ON TRACK

Apartment buildings on 8th Avenue.

So, we find ourselves in Brooklyn again with a happy kitty who is greatly wanting of attention. Although I was sorely tempted to stay in Long Eddy/Callicoon until Wednesday, I decided I needed to be in person for therapy and to stay focussed on my "current track."

I think the cats are glad. I am anticipating a cuddle with Cooder as soon as I finish this post. Miep is enjoying a late night snack of roast turkey.

Breakfast at Long Eddy.

Iris' peonies.

Almost home.

I had quite a severe? challenge this evening. I had to run for the bus at Monticello to make it home. I didn't have time to repack my bag with my goodies acquired today. I found myself on the bus, a two-hour ride, with no reading material. I have a fairly severe fear of boredom. But I did have my laptop and my iPhone. I was able to listen to music and watch an episode or two of Roseanne.

And so to bed with the hopes that the nights spent in such serene quiet and relatively low amounts of stimulation will push me toward easy sleep and an early rising from bed.

TRACTOR PARADE

Why why why. Rain again. We needed more up here in Long Eddy. It has been more than 12 hours since the last deluge. Here's the good news: we got a couple of hours of late afternoon, early evening sun. There were actually helpful rays absorbed. 

Now on to rain and Courvoisier at 7:30.

There was a tractor parade in Callicoon today. There were A LOT OF TRACTORS. Let me repeat, there were a lot of tractors. More tractors than I will likely ever see at one time again. And I am not very sure that I need to see so many tractors at one time again. 

There were many (beautiful) John Deere tractors, spanning the decades. The John Deere tractors are nice, but I like some of the others better, the old International Harvesters. They sound like something the Wobblies would drive. Some of the drivers were quite wobbly. Although not as wobbly as those watching from the front porch of Matthew's on Main. Those folks were on beyond wobbly by the time we left.

By the time we got to the house, the sun was starting to come out but both Iris and I were nearly comatose. It was one of those times you were glad there were two of you, because that accounted for one whole brain. We came home and crashed.  

Here is Iris sitting at her work table in the sun. Not so very long ago. Did I mention that it is raining again now?

I found the tractor parade both draining and emotional. These people are not poseurs. They are not practicing. When you see some of them, who look remarkably inbred, you realize that it is not craven practices but lack of opportunity or even understanding of opportunity and perhaps that wider world that keeps them in this sphere. Then again, I am not so sure the wider world is all so great.

GREETINGS FROM CALLICOON

Callicoon thrift store cat. When I first saw this kitty, I thought it was stuffed.

Greetings from Callicoon, New York. I don’t believe I actually shared much about my current trip. I was only planning to be gone two nights and two days. Now that I am here, I might stay longer. But still not sure. Evidently, Callicoon is a Native American word for wild turkeys of which there is a plethora here. (I have yet to see wild life beyond drinking rednecks, birds, and a chipmunk.)

I have never been this far west in New York before. Either Pennsylvania or Delaware is spittin’ distance away. I am not at all sure where the Catskills end and the Poconos begin.

It has been raining for hours. And it is mostly quiet save for some kind of squeaking bird or bug.

I have been with my friend, Iris, at whose summer home I am a guest, all day. We never run out of things to talk about. She has been coming up to this neck of the woods since she was 16, and that was quite a long while ago.

Speaking of darned cute. She was a wild thing.

Callicoon is darn cute. There is at least one good “stuff” store and some other interesting emporia of bath/kitchen/furniture et cetera et cetera. Plus, danged good pizza.

Iris came up with a description of someone: defensive narcissism. A concept worth contemplating. And possibly avoiding.

TRAINS AND PARKS

Waiting for the train at 7th Avenue.

This is my frustrated fellow clutching his backpack and never relaxing.

Inventive head gear.

Knees.

making faces.

I walked to the library today to return my overdue items. Plus, I needed to get out. The park was most bucolic. This is the Grand Army Plaza. This part of Brooklyn was clearly not intended for cars. Very confusing to drive around.

I once tried to walk across the counterpart in Paris, which was ABSOLUTELY a suicide attempt. If I weren't sleepy, I could remember the name of that circle at the top of the Champs Elysees.

I was tired today. But I am in remarkably good spirits. My friend MW called from her office at DJ and we had a lovely chat. I had pizza with B and A to discuss the difficulties of looking for work etc.

Ready ready ready for bed. Off to  Callicoon tomorrow.

Park

Park

BAKED ALASKA DAYS

Summer mornings are the inverse of baked Alaska. Even though there is a comforting coolness, the heat is right there, waiting to drift and pour out heavy, like lava. Still and all, I would that I could make myself get up and get busy in the morning. To enjoy it. I could sleep when it is hot and horrible.

The cats hate me. Cooder won't answer when I call. I found her under the dining room table, barely bothering to pick up her head, wearing an expression of utter disdain and contempt for allowing the heat. Miep is a little more forgiving.

It was hell day on the train. Lots more people than usual for a mid-day on Thursday. The crowds were not amenable to making room. The car was filled with the unpleasant smell of someone eating fried chicken. Fried chicken is not a scent you really want in a contained space unless you have been starved for a while and want every iota of every thing related to your upcoming meal.

A holiday-suited man in a hat with a backpack sat down next to me, clutching his clumsy backpack possessively on his lap, rather than putting it on the floor of the car. He solemnly read his email, his elbows nearly in my face, crowding me in a most annoying fashion. I considered pushing him out of my space, but an empty seat opened up and I just moved. 

On the return ride, however, I had two bags of groceries and a woman stood up to give me her seat. That was somewhat astonishing. Did I look that old? Decrepit? 

Working hard on articulating some things in therapy. Thinking a lot about reinvention of the self. What to do going forward. 

I started reading All Things Shining: Reading the Western Classics to Find Meaning in A Secular Age.

"Th(is) sense of certainty is rare in the contemporary world. Indeed, modern life can seem to be defined by its opposite. And unrelenting flow of choices confronts us at nearly every moment of our lives, and most of us could admit to finding ourselves at least occasionally wavering. Far from being certain and unhesitating, our lives can at the extreme seem shot through with hesitation and indecision, culminating in choices finally made on the basis of nothing at all."

STICKY WEATHER

Sticky weather is here again. Came on what seems like fast to me. Tomorrow is supposed to be terrible with heat. Guess I will have to hang out with Tupie in the air conditioning.

Although I was up past 2 a.m. and slept until somewhere in the 10 a.m. world, I am looking bedward now. Inasumch as I love love love the silence of the hours with little numbers, I do like the morning as well. I need to be on a more working stiff schedule.

Today was BSB's birthday ... or tomorrow was. There seems to be some confusion. My heartache is somewhat lessened. Not gone, just more tolerable. Perhaps the shock is wearing off.

BSB really wanted to go. She had everything arranged. Her friends think that she spent the last year planning and getting everything in order. There was a box in the back of her car with her dental records, passport, all things needed to identify her. Her note hoped that her body would not be found. It was.

KarHu went to get her car from the Marin lot of the Golden Gate Bridge. A park/bridge worker said that someone jumps once a week. It is the most jumped from Bridge in the world. While KarHu looked through Barbara's stuff, reading her last note, there were visitors and tourists happily snapping pictures a foot or two away from her. On the passenger seat was the current New Yorker, likely read cover to cover as BSB sat drinking Bushmill's and summoning up her last bit of strength.

I cannot remember a single moment in BSB's presence that was not amusing. Other than knowing of her pain and sadness, I never ever had a bad time with her. And I do remember laughing until near death.

She is missed. But she is with us.

DAT AND DIS

 Don't get much cuter than that. John and Melinda are on vacation in Montauk. Tupelo is a diabetic and needs shots twice a day. This coincides nicely with my need to get caught up on Nurse Jackie, The Big C, Californication, Game of Thrones, Treme, etc. John wanted a photo, so here it is. Tupie is difficult to photograph, as is my cat, Miep, as they do not like that much direct eye contact, even if the "eye" is a camera.

Life can be frustrating. Just called the across-the-street bar and  thought the bartender hung up on me. As I was, for a change, dressed, I walked over to ask her why she would hang up on me, given that I am always polite when I call.

She said she did not hang up. The offending smokers were now drinking and laughing on the inside as well they should be. One bar fly shared that he had trouble with Chinese gamblers outside his house ... in Flushing? He said he shot one of them. Not that he was so proud of that. We three agreed that there should be a sign requesting smokers to keep it down, but evidently the owner does not care to do that. So, more telephone calls to the police and I guess I will start bugging my elected officials.

This blogging program is frustrating. This woman was prettier than she looks here.

I am thinking about some "dis" words: dismissive, disrespectful, and disengaged being the top of the list. 

Also, I am getting a bit closer to articulating my ... internal dilemma? I think I absorbed a certain amount of male attitude and conditioning because that was the strongest force in my house and other than the culture outside of my house, I did not get any clear instruction or guidance. I do feel as if I am a version of the boy wolf, raised with the rest of the pack, not knowing he is different. I know that I am biologically different, but I internalized a crappy amount of "male thinking." Which is easy enough to do in this patriarchal culture. 

Besides being a sexist of his time, my father was incredibly dismissive of anything that didn't serve his ego or his goals. I think my brothers were pretty  much that way, too. Carl, as much as I love and miss him, was a complete and utter asshole to my mother. "Dismissive" barely covers his attiude. My older brothers are this way as well, to a lesser degree, at least to me.

Being dismissive is negating. Not listening. Devaluing. I am looking inside to see if this is a deep and knee-jerk reaction that I sometimes have. 

IF YOU THINK ...

Ah, Queens. But you can read this sign two ways.

I went up to Queens, Jackson Heights, to work with my friend Iris on some project possibilities. The first four times I tried to get there, I got horribly lost and was hours late. Today, went more smoothly.

The slings and arrows of emotional fortunes have me at bit disconcerted at the moment. And today, I have not had the time to ruminate or articulate just how I feel about much of anything. I feel, well, three-dimensional. On some levels I am just fine, and on others I am in a pit of pain. I feel pushed back from my feelings, as I can feel myself weeping and grieving while I am going about my merry beeswax.

I am disappointed with my recent eating habits. Criminey. Maybe I should make a carbohydrate suit out of bread and cookies and wear it around with fresh butter smeared on my face and a cheese bracelet.

This ruminative fellow looked quite nervous and rather sprinted off the train somewhere in Midtown.

This is just some pretty flowers. I know, we've all been there, done that.
















This is Laura, David, and me (formerly I) having dinner on Saturday evening at the new local Vietnamese place, Ha Noi. Laura looks pretty good, but David looks as if he is channeling Satan. We were not even vaguely drunk.

DEATH WILL LEAVE YOU STANDIN' AND CRYIN'

I admit it. I am stoned into silence by shock. There are so many disparate thoughts and emotions roiling beneath my stunned heart.

Without a doubt, this is a "there but the grace of ..." moment. KarHu (as opposed to KatHu) had called me a couple of times in the past week, but I was too deep in my own tsuris to answer until this evening. KarHu sounded strangely wooden and I asked if she were angry with for me for not responding sooner. After a moment, she told me that a friend had jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge a week ago.

BSB was another aging single woman who had struggled with depression for many, many years. In the last couple of years, she had lost a job she loved to a younger, non-compassionate, ambitious younger boss. BSB had been a book rep for Chronicle Books and she loved her job enough that I saw her working while we were browsing at a Barnes and Noble while waiting for a movie. Although it took a few years for her to succumb, BSB never really recovered from that loss. That was not her reason for choice, but she just didn't ever seem happy again.

Tonight would be a good night for some single malt. I had to make do with butter and a baguette. And a listen to Mozart's Requiem. I keep thinking of the blues song, "Another Man Done Gone."

Death Don't Have No Mercy in this land. But I do think Barbara Sue feels better now.

GIVING OVER TO IT

Short and sweet after all the writing yesterday. I was on the run pretty much from when I rolled out of bed until now. And it was quite an interesting day, what with some interesting moments in therapy and then running around with Laura all day. But now, I am tired tired tired. Oh, I know. You've heard that from me before. But I am just giving over to it tonight. If you are missing me, might I suggest re-reading the last couple of days? I know I should.

Here's another pretty picture.

IN WHICH QUERIES ARE POSED

Yes, well. That was more than a nap. That was a trip out of this world. I slept for about three hours. I had one telephone call and message that I didn't even hear at all ... (that would be you, Kimmie). So, another day with only limited productivity. I wrote in my head as I was falling asleep, but I have forgotten what I was writing about. At least I am still not depressed. That feels like an accomplishment.

I have a question for those of you who were my schoolmates, or are around my age (and you know who you are). I was remarking to Kathleen that as a child the general attitude about women, and certainly in my household, was that women were not very smart nor capable. That was an accepted generalization around my house, much as the certainty that the sun would rise each day. I cannot remember anything specific my father said about my mother, other than the repeated refrain that she "could not find a goat in a phone booth." Yes, it is funny. But it is also quite demeaning. I do not remember him ever saying that to anyone else, say, my brothers.

So, my question is this: did you percieve a general level of animosity and dismissiveness toward the intellectual powers and general capability of women in your own house? I know what was out there in the culture at large, but did you feel in quite clearly in your own home and around you? Did either of your parents ever address you in a gender demeaning way?

Okay, and here's another question: how would you describe the Okay, and here's another question: how would you describe the expression on my face here?

Hope I am not being a pest, asking for answers.

I was a bit behind on my posts, trying to get one a day for a year, so I am catching up.

And I seem to be thinking a lot, too.

SLEEP AND OTHER SAVIORS

Is sleep an angel or a god? Some might think of it as a demon. But for me, sleep is a healer.

I haven't written much about my psychological work, the issues that haunt and hinder me. This is not so much from shyness as a lifelong inability to understand and therefore explain it to myself or any one else.

Today is cool and breezy. I should be outside. Perhaps I will attempt a walk to the library later.

At one point or another, I was a championship sleeper. I think that was my depression coping mechanism before anti-depressants or regular alcohol consumption. During these nearly two years of under-employment and grieving, I haven't spent that much time pursing sleep.

In the last couple of weeks, though, I have gone off of some of my medications and jumped into deep therapuetic (I hope) territory. I feel the magnetic pull of escape, release, and comfort in those down pillows and that grey cat across the room. I am not sure how long I can resist.

Pardon me here if I am repeating myself. Pain, emotional and psychological, is neither a competitive sport nor a graph or chart for comparisons. Your pain is your pain. And how you deal with it is up to you, too. Actually, how you process it, incorporate, or perhaps utilize it for art or commerce or the greater good is up to you.

My story is not that devastating really. But it has certainly put a damper on my life and happiness. Here I am at 57, feeling that most opportunities are behind me, many of them squandered or just missed out of my own confusion and blindness. Feeling hopeful is an uphill slog in itself. I am not going to whine about the younger folks, the fact that almost no one seems to know the difference between the plural and possessive forms, my lack of technology or gaming expertise, my dismay at shitty movies. Had I been more focussed, more aware, and thinking, I would be on top of the world instead of wondering at what point one starts shopping for a shopping cart. How do you know when the slide down begins? Young Sally Anne looks skeptical from the get-go.

So, my daily post completed, I can take a nap, right? I am not as depressed as this might sound. I don't really feel depressed at all. Clear-sightedness can be a bear.

BREEZY

 The relief of a gentle, lovely, not-too-hot day after some of the other challenging and not-what-I-wanted weather. These roses look as if they are vibrating in the heat, but this shot was taken when the wind blew. There is some other effect or filter but I am clueless as to how this one came out. I quite like it. What do you think?

I am having fun with my iPhone camera functions. I have always been a people watcher, when my face was not stuck down in a book. Now I am trying to learn to take these people pictures on the subway without drawing attention to myself. 

Years and years ago, my friend Andy Kopra gave me an HTML book to learn to code from. I wish I had done it then. I hate not being able to format better. I suppose if I am going to be a blogmeistress I should learn to format and design better. Another opportunity ... not missed, downright ignored. Really, the younger are arrogant and squand'rous with opportunity.

This one I tried randomly shooting as I walked. There were other good ones, but this is my favorite of the bunch. I have not yet decided if shooting takes me out of the moment.

As Miss Becky would say, "Worky, worky." 

These two were quite photogenic. This looks like a movie still to me.

I love this cacophony of faces, which you will see if you look around on the subway. Glad I am not in any of them.


I realize I am being a bit vacant in my writing, using pictures instead of words. Therapy is challenging, as it is supposed to be. I am rather in the middle of a deep issue and not quite able to do much articulating. Staying with the feelings and letting things percolate is what I am doing. That, plus staying on task of keeping the house in some order and moving forward on the job hunt. Maybe I should wear 70s safari clothes and a pith helmet for those hours spent at the computer willing myself to enthusiasm and feigning more knowledge than I have.

TABLES, VASES, CANDLESTICKS, CLOCKS, AND THE COMFORT OF OTHERS

This is all that is left of a table I once owned. I broke it. It had been left on the street when I found it, returned to the street when I no longer needed it, and then I saw it yesterday down the street. Today, this was all that was left.

Is that significant or poetic? I don't know. I am obsessed with things and their histories. If the table didn't go into the trash, it might puzzle someone who ended up with it: what happened to that other leg?

I realize I have better things to do and accomplish besides speculating on the history of things. But it does forever amuse me. Perhaps the fact of having a history, even if I neither know it nor can imagine it, is like pheromones to my eyes and aesthetics. New things are so very "tabula rasa."

This green vase was pretty much a steal. It goes with my whole 1890s to 1930s decor, or at least the decor I am trying to cultivate. The design here is so reminiscent of calla lillies, no? Can't you just imagine some white gloved hands arranging these flowers.

I think these candlesticks are from an altar in a Catholic Church. They have bleeding hearts and Masonic symbols on them. They need to be cleaned up. 

Melissa found a completely cool black Bakelite clock. I found this porcelain number. Nice. Not sure if I will keep it or try to sell it.

I started reading Boccaccio's Decameron again. This is the opening line of the prologue:

"To take pity on people in distress is a human quality which every man and woman should possess, but it is especially requisite in those who have once needed comfort, and found it in others."