Who Dreams These Things

We’ve only just arrived on our trip back home from the west coast.  Everyone is knackered.  The last thing I want to do is head back down to Manhattan after passing through first thing in the morning yesterday.   But I think we’ll head back down tonight.  We’ll need to go soon.  My niece is leaving, and it just isn’t fair. 

She’s only just graduated from Columbia University’s graduate program in risk management.  However, she’s graduated early.  The terms of her visa are such that she cannot legally work till December.  No one wants to give her a job now in September that won’t start until Christmas.  She figures she’ll try her luck with the job fairs back in Beijing which might be reasonable though the terms of this visa are such that if she leaves the country, she cannot come back, accept as a tourist.  Cool your heels for four months in the U.S. without legally working before you can legally work.  If you leave to visit someone at home or in any other way depart from the U.S, you lose your chance of ever working in the U.S. as part of the work you did in university.  Who dreams these things up?  What possible add value is there for the country in that?

We’ve tried to talk her out of leaving but she has a ticket for tomorrow morning on Air China.  We pick a restaurant there near Grand Central and agree to meet there for dinner around 7:00PM.  It’s our second time getting a buy from the Trailways Park n’ Ride stop at the New Paltz entrance to the New York State Throughway.  We’ve arrived with plenty of time, plenty of time to watch a Trailways bus sail by without stopping and spin off on to the 87.  That didn’t look good.  I call.  I get put in a queue.  Finally, I ask a lady who agrees to check and later conforms that, “oh yeah.  The driver says the bus was full.  The next one is in ninety minutes.”  I curse and complain and hang up in futility. 

Over in Poughkeepsie, the trains run on time and soon we’re in Grand Central for the second time in two days.  I ask a cop where it is, we can find Agern.  “You know, the Nordic restaurant.”  The first cop looks at me like I’ve asked where I can find Winnie the Pooh, but the second cop smiles knowingly and points directly across the hall.  It’s a lovely place.  Our niece is waiting. The chef is Icelandic, but they use local food, like Bluefish instead of Herring.  We sample one and then another bottle of dry white wine from . . . New York State and we begin to make the case that she shouldn’t leave tomorrow.  “Stay with us.  You’ve got a base.  You’re safe.”  I make a comment or two that if she wants us to let it breath and give her a break, we can do this, but she seems to be ceding ground and then suddenly, surprisingly she says. “OK. “ 

I’m surprised.  I’m thrilled.  I’m a bit nervous that she might have buyer’s remorse in the morning . . . but she has agreed to let the flight go and after settling up for a rather painfully priced meal, we’re cabbing up to Columbia to her dorm and for the second time in two days I’m heading into Grand Central with two enormous suitcases, settling into the last train up to Poughkeepsie, working luggage out of the way of approaching passengers.

Thursday 8/29/19