My apologies for being lax with correspondence but I will attempt to update you with our latest adventures. Natalie has settled into work and unsurprisingly is excelling in her role. She is a consultant who works predominantly from home, which poses a problem for her as she enjoys the cut and thrust of office interaction. The upside to this however, is that her work uniform is a sarong and she has chaired meetings in her pjs. Natalie has travelled to meet with clients at various sites such as Orlando, Atlanta and Houston. I keep asking her to return with a souvenir from her travels but she seems to be forgetful about such matters. She assures me that she has an excellent memory, which is all the more perplexing.
My trouble free life as a trophy husband continues. I am waiting on my work permit to be finalised and it gives me time to pursue my philanthropic bent. My first assignment was in the Brooklyn suburb of Bedford Stuyvesant, an area we have resided in for over a month. The area is gritty and predominantly African American. I went to assist at community food co-op and I could not work out why I was received with such hostility. I milled around the front of the hall with a crew of twenty people ranging in ages from twenty five to seventy. I was ignored which is par for the course if you are white but I was determined to do good. We entered the hall in silence and were given a number from 1 to 4. The rumblings of discontent grew louder as I took mine. I thought we would be divided up into working groups based on the numbers. I was wrong. It turns out that I had entered the line for the soup kitchen and I now was eligible to receive free food and services. I also managed to have an awkward conversation with an elderly lady about whether Jesus played a prominent role in my life. Apparently he does not. I returned home upset as to how my good intentions could be misinterpreted. Natalie assessed the situation. "You turn up to a soup kitchen wearing an Armani watch, Ray-Ban sunglasses and freshly pressed clothes and wonder why people get upset when you take food from them?" I do not think I will return to that particular soup kitchen.
My search for decent coffee in New York continues unabated. The search has proven to be fruitless as I have been met with subpar offerings and I have been delighted with anything even approaching mediocrity. Anyone who also supports Parramatta would be familiar with those emotions.
I am coming towards the end of my training program for the Rochester Marathon on September 23rd. I completed 30kms yesterday around Prospect Park, a lush parkland in an upscale part of Brooklyn. I took Natalie along to tend to the drinks and provide support and encouragement. I had mapped a course that was 5kms in distance and I would meet with Natalie to hydrate and give my impressions of the lap just completed. The first four laps passed without incident but by the time I had completed the fifth lap, the temperature was well over thirty degrees and I was really not feeling the famed runner's high. I was hoping for some sympathy and the distinct possibility that we could head home but that was in short supply. Natalie gave me a terse taste of reality and I completed my final lap. If I was not so dehydrated at the end I would have cried, so I had to content myself with crumpling in a heap under a tree. Natalie let lay there for a while but then was moved to come to my aid. Would she hug me? Pour water on my sweaty brow? No, she simply turned me on my side into the recovery position and went back to reading her Penguin classic. Time will tell if Natalie's methods bear fruit.
We are really enjoying our time in New York and are excited with the prospect of both our mothers visiting for a fortnight, at the same time. I look forward to updating you with our latest triumphs in the near future.
Connors
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