Dear Reader,
I am sorry for my long delay in writing. I have been overwhelmed in real time, and overwhelmed psychologically also. At the moment, I'm feeling overwhelmed at what a pain this site is to format the text the way I want it to be. ARRGGGH!
So much has happened in the last couple of months; too much to relate here in detail. Or maybe not, but I hope to incorporate it into future entries. I can't write now; I will catch up soon, though.
More to Come, really,
Catbird
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Timmmberrrrr!
Dear Reader,
Oh, it's been a tough few weeks out in the Park.
It's been a very rainy summer, and because of this, the trees have become saturated and heavy. There have been dozens of branches falling, all over the Park. In my area, about 4 weeks ago, a large limb fell off of one of the older trees, into the street. This was a big mess for Parks and the Dept. of Transportation to clean up. I found the remains when I went out to work in the Park that weekend; but this was only the first volley.
Two weeks ago, on August 24, I was out in the Park working late. All was well; status quo. I came out the next day, Saturday, and was confronted with yellow "Caution" tape and neon orange traffic cones in the main lawn space of my area. As I got closer to the cordoned-off area, I saw that there was a huge chunk of tree out along the curb of Riverside Drive, and many more logs and branches adjacent to the old American Linden that was the centerpiece of the space. In finally sank in that the old tree had lost its entire left, lower side; a huge swath of tree was gone, along with large chunks of adjacent trees that were entangled with the branches that fell.
After I absorbed the situation, I began to clean the area; pruning off thinner branches and stubs from the large chunks of wood that were on the ground; disentangling those branches from the shrubs on the ground; trying to pull all of the broken stuff together to be carted off. It was either do this work or sit and mourn; I decided to work. As I was pulling and tugging though, I got my feet tangled up with one of the logs on the ground; I fell backwards and landed hard on my tailbone area. It took a couple of minutes for me to determine that I had not compressed another vertebra (my T-12 had a compression fracture back in 1981; there is no pain comparable to that of a broken back), but boy, was I in pain. Naturally, I thought the best thing to do was to keep working, in 90 degree heat, with 90% humidity. What else was I going to do?
So, I cleaned up as much of the downed limbs as I could, and by that time it was dark. I came out the next day and did further work on what Parks had left behind. I had the sinking feeling, though, that the old tree was not long for this earth. After a few emails over the next few days, I got the verdict: the tree was too rotted out internally to stay up. What a disaster.
I had been fearing the loss of this tree for the last few years. When I finally saw the reality of it, I cried. There is a huge, empty space. All of the life that tree supported and promoted is now gone or has had to move away. Yes, there are plenty of other trees, but the Park has lost a major asset.
I think of trees in terms of biomass. If you look at a large tree, and understand that this huge thing is alive, it's really quite daunting. No, they can't move (although they DO turn towards the light, and DO gravitate away from buildings, and their roots grow TOWARDS water sources), but they do contribute to the life-force in their immediate areas. They go through life cycles just as animals do, and participate in the general environment in a number of ways. This particular tree, an American Linden (or Basswood) has a remarkable scent when it blooms in the late spring. It, along with the Little-leaf Lindens which line Riverside Drive, perfume nearly the entire Upper West Side for a few weeks every year. This may be passive, but the trees make their presence known.
The big, old tree is gone. I wasn't able to go out much last weekend, Labor Day, although I had made plans to do a large chunk of work, especially as 9/11 is looming, and it is the "Firemen's Memorial Island," after all. I hope I can do the work this weekend, to at least get the place looking greenish. Of course, taking down and carting away such a large tree has resulted in a lot of damage to the lawn and the area around the tree; huge ruts, bare spots, gouges. It's going to take a couple of seasons just to correct that damage. Replacing the tree, however, will take far longer. The first "ring count" was 90, which is probably a good ballpark of how old that tree was. That predates much of Riverside Park, and many of the buildings on the Upper West Side. I am hoping to hone in on a "real" age for the tree, and maybe even find some old photos. I'll have to relearn how to do research, but I hope to do so.
The one upside is that when they removed the tree, they ran a lot of it through a wood chipper, and left a huge pile of chips for use in the Park. They even left the chips in an area where it's useful to have them, and easy for the other volunteers and me to cart them away. So, the Old Guy will continue to contribute to the life of the Park.
Where is Treebeard when we need him?
Chipping Away,
Catbird
PS: Photos to come in the next entry, I hope. cb
Oh, it's been a tough few weeks out in the Park.
It's been a very rainy summer, and because of this, the trees have become saturated and heavy. There have been dozens of branches falling, all over the Park. In my area, about 4 weeks ago, a large limb fell off of one of the older trees, into the street. This was a big mess for Parks and the Dept. of Transportation to clean up. I found the remains when I went out to work in the Park that weekend; but this was only the first volley.
Two weeks ago, on August 24, I was out in the Park working late. All was well; status quo. I came out the next day, Saturday, and was confronted with yellow "Caution" tape and neon orange traffic cones in the main lawn space of my area. As I got closer to the cordoned-off area, I saw that there was a huge chunk of tree out along the curb of Riverside Drive, and many more logs and branches adjacent to the old American Linden that was the centerpiece of the space. In finally sank in that the old tree had lost its entire left, lower side; a huge swath of tree was gone, along with large chunks of adjacent trees that were entangled with the branches that fell.
After I absorbed the situation, I began to clean the area; pruning off thinner branches and stubs from the large chunks of wood that were on the ground; disentangling those branches from the shrubs on the ground; trying to pull all of the broken stuff together to be carted off. It was either do this work or sit and mourn; I decided to work. As I was pulling and tugging though, I got my feet tangled up with one of the logs on the ground; I fell backwards and landed hard on my tailbone area. It took a couple of minutes for me to determine that I had not compressed another vertebra (my T-12 had a compression fracture back in 1981; there is no pain comparable to that of a broken back), but boy, was I in pain. Naturally, I thought the best thing to do was to keep working, in 90 degree heat, with 90% humidity. What else was I going to do?
So, I cleaned up as much of the downed limbs as I could, and by that time it was dark. I came out the next day and did further work on what Parks had left behind. I had the sinking feeling, though, that the old tree was not long for this earth. After a few emails over the next few days, I got the verdict: the tree was too rotted out internally to stay up. What a disaster.
I had been fearing the loss of this tree for the last few years. When I finally saw the reality of it, I cried. There is a huge, empty space. All of the life that tree supported and promoted is now gone or has had to move away. Yes, there are plenty of other trees, but the Park has lost a major asset.
I think of trees in terms of biomass. If you look at a large tree, and understand that this huge thing is alive, it's really quite daunting. No, they can't move (although they DO turn towards the light, and DO gravitate away from buildings, and their roots grow TOWARDS water sources), but they do contribute to the life-force in their immediate areas. They go through life cycles just as animals do, and participate in the general environment in a number of ways. This particular tree, an American Linden (or Basswood) has a remarkable scent when it blooms in the late spring. It, along with the Little-leaf Lindens which line Riverside Drive, perfume nearly the entire Upper West Side for a few weeks every year. This may be passive, but the trees make their presence known.
The big, old tree is gone. I wasn't able to go out much last weekend, Labor Day, although I had made plans to do a large chunk of work, especially as 9/11 is looming, and it is the "Firemen's Memorial Island," after all. I hope I can do the work this weekend, to at least get the place looking greenish. Of course, taking down and carting away such a large tree has resulted in a lot of damage to the lawn and the area around the tree; huge ruts, bare spots, gouges. It's going to take a couple of seasons just to correct that damage. Replacing the tree, however, will take far longer. The first "ring count" was 90, which is probably a good ballpark of how old that tree was. That predates much of Riverside Park, and many of the buildings on the Upper West Side. I am hoping to hone in on a "real" age for the tree, and maybe even find some old photos. I'll have to relearn how to do research, but I hope to do so.
The one upside is that when they removed the tree, they ran a lot of it through a wood chipper, and left a huge pile of chips for use in the Park. They even left the chips in an area where it's useful to have them, and easy for the other volunteers and me to cart them away. So, the Old Guy will continue to contribute to the life of the Park.
Where is Treebeard when we need him?
Chipping Away,
Catbird
PS: Photos to come in the next entry, I hope. cb
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Old Friends, Older Places, New Experiences
Dear Reader,
I have been marveling lately at how seemingly little progress I have made in my life in the past 51 years. At the least, I suppose I should be happy I'm alive, and leave it at that.
But, I look around me, and I see little or no movement in many areas, while other people's lives are progressing and changing, sometimes on a daily basis.
I have several long-term relationships, many of which have been continuous over years and decades, and some which have been periodic. The woman I work with has been a friend and colleague for nearly 30 years. I have another friend who cares for my cats, and whose progress I've watched for the last 30 years as well; we went to college together. I've recently reconnected with another old college friend, and have had other acquaintances and colleagues with whom I've been in touch for years. I frequently seem to run into folks I've known, then fallen out of touch with. Sometimes these circumstances are completely accidental, sometimes they are the results of outside events.
Recently, I met up with a former client. Her small company, which she essentially started out of her bedroom, was being sold to an investor for a lot of money. I was one of the first people to work with her early in the process, so I was invited to a party celebrating the sale. Fortuitously, the event took place on the Lower East Side, an area of NYC I lived in, yes, nearly 30 years ago. Actually, I lived there for a year, from 1980 to 1981. I then moved in to my current apartment, where I've lived for the past 26 years (!).
In any case, after meeting and greeting, I decided to take a walk around the "Old Neighborhood." I had been down there on occasion since moving to the Upper West Side, but usually always with time constraints; client meetings, other scheduling. This particular evening after the party, I had nothing on the schedule. So, I walked around St. Mark's Place, where, 27 years ago, I would go with my then-boyfriend to the Grassroots Tavern after work, and have a few. It was there, on the steps of a brownstone, that my second cat Buddy, a beautiful Siamese, was acquired. It was there that I got purple dye for my hair, but I only had the nerve to color the tips and sides. In walking around the other night, I finally found the Grassroots again! I had missed it on previous visits and no wonder: the exterior is as nondescript as it can get, but the interior was just the same as it was all those years ago. The bar was the same, the tin ceiling, wooden floor, old tables and benches. The beer list was a little upgraded, with some imports, but the icky popcorn machine was still there, too. I was amazed and grateful that the place had changed so little.
I contemplated how long I've lived in the City; how well I know some of the neighborhoods; how long I've lived in my apartment on the Upper West Side, and how long I would continue to live there. Probably several more years; I'm not ready to leave the City yet. And, in keeping with that mind-set, I got a new hole pierced in my right ear. My first ear-piercings occurred back in college, as part of a pact. This was the first new piercing in 32 years; along with last year's tattoo (more to come there, too!), I finally have the nerve to make these kinds of changes to my body. I've wanted a new hole (in my ear) for years; so many earrings, so little space!
Where else could someone my age go into a "Piercing/Tattoo Emporium," be treated totally respectfully, show off my tattoo (and have it praised, sincerely) and get a pain-free piercing for 16 bucks? I LOVE New York!
More to Come,
Catbird
I have been marveling lately at how seemingly little progress I have made in my life in the past 51 years. At the least, I suppose I should be happy I'm alive, and leave it at that.
But, I look around me, and I see little or no movement in many areas, while other people's lives are progressing and changing, sometimes on a daily basis.
I have several long-term relationships, many of which have been continuous over years and decades, and some which have been periodic. The woman I work with has been a friend and colleague for nearly 30 years. I have another friend who cares for my cats, and whose progress I've watched for the last 30 years as well; we went to college together. I've recently reconnected with another old college friend, and have had other acquaintances and colleagues with whom I've been in touch for years. I frequently seem to run into folks I've known, then fallen out of touch with. Sometimes these circumstances are completely accidental, sometimes they are the results of outside events.
Recently, I met up with a former client. Her small company, which she essentially started out of her bedroom, was being sold to an investor for a lot of money. I was one of the first people to work with her early in the process, so I was invited to a party celebrating the sale. Fortuitously, the event took place on the Lower East Side, an area of NYC I lived in, yes, nearly 30 years ago. Actually, I lived there for a year, from 1980 to 1981. I then moved in to my current apartment, where I've lived for the past 26 years (!).
In any case, after meeting and greeting, I decided to take a walk around the "Old Neighborhood." I had been down there on occasion since moving to the Upper West Side, but usually always with time constraints; client meetings, other scheduling. This particular evening after the party, I had nothing on the schedule. So, I walked around St. Mark's Place, where, 27 years ago, I would go with my then-boyfriend to the Grassroots Tavern after work, and have a few. It was there, on the steps of a brownstone, that my second cat Buddy, a beautiful Siamese, was acquired. It was there that I got purple dye for my hair, but I only had the nerve to color the tips and sides. In walking around the other night, I finally found the Grassroots again! I had missed it on previous visits and no wonder: the exterior is as nondescript as it can get, but the interior was just the same as it was all those years ago. The bar was the same, the tin ceiling, wooden floor, old tables and benches. The beer list was a little upgraded, with some imports, but the icky popcorn machine was still there, too. I was amazed and grateful that the place had changed so little.
I contemplated how long I've lived in the City; how well I know some of the neighborhoods; how long I've lived in my apartment on the Upper West Side, and how long I would continue to live there. Probably several more years; I'm not ready to leave the City yet. And, in keeping with that mind-set, I got a new hole pierced in my right ear. My first ear-piercings occurred back in college, as part of a pact. This was the first new piercing in 32 years; along with last year's tattoo (more to come there, too!), I finally have the nerve to make these kinds of changes to my body. I've wanted a new hole (in my ear) for years; so many earrings, so little space!
Where else could someone my age go into a "Piercing/Tattoo Emporium," be treated totally respectfully, show off my tattoo (and have it praised, sincerely) and get a pain-free piercing for 16 bucks? I LOVE New York!
More to Come,
Catbird
Saturday, July 28, 2007
What IS Work?
Dear Reader,
The "Tree PIt" project is done! Thank heaven! I think if I'd had to go out there again and dig in those pits or mix, haul and dump any more mulch, I would have collapsed. As it was, each time I went out there to work, along Broadway between 102nd and 103rd Streets, it was hot, humid, smelly (car exhaust, dog pee, etc.), dirty, and sometimes aggravating. It was also satisfying, at least when folks didn't think I was doing "community service," or was hired to do the work. While I was preparing and spreading the mulch, I had the cooperation of my building, in that I had tools and space to work in. The mixing (I did a 2-color mulch, red and black), hauling and spreading was tough work, though. I didn't realize when I took this on how hard the work would actually be.
But what is work? The "work" I do to earn a living is, in and of itself, easy. Bookkeeping and accounting. It's numbers, math, organization, memory, repetition. I'm very good at it. The part I'm not as good at is dealing with clients who have no idea what it is I do, or worse, think that they understand my work. Then, I have to explain to them that they are idiots, without actually saying that. Bookkeeping is one of those tasks that everyone thinks they can do, but, as I have been told by clients, don't have the time to waste on. So, they have me. And, as I am "only a bookkeeper," I am not their equal, intellectually or in any other way, so they frequently believe.
As you may imagine, I don't get much satisfaction from this. So, I take on other tasks; I guess they would be called hobbies or, in the case of my gardening, exercise. I essentially approach these in the same way I do my work. I determine the work to be done, I formulate a plan to accomplish the work, and I do the job and get it done. Sadly, many of these "non-work" jobs are more satisfying and fulfilling than my income-producing work.
Whatever the situation, I work hard. I try to get my daily goals accomplished, even when I'm out in the Park. I love talking with folks while I'm out there, but I worry that I'm losing time "on the job." I had the same thing happen while I was out working on the tree pits. I don't want to be rude to people who stop and chat, however, so I have taken the time from my work, and made a few new friends.
So, what is work? And why can't work be fun, or at least fulfilling, and produce a sense of satisfaction at the end of the day? The tree pits were really hard work, but the sense of accomplishment and yes, satisfaction I had when I walked along them afterwards made it worthwhile. I occasionally have these same good feelings when I develop a really good spreadsheet, or reorganize a company so that the management can actually see how they are doing. But those upsides in my "real" work are few and far between.
I'm also bummed about my chorus right now, so I haven't even addressed that work here. I hope that over the rest of the summer I can focus on my Park work, which is wonderfully satisfying, and carry some of that back into my other works.
Bottom line, I think, work is work, but some work is fun. And sometimes fun can actually be work. Should one have to work to have fun? At age 51, I should have the answers to these questions, but the sad fact is, I still haven't even figured out what I want to be. Sheesh!
More to Come,
Catbird
The "Tree PIt" project is done! Thank heaven! I think if I'd had to go out there again and dig in those pits or mix, haul and dump any more mulch, I would have collapsed. As it was, each time I went out there to work, along Broadway between 102nd and 103rd Streets, it was hot, humid, smelly (car exhaust, dog pee, etc.), dirty, and sometimes aggravating. It was also satisfying, at least when folks didn't think I was doing "community service," or was hired to do the work. While I was preparing and spreading the mulch, I had the cooperation of my building, in that I had tools and space to work in. The mixing (I did a 2-color mulch, red and black), hauling and spreading was tough work, though. I didn't realize when I took this on how hard the work would actually be.
But what is work? The "work" I do to earn a living is, in and of itself, easy. Bookkeeping and accounting. It's numbers, math, organization, memory, repetition. I'm very good at it. The part I'm not as good at is dealing with clients who have no idea what it is I do, or worse, think that they understand my work. Then, I have to explain to them that they are idiots, without actually saying that. Bookkeeping is one of those tasks that everyone thinks they can do, but, as I have been told by clients, don't have the time to waste on. So, they have me. And, as I am "only a bookkeeper," I am not their equal, intellectually or in any other way, so they frequently believe.
As you may imagine, I don't get much satisfaction from this. So, I take on other tasks; I guess they would be called hobbies or, in the case of my gardening, exercise. I essentially approach these in the same way I do my work. I determine the work to be done, I formulate a plan to accomplish the work, and I do the job and get it done. Sadly, many of these "non-work" jobs are more satisfying and fulfilling than my income-producing work.
Whatever the situation, I work hard. I try to get my daily goals accomplished, even when I'm out in the Park. I love talking with folks while I'm out there, but I worry that I'm losing time "on the job." I had the same thing happen while I was out working on the tree pits. I don't want to be rude to people who stop and chat, however, so I have taken the time from my work, and made a few new friends.
So, what is work? And why can't work be fun, or at least fulfilling, and produce a sense of satisfaction at the end of the day? The tree pits were really hard work, but the sense of accomplishment and yes, satisfaction I had when I walked along them afterwards made it worthwhile. I occasionally have these same good feelings when I develop a really good spreadsheet, or reorganize a company so that the management can actually see how they are doing. But those upsides in my "real" work are few and far between.
I'm also bummed about my chorus right now, so I haven't even addressed that work here. I hope that over the rest of the summer I can focus on my Park work, which is wonderfully satisfying, and carry some of that back into my other works.
Bottom line, I think, work is work, but some work is fun. And sometimes fun can actually be work. Should one have to work to have fun? At age 51, I should have the answers to these questions, but the sad fact is, I still haven't even figured out what I want to be. Sheesh!
More to Come,
Catbird
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Looking in the Rearview Mirror
Dear Reader,
I've been back in NYC for 8 days, and it feels like a month. So many things have happened; routine and not so.
I began the "Broadway Tree pit" project last Monday, right after work. It's remarkable how tiring simple digging, hoeing and weeding/detrashing can be. I started a course of yoga the next day, and did more "pit" work. Wednesday was routine, with a major downpour dumped in; I canceled 2 doctor appointments on Tuesday and Wednesday because I just felt overwhelmed.
Thursday was a long catchup session at a client; new workspace (again), new office manager (again), new systems (again). I love this client, though, so the anxiety is worth it.
Friday, prepared draft budget for my chorus for next season, working with almost no definitive information. What fun! What surprises me is that my hobbies almost invariably end up being "jobs," albeit unpaid ones.
I started taking care of a friend's very old cat on Sunday. This will be nearly a three-week stint. Also over the weekend, I got back into the Park. It was none the worse for wear, thankfully! In fact, I was amazed at how untouched things were. I was so grateful for that, but I was so relieved to be back. It was like "old-home" weekend, too; almost all of my dog/people friends came by, and I had many nice chats and catch-up sessions. My friend Linda and her dog Smokey (see this entry: http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2007/05/wonderful-day-in-neighborhood.html) came by for an extended visit and playing with his Kong. What surprised me was that when they came into the Park, he trotted right up to me, Kong in mouth, then waited for me to start playing. He is a great dog! Linda and I caught up, which was nice.
I have never been good at having a lot of "friends." I have had one "best" friend, and many acquaintances, but never several close friends. My "best" friends have been few and far between, and have always left one way or the other. My last best friend died a few years ago of Parkinson's disease. Nowadays, whenever anyone mentions sensations of what might sound like symptoms of Parkinson's, I get antsy and tell them they should get checked. It seemed to sneak up on my friend, and I would hate for that to happen to anyone else I know.
I spent the last week updating folks (at their request) on my "vacation" in WV. I mentioned first and foremost that I spent time in PA with my sister and her husband, and that I rode a jet ski! Honestly, I have been surprised at the reaction! People think this is a big adventure; I'm some sort of daredevil or something. I thought I was doing something pretty ordinary; I figured if I flipped the thing, I'd just end up swimming. Anyway, I've described the rest of my time away as uneventful, which it was, and untroubling, which it was not.
When I leave there, I take the burden of the place with me, and it stays with me for quite a while. I have worked hard to maintain connections and relationships with my sisters, and of course, Daddy. This has been a real challenge sometimes because the life I have here is so different and disconnected from them.
I know Daddy is happy when I come down, no matter how dysfunctional I seem to be. And, to him, it would not matter if I did anything to "help out," or if I just sat and watched TV all day; I know he is happy to just have me there. My sisters are another issue. If I don't "do something" while I'm there, I'm labeled "lazy, drunk, useless." It doesn't matter that I'm on vacation when I'm there. As far as they are concerned, I don't really "work" anyway. Yes, I don't wear a smock or a uniform; I don't clock in; I don't have someone else setting my schedule. So, I don't really work.
Anyway, as I drive away from there, and get back into the NY pace and routine, such as it is, I wonder when and if I will see them again, especially Daddy. I'm torn, because he has never abandoned me, and I don't want to feel as if I am abandoning him when he may need me. It's hard to know, because he will never say. What to do?
I want a motorcycle!
Catbird
I've been back in NYC for 8 days, and it feels like a month. So many things have happened; routine and not so.
I began the "Broadway Tree pit" project last Monday, right after work. It's remarkable how tiring simple digging, hoeing and weeding/detrashing can be. I started a course of yoga the next day, and did more "pit" work. Wednesday was routine, with a major downpour dumped in; I canceled 2 doctor appointments on Tuesday and Wednesday because I just felt overwhelmed.
Thursday was a long catchup session at a client; new workspace (again), new office manager (again), new systems (again). I love this client, though, so the anxiety is worth it.
Friday, prepared draft budget for my chorus for next season, working with almost no definitive information. What fun! What surprises me is that my hobbies almost invariably end up being "jobs," albeit unpaid ones.
I started taking care of a friend's very old cat on Sunday. This will be nearly a three-week stint. Also over the weekend, I got back into the Park. It was none the worse for wear, thankfully! In fact, I was amazed at how untouched things were. I was so grateful for that, but I was so relieved to be back. It was like "old-home" weekend, too; almost all of my dog/people friends came by, and I had many nice chats and catch-up sessions. My friend Linda and her dog Smokey (see this entry: http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2007/05/wonderful-day-in-neighborhood.html) came by for an extended visit and playing with his Kong. What surprised me was that when they came into the Park, he trotted right up to me, Kong in mouth, then waited for me to start playing. He is a great dog! Linda and I caught up, which was nice.
I have never been good at having a lot of "friends." I have had one "best" friend, and many acquaintances, but never several close friends. My "best" friends have been few and far between, and have always left one way or the other. My last best friend died a few years ago of Parkinson's disease. Nowadays, whenever anyone mentions sensations of what might sound like symptoms of Parkinson's, I get antsy and tell them they should get checked. It seemed to sneak up on my friend, and I would hate for that to happen to anyone else I know.
I spent the last week updating folks (at their request) on my "vacation" in WV. I mentioned first and foremost that I spent time in PA with my sister and her husband, and that I rode a jet ski! Honestly, I have been surprised at the reaction! People think this is a big adventure; I'm some sort of daredevil or something. I thought I was doing something pretty ordinary; I figured if I flipped the thing, I'd just end up swimming. Anyway, I've described the rest of my time away as uneventful, which it was, and untroubling, which it was not.
When I leave there, I take the burden of the place with me, and it stays with me for quite a while. I have worked hard to maintain connections and relationships with my sisters, and of course, Daddy. This has been a real challenge sometimes because the life I have here is so different and disconnected from them.
I know Daddy is happy when I come down, no matter how dysfunctional I seem to be. And, to him, it would not matter if I did anything to "help out," or if I just sat and watched TV all day; I know he is happy to just have me there. My sisters are another issue. If I don't "do something" while I'm there, I'm labeled "lazy, drunk, useless." It doesn't matter that I'm on vacation when I'm there. As far as they are concerned, I don't really "work" anyway. Yes, I don't wear a smock or a uniform; I don't clock in; I don't have someone else setting my schedule. So, I don't really work.
Anyway, as I drive away from there, and get back into the NY pace and routine, such as it is, I wonder when and if I will see them again, especially Daddy. I'm torn, because he has never abandoned me, and I don't want to feel as if I am abandoning him when he may need me. It's hard to know, because he will never say. What to do?
I want a motorcycle!
Catbird
Monday, July 02, 2007
Where is Home?
Dear Reader,
Entry started July 2, continued July 3:
I'm heading to West Virginia, via my sister and her husband's home in western Pennsylvania.These trips are always difficult for me. When people ask me where I'm going, my response is that I'm going "home," to visit my family. Now, I am not from either West Virginia OR Pennsylvania. I was born in Virginia, and while I was a kid, we lived in several different states and countries, none of which was West Virginia or PA. But, my parents were from WV, and my dad decided to move back there several years ago. When he and my mom relocated there, it became "home." As it happens, it is 8/10's of a mile from the house my dad was born in, so for him, it is literally, home.
But, whenever I travel down there, I go through the litany of questions: what is "home?" Is home where I live, or is it the place where my family lives? Is home the life I've built here in New York, my apartment, my neighborhood, my gardens, or is "home" their place, their life?
As I drive to my destination (I drive twice or so a year; always to visit "home") I think about living that lifestyle; the "driving" lifestyle. I am a good driver; I love driving, in fact. I've driven cars, SUV's and trucks; I like them all. I love driving, and driving fast on the highway. If I lived in the 'urbs, either the sub- or ex-urbs, I would be comfortable without mass transit. But, as a New Yorker, I believe totally in the need and efficiency of mass transit. I also believe that regular work commutation should be done in some more useful fashion than 1 person, 1 auto, if it's done at all. I think most of it is a huge waste of time and energy, both oil-based and human.
But then I get involved in the house, yard, big grocery store, WalMart aspects of this lifestyle. Oh, it seems so easy, and clean and nice and civilized. Not like trying to shop in the grocery store in my neighborhood, which is really nice, but the aisles are so narrow and crowded; things are so expensive; the ease of getting home is only because I live so close by.
I try not to determine which is "better," the urban or the sub/exurban lifestyle. Both have their up and downsides, definitely. But which do I prefer? The urban, in the long run.
Why? Because it's what I'm used to, although I am very familiar and comfortable with the suburban/country life. But also, I simply feel more at ease with the urban life; I am happy with my apartment, which equals one room in my sisters' homes. All I need is a room, with a bathroom and a separate kitchen, and I have that in my Manhattan studio apartment. I don't need a 10-room home with a livingroom/diningroom, live-in kitchen, and several bedrooms. I need enough space for my cats and me. I have managed to find a "yard:" the area I work in, in Riverside Park. What better yard?
But, the sub/exurban life still does have many attractions. The sheer space is one; I could have 10 or more additional rooms to put my stuff into; so I could pay a mortgage, but I wouldn't have to pay for a storage space. I could do whatever I wanted with my own yard and property, though I would not have folks walking their dogs coming through to enjoy the space, or my work.
Continued 7/11/07:
I'm going to go ahead and post this column. I have many other thoughts and stories from my recent trip "home," many of which have been generated on my return to NYC, and the contrast between these two lifestyles. When I leave down there to come back Home to NYC, I feel in some ways I am abandoning my family, although the truth is, there is nothing I could do to help them if I stayed there with them. So, all I can do is come home to NYC, live my life and make the best of it. I still do have that guilt, though.
More to come,
Catbird
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Stop and Smell the Lindens?
Dear Reader,
In my last column, I encouraged you to come out and smell the lindens. There's no need to make a special trip, though. There are linden trees all over the City, as they are one of the preferred street trees, and they are all in full bloom now.
I realize it's hard for New Yorkers to stop for a moment, but the phrase "stop and smell the roses" does not only mean the literal action of stopping to smell a flower (or in the current case, the flowers on a tree). It means pausing, if only for a moment, to notice what's going on around you. Not only the good, but the bad as well.
Notice that the West Side Market has reopened (yay!!!) with beautiful appointments and shelves full of gorgeously-presented food. Then, notice that there are still people going through the garbage for something to eat. See that there are beautiful babies who are out in the world for the first time, in their strollers that look like something from NASA, then notice the babies who cry, only to have their mothers yell at them to shut up. Pay attention to what the politicians are saying and doing, because it really does affect you and your surroundings. Yes, come out and smell the lindens, and keep in mind that those trees could be gone at a moments notice, if someone decided it was worth more money to pave them over, or build an office building on them.
There is a fantastic linden on 110th Street and Broadway, next to the Rite-Aid. That is, in fact, the first linden I ever smelled, and identified as such. It has been there for decades, well before I began working out in the Broadway Malls or the Park. But, that tree could go at any time, at the whim of the owners of the building next to it, or Rite-Aid, or who knows what. Trees, especially street trees, have a hard life in New York, which is why we should appreciate them all the more.
So, even in the hurry of running between appointments or meetings or sessions or classes or rehearsals, or whatever, take a moment to smell things and notice what's going on around you. We are part of the world, and it's good to notice that sometimes.
Sorry to be so preachy,
Catbird
In my last column, I encouraged you to come out and smell the lindens. There's no need to make a special trip, though. There are linden trees all over the City, as they are one of the preferred street trees, and they are all in full bloom now.
I realize it's hard for New Yorkers to stop for a moment, but the phrase "stop and smell the roses" does not only mean the literal action of stopping to smell a flower (or in the current case, the flowers on a tree). It means pausing, if only for a moment, to notice what's going on around you. Not only the good, but the bad as well.
Notice that the West Side Market has reopened (yay!!!) with beautiful appointments and shelves full of gorgeously-presented food. Then, notice that there are still people going through the garbage for something to eat. See that there are beautiful babies who are out in the world for the first time, in their strollers that look like something from NASA, then notice the babies who cry, only to have their mothers yell at them to shut up. Pay attention to what the politicians are saying and doing, because it really does affect you and your surroundings. Yes, come out and smell the lindens, and keep in mind that those trees could be gone at a moments notice, if someone decided it was worth more money to pave them over, or build an office building on them.
There is a fantastic linden on 110th Street and Broadway, next to the Rite-Aid. That is, in fact, the first linden I ever smelled, and identified as such. It has been there for decades, well before I began working out in the Broadway Malls or the Park. But, that tree could go at any time, at the whim of the owners of the building next to it, or Rite-Aid, or who knows what. Trees, especially street trees, have a hard life in New York, which is why we should appreciate them all the more.
So, even in the hurry of running between appointments or meetings or sessions or classes or rehearsals, or whatever, take a moment to smell things and notice what's going on around you. We are part of the world, and it's good to notice that sometimes.
Sorry to be so preachy,
Catbird
Monday, June 18, 2007
So Much Work; So Little Time!
Dear Reader,
I reach a point every spring/summer when I feel simply overwhelmed at all I have to do out in the gardens. I reached that point yesterday, when I was out trying to finish up the "forsythia project," and the "wood chip mountain," and realized I still have three flats of vinca to plant (approximately 54 plants), the entire quince hedge to prune (nearly a block long), the 103rd quince group to prune, the other shrubs in that group to trim up, piles of woodchips to spread, the path to rake, the path along the drive to rake up and sow grass seed along, the pole pruning to be done (later on, in July or August), and general maintenance and cleaning. My work is cut out for me for the rest of the summer!
The upside is that I love the work, it gets me outside every weekend (weather permitting), I get to talk to my "park" friends and their dogs, and I get to see things like the bats flying around, or a pair of bumblebees mating (very still, and I kept my distance).
One of the great things about gardening for me is that with so many different things to be done, I can shift off from one task to the other, without really losing much headway. So, I can go in of an afternoon, pick up trash and sticks along the way, then switch off to weeding, and do some pruning in-between, then go to the big "single" project (in the case of the last few weeks, the forsythia renovation), and the other on-going project, the woodchips. The woodchips are done (until they drop off another load), the forsythia is almost done, so the next big thing is getting the vincas planted and the quinces pruned. And, as I get bored with those, I can switch off to raking or weeding, or pruning other things, until I decide to switch back to the previous task again. It's really great for short attention spans, or those of us who get easily distracted.
And I look forward to every minute of it, even as chiggers are getting on me, mosquitoes are biting me, I'm stepping in dog doo, getting stuck with thorns, having stuff fly into my eyes, whatever. It's all good!
It's hard work, and I get exhausted and hot and when I finish for the day, a lot of my body is in pain. It's not as "cardio" a workout as running or biking or tennis would be, but out of the physical activity, I have the satisfaction of seeing the results of my efforts. I refer to this as "enlightened self-interest." I garden for me; I am not serving the community or the neighborhood, or even the Park or its users. I am serving myself. I am doing something I love to do. As it happens, other people benefit from this. I see them all of the time, walking their dogs, picnicking, sitting in the sun, playing. But I am not out there for them; I'm out there for me. If I were doing the work because of a sense of duty to the Park users or the Park itself, I would burn out. I work out there for me and the garden; the garden needs me to keep it together, and the payback I get is great flowers and shrubs, healthy trees, a green lawn, bats and nesting birds. Oh, yeah, and bumblebees in flagrante delicto! Who'd have thought!
Come out and smell the lindens,
Catbird
I reach a point every spring/summer when I feel simply overwhelmed at all I have to do out in the gardens. I reached that point yesterday, when I was out trying to finish up the "forsythia project," and the "wood chip mountain," and realized I still have three flats of vinca to plant (approximately 54 plants), the entire quince hedge to prune (nearly a block long), the 103rd quince group to prune, the other shrubs in that group to trim up, piles of woodchips to spread, the path to rake, the path along the drive to rake up and sow grass seed along, the pole pruning to be done (later on, in July or August), and general maintenance and cleaning. My work is cut out for me for the rest of the summer!
The upside is that I love the work, it gets me outside every weekend (weather permitting), I get to talk to my "park" friends and their dogs, and I get to see things like the bats flying around, or a pair of bumblebees mating (very still, and I kept my distance).
One of the great things about gardening for me is that with so many different things to be done, I can shift off from one task to the other, without really losing much headway. So, I can go in of an afternoon, pick up trash and sticks along the way, then switch off to weeding, and do some pruning in-between, then go to the big "single" project (in the case of the last few weeks, the forsythia renovation), and the other on-going project, the woodchips. The woodchips are done (until they drop off another load), the forsythia is almost done, so the next big thing is getting the vincas planted and the quinces pruned. And, as I get bored with those, I can switch off to raking or weeding, or pruning other things, until I decide to switch back to the previous task again. It's really great for short attention spans, or those of us who get easily distracted.
And I look forward to every minute of it, even as chiggers are getting on me, mosquitoes are biting me, I'm stepping in dog doo, getting stuck with thorns, having stuff fly into my eyes, whatever. It's all good!
It's hard work, and I get exhausted and hot and when I finish for the day, a lot of my body is in pain. It's not as "cardio" a workout as running or biking or tennis would be, but out of the physical activity, I have the satisfaction of seeing the results of my efforts. I refer to this as "enlightened self-interest." I garden for me; I am not serving the community or the neighborhood, or even the Park or its users. I am serving myself. I am doing something I love to do. As it happens, other people benefit from this. I see them all of the time, walking their dogs, picnicking, sitting in the sun, playing. But I am not out there for them; I'm out there for me. If I were doing the work because of a sense of duty to the Park users or the Park itself, I would burn out. I work out there for me and the garden; the garden needs me to keep it together, and the payback I get is great flowers and shrubs, healthy trees, a green lawn, bats and nesting birds. Oh, yeah, and bumblebees in flagrante delicto! Who'd have thought!
Come out and smell the lindens,
Catbird
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Goin' Batty!
Dear Reader,
I realize, given the history in this column, today's title could mean anything. What it means for yesterday, June 2, is that the bat(s) have returned to my area of Riverside Park! They're a little late; last year they came back on Memorial Day. Maybe this year they had more packing to do; still, they are pretty much on schedule.
I was so pleased to see them last night as I was sitting on the bench, recovering from my work session for the afternoon. It was warm and humid, so everything I did was tiring; especially hauling loads of woodchips up through shrubs to get them where they needed to be. But seeing "Batty" again made it all worthwhile. I'm not sure if I saw one or two bats; I did not see them simultaneously, so I'll assume one for now. They have usually returned in multiples, however. Last year I saw three at once; I'm hoping for that again this year.
The return of these bats confirms for me the work I've been doing out in the Park. I've been trying to make it a welcoming place for people and animals. So far, both seem to be partaking. People come out and really enjoy the area; how green and clean it is; how lively it is. And some of that is because the animals seem to like it too; I've had a great number of birds this year, including robins, and the squirrels are abundant.
I saw a teenage robin yesterday. He had some of the red breast (obviously a young male), but he still had brown chick feathers in among the red. I had never seen that before; he may be part of a family group that will come back next year. It would be neat to band the youngsters, if possible, to see if they come back to the same nesting areas year after year. In any case, I am gratified that the animals seem to come back as the humans do. Maybe I'm doing something right!
I was thinking today what I would rather be doing than working out in the garden. Pruning, hauling stuff, digging, planting, raking, chatting with people and their dogs (or vice versa). The only thing I could think of that I might rather be doing is having sex. And that would of course depend upon whom I was having sex with. How sad is that? My work, my singing and the chorus weren't even there; gardening or sex. What does that say about me? Am I totally shallow or stupid? Or, do things that involve a lot of my time and energy really not matter to me? Have I directed my life in such a way that I'm totally involved in activities that bring me no pleasure or satisfaction, and the only way I can find pleasure or satisfaction in life is to make it up on the weekends? This is what most people do in the real world, so who am I to complain?
I guess I thought that at some point I might end up loving my work, and working in a field (literal or figurative) that I loved. I guess I'm still living in the old school. But what a bummer.
So, I'll find as much joy as I can in my bats returning for another year in the park, and hope that they and I continue to meet out there for many years to come. And, I'll deal with my work and the rest of my world as best I can, and hope I get enough happiness and positive energy from the gardens to make up for the rest of my life.
Living for the Weekend,
Catbird
I realize, given the history in this column, today's title could mean anything. What it means for yesterday, June 2, is that the bat(s) have returned to my area of Riverside Park! They're a little late; last year they came back on Memorial Day. Maybe this year they had more packing to do; still, they are pretty much on schedule.
I was so pleased to see them last night as I was sitting on the bench, recovering from my work session for the afternoon. It was warm and humid, so everything I did was tiring; especially hauling loads of woodchips up through shrubs to get them where they needed to be. But seeing "Batty" again made it all worthwhile. I'm not sure if I saw one or two bats; I did not see them simultaneously, so I'll assume one for now. They have usually returned in multiples, however. Last year I saw three at once; I'm hoping for that again this year.
The return of these bats confirms for me the work I've been doing out in the Park. I've been trying to make it a welcoming place for people and animals. So far, both seem to be partaking. People come out and really enjoy the area; how green and clean it is; how lively it is. And some of that is because the animals seem to like it too; I've had a great number of birds this year, including robins, and the squirrels are abundant.
I saw a teenage robin yesterday. He had some of the red breast (obviously a young male), but he still had brown chick feathers in among the red. I had never seen that before; he may be part of a family group that will come back next year. It would be neat to band the youngsters, if possible, to see if they come back to the same nesting areas year after year. In any case, I am gratified that the animals seem to come back as the humans do. Maybe I'm doing something right!
I was thinking today what I would rather be doing than working out in the garden. Pruning, hauling stuff, digging, planting, raking, chatting with people and their dogs (or vice versa). The only thing I could think of that I might rather be doing is having sex. And that would of course depend upon whom I was having sex with. How sad is that? My work, my singing and the chorus weren't even there; gardening or sex. What does that say about me? Am I totally shallow or stupid? Or, do things that involve a lot of my time and energy really not matter to me? Have I directed my life in such a way that I'm totally involved in activities that bring me no pleasure or satisfaction, and the only way I can find pleasure or satisfaction in life is to make it up on the weekends? This is what most people do in the real world, so who am I to complain?
I guess I thought that at some point I might end up loving my work, and working in a field (literal or figurative) that I loved. I guess I'm still living in the old school. But what a bummer.
So, I'll find as much joy as I can in my bats returning for another year in the park, and hope that they and I continue to meet out there for many years to come. And, I'll deal with my work and the rest of my world as best I can, and hope I get enough happiness and positive energy from the gardens to make up for the rest of my life.
Living for the Weekend,
Catbird
Friday, June 01, 2007
599 Days to Go!
Dear Reader,
In case you're keeping count, there are 599 days left in the current term of W. This is according to a calendar I got as a gift last Christmas, the "Out of Office Countdown" calendar. 599 days is 85.57 weeks; 1.65 years; still WAY too long!
Is it possible that our long national nightmare will finally be over, or will we have Fred Thompson as president? Will this country be that stupid?
I love politics,
Catbird
In case you're keeping count, there are 599 days left in the current term of W. This is according to a calendar I got as a gift last Christmas, the "Out of Office Countdown" calendar. 599 days is 85.57 weeks; 1.65 years; still WAY too long!
Is it possible that our long national nightmare will finally be over, or will we have Fred Thompson as president? Will this country be that stupid?
I love politics,
Catbird
Sunday, May 27, 2007
....a Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood!
Dear Reader,
What a day in the Park!
I got out later than I wanted to, as usual, but once I got out, it was wonderful! The weather was perfect, everything was green, there were folks out enjoying the Park, and many of the dogs and their people who I have come to feel are friends, came through.
The highlight of the day was the extended interaction between a terrific dog, Smokey, and three lovely little girls, who I think were getting their first chance to really "molest" a gentle, patient dog.
Smokey and his person, Linda and a friend came by; we began to have a nice chat, then walked over to the bench area to have a sit and chat some more. Farther over there was a family with three small girls playing; at some point they espied Smokey, and ran over to see him.
Smokey is a singular dog. He is a rescued German Shepherd; incredibly gentle, well tempered, and focused. All Smokey wants to do when he's out in the Park is carry and chase his kong toy. This is basically a stretched hard rubber ball; it takes funny bounces. He likes to have it kicked or thrown; he will chase it if it goes 6 inches or 60 feet. He will do this on end, to the exhaustion of himself and whomever is participating. With all of this focus, it was amazing to watch him patiently sit and be petted, poked, pulled, prodded and generally admired by 3 little girls, each of whom was no larger or heavier than him. A lesser dog might have snapped, not only psychologically, but at one of the girls; Smokey dealt with it all, in hopes that he would get to play more, which he did.
It was such a hoot to watch the girls explore Smokey, watch them run around, speak with their parents about them, watch them play with another dog who happened into the picnic zone. In short, for me, it was so wonderful to watch people really enjoying the area I work in. This is exactly the goal I am working towards; having the area be an oasis for folks to come out, enjoy the park, maybe get to know their neighbors, interact with the nature that's out there, and appreciate the park in general. I am fortunate that in this case, I was also able to sit down with folks for a while and chat and joke. Although I'm out there working, for me it is a social exercise as well; sometimes I talk to the dogs first, but I always do end up talking to the people. I hope at some point to make some real friends out in the Park.
This harkens back to my previous column, "Small Town: New York City"
(http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/12/dear-reader-next-time-one-of-your-out.html). I continue to be surprised at how many people I know, at least by face, in my neighborhood. I even have neighbors in my building whose names I don't know, but who give a nice "Hi" and a wave when I see them in the Park or on the street.
I really love this part of my life. I know I post many depression-inspired columns, and those are totally real. There are parts of my life that continue to frustrate and sometimes overwhelm me. Fortunately, though, I have a short enough attention span that a day like yesterday enlivens me for a good time to come; I might even get my new tattoo soon!
Happy Memorial Day,
Catbird
What a day in the Park!
I got out later than I wanted to, as usual, but once I got out, it was wonderful! The weather was perfect, everything was green, there were folks out enjoying the Park, and many of the dogs and their people who I have come to feel are friends, came through.
The highlight of the day was the extended interaction between a terrific dog, Smokey, and three lovely little girls, who I think were getting their first chance to really "molest" a gentle, patient dog.
Smokey and his person, Linda and a friend came by; we began to have a nice chat, then walked over to the bench area to have a sit and chat some more. Farther over there was a family with three small girls playing; at some point they espied Smokey, and ran over to see him.
Smokey is a singular dog. He is a rescued German Shepherd; incredibly gentle, well tempered, and focused. All Smokey wants to do when he's out in the Park is carry and chase his kong toy. This is basically a stretched hard rubber ball; it takes funny bounces. He likes to have it kicked or thrown; he will chase it if it goes 6 inches or 60 feet. He will do this on end, to the exhaustion of himself and whomever is participating. With all of this focus, it was amazing to watch him patiently sit and be petted, poked, pulled, prodded and generally admired by 3 little girls, each of whom was no larger or heavier than him. A lesser dog might have snapped, not only psychologically, but at one of the girls; Smokey dealt with it all, in hopes that he would get to play more, which he did.
It was such a hoot to watch the girls explore Smokey, watch them run around, speak with their parents about them, watch them play with another dog who happened into the picnic zone. In short, for me, it was so wonderful to watch people really enjoying the area I work in. This is exactly the goal I am working towards; having the area be an oasis for folks to come out, enjoy the park, maybe get to know their neighbors, interact with the nature that's out there, and appreciate the park in general. I am fortunate that in this case, I was also able to sit down with folks for a while and chat and joke. Although I'm out there working, for me it is a social exercise as well; sometimes I talk to the dogs first, but I always do end up talking to the people. I hope at some point to make some real friends out in the Park.
This harkens back to my previous column, "Small Town: New York City"
(http://catbirdeye.blogspot.com/2006/12/dear-reader-next-time-one-of-your-out.html). I continue to be surprised at how many people I know, at least by face, in my neighborhood. I even have neighbors in my building whose names I don't know, but who give a nice "Hi" and a wave when I see them in the Park or on the street.
I really love this part of my life. I know I post many depression-inspired columns, and those are totally real. There are parts of my life that continue to frustrate and sometimes overwhelm me. Fortunately, though, I have a short enough attention span that a day like yesterday enlivens me for a good time to come; I might even get my new tattoo soon!
Happy Memorial Day,
Catbird
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Friends for Life.....?
Dear Reader,
I've been thinking of my friendships lately. I've been thinking of all of the people I work with, sing with, enjoy the Park with, and how many of those people are really my friends.
Many of them are friends, in the immediacy of the moment. They are friends while we're in the room singing, or while we're in the office working, or while we're in the park chatting about the gardens, dogs, etc. But none of them is a "best friend." None of them is someone I could call in a moment of need or weakness or despair. None of them is someone I could call to "just talk," just blab or gossip or even argue. None of them is someone that I would not feel terribly guilty about asking for help, and awfully humiliated at being needy. And sadly, none of them is someone I could just call up and say, "Hey, want to go see a movie; or go out for a bite or a drink," or anything else social.
Over my lifetime, I've had few "best" friends. I can count them on one hand. And, they have always left, or I've left, so those friendships have been short-lived. The longest "best friendship" that I have had was my friend Joy, with whom I was friends from 1979, when we met through circuitous circumstances, until she died in 2003. I have been feeling this loss more recently on meeting a woman who not only resembles my friend in appearance, but in attitude in many ways. I do not expect to form a "best friendship" with this person, but she brought to mind what I had lost.
The other person I felt was a best friend in my adult life was a woman I sang with in several different groups, with whom I had an "occasional" interaction, but when we did get together, it felt totally easy and comfortable. Later in our interaction, I would see her once or twice a year, for a day or two, to compile her tax information and help her get her husband's materials organized. Although I did send a bill for the work (at her request), for me these sessions were much more about catching up and commiserating. Nancy died of breast cancer in March of 2005.
Having lost the only two "best" friends I have felt I've had in my adult life, I now know the meaning of the phrase "friends for life." I have many friends, associates and other relationships that have been continuous for my entire lifetime, or at least a good portion thereof. Of course, I've known my sisters for 49 (Amy) and almost 42 (Megan) years; I've known the woman I work with off and on since 1976 or 77; I have a few other folks I've known since college, which is nearly 30 years.
But no "best" friends; not really any friends for life. No one that I can call on, rely on or even impose upon, at least without feeling tremendous guilt. The "friend" test is that there is no guilt in the interaction; there is no feeling that one is imposing oneself, or that one has to worry about showing the bad or weak side. Best friends accept all, and do their best to help, if help is wanted. This is why I was able to see my friend Joy in the throes of Parkinson's disease, and feel terrible that I was losing her. I considered for awhile moving in with her to take care of her, but that was simply not possible. I felt badly that I wasn't able to do more for her.
I don't know if I'll be able to make another friend for life. I hope so, but at my age, everyone pretty much has their lifetime relationships sorted out, so there's little room for new ones. I do still hope I'll meet a man, but in the big picture, that person won't end up being my "best" friend, although the relationship experts say he should be.
I suppose if I could like myself it would be a start, eh?
Sorry to be so philosophical,
Catbird
I've been thinking of my friendships lately. I've been thinking of all of the people I work with, sing with, enjoy the Park with, and how many of those people are really my friends.
Many of them are friends, in the immediacy of the moment. They are friends while we're in the room singing, or while we're in the office working, or while we're in the park chatting about the gardens, dogs, etc. But none of them is a "best friend." None of them is someone I could call in a moment of need or weakness or despair. None of them is someone I could call to "just talk," just blab or gossip or even argue. None of them is someone that I would not feel terribly guilty about asking for help, and awfully humiliated at being needy. And sadly, none of them is someone I could just call up and say, "Hey, want to go see a movie; or go out for a bite or a drink," or anything else social.
Over my lifetime, I've had few "best" friends. I can count them on one hand. And, they have always left, or I've left, so those friendships have been short-lived. The longest "best friendship" that I have had was my friend Joy, with whom I was friends from 1979, when we met through circuitous circumstances, until she died in 2003. I have been feeling this loss more recently on meeting a woman who not only resembles my friend in appearance, but in attitude in many ways. I do not expect to form a "best friendship" with this person, but she brought to mind what I had lost.
The other person I felt was a best friend in my adult life was a woman I sang with in several different groups, with whom I had an "occasional" interaction, but when we did get together, it felt totally easy and comfortable. Later in our interaction, I would see her once or twice a year, for a day or two, to compile her tax information and help her get her husband's materials organized. Although I did send a bill for the work (at her request), for me these sessions were much more about catching up and commiserating. Nancy died of breast cancer in March of 2005.
Having lost the only two "best" friends I have felt I've had in my adult life, I now know the meaning of the phrase "friends for life." I have many friends, associates and other relationships that have been continuous for my entire lifetime, or at least a good portion thereof. Of course, I've known my sisters for 49 (Amy) and almost 42 (Megan) years; I've known the woman I work with off and on since 1976 or 77; I have a few other folks I've known since college, which is nearly 30 years.
But no "best" friends; not really any friends for life. No one that I can call on, rely on or even impose upon, at least without feeling tremendous guilt. The "friend" test is that there is no guilt in the interaction; there is no feeling that one is imposing oneself, or that one has to worry about showing the bad or weak side. Best friends accept all, and do their best to help, if help is wanted. This is why I was able to see my friend Joy in the throes of Parkinson's disease, and feel terrible that I was losing her. I considered for awhile moving in with her to take care of her, but that was simply not possible. I felt badly that I wasn't able to do more for her.
I don't know if I'll be able to make another friend for life. I hope so, but at my age, everyone pretty much has their lifetime relationships sorted out, so there's little room for new ones. I do still hope I'll meet a man, but in the big picture, that person won't end up being my "best" friend, although the relationship experts say he should be.
I suppose if I could like myself it would be a start, eh?
Sorry to be so philosophical,
Catbird
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
We'll be "Tsarry!"
Dear Reader,
I have stayed away from politics here because I usually just get angry when I think/talk/write about the current political situation. However, the latest development has driven me to write.
A "War Czar (Tsar)" has been appointed by "W" to handle the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. I had always thought, perhaps naively, that there was a "Secretary of Defense," or a "Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff," or EVEN a "Commander in Chief" to handle these things. Now we need a War Czar (Tsar)?
And, does anyone know or remember who and what the original tsars (czars) were? Absolute, dictatorial, unilateral, unquestioned rulers; unelected royalty whose rule was only ended when the entire family of the last one was killed, including the children, because otherwise they may have come back as Czars (Tsars) or Czarinas (Ts... yeah, yeah).
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture? Are we getting yet another "presidential" appointment, who won't be voted on by Congress (not that that has done much), and who can't be removed from office by anyone other than the "President?" And what are the chances what he’ll be rejected by the Senate, as he is, apparently, subject to some approval? Will the Dems have the spines to reject this new invented office? All “W” has to do is appoint a few more people, in bogus offices, and he'll have the entire system under his control. All Congress seems to be able to do is hold pointless hearings, and maybe take down a flunky or two.
What the hell has happened to representative government, the Constitution, those things we learned about in Social Studies? Has the "W" administration circumvented them entirely, or have we relinquished our government by not participating? How many more czars (tsars) are we in for, at least until 2009? You tell me.
More for sure,
Catbird
I have stayed away from politics here because I usually just get angry when I think/talk/write about the current political situation. However, the latest development has driven me to write.
A "War Czar (Tsar)" has been appointed by "W" to handle the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. I had always thought, perhaps naively, that there was a "Secretary of Defense," or a "Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff," or EVEN a "Commander in Chief" to handle these things. Now we need a War Czar (Tsar)?
And, does anyone know or remember who and what the original tsars (czars) were? Absolute, dictatorial, unilateral, unquestioned rulers; unelected royalty whose rule was only ended when the entire family of the last one was killed, including the children, because otherwise they may have come back as Czars (Tsars) or Czarinas (Ts... yeah, yeah).
Is it me, or is there something wrong with this picture? Are we getting yet another "presidential" appointment, who won't be voted on by Congress (not that that has done much), and who can't be removed from office by anyone other than the "President?" And what are the chances what he’ll be rejected by the Senate, as he is, apparently, subject to some approval? Will the Dems have the spines to reject this new invented office? All “W” has to do is appoint a few more people, in bogus offices, and he'll have the entire system under his control. All Congress seems to be able to do is hold pointless hearings, and maybe take down a flunky or two.
What the hell has happened to representative government, the Constitution, those things we learned about in Social Studies? Has the "W" administration circumvented them entirely, or have we relinquished our government by not participating? How many more czars (tsars) are we in for, at least until 2009? You tell me.
More for sure,
Catbird
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Nature: Alive and Well, and Living in NYC
Dear Reader,
I have been gardening in New York City, in various areas, since 1991. I began working out in the medians on Broadway near my apartment building; three blocks from 101st St. to 104th St., where I gardened until June, 2003. Then, I was fortunate to get an area in Riverside Park, again near my building; my area runs from 101st St. to 103rd St., in what is known as the "Firemen's Memorial Island" section of Riverside Park.
Throughout my years out in the Parks, there have been things that have consistently amazed me. For one, how so many New Yorkers take so little notice of the nature and greenery that surrounds them in the forms of street trees, window boxes, pocket and larger parks, birds nesting (not pigeons; they'll get their own column), etc.
Then there is the matter of trash; it never ceases to amaze me how people think it's okay to drop pieces of paper and plastic, used kleenexes, straw wrappers, and the number one piece of trash in NYC, the zip strips from cigarette packs, on the ground, thoughtlessly, mindlessly. Do they do this in their homes? Who do they think will pick this stuff up, or do they even think that far in advance? I just don't get the behavior.
But the thing that amazes me the most is when nature explodes in the City each year. This happens every spring. At some point, usually within a week, it seems as if everything happens. The trees are fully covered in leaves; the shrubs are all flowering; the grass is all green; the violets and other flowers are in full bloom. Now, the reality is that we've already had the early bloomers; the forsythias and daffodils have hit, the callary pears (one of the predominant street trees) have bloomed and are leafed out, many of the early guys have all done their things. But somehow, it seems that everything else all happens at once.
When I went out into the gardens yesterday, I was inundated by green. My big shrubs were all shaggy and in need of a trim; the tiny flowers and catkins had all fallen from the ginkgoes and oak and covered the ground. The grass has shot up, the second round of bulbs has hit, and I am suddenly overwhelmed with pruning that needs to be done! The big trees are all leafed out; it just seems like last week I could still see through them out to the River (the Hudson). Now, I won't see it again until October, unless I go down into the main Park.
People think of Nature and the City as two separate and antithetical things. They are not. Despite the bricks and mortar, paving and cement, Nature can't be held back even in the middle of the most urbanized place on earth. Fortunately, there are enough people in New York who appreciate these green spaces, and support their care and continuing existence. The current mayor and administration seem to also appreciate greenery, and have programs in place to expand the green areas in the City. This isn't just an environmental fad; city planners have finally learned that people who live and work, or even just work in urban areas need those green spaces. People need their surroundings to reflect nature and the seasons, even if it's just a strip of land in the middle of a roadway.
I am so fortunate that I am able to participate directly in maintaining a great slice of green in the City, and am involved with an organization that works terrifically to maintain the green western edge of Manhattan Island. Nature IS alive and well, and happily living in New York City!
More pix to follow,
Catbird
I have been gardening in New York City, in various areas, since 1991. I began working out in the medians on Broadway near my apartment building; three blocks from 101st St. to 104th St., where I gardened until June, 2003. Then, I was fortunate to get an area in Riverside Park, again near my building; my area runs from 101st St. to 103rd St., in what is known as the "Firemen's Memorial Island" section of Riverside Park.
Throughout my years out in the Parks, there have been things that have consistently amazed me. For one, how so many New Yorkers take so little notice of the nature and greenery that surrounds them in the forms of street trees, window boxes, pocket and larger parks, birds nesting (not pigeons; they'll get their own column), etc.
Then there is the matter of trash; it never ceases to amaze me how people think it's okay to drop pieces of paper and plastic, used kleenexes, straw wrappers, and the number one piece of trash in NYC, the zip strips from cigarette packs, on the ground, thoughtlessly, mindlessly. Do they do this in their homes? Who do they think will pick this stuff up, or do they even think that far in advance? I just don't get the behavior.
But the thing that amazes me the most is when nature explodes in the City each year. This happens every spring. At some point, usually within a week, it seems as if everything happens. The trees are fully covered in leaves; the shrubs are all flowering; the grass is all green; the violets and other flowers are in full bloom. Now, the reality is that we've already had the early bloomers; the forsythias and daffodils have hit, the callary pears (one of the predominant street trees) have bloomed and are leafed out, many of the early guys have all done their things. But somehow, it seems that everything else all happens at once.
When I went out into the gardens yesterday, I was inundated by green. My big shrubs were all shaggy and in need of a trim; the tiny flowers and catkins had all fallen from the ginkgoes and oak and covered the ground. The grass has shot up, the second round of bulbs has hit, and I am suddenly overwhelmed with pruning that needs to be done! The big trees are all leafed out; it just seems like last week I could still see through them out to the River (the Hudson). Now, I won't see it again until October, unless I go down into the main Park.
People think of Nature and the City as two separate and antithetical things. They are not. Despite the bricks and mortar, paving and cement, Nature can't be held back even in the middle of the most urbanized place on earth. Fortunately, there are enough people in New York who appreciate these green spaces, and support their care and continuing existence. The current mayor and administration seem to also appreciate greenery, and have programs in place to expand the green areas in the City. This isn't just an environmental fad; city planners have finally learned that people who live and work, or even just work in urban areas need those green spaces. People need their surroundings to reflect nature and the seasons, even if it's just a strip of land in the middle of a roadway.I am so fortunate that I am able to participate directly in maintaining a great slice of green in the City, and am involved with an organization that works terrifically to maintain the green western edge of Manhattan Island. Nature IS alive and well, and happily living in New York City!
More pix to follow,
Catbird
Friday, May 11, 2007
Singing for my Sanity
Dear Reader,
You may have gathered from these columns that I am a singer. I am not a professional singer; I don't earn a living at it. But I have always been fortunate to be involved with groups that do high-level musical work, and sometimes get pretty "high-falutin" gigs. We did one of those last night.
I have been singing for as long as I can remember; informally as a kid, singing "Jesus Loves Me" with my sister for my grandparents' congregation when we were tiny (I, 5 and she, 3, I think). Singing along with the 45-RPM records we had as kids: Daddy would put a stack on the automatic record changer when we woke up on Saturday mornings; these would keep us occupied while he went back to bed for an hour or so, until it was time for cartoons. Singing along with the Beatles on the records I wore the grooves out on; learning the tunes, harmonies, rhythms, messages to the point where I can still quote nearly all of the Beatles catalog almost from memory. I finally became involved in "formal" singing in high school, in my second year. I was one of the "smart" kids, and had an extra course slot to fill. I was told chorus was easy, so I signed up for it. It turned out to be one of the most difficult classes I had, but fortunately, I was good at it. I learned to read music, perform, rudimentary vocal technique, and had an "in" to participate in the school musical each year. I had had several years of ballet, so I had a good sense of rhythm and tempo already; the dancing also helped in the shows.
When I came to NYC for college, one of the first things I did was find the choral organizations on campus. At the time, there were only two; the Columbia Glee Club (all men, except for a few female tenors), and the Barnard-Columbia Chorus, the community/Music Department chorus, each semester of which counted as 1/4 of a course. The grading was Pass/Fail, but amazingly, when I began, the conductor was Gregg Smith, one of the premier choral musicians and conductors in the country. At the time I had no idea who he was; he was also the conductor of the Glee Club, which WAS a big deal. In any case, I joined the chorus, not the Glee Club; I'm a soprano, and could not sing tenor. I was also accepted after auditioning into the Madrigal Group, which was a subset of the B-C Chorus. This was conducted by Gregg's then-assistant, Peter Schubert. Thus began one of the relationships which led to later relationships which have carried on up to now, 33 years later.
I have been singing continuously in choruses since 1971, with only two, 1-year breaks. These two years that I took off I look back on as a couple of the low points in my life. The assumption is that it's because I wasn't singing, but it could be I took the years off because things were so bad, and I didn't want to carry that into my singing. I don't know which it is, honestly. I am lucky that after each hiatus, I have been able to come back, audition, get in (!!) to superior (or soon to be superior) choral organizations, and become deeply involved in them. I don't just show up and sing. I get involved in the running of the groups; I have the "treasurer" skills, which groups always need. I inevitably end up on the boards, or helping in management in some way. I love giving parties, and this is also a skill choruses need.
The groups I have sung, and currently sing with have been comprised of very skilled, amateur singers and musicians. The word "amateur" is unfortunately seen as pejorative; in fact, it means "lover of." I sing with very skilled lovers of choral music and singing. I have spent lots of time and money honing my skills, as well. I was a music major in college long enough to get all of the basics (music theory, history, ear training); I spent several years cleaning house in exchange for voice lessons, and spent 4 years studying with a great teacher who helped me harness the real power of my voice.
It's funny though; if someone asks me to sing something for them (a tune, an ad theme, whatever), I can't do it. I can sing in a "formal" setting; I can sing when I'm alone with the cats; I can't sing informally for other people. Very weird.
This discussion was brought on by a gig we did last night. It was the 25th Anniversary Gala for Americares; the highlight was that we were singing for George H.W. Bush (41) and Barbara. I was only able to see his forehead from my place on the stage, but it was clearly HW's forehead! Bar was at a separate table, and I couldn't spot her hair. Bummer. Anyway, the gig went well, and my little bit of "production" went over well, apparently.
This was our last gig for the season. We reconvene in September, although I am hoping to have a party for the group out in the Park sometime this summer. It would be great to bring both of my worlds together; we'll see if I can get it together and do something.
More to come,
Catbird
You may have gathered from these columns that I am a singer. I am not a professional singer; I don't earn a living at it. But I have always been fortunate to be involved with groups that do high-level musical work, and sometimes get pretty "high-falutin" gigs. We did one of those last night.
I have been singing for as long as I can remember; informally as a kid, singing "Jesus Loves Me" with my sister for my grandparents' congregation when we were tiny (I, 5 and she, 3, I think). Singing along with the 45-RPM records we had as kids: Daddy would put a stack on the automatic record changer when we woke up on Saturday mornings; these would keep us occupied while he went back to bed for an hour or so, until it was time for cartoons. Singing along with the Beatles on the records I wore the grooves out on; learning the tunes, harmonies, rhythms, messages to the point where I can still quote nearly all of the Beatles catalog almost from memory. I finally became involved in "formal" singing in high school, in my second year. I was one of the "smart" kids, and had an extra course slot to fill. I was told chorus was easy, so I signed up for it. It turned out to be one of the most difficult classes I had, but fortunately, I was good at it. I learned to read music, perform, rudimentary vocal technique, and had an "in" to participate in the school musical each year. I had had several years of ballet, so I had a good sense of rhythm and tempo already; the dancing also helped in the shows.
When I came to NYC for college, one of the first things I did was find the choral organizations on campus. At the time, there were only two; the Columbia Glee Club (all men, except for a few female tenors), and the Barnard-Columbia Chorus, the community/Music Department chorus, each semester of which counted as 1/4 of a course. The grading was Pass/Fail, but amazingly, when I began, the conductor was Gregg Smith, one of the premier choral musicians and conductors in the country. At the time I had no idea who he was; he was also the conductor of the Glee Club, which WAS a big deal. In any case, I joined the chorus, not the Glee Club; I'm a soprano, and could not sing tenor. I was also accepted after auditioning into the Madrigal Group, which was a subset of the B-C Chorus. This was conducted by Gregg's then-assistant, Peter Schubert. Thus began one of the relationships which led to later relationships which have carried on up to now, 33 years later.
I have been singing continuously in choruses since 1971, with only two, 1-year breaks. These two years that I took off I look back on as a couple of the low points in my life. The assumption is that it's because I wasn't singing, but it could be I took the years off because things were so bad, and I didn't want to carry that into my singing. I don't know which it is, honestly. I am lucky that after each hiatus, I have been able to come back, audition, get in (!!) to superior (or soon to be superior) choral organizations, and become deeply involved in them. I don't just show up and sing. I get involved in the running of the groups; I have the "treasurer" skills, which groups always need. I inevitably end up on the boards, or helping in management in some way. I love giving parties, and this is also a skill choruses need.
The groups I have sung, and currently sing with have been comprised of very skilled, amateur singers and musicians. The word "amateur" is unfortunately seen as pejorative; in fact, it means "lover of." I sing with very skilled lovers of choral music and singing. I have spent lots of time and money honing my skills, as well. I was a music major in college long enough to get all of the basics (music theory, history, ear training); I spent several years cleaning house in exchange for voice lessons, and spent 4 years studying with a great teacher who helped me harness the real power of my voice.
It's funny though; if someone asks me to sing something for them (a tune, an ad theme, whatever), I can't do it. I can sing in a "formal" setting; I can sing when I'm alone with the cats; I can't sing informally for other people. Very weird.
This discussion was brought on by a gig we did last night. It was the 25th Anniversary Gala for Americares; the highlight was that we were singing for George H.W. Bush (41) and Barbara. I was only able to see his forehead from my place on the stage, but it was clearly HW's forehead! Bar was at a separate table, and I couldn't spot her hair. Bummer. Anyway, the gig went well, and my little bit of "production" went over well, apparently.
This was our last gig for the season. We reconvene in September, although I am hoping to have a party for the group out in the Park sometime this summer. It would be great to bring both of my worlds together; we'll see if I can get it together and do something.
More to come,
Catbird
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