Dear Reader,
I got out on the road again, driving from NYC to central West Virginia, to spend Christmas with my family. The area of WV most of them live in is the same that had the mining disaster last January; our farm and homes are a couple of miles "over yonder" from the Sago Mine, where 12 men died last year. It was a mixed blessing and curse for the area; lots of press coverage and national attention, but a terrible loss in such a sparsely populated area.
The drive down is difficult, but it's really the only practical way to get there. I used to take the train to Washington, DC, then rent a car from there and go. That drive was only about 4 1/2 hours, but given the train trip, I would end up stopping about halfway out and spend an overnight in a motel (the Fort Hill Motel, in beautiful Petersburg, WV; stop by if you're ever out there!), then drive the rest of the way the following day. Driving directly from New York is an 8-hour trek, almost all on interstates. It's exhausting, but I've never had any problems, aside for one speeding ticket, in Maryland, of course. I just have to prepare myself for it; driving 8 hours alone is stressing and as I said, exhausting, despite the fact that I do love driving. I especially love driving long distances at high speeds, with the radio or other music cranked up really loud. I've been told I drive like a man, but all that means is that I pass other cars sometimes.
I frequently, actually always, question why I go down there. I am the one who maintains any contact with my family. They almost never initiate communication, except for the occasional emergency, and even then they sometimes wait a few days to let me know something has happened. As my Dad says, I am the "prodigal." I'm the one who really left home; went away to school and has not moved back home at any point. Once I was out, I was out. Both of my sisters have moved home on occasion, after their initial exits. I have not, so I'm the outsider. Even now, my youngest sister lives 8/10 of a mile from my Dad's house; my middle sister lives about 2 1/2 hours away; I live in the foreign country of New York City.
Now, I was not born in WV, nor am I "from" there. Both my parents were born there; they grew up in neighboring towns (actually, she lived in "town;" he lived out in the country). My Dad joined the Navy in 1942, for WW II (The Big One) and served as a reconnaissance pilot in the Pacific. After a post-war hiatus of going to law school, and continuing to serve in the Naval Reserve, he opted to go back into the active Navy in 1952 or thereabouts. Altogether, he served 37 years as both a Naval lawyer and judge, and we traveled to many different places during his career. My Mom also had adventures outside of WV before marrying my Dad, including a stint in, of all places, New York City! More of this history will entail many blog entries. My middle sister and I were actually born in Norfolk, VA. My youngest sister was born in Newport, RI. How we all ended up where we are makes for even more blog columns.
I do value the independent spirit that I get from my WV heritage. And, I value the beauty and isolation of the place. I am glad that we have a farm down there; parts of this property have been in our family for about 200 years, maybe longer at this point. Recently, well, 1996, a property opened up adjacent to our farm, and my Dad decided it was time to go "home." He bought the house, which sits on 10 acres of land, and lives there now. My youngest sister had moved into our farm house (my Dad's childhood home) in 1994, and lives there now. It's a relief to me to know that one of us is that close to my Dad, but also that he is there for my sister and her son. That has, at least, seemed to work out.
So, I'll be in WV for a week. I hate leaving my home, my apartment, my friends and my cats. I hate leaving the City. But when I'm out in the country I fall into that place's routine, and by the time I have to leave, I've become acclimated and find it difficult to pull away. I also do miss my Dad and sister. But I always have such a sense of relief when I get back to NYC. I know that sounds crazy, but I find the City so much more my speed, my sensibility, my place, than any other place, even "home."
More West Virginia tales to come; it's only December 27, but I already have enough for several columns. I hope everyone had a great Christmas or Hanukkah, and that the New Year brings all good things! I'll try to keep entertaining you, as well.
From the Mountain State,
Catbird
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Champing at the Bit
Dear Reader,
I am champing at the bit to write a column on the recent secession from the North American Episcopal Church of The Falls Church congregation in Virginia.
As a former member of this particular church, I think I have a unique insight into this decision, which I want to share with you. I just need some time to formulate it, and try to avoid making it sound like a diatribe. In the next couple of days, though, I've "gotta" say something!
Yours,
Catbird
I am champing at the bit to write a column on the recent secession from the North American Episcopal Church of The Falls Church congregation in Virginia.
As a former member of this particular church, I think I have a unique insight into this decision, which I want to share with you. I just need some time to formulate it, and try to avoid making it sound like a diatribe. In the next couple of days, though, I've "gotta" say something!
Yours,
Catbird
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Small Town: New York City
Dear Reader,
The next time one of your out-of-town relatives gives you the line about how unfriendly, alienating, anonymous and generally psychologically burdensome New York City must be (“and I just don’t understand how you can live there”), let them know what many of us who live here know: New York City, in some ways, is simply a collection of small towns. We happen to call them “neighborhoods,” but anywhere else in America, they would be small to medium towns, or even cities, and they have all of the same positives, and some of the negatives, that small towns exhibit.
In my own neighborhood, the Upper West Side, I’ve got a Mom-and-Pop (literally) store where they know my name and what I’m going to order when I walk in; we talk about their young son and how he’s doing, and the wife keeps track of when I come in (“Late today;” “Early today”). I’ve got many folks that I say “Hi” to in the street; folks I know from my various activities in the Park, living in my building, going to the vet, shopping, etc. I’ve got regular folks I see in the Park when I’m working out there; sometimes we intersect on Broadway, and they do a double-take when they see me out of context (as do I). I’ve got people I met when I was volunteering out in the medians of Broadway; we still stop to chat when we run into each other.
But, it’s more than just the neighborhood I live in; the “small town NYC” stretches to other neighborhoods sometimes. Last week it was the East Side, where I went to a concert of my old chorus. I hadn’t sung with these folks for more than 10 years, but when I went to the post-concert reception, I was so pleased to see many of my old singing compatriots, and they were equally glad to see me. I also ran into other old friends on the way into the concert, with whom I sat and caught up. Given the numbers of performances on any given night in the NYC area, it always amazes me when I run into people I know at concerts, but I almost always seem to.
Last night, I went caroling with a group of folks down in the West Village. This was an activity sponsored by another choral group, one of whose members sings with my group occasionally. He emailed me the particulars of the caroling evening; I sent it out to my group; I was the only one from my group to show up. Here I was in a room where I knew only one person, and not all that well, but I decided to make a go of it anyway. We went out, walked around the lovely, quaint area of the West Village along Hudson Street, caroling and chatting. Reactions to our presentation were mixed, but many more positive than negative. We were even invited into a couple of trés chic restaurants to sing for the patrons! Alienating, indeed. At the end of the evening, back in the church school cafeteria we started from, I had a very nice chat with a member of the Parks Department’s horticultural crew. She works in Brooklyn, but we had a lively conversation about male and female gingko trees, pulling down dead branches, seasonal “hort” work, and other fascinating topics. As large as the City is, many times it feels very small to me!
I looked for a great bar I used to go to in that neighborhood; McBell’s on 6th Avenue. It seems to have been swallowed up in the “mallification” of that stretch of 6th. Too bad. It was the kind of place a woman alone, or anyone for that matter, could go into, sit at a table, eat a burger, drink a couple of beers, and not be made to feel like a pariah. Fortunately, there is a place like that in my own neighborhood, so I went there for a post-caroling repast, and ended the evening on an up note. And oh, yeah, the bartender in this place knows me, too. I don’t frequent the place, but she’s “small town” enough to even remember the occasional customers. “Anonymous” indeed!
So, next time you visit New York, or my neighborhood, look around and see all of the small town “values” exhibited here every day. Yeah, we have crime, shootings, people sleeping on the sidewalks, drugs, theft, you name it, but every single place in this country has those things. We just have more people who hear about these eventualities while or after they happen, and word spreads faster. At least we don’t have people spitting wads of “chew” into the gutter, and our meth labs are in penthouse apartments.
I Love New York,
Catbird
The next time one of your out-of-town relatives gives you the line about how unfriendly, alienating, anonymous and generally psychologically burdensome New York City must be (“and I just don’t understand how you can live there”), let them know what many of us who live here know: New York City, in some ways, is simply a collection of small towns. We happen to call them “neighborhoods,” but anywhere else in America, they would be small to medium towns, or even cities, and they have all of the same positives, and some of the negatives, that small towns exhibit.
In my own neighborhood, the Upper West Side, I’ve got a Mom-and-Pop (literally) store where they know my name and what I’m going to order when I walk in; we talk about their young son and how he’s doing, and the wife keeps track of when I come in (“Late today;” “Early today”). I’ve got many folks that I say “Hi” to in the street; folks I know from my various activities in the Park, living in my building, going to the vet, shopping, etc. I’ve got regular folks I see in the Park when I’m working out there; sometimes we intersect on Broadway, and they do a double-take when they see me out of context (as do I). I’ve got people I met when I was volunteering out in the medians of Broadway; we still stop to chat when we run into each other.
But, it’s more than just the neighborhood I live in; the “small town NYC” stretches to other neighborhoods sometimes. Last week it was the East Side, where I went to a concert of my old chorus. I hadn’t sung with these folks for more than 10 years, but when I went to the post-concert reception, I was so pleased to see many of my old singing compatriots, and they were equally glad to see me. I also ran into other old friends on the way into the concert, with whom I sat and caught up. Given the numbers of performances on any given night in the NYC area, it always amazes me when I run into people I know at concerts, but I almost always seem to.
Last night, I went caroling with a group of folks down in the West Village. This was an activity sponsored by another choral group, one of whose members sings with my group occasionally. He emailed me the particulars of the caroling evening; I sent it out to my group; I was the only one from my group to show up. Here I was in a room where I knew only one person, and not all that well, but I decided to make a go of it anyway. We went out, walked around the lovely, quaint area of the West Village along Hudson Street, caroling and chatting. Reactions to our presentation were mixed, but many more positive than negative. We were even invited into a couple of trés chic restaurants to sing for the patrons! Alienating, indeed. At the end of the evening, back in the church school cafeteria we started from, I had a very nice chat with a member of the Parks Department’s horticultural crew. She works in Brooklyn, but we had a lively conversation about male and female gingko trees, pulling down dead branches, seasonal “hort” work, and other fascinating topics. As large as the City is, many times it feels very small to me!
I looked for a great bar I used to go to in that neighborhood; McBell’s on 6th Avenue. It seems to have been swallowed up in the “mallification” of that stretch of 6th. Too bad. It was the kind of place a woman alone, or anyone for that matter, could go into, sit at a table, eat a burger, drink a couple of beers, and not be made to feel like a pariah. Fortunately, there is a place like that in my own neighborhood, so I went there for a post-caroling repast, and ended the evening on an up note. And oh, yeah, the bartender in this place knows me, too. I don’t frequent the place, but she’s “small town” enough to even remember the occasional customers. “Anonymous” indeed!
So, next time you visit New York, or my neighborhood, look around and see all of the small town “values” exhibited here every day. Yeah, we have crime, shootings, people sleeping on the sidewalks, drugs, theft, you name it, but every single place in this country has those things. We just have more people who hear about these eventualities while or after they happen, and word spreads faster. At least we don’t have people spitting wads of “chew” into the gutter, and our meth labs are in penthouse apartments.
I Love New York,
Catbird
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Confusion|Resolution?
Dear Reader,
I hope I am finally beginning to reassemble myself after so many weeks of feeling in pieces. I decided to stop attending rehearsals of my chorus for a couple of weeks, and dovetailing that on to a 2 week scheduled hiatus, to give myself 4 weeks of neutrality. I miss my chorus friends, the singing, and the general activity terribly, but I felt a huge weight lifted off of me when I left our rehearsal room the other night, after dropping off "snack" materials, "ticketing" materials, and other items to make sure my responsibilities were covered while I was out.
Unfortunately, despite this step forward, I have not been able to resolve my desire to communicate with the gentleman in question. I was saddened to see that he has chosen to take his blog off-line; I don't know why this decision was taken, but I did leave comments letting him know that I was disappointed at this step and that I hope he gets the blog back up soon. I doubt I will ever know if he has or has not; he didn't bother to respond to or even acknowledge my comments.
For those not familiar with the blog world, or at least the world of "Blogger," when one sets up a blog, one can allow the blog to accept comments from readers in a few different ways. Except for the delimitations of "No Comments," or "Comments by "Team" Members Only," comments made will usually initiate an email to the address of the blogger's choice, letting him know that someone has actually read the blog (!), and taken the time to say something (!!). Occasionally these comments will be spam-like, but that does not seem to be typical.
In any case, on not receiving any response or even acknowledgement, I also sent him a short, slightly admonishing message, letting him know that he should at least acknowledge comments, even if he does not respond to them. Again, I doubt I will get a reply of any kind.
In some ways, this is confusing to me. He hurt me, not vice versa. So, I don't understand why he has decided that my communications are not worth a response, even a "Got your message; no comment." To me, this is just small, mean behavior. I don't know how else to think of it. I have tried to be nothing but nice; my comments on his blog have been all positive, or at least I thought they were, even when I was disagreeing a little; I have never said "Do Not Respond," or something equivalent; I just don't get the poor manners.
I had said "FIN" below, and thought I was indeed fin. Well, apparently I wasn't quite. But, this past rehearsal night off has gotten me closer to finally being "fin," and having said what I wanted to, I think I may be, finally! At least, I hope so. So, perhaps I am reaching resolution, having resolved to do so; I hope I can leave my confusion behind in the next few weeks, and start the New Year with a positive outlook, or at least not a negative one. We'll see, I suppose.
More to come,
Catbird
I hope I am finally beginning to reassemble myself after so many weeks of feeling in pieces. I decided to stop attending rehearsals of my chorus for a couple of weeks, and dovetailing that on to a 2 week scheduled hiatus, to give myself 4 weeks of neutrality. I miss my chorus friends, the singing, and the general activity terribly, but I felt a huge weight lifted off of me when I left our rehearsal room the other night, after dropping off "snack" materials, "ticketing" materials, and other items to make sure my responsibilities were covered while I was out.
Unfortunately, despite this step forward, I have not been able to resolve my desire to communicate with the gentleman in question. I was saddened to see that he has chosen to take his blog off-line; I don't know why this decision was taken, but I did leave comments letting him know that I was disappointed at this step and that I hope he gets the blog back up soon. I doubt I will ever know if he has or has not; he didn't bother to respond to or even acknowledge my comments.
For those not familiar with the blog world, or at least the world of "Blogger," when one sets up a blog, one can allow the blog to accept comments from readers in a few different ways. Except for the delimitations of "No Comments," or "Comments by "Team" Members Only," comments made will usually initiate an email to the address of the blogger's choice, letting him know that someone has actually read the blog (!), and taken the time to say something (!!). Occasionally these comments will be spam-like, but that does not seem to be typical.
In any case, on not receiving any response or even acknowledgement, I also sent him a short, slightly admonishing message, letting him know that he should at least acknowledge comments, even if he does not respond to them. Again, I doubt I will get a reply of any kind.
In some ways, this is confusing to me. He hurt me, not vice versa. So, I don't understand why he has decided that my communications are not worth a response, even a "Got your message; no comment." To me, this is just small, mean behavior. I don't know how else to think of it. I have tried to be nothing but nice; my comments on his blog have been all positive, or at least I thought they were, even when I was disagreeing a little; I have never said "Do Not Respond," or something equivalent; I just don't get the poor manners.
I had said "FIN" below, and thought I was indeed fin. Well, apparently I wasn't quite. But, this past rehearsal night off has gotten me closer to finally being "fin," and having said what I wanted to, I think I may be, finally! At least, I hope so. So, perhaps I am reaching resolution, having resolved to do so; I hope I can leave my confusion behind in the next few weeks, and start the New Year with a positive outlook, or at least not a negative one. We'll see, I suppose.
More to come,
Catbird
Friday, December 08, 2006
Depression.
Dear Reader,
My entry of yesterday does not mean "FIN" to this column; it means the end of my efforts to keep a connection going with someone who clearly does not want any connection with me whatsoever.
This episode, from beginning to end, has been terribly difficult and painful for me. It has confirmed all of the fears I had of trying to see someone again; it confirmed every iota of self-doubt and insecurity I have; it confirmed that, apparently, my "fate" is to be alone. This is a pretty hard reality to have to face, and accept.
My entire thought process centers around the question: what is wrong with me? And the corollaries: what did I do wrong; what is it about me that is not good enough; am I not smart, educated, erudite enough; am I too old, coarse, clumsy, silly, what? Is it my tattoo?
I cannot think in positive terms, no matter how I try. I am even going to stay away from my chorus; I simply can't continue to go to rehearsals and deal with NOT dealing with the gentleman in question. It makes me feel too badly after rehearsal. As long as I'm with my chorus friends and singing, or keeping busy, I'm fine, but as soon as I'm alone and begin ruminating, I'm lost.
I suppose if I had gone through this 15 years ago, I might not be feeling as badly. But going through this at my age, after being alone for so long, is doubly painful. And having no future prospects makes for a very bleak outlook. In general, life sucks, and I don't know how to get myself to feel better.
I am hoping that if I stay away from the chorus for a while, and have no further communications with the individual, I might have a chance to recover. We'll see. Missing rehearsals may ultimately do more harm than good, but it's the only alternative I can think of at the moment.
I had hoped to write a more cheerful column about the weather change (at last!) here in NYC, but I'll save that for the weekend. Suffice it to say that we're finally having some date-appropriate weather, although we pretty much skipped Fall and went right from summer to winter. More on this in another entry. I will still be out in the gardens this weekend, as there is still much "close down" work to do, like leaf raking (UGH!).
Yours,
Catbird
My entry of yesterday does not mean "FIN" to this column; it means the end of my efforts to keep a connection going with someone who clearly does not want any connection with me whatsoever.
This episode, from beginning to end, has been terribly difficult and painful for me. It has confirmed all of the fears I had of trying to see someone again; it confirmed every iota of self-doubt and insecurity I have; it confirmed that, apparently, my "fate" is to be alone. This is a pretty hard reality to have to face, and accept.
My entire thought process centers around the question: what is wrong with me? And the corollaries: what did I do wrong; what is it about me that is not good enough; am I not smart, educated, erudite enough; am I too old, coarse, clumsy, silly, what? Is it my tattoo?
I cannot think in positive terms, no matter how I try. I am even going to stay away from my chorus; I simply can't continue to go to rehearsals and deal with NOT dealing with the gentleman in question. It makes me feel too badly after rehearsal. As long as I'm with my chorus friends and singing, or keeping busy, I'm fine, but as soon as I'm alone and begin ruminating, I'm lost.
I suppose if I had gone through this 15 years ago, I might not be feeling as badly. But going through this at my age, after being alone for so long, is doubly painful. And having no future prospects makes for a very bleak outlook. In general, life sucks, and I don't know how to get myself to feel better.
I am hoping that if I stay away from the chorus for a while, and have no further communications with the individual, I might have a chance to recover. We'll see. Missing rehearsals may ultimately do more harm than good, but it's the only alternative I can think of at the moment.
I had hoped to write a more cheerful column about the weather change (at last!) here in NYC, but I'll save that for the weekend. Suffice it to say that we're finally having some date-appropriate weather, although we pretty much skipped Fall and went right from summer to winter. More on this in another entry. I will still be out in the gardens this weekend, as there is still much "close down" work to do, like leaf raking (UGH!).
Yours,
Catbird
Thursday, December 07, 2006
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