I started bleeding again). When I began to bleed again, I was so
excited… so so relieved and glad that I didn’t have to let go of that yet. The pain of menstruation came again (so bad
always that first day), and when I felt it, I heard this inner cheering — like
when the air starts changing and you can feel spring is a certainty instead of
just an idea. Or like knowing you can
both pay rent and buy that bottle of vanilla.
Or like when you hit that sweet spot of the day’s first caffeine hitting
your blood stream and suddenly everything’s a good idea and everyone’s
adorable. I was happy feeling this
pain. It meant I was healthy. How could pain mean that everything was
alright?? How can pain be the indication
of rightness? That’s fucked up, isn’t
it? I welcome the pain every time now.
I’m
thinking the more you’re in acceptance of pain, the less there is that can hurt
you. If you’re not afraid of pain, then
you’re kind of not afraid of anything, right?
This
of course is being said as I’m finding my way around sciatic pain from
degenerative disc disease, herniated disc, blah blah… where the pain was so bad
on Monday, I was weeping while making hamburgers. At the same time I was laughing, because it
was so extreme it was ridiculous, like, you know, a girl shouldn’t hurt so much
while making hamburgers. That’s moronic.
I
know that pain is its own opportunity.
It’s an avenue of understanding.
It’s one way. Beauty is too. But I swear, it’s like there are layers and
layers of both, and one does not negate the other. It seems like everything is an avenue. There are only avenues. If I get to choose, I’ll take jokes and
beauty and puppies. If there’s only pain
at the buffet that day, then I’ll scrounge around my purse for that reserve of
acceptance.
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