'My Noni always had little cans of Pepsi, juice drinks in plastic bottles that look like barrels, and Rollos in her fridge. Always.'
Ah ha! Buddy gives me another memoir to publish!
I think that everyone remembers the grandmother inventory that accumulates after years of penny pinching, yard sales, and habits formed decades ago.
When one of my grandmother died, we doled out her meager belongings. I told my mom, 'I want that cup that tastes like metal when I drink juice from it.'
My mom marveled, 'Wow! That's what your cousin Mary wanted, too, and for the same reason.' The cup was already gone, but the indelible grandmother inventory was set.
My other grandmother always had Listerine in her bathroom and when I hugged her, she smelled faintly of it. Her house always smelled of yeast as she had bread rising so when I visited, we would knead the rye bread dough together while talking.
Her inventory included a circular, wooden clothes hanger with time-worn dowels hanging from a loose metal fitting.
I don't see how the inventory can be consciously constructed. Because our own traits are often identified by the children in our lives and our legend lives on through reminiscence. From talking to Buddy, it is clear that our grandmother's each have a clear inventory, as we each daily generate our own.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Upper Hand in Defending My Lettuce
I put a garden in on the slope at my house and I thought to myself, 'What a great place to watch for woodchucks and kill them.' After finishing a fence around the garden, I went to make lunch and from the corner of my eye through a window, I see something approaching the garden.
'A woodchuck!?!?'
I grab a powerful rifle scope and sure enough, this dumb thing is walking around near my garden and taking his sweet old time.
I mistakenly refer to it as a hedgehog, 'Jim, want to have some fun and shoot a hedgehog?'
He yells angrily from his room, 'Are you stupid? Why would you kill a hedge hog?'
Oh boy.
I call my uncle, no answer. I could swear that he kills woodchucks on sight.
So I decide to take one shot with my .22 rifle. I lift a window in the alcove and flit about, thinking. Both of my cats jump into the open window and threaten to fly 15 feet *splat* to the ground. I move them out and toss them to the floor.
I kneel at the window. 'One shot, I think. One shot.'
I line up the iron sights on the bugger.
Crack.
The thing sort of balls up, cringes, and then starts walking towards the brush.
I hit him, but didn't drop him.
So I bounce around more and I notice that my uncle is home. I walk over there, bursting through the door. 'I shot a woodchuck!'
He replies, 'Only one? You should have shot two.'
Later we go and look at the thing as it lays curled up, dead. I buried it.
So as far as I know, my garden is safe from at least one woodchuck and I have a great vantage point to crack any others if they start attacking my lettuce.
'A woodchuck!?!?'
I grab a powerful rifle scope and sure enough, this dumb thing is walking around near my garden and taking his sweet old time.
I mistakenly refer to it as a hedgehog, 'Jim, want to have some fun and shoot a hedgehog?'
He yells angrily from his room, 'Are you stupid? Why would you kill a hedge hog?'
Oh boy.
I call my uncle, no answer. I could swear that he kills woodchucks on sight.
So I decide to take one shot with my .22 rifle. I lift a window in the alcove and flit about, thinking. Both of my cats jump into the open window and threaten to fly 15 feet *splat* to the ground. I move them out and toss them to the floor.
I kneel at the window. 'One shot, I think. One shot.'
I line up the iron sights on the bugger.
Crack.
The thing sort of balls up, cringes, and then starts walking towards the brush.
I hit him, but didn't drop him.
So I bounce around more and I notice that my uncle is home. I walk over there, bursting through the door. 'I shot a woodchuck!'
He replies, 'Only one? You should have shot two.'
Later we go and look at the thing as it lays curled up, dead. I buried it.
So as far as I know, my garden is safe from at least one woodchuck and I have a great vantage point to crack any others if they start attacking my lettuce.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Shh....did I tell you that I am a...
It's my guilty secret, but it's time to come clean. I am a memoir thief! I listen to stories I publish them here. Shhh...
At work, I dipped into the candy dish at the receptionists desk. I call the receptionist Buddy!
Buddy hunches over and says, 'Can I tell you a family story?'
I smile delighted! I might be able to steal a memoir. I lean towards her, 'Yes...what is it?'
She smiles and says, 'My Noni, the Italian word for great-grandmother, was 93 for like six years before she died. She was like totally nuts! So my cousin visits her house and for some reason drops a Playboy on her table. She picks it up and reads it, but eventually drifts to sleep. The Playboy open on her chest as she snores away.'
We sort of look at each other, but what are we going to do? She's sleeping!
Finally, Noni starts shaking a little bit as she wakes up, startled a little bit. She asks us, 'Was I sleeping?'
'Yes, Noni. You were.'
She looks around the room a little bewildered before saying softly.
'Oh. Naked women always make me so sleepy.'
At work, I dipped into the candy dish at the receptionists desk. I call the receptionist Buddy!
Buddy hunches over and says, 'Can I tell you a family story?'
I smile delighted! I might be able to steal a memoir. I lean towards her, 'Yes...what is it?'
She smiles and says, 'My Noni, the Italian word for great-grandmother, was 93 for like six years before she died. She was like totally nuts! So my cousin visits her house and for some reason drops a Playboy on her table. She picks it up and reads it, but eventually drifts to sleep. The Playboy open on her chest as she snores away.'
We sort of look at each other, but what are we going to do? She's sleeping!
Finally, Noni starts shaking a little bit as she wakes up, startled a little bit. She asks us, 'Was I sleeping?'
'Yes, Noni. You were.'
She looks around the room a little bewildered before saying softly.
'Oh. Naked women always make me so sleepy.'
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Alien Golf Ball
The other day, I noticed a golf ball in my yard. This isn't too odd because I occasionally hit some balls around or maybe my roommate or uncle do, too.
Then today after work, I see several more.
Something's up.
Driving past my neighbor's house, I see the lady aiming a gun at something. Then a young man. It looks like a target.
Hmm. Odd. The rumor is that the lady's boyfriend left her and stopped paying on the house (in his name).
I park and walk across the field to talk with my uncle who is planting his garden. I hear the thump of a BB gun drilling a target.
I run an errand, return, and I water my garden.
I hear the familiar thump of a golf ball on a white pine tree on my property (I know this sound all too well from my own golfing exploits). I see from the corner of my eye, a young man at my neighbor's house swinging a golf club aiming towards my woods.
So I finish watering my gardens and I collect a bunch of the golf balls from my lawn. I decide to walk down there and give them back, simple as that.
I walk the property line and down the hill to a collection of people. I smile, they wave, we talk. I hand the golf balls to one of the guys milling about and the younger guy says, 'Oh no. I won't hit any more golf balls towards your place again!' His expression is sincere. I believe him.
I laughed a little and said, 'Yeah, I would rather you didn't because they landed within twenty feet from my chicken coop and close enough to my house that I'd hate to have to come down here and report a broken window.'
So we all talked for a while about the house (my grandfather built it from material from an abandoned church building) and their current plan. They're moving at the end of June (and who 'they' is confused me - I'm not sure who was the mom, son, grandchildren, etc.). What they say about how they spend money puzzles me. But I compliment them on what they have done to improve the house and the property.
We talked about chickens for a long time, too, and I got a sense of who they are and I shared my regret that things didn't work out better for them to stay.
Then today after work, I see several more.
Something's up.
Driving past my neighbor's house, I see the lady aiming a gun at something. Then a young man. It looks like a target.
Hmm. Odd. The rumor is that the lady's boyfriend left her and stopped paying on the house (in his name).
I park and walk across the field to talk with my uncle who is planting his garden. I hear the thump of a BB gun drilling a target.
I run an errand, return, and I water my garden.
I hear the familiar thump of a golf ball on a white pine tree on my property (I know this sound all too well from my own golfing exploits). I see from the corner of my eye, a young man at my neighbor's house swinging a golf club aiming towards my woods.
So I finish watering my gardens and I collect a bunch of the golf balls from my lawn. I decide to walk down there and give them back, simple as that.
I walk the property line and down the hill to a collection of people. I smile, they wave, we talk. I hand the golf balls to one of the guys milling about and the younger guy says, 'Oh no. I won't hit any more golf balls towards your place again!' His expression is sincere. I believe him.
I laughed a little and said, 'Yeah, I would rather you didn't because they landed within twenty feet from my chicken coop and close enough to my house that I'd hate to have to come down here and report a broken window.'
So we all talked for a while about the house (my grandfather built it from material from an abandoned church building) and their current plan. They're moving at the end of June (and who 'they' is confused me - I'm not sure who was the mom, son, grandchildren, etc.). What they say about how they spend money puzzles me. But I compliment them on what they have done to improve the house and the property.
We talked about chickens for a long time, too, and I got a sense of who they are and I shared my regret that things didn't work out better for them to stay.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The Brook Is Magical Today
We have snow in the yard, heavy now under the intense early spring sun. The gentle wind is warm. The forest is noisy as the sun warms snowy branches and releases heavy snow to the woodland floor.
I walked twice to the brook with only boots, jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt on.
I captured magic.
I walked twice to the brook with only boots, jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt on.
I captured magic.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Friendship with Sumedha
At some point over ten years ago which is not clear to either of us, I met Sumedha on the Internet. We chatted, talked on the phone, and wrote endless letters on paper. She lived with her family in India and I was living in Minnesota at the time.
Sumedha said, 'The Internet allows us to learn about each other from the inside out.'
I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday, over ten years since we first communicated.
We had a marvelous time and she even fell in love with the beauty of New Ipswich and my little property.
Perhaps after she earns her teaching degree, she'll return?
Sumedha said, 'The Internet allows us to learn about each other from the inside out.'
I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday, over ten years since we first communicated.
We had a marvelous time and she even fell in love with the beauty of New Ipswich and my little property.
Perhaps after she earns her teaching degree, she'll return?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Through the Winter in a Family Fable
disclaimer Thank you for stopping by, and please consider this particular post a work in progress. I have something clearer to say, but this is a first draft during which I was interrupted. I suspect that the concept will expand when I return to this at some point. disclaimer
Someone at my new job helped me unravel more of the mystery of my family dynamics. In lively conversation, I am learning probable reasons for our quirky behavior that were only explained previously by what I call our family fable.
Before I explain further, many of these thoughts congealed on a foggy winter morning. The fog rose surprisingly over my family property and I wandered around the house near sunrise taking photos. My sister immediately requested an 8 x 10 printout of this one:
The temperatures fell from a balmy, snow packing temperature to frigid below zero wind chills. And while the weather violently changed, thoughts assembled gently and I snapped puzzle pieces together as I correlate my newfound knowledge into the fabric of my family fable.
As you might guess, I am part of a story telling family. I remember fondly watching my grandmother's work-worn hands move while she retold stories of our family lore. As a child in Worcester, she made dolls from corn cobs. She giggled with friends while nestled safely in the coat closet at church. And from the cozy coat closet, her heart surged with foretold delight when she first saw my grandfather enter the church.
And just yesterday, our family fable continued itself in subtle ways as my niece sat in rapt attention listening to my story of when I changed her diaper while I talked on the phone with my aunt. For me I simply had to multi-task, but for my aunt the event was noteworthy and is repeated again as it works its way into our family fable.
The purpose of the family fable is to celebrate, and educate, and rationalize, and tie us closely together in a sense of family. Why does our crazy Uncle act that way? The family fable offers a common explanation built on a haphazard retelling history. The family fable explains most everything.
And now when I go to work and talk daily with my dear friend, I learn more about family dynamics and I learn plausible scientific reasons for what was only explained by fable before.
I second-guess myself and wonder why the term 'fable' seems so right in this post. Remember our history lessons where cutting-edge science believed that the world was flat? Or in my family, we have rationales for why old crazy Uncle acts this way or that?
Fable fits because as time slides ever onwards, our understanding and perspective changes and our comfortable knowledge today may become amusing fodder in years to come.
However, the universal truth of love continues eternal so we may as well weave our own threads tightly into our respective family fables.
Someone at my new job helped me unravel more of the mystery of my family dynamics. In lively conversation, I am learning probable reasons for our quirky behavior that were only explained previously by what I call our family fable.
Before I explain further, many of these thoughts congealed on a foggy winter morning. The fog rose surprisingly over my family property and I wandered around the house near sunrise taking photos. My sister immediately requested an 8 x 10 printout of this one:
The temperatures fell from a balmy, snow packing temperature to frigid below zero wind chills. And while the weather violently changed, thoughts assembled gently and I snapped puzzle pieces together as I correlate my newfound knowledge into the fabric of my family fable.
As you might guess, I am part of a story telling family. I remember fondly watching my grandmother's work-worn hands move while she retold stories of our family lore. As a child in Worcester, she made dolls from corn cobs. She giggled with friends while nestled safely in the coat closet at church. And from the cozy coat closet, her heart surged with foretold delight when she first saw my grandfather enter the church.
And just yesterday, our family fable continued itself in subtle ways as my niece sat in rapt attention listening to my story of when I changed her diaper while I talked on the phone with my aunt. For me I simply had to multi-task, but for my aunt the event was noteworthy and is repeated again as it works its way into our family fable.
The purpose of the family fable is to celebrate, and educate, and rationalize, and tie us closely together in a sense of family. Why does our crazy Uncle act that way? The family fable offers a common explanation built on a haphazard retelling history. The family fable explains most everything.
And now when I go to work and talk daily with my dear friend, I learn more about family dynamics and I learn plausible scientific reasons for what was only explained by fable before.
I second-guess myself and wonder why the term 'fable' seems so right in this post. Remember our history lessons where cutting-edge science believed that the world was flat? Or in my family, we have rationales for why old crazy Uncle acts this way or that?
Fable fits because as time slides ever onwards, our understanding and perspective changes and our comfortable knowledge today may become amusing fodder in years to come.
However, the universal truth of love continues eternal so we may as well weave our own threads tightly into our respective family fables.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Slipping away from 2007
My neighboring uncle's garden produced Swiss chard and other vegetables a calendar year ago, but now a year later our properties are buried under up to 20 inches of snow. 2007 arrived hot and is waning cold.
2007 brought me great turbulence, change, excitement, freedom, and opportunity. My varied employment fueled the fun where I started working on a world-class writing team only to be laid off mid-year that released me to an unstructured lifestyle. The constants were unchanged - faith, family, love of writing, photography, and New Hampshire.
Freedom allowed me to immerse myself into New York City to experience the city from ground-level. And I met and walked briefly with a wonderful woman and her family until time and circumstances gently set us on a separate course.
My soccer team delighted me when they were not exasperating. My niece and several other players graduated from daisy-pickers and cart-wheelers into soccer players with drive, vision, and a shared passion for the game. The player's character grew in my mind's eye only to be corrected at the pizza party when things were right-sized when they stood next to video games and pool tables in the cramped game room of a local pizza house.
As you might suspect, girls and their motives often confuse me, but I knew that unity and a feeling of togetherness were key. So we played a season long name game eternally deciding whether we were the 'Purple Grapes', 'Purple Fighting Fish', Purple Doritos', or 'Purple Pumpernickel Breads'. (The last entry was mine - serving to motivate creativity and passion.)
The name game exceeded soccer in some ways because weeks after the season one of my younger players approached me with all seriousness, 'Coach Tim. Really, next year I don't want to be the Purple Fighting Fish. Really, we need to be the Purple Tigers because that's a superior name.'
I am so lucky to have the privilege to coach our youth.
Through my contacts in the soccer program, I found a job in the office of a high-end indoor pool construction and service company. I learned how to use a CAD application and I tried my hand at designing indoor pools. A sketch of an Oforu, or a Japanese soaking tub, may become reality someday.
While I worked this job, we had a family get-together at my house - mostly to introduce my girlfriend (at the time) and her children to my family. She and her daughter joined my nieces and my dad on a walk to the brook. My eldest and youngest nieces returned first - crying. Bees somehow stung them and we quickly scurried to soothe their wounds.
The others returned. My middle niece started screaming as a bee nestled in her clothing suddenly stung. And finally, my girlfriend's daughter started shrieking as a bee moved up inside her shirt and stung her. So the sobbing, sniffling girls assembled neatly into rows of pairs in my kitchen. Their striking blond hair framing tear reddened eyes and sniffling noses. Their mothers clucked like mother hens over their stings - doling out ice packs and empathy.
I watched devoid of my camera and soaked in the Rockwell moment in my very kitchen.
As the year closes, I heeded the call of tech writing opportunity and I agreed to work for a computer hardware company starting on January 2, 2008. I have read so often that a layoff is a wonderful reset for one's life and profession. The mind-numbing silence of sitting around for days and weeks unemployed lets us determine what our true loves are.
And for myself, I always find that writing is central and core to me. Tech writing fits and I look forward to returning to my first love.
So to close my last post of the year, I'll throw some tidbits out.
I earned $75 for a photo sold to a publisher of a NH Travel book.
I edited a friend's published work and I started editing Laura Bloch-Bourque's memoir to fulfill a long-standing dream of starting a small editing business.
I saw 11 deer while hunting - a record for one season of hunting NH. I shot at a doe, but missed.
Unintentionally, I killed four turkeys with one shot. The State of NH fined me and I lost my hunting privilege for a year (possibly reduced to 8 months, I hope).
I raised 18 broiler chicks. 12 for my friend and 6 for my freezer.
I raised 7 laying chickens - 6 laying hens and a rooster - to go with a pair of older roosters. In the last couple of days, a predator killed four layers and the old rooster. (One older rooster was gone long ago.) Three left.
My roommate found employment in Worcester and his presence helped quell the solitude of living alone. His heart is in Minnesota and will happily return next year - hopefully richer for his experience here.
I am continuing to date for no other reason than I feel secure and emotionally ready. Who knew that I would be in my early to mid 30s before I arrived at this juncture in life?
Outside my window, I see snow covering the hill between my uncle's house and mine. The beauty is not well captured in a photo - the even grey tones bleed into the faintest green hue of the evergreen. The overcast skies strain to blush blue. The weathered split rail fence leads to a maple tree that is budding unseen from my vantage point.
The staid beauty here makes me reflect on Brooklyn and the scintillating sense of freedom that I felt there. I wonder that with a companion, could I live a vagabond life and let the wind toss me away on my easy tether to New Hampshire?
2007 brought me great turbulence, change, excitement, freedom, and opportunity. My varied employment fueled the fun where I started working on a world-class writing team only to be laid off mid-year that released me to an unstructured lifestyle. The constants were unchanged - faith, family, love of writing, photography, and New Hampshire.
Freedom allowed me to immerse myself into New York City to experience the city from ground-level. And I met and walked briefly with a wonderful woman and her family until time and circumstances gently set us on a separate course.
My soccer team delighted me when they were not exasperating. My niece and several other players graduated from daisy-pickers and cart-wheelers into soccer players with drive, vision, and a shared passion for the game. The player's character grew in my mind's eye only to be corrected at the pizza party when things were right-sized when they stood next to video games and pool tables in the cramped game room of a local pizza house.
As you might suspect, girls and their motives often confuse me, but I knew that unity and a feeling of togetherness were key. So we played a season long name game eternally deciding whether we were the 'Purple Grapes', 'Purple Fighting Fish', Purple Doritos', or 'Purple Pumpernickel Breads'. (The last entry was mine - serving to motivate creativity and passion.)
The name game exceeded soccer in some ways because weeks after the season one of my younger players approached me with all seriousness, 'Coach Tim. Really, next year I don't want to be the Purple Fighting Fish. Really, we need to be the Purple Tigers because that's a superior name.'
I am so lucky to have the privilege to coach our youth.
Through my contacts in the soccer program, I found a job in the office of a high-end indoor pool construction and service company. I learned how to use a CAD application and I tried my hand at designing indoor pools. A sketch of an Oforu, or a Japanese soaking tub, may become reality someday.
While I worked this job, we had a family get-together at my house - mostly to introduce my girlfriend (at the time) and her children to my family. She and her daughter joined my nieces and my dad on a walk to the brook. My eldest and youngest nieces returned first - crying. Bees somehow stung them and we quickly scurried to soothe their wounds.
The others returned. My middle niece started screaming as a bee nestled in her clothing suddenly stung. And finally, my girlfriend's daughter started shrieking as a bee moved up inside her shirt and stung her. So the sobbing, sniffling girls assembled neatly into rows of pairs in my kitchen. Their striking blond hair framing tear reddened eyes and sniffling noses. Their mothers clucked like mother hens over their stings - doling out ice packs and empathy.
I watched devoid of my camera and soaked in the Rockwell moment in my very kitchen.
As the year closes, I heeded the call of tech writing opportunity and I agreed to work for a computer hardware company starting on January 2, 2008. I have read so often that a layoff is a wonderful reset for one's life and profession. The mind-numbing silence of sitting around for days and weeks unemployed lets us determine what our true loves are.
And for myself, I always find that writing is central and core to me. Tech writing fits and I look forward to returning to my first love.
So to close my last post of the year, I'll throw some tidbits out.
I earned $75 for a photo sold to a publisher of a NH Travel book.
I edited a friend's published work and I started editing Laura Bloch-Bourque's memoir to fulfill a long-standing dream of starting a small editing business.
I saw 11 deer while hunting - a record for one season of hunting NH. I shot at a doe, but missed.
Unintentionally, I killed four turkeys with one shot. The State of NH fined me and I lost my hunting privilege for a year (possibly reduced to 8 months, I hope).
I raised 18 broiler chicks. 12 for my friend and 6 for my freezer.
I raised 7 laying chickens - 6 laying hens and a rooster - to go with a pair of older roosters. In the last couple of days, a predator killed four layers and the old rooster. (One older rooster was gone long ago.) Three left.
My roommate found employment in Worcester and his presence helped quell the solitude of living alone. His heart is in Minnesota and will happily return next year - hopefully richer for his experience here.
I am continuing to date for no other reason than I feel secure and emotionally ready. Who knew that I would be in my early to mid 30s before I arrived at this juncture in life?
Outside my window, I see snow covering the hill between my uncle's house and mine. The beauty is not well captured in a photo - the even grey tones bleed into the faintest green hue of the evergreen. The overcast skies strain to blush blue. The weathered split rail fence leads to a maple tree that is budding unseen from my vantage point.
The staid beauty here makes me reflect on Brooklyn and the scintillating sense of freedom that I felt there. I wonder that with a companion, could I live a vagabond life and let the wind toss me away on my easy tether to New Hampshire?
Monday, August 20, 2007
Strong Wind of Change
Since my last post, a strong SW wind blew and I landed at home for good in New Hampshire ending, a week or two early, my adventure in Brooklyn. Following the southwest wind, a strong ESE wind cast me to Wisconsin to where my mother's family is from for a brief vacation outside my two point rail between NYC and NH.
One of my first cousins and I had a marvelous adventure yesterday cruising in his power boat around the Apostle Islands. I hiked over 5 miles on Stockton Island and we enjoyed resting on the rocks of the idyllic shoreline of Lake Superior.
I left my camera behind during this trip so that I could enjoy the moment in person rather than by peering through a viewfinder. I regret this now, but with pale words I can describe a strong east wind making whitecaps in the lake and off into the horizon wide bands of color, teal blue, dark blue, silver, light blue, spread across the turbulent waters in the big lake.
On our ride back to Madeline Island for supper, I sat in the back of the boat rather than standing in the middle and I learned a fast lesson. When the wind touched my face, spray from waves crashing against the boat soon would follow. My cousin turned from his driving and smiled gleefully and chuckled when he saw lake water dripping from my face and glasses.
Later I learned that our boat travel was equivalent to the speed and direction of the wind so my cousin heard dead silence while we zipped across the four and five foot swells at 25 miles per hour. His face shown true excitement as he retold a new experience.
My summer is winding down and I am conflicted as to what to do with my blog. My ordinary life seems so humdrum that I hate to reveal trite, boring details of life on my edge of New Hampshire granite.
Soccer coaching, library trustee duties, family events, and the continued gentle tug of dating ground me in New Hampshire and eventually, I suppose that I should get a job. I suppose.
But today as I write, I'll linger in the fantasy that a guy like me can retire at 36 years old and figure out a way to make just enough to live and love those around him.
Be well until I post again.
One of my first cousins and I had a marvelous adventure yesterday cruising in his power boat around the Apostle Islands. I hiked over 5 miles on Stockton Island and we enjoyed resting on the rocks of the idyllic shoreline of Lake Superior.
I left my camera behind during this trip so that I could enjoy the moment in person rather than by peering through a viewfinder. I regret this now, but with pale words I can describe a strong east wind making whitecaps in the lake and off into the horizon wide bands of color, teal blue, dark blue, silver, light blue, spread across the turbulent waters in the big lake.
On our ride back to Madeline Island for supper, I sat in the back of the boat rather than standing in the middle and I learned a fast lesson. When the wind touched my face, spray from waves crashing against the boat soon would follow. My cousin turned from his driving and smiled gleefully and chuckled when he saw lake water dripping from my face and glasses.
Later I learned that our boat travel was equivalent to the speed and direction of the wind so my cousin heard dead silence while we zipped across the four and five foot swells at 25 miles per hour. His face shown true excitement as he retold a new experience.
My summer is winding down and I am conflicted as to what to do with my blog. My ordinary life seems so humdrum that I hate to reveal trite, boring details of life on my edge of New Hampshire granite.
Soccer coaching, library trustee duties, family events, and the continued gentle tug of dating ground me in New Hampshire and eventually, I suppose that I should get a job. I suppose.
But today as I write, I'll linger in the fantasy that a guy like me can retire at 36 years old and figure out a way to make just enough to live and love those around him.
Be well until I post again.
Friday, August 10, 2007
A Brief Hiatus
I'm in New Hampshire now preparing to install a floor at a condo in Worcester. I feel the effects of burning the candle at both ends and I plan to take a brief hiatus from my blog for a few days.
The end of the summer looms despite being in the dog days of August and that is always connected to a little introspective sadness. My problem being that I'm moving so fast that there is little time for introspection.
On a news-related item from last Wednesday morning, a tornado touched down in Brooklyn only ten blocks from the 820 apartment. The New York Times reported that the tornado was Category 1 (the weakest on the scale) and it ripped the roof off a few buildings, uprooted trees, and caused other damage.
I was in my cot on Wednesday morning throughout the related thunderstorm during which lightning and thunder pounded away over Brooklyn.
The storms caused flooding that interrupted the transportation systems in NYC, but I took a (somewhat delayed) train to Penn Station and then an Amtrak train to Springfield, MA where Jim picked me up. I returned a day earlier than planned.
I'm in New Hampshire now and preparing, as I said, to go to Worcester to install a floor today. After a brief hiatus, I'll blog again.
The end of the summer looms despite being in the dog days of August and that is always connected to a little introspective sadness. My problem being that I'm moving so fast that there is little time for introspection.
On a news-related item from last Wednesday morning, a tornado touched down in Brooklyn only ten blocks from the 820 apartment. The New York Times reported that the tornado was Category 1 (the weakest on the scale) and it ripped the roof off a few buildings, uprooted trees, and caused other damage.
I was in my cot on Wednesday morning throughout the related thunderstorm during which lightning and thunder pounded away over Brooklyn.
The storms caused flooding that interrupted the transportation systems in NYC, but I took a (somewhat delayed) train to Penn Station and then an Amtrak train to Springfield, MA where Jim picked me up. I returned a day earlier than planned.
I'm in New Hampshire now and preparing, as I said, to go to Worcester to install a floor today. After a brief hiatus, I'll blog again.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Finnish Energy
My sister's family returned to New Hampshire last night. A few moments ago my friend's family returned to Minnesota. Before sunrise, my friends moved with military precision and were off less than ten minutes after the alarm woke us. Their belongings packed neatly in the hallway the night before, car loaded, children bundled into the van seats, hugs, goodbye greetings, and on their way.
The apartment is silent already. My feet sore and swollen from our sight-seeing journey yesterday that included over five miles walked while I was in boat shoes. (I forgot my other shoes in New Hampshire.) The bathroom swelters with atmospheric humidity and the humidity of being well-used. The supply tank on the toilet sweats.
I'll return to sleep now with comforting memories of familiar laughter and energy as I slip back into solitude, immersed in Brooklyn.
I slept for several hours and before I wander to ArtToFrames.com, I'll describe yesterday's adventure.
My unrelenting pace started last week when I drove home on Wednesday, I think, and proceeded to take care of things in New Hampshire on Thursday, went on a date, climbed Mount Monadnock on Friday, went to a summer party (with my date) and played in a band concert on Saturday, church Sunday and then drove two families to NYC on Sunday night. Whoosh.
After arriving late Sunday night, we contemplated various activities for Monday and the consensus was to get on television by going to one of the network morning shows. I like the NBC Today Show the best, knew where Rockerfeller Center is, and I nudged the group towards going to the Today Show.
The problem is that our sleep would be brief and was eventually fitful as I and others woke on the hour until I finally rose at 4:40 to lay out food for breakfast, turn on lights, and make enough noise to rouse the parents who woke their kids.
We left the apartment around 5:45 or so after everyone ate, a few people bathed, and prepared for the day. We got off the subway in Rockerfeller Center just before 7:00 AM when the Today Show starts. Security checked our bags and interviewed us briefly and we shuttled into the fenced corral for the Today Show street studio and we joined other early-rising nuts like us.
NBC broadcast the show on flat-screen televisions displayed on rolling carts or on the studio building so we watched as the show started and we got a sense of when the cameras would film. The hosts broadcast the show from inside a ground-level, corner-office studio, behind a curved glass panel.
Suddenly, the glass panel dropped and we saw the hosts! Some of us ran to be seen through the window and we alternated from standing around the corral and the window. My brother in law stayed at the window and when he saw that the camera trained on him, he started signing a message in front of the camera.
Some of us at the corral started laughing hysterically to see him sign in real life and then glance up to the flat screen TVs to see his signing displayed on the TV! When he returned to us, we asked what he signed. 'I need help signing. My sister lives in Snellman, MN. My name is Erik.' We all hooted with laughter.
The people that we contacted to watch us didn't see him so we speculate that the editors cropped the shot tightly to keep him out of the broadcast. Enough people recorded the show for us to examine at a later date.
Despite that, a stranger in the crowd went to him and complimented his ability and wondered where Snellman was. After his crowning achievement of quick-thinking, the Today Show lost its luster and we decided against waiting for another hour and a half for the hosts to emerge into the corral. A few of us hopped up and down behind the crowd while the weatherman gave his report. But then we all left.
I approached a NYPD officer and I asked him, 'Excuse me sir. We have several children in the group here and we gave each one a piece of paper with our names and phone numbers, the address where we're staying, and the nearest subway station. If the children get lost, is it a good idea for them to show the paper to a police officer?' His stern demeanor melted into a smile and a nod, 'That's a very good idea.'
I communicated that to the group loudly so that the kids would listen and learn what to do if they got separated from the adults.
Our plan was to go to the Today Show, walk to Times Square, walk to Central Park and re-evaluate if we had the energy to go to the WTC site and Staten Island Ferry before returning to Brooklyn to rest and sing. Every so often, the adults were anxious and impatient, but that usually ended in laughter because just being together on the streets of NYC was really enough.
On the walk to Times Square, the group was fascinated by a street vendor so people ordered coffee, donuts, and other snacks. We rested and ate and continued walking. We approached Times Square and my nieces asked numerous times to go to the M&M store in Times Square, but it wasn't open yet. We saw through the ABC Studio windows where the Good Morning America show was being broadcast.
On each street corner in Times Square there were one or two people handing out a new flavor of Balance Bars. Often they handed them out two at a time. We had eleven people in our group and each time we passed these people, we acquired more and more Balance Bars! Soon our pockets and bags were weighted down and each time we laughed with delight at all the free food.
Finally we made our way to Central Park via Broadway to Columbus Circle. We wandered into Central Park and the kids were most enthralled with the rocks protruding from the ground. So we all scrambled up one and sat drinking water and counting our Balance Bars. The girls estimated that we collected more than 70 bars!
The younger kids saw a playground made of steel and concrete so I walked with a few of them so they could play. The playground was quite cool as it was designed to be like a castle and fortress. Spongy rubber mats cushioned the ground - a welcome relief to already tired and sore feet.
Eventually the majority of our group collected at a series of park benches near some porta potties that everyone said were totally gross. While we sat a honey-sucker, or in other words, a porta pottie cleaning truck, drove up and started emptying the johns. Soon I saw someone in our group cover her mouth and bolt from her bench, walking briskly away.
Then the stench hit me and we all moved quickly away so the porta potty smell didn't knock us all flat over. We were laughing and all agreed that was the worst smell that anyone had ever experienced.
We walked to the train and took a train just north of the World Trade Center site. By this time, the little and big legs in our group were feeling some fatigue and after we looked at the WTC site, our pace slowed. We sat overlooking the NYSE building and Wall Street, eating. We walked back to the WTC site for bathrooms at Burger King and we ordered pizza.
We rested.
Afterwards, we went to the Staten Island ferry port and boarded the next ferry. The sight-seers watched the sights from the edge of the boat, but I propped my legs and feet up and closed my eyes. We arrived in Staten Island and sat in the port for the next boat. Again, I dozed. After we boarded, the sight-seers looked around and I fell into a deeper sleep. An announcer woke me up, and my sister was talking to me.
'Tim, do you think it's a good idea to go to the Empire State Building?' I bluntly said, 'No. Not really.' I smiled as I realized my bluntness and I went to talk with the larger group and agreed that a train ride to the Empire State Building wouldn't be such a bad idea. A few of us in the group were aware of the general fatigue, but it's the group consensus that wins over.
Instead of going to the Empire State Building, I walked to B&H Photo and bought a new lens hood to replace the one that had broken on our trip down to NYC. Then I bought a train ticket for Thursday and joined everyone near Macy's. Cost prohibited anyone from going up the Empire State building so they shopped for souvenirs instead.
By now the pace slowed to a halt, but the young girl's eyes glowed with hopeful excitement, 'Can we go to Macy's?' Of course we could. So the group split into four. Two anti-shoppers went to the street. One family went to the bathrooms downstairs. The remainder sans myself went up all the escalators to see the wooden escalators on the top floors of Macy's.
I stayed in the entry way and laughed by eye-contact with a man offering perfume samples at all the women who walked numbly past him.
Finally, we returned to Brooklyn and I gave a tour of the church and the garden in the back. We went to the 820 apartment and fixed up a hodge-podge supper for everyone and we sang church songs for a while. My friend started singing loudly and we all joined him, but I admit that I looked out the window to see if people were staring and wondering.
After we sang, my sister's family left and the remaining people planned a return to Times Square to see it at night. We returned and discussed numerous strategies for their return to Minnesota and eventually, the consensus was to leave before sunrise today. In Times Square the weariness of the group showed due to divergent goals. Some wanted to push relentlessly and go to one store after the next. Others showed restraint to the plan. We ate some over-priced (what else?) ice cream. Eventually we returned.
After arriving at 820, the family packed briskly and I discussed the route from here to Chicago with a focus on the simplest route out of NYC to avoid traffic. Their bags lined up in the hallway, we slept. At 4:45 my alarm rang. At 4:54 AM, the family left to start their return trip.
Solitude again.
So I hear birds chirping from the trees and see the street in front of my writer's nook, empty of cars, as it waits for a new coat of tar. A woman walks up the street and another pushes a cart, drinking water. My asian neighbors pop in and out of their adjacent apartments. My swollen feet throb a little.
I have to shower and walk to ArtToFrames.com soon.
Before I close, I have reflected a bit about where my adventure led me. At the summer party on Saturday, I reunited with several former co-workers and I heard allusions of gossip and backbiting to get work. No specifics were offered, but our group was small enough that I could piece things together to suit my curiosity and imagination.
I sensed anxiety and lurking anger, but from an outsider's point of view. My free-spirited path is quite divergent and I am detached and I simply assess the character traits of my former co-workers and imagine how they manifest themselves in their current situations. Everyone gets their due in the end.
So here I spend the summer sleeping in a cot as I chose inner-city camping for the summer for the adventure and the solitude to practice my craft as seen in my blog and photo stream. I dated the woman local to NH and I feel a gentle tug to see her again. I enjoy the freedom of the free-spirited life. I learn more about myself. I'm poised in a thrilling position to help grow a business in Brooklyn.
My future is unknown, but as I always wanted, the wind is settling my future rather than my self-assured assertive ambition that caused such great pain during my twenties.
The apartment is silent already. My feet sore and swollen from our sight-seeing journey yesterday that included over five miles walked while I was in boat shoes. (I forgot my other shoes in New Hampshire.) The bathroom swelters with atmospheric humidity and the humidity of being well-used. The supply tank on the toilet sweats.
I'll return to sleep now with comforting memories of familiar laughter and energy as I slip back into solitude, immersed in Brooklyn.
I slept for several hours and before I wander to ArtToFrames.com, I'll describe yesterday's adventure.
My unrelenting pace started last week when I drove home on Wednesday, I think, and proceeded to take care of things in New Hampshire on Thursday, went on a date, climbed Mount Monadnock on Friday, went to a summer party (with my date) and played in a band concert on Saturday, church Sunday and then drove two families to NYC on Sunday night. Whoosh.
After arriving late Sunday night, we contemplated various activities for Monday and the consensus was to get on television by going to one of the network morning shows. I like the NBC Today Show the best, knew where Rockerfeller Center is, and I nudged the group towards going to the Today Show.
The problem is that our sleep would be brief and was eventually fitful as I and others woke on the hour until I finally rose at 4:40 to lay out food for breakfast, turn on lights, and make enough noise to rouse the parents who woke their kids.
We left the apartment around 5:45 or so after everyone ate, a few people bathed, and prepared for the day. We got off the subway in Rockerfeller Center just before 7:00 AM when the Today Show starts. Security checked our bags and interviewed us briefly and we shuttled into the fenced corral for the Today Show street studio and we joined other early-rising nuts like us.
NBC broadcast the show on flat-screen televisions displayed on rolling carts or on the studio building so we watched as the show started and we got a sense of when the cameras would film. The hosts broadcast the show from inside a ground-level, corner-office studio, behind a curved glass panel.
Suddenly, the glass panel dropped and we saw the hosts! Some of us ran to be seen through the window and we alternated from standing around the corral and the window. My brother in law stayed at the window and when he saw that the camera trained on him, he started signing a message in front of the camera.
Some of us at the corral started laughing hysterically to see him sign in real life and then glance up to the flat screen TVs to see his signing displayed on the TV! When he returned to us, we asked what he signed. 'I need help signing. My sister lives in Snellman, MN. My name is Erik.' We all hooted with laughter.
The people that we contacted to watch us didn't see him so we speculate that the editors cropped the shot tightly to keep him out of the broadcast. Enough people recorded the show for us to examine at a later date.
Despite that, a stranger in the crowd went to him and complimented his ability and wondered where Snellman was. After his crowning achievement of quick-thinking, the Today Show lost its luster and we decided against waiting for another hour and a half for the hosts to emerge into the corral. A few of us hopped up and down behind the crowd while the weatherman gave his report. But then we all left.
I approached a NYPD officer and I asked him, 'Excuse me sir. We have several children in the group here and we gave each one a piece of paper with our names and phone numbers, the address where we're staying, and the nearest subway station. If the children get lost, is it a good idea for them to show the paper to a police officer?' His stern demeanor melted into a smile and a nod, 'That's a very good idea.'
I communicated that to the group loudly so that the kids would listen and learn what to do if they got separated from the adults.
Our plan was to go to the Today Show, walk to Times Square, walk to Central Park and re-evaluate if we had the energy to go to the WTC site and Staten Island Ferry before returning to Brooklyn to rest and sing. Every so often, the adults were anxious and impatient, but that usually ended in laughter because just being together on the streets of NYC was really enough.
On the walk to Times Square, the group was fascinated by a street vendor so people ordered coffee, donuts, and other snacks. We rested and ate and continued walking. We approached Times Square and my nieces asked numerous times to go to the M&M store in Times Square, but it wasn't open yet. We saw through the ABC Studio windows where the Good Morning America show was being broadcast.
On each street corner in Times Square there were one or two people handing out a new flavor of Balance Bars. Often they handed them out two at a time. We had eleven people in our group and each time we passed these people, we acquired more and more Balance Bars! Soon our pockets and bags were weighted down and each time we laughed with delight at all the free food.
Finally we made our way to Central Park via Broadway to Columbus Circle. We wandered into Central Park and the kids were most enthralled with the rocks protruding from the ground. So we all scrambled up one and sat drinking water and counting our Balance Bars. The girls estimated that we collected more than 70 bars!
The younger kids saw a playground made of steel and concrete so I walked with a few of them so they could play. The playground was quite cool as it was designed to be like a castle and fortress. Spongy rubber mats cushioned the ground - a welcome relief to already tired and sore feet.
Eventually the majority of our group collected at a series of park benches near some porta potties that everyone said were totally gross. While we sat a honey-sucker, or in other words, a porta pottie cleaning truck, drove up and started emptying the johns. Soon I saw someone in our group cover her mouth and bolt from her bench, walking briskly away.
Then the stench hit me and we all moved quickly away so the porta potty smell didn't knock us all flat over. We were laughing and all agreed that was the worst smell that anyone had ever experienced.
We walked to the train and took a train just north of the World Trade Center site. By this time, the little and big legs in our group were feeling some fatigue and after we looked at the WTC site, our pace slowed. We sat overlooking the NYSE building and Wall Street, eating. We walked back to the WTC site for bathrooms at Burger King and we ordered pizza.
We rested.
Afterwards, we went to the Staten Island ferry port and boarded the next ferry. The sight-seers watched the sights from the edge of the boat, but I propped my legs and feet up and closed my eyes. We arrived in Staten Island and sat in the port for the next boat. Again, I dozed. After we boarded, the sight-seers looked around and I fell into a deeper sleep. An announcer woke me up, and my sister was talking to me.
'Tim, do you think it's a good idea to go to the Empire State Building?' I bluntly said, 'No. Not really.' I smiled as I realized my bluntness and I went to talk with the larger group and agreed that a train ride to the Empire State Building wouldn't be such a bad idea. A few of us in the group were aware of the general fatigue, but it's the group consensus that wins over.
Instead of going to the Empire State Building, I walked to B&H Photo and bought a new lens hood to replace the one that had broken on our trip down to NYC. Then I bought a train ticket for Thursday and joined everyone near Macy's. Cost prohibited anyone from going up the Empire State building so they shopped for souvenirs instead.
By now the pace slowed to a halt, but the young girl's eyes glowed with hopeful excitement, 'Can we go to Macy's?' Of course we could. So the group split into four. Two anti-shoppers went to the street. One family went to the bathrooms downstairs. The remainder sans myself went up all the escalators to see the wooden escalators on the top floors of Macy's.
I stayed in the entry way and laughed by eye-contact with a man offering perfume samples at all the women who walked numbly past him.
Finally, we returned to Brooklyn and I gave a tour of the church and the garden in the back. We went to the 820 apartment and fixed up a hodge-podge supper for everyone and we sang church songs for a while. My friend started singing loudly and we all joined him, but I admit that I looked out the window to see if people were staring and wondering.
After we sang, my sister's family left and the remaining people planned a return to Times Square to see it at night. We returned and discussed numerous strategies for their return to Minnesota and eventually, the consensus was to leave before sunrise today. In Times Square the weariness of the group showed due to divergent goals. Some wanted to push relentlessly and go to one store after the next. Others showed restraint to the plan. We ate some over-priced (what else?) ice cream. Eventually we returned.
After arriving at 820, the family packed briskly and I discussed the route from here to Chicago with a focus on the simplest route out of NYC to avoid traffic. Their bags lined up in the hallway, we slept. At 4:45 my alarm rang. At 4:54 AM, the family left to start their return trip.
Solitude again.
So I hear birds chirping from the trees and see the street in front of my writer's nook, empty of cars, as it waits for a new coat of tar. A woman walks up the street and another pushes a cart, drinking water. My asian neighbors pop in and out of their adjacent apartments. My swollen feet throb a little.
I have to shower and walk to ArtToFrames.com soon.
Before I close, I have reflected a bit about where my adventure led me. At the summer party on Saturday, I reunited with several former co-workers and I heard allusions of gossip and backbiting to get work. No specifics were offered, but our group was small enough that I could piece things together to suit my curiosity and imagination.
I sensed anxiety and lurking anger, but from an outsider's point of view. My free-spirited path is quite divergent and I am detached and I simply assess the character traits of my former co-workers and imagine how they manifest themselves in their current situations. Everyone gets their due in the end.
So here I spend the summer sleeping in a cot as I chose inner-city camping for the summer for the adventure and the solitude to practice my craft as seen in my blog and photo stream. I dated the woman local to NH and I feel a gentle tug to see her again. I enjoy the freedom of the free-spirited life. I learn more about myself. I'm poised in a thrilling position to help grow a business in Brooklyn.
My future is unknown, but as I always wanted, the wind is settling my future rather than my self-assured assertive ambition that caused such great pain during my twenties.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Fat Monadnock
Guests from Minnesota and a number of my friends and relatives and I climbed Mt. Monadnock yesterday in the sweltering heat. I lingered with the slow group in the back, straining to go faster, but enjoying conversation with my sister about our respective summer adventures.
Towards the summit, I started talking about the cave and how we should all look for and explore the cave. The young boys weren't motivated to explore until I arrived and then we found the tiny entrances just off the white dot trail near the summit.
A boy from Minnesota entered first, followed by his sister, and later a local boy.
The boy's dad, my friend, arrived and we surveyed the slight opening. My turn. I dangled my feet down, grabbed the upper rock to lower myself below. Stuck! I'm too fat!
Determined, I tried again. Stuck at my midsection! Legs dangling a little, I released the rock and suspended myself, wedged into the opening.
I looked at my friend, who is my age, and I shook my head angrily, laughing. I'm not a big guy, but boy this middle life stuff is terrible.
Shortly after being stuck, we heard thunder and saw dark clouds start roiling so we snapped the group photo and descended briskly down the mountain.
Occassionaly, and even now as I write, I curse middle age! Too fat for the cave. My goodness.
Towards the summit, I started talking about the cave and how we should all look for and explore the cave. The young boys weren't motivated to explore until I arrived and then we found the tiny entrances just off the white dot trail near the summit.
A boy from Minnesota entered first, followed by his sister, and later a local boy.
The boy's dad, my friend, arrived and we surveyed the slight opening. My turn. I dangled my feet down, grabbed the upper rock to lower myself below. Stuck! I'm too fat!
Determined, I tried again. Stuck at my midsection! Legs dangling a little, I released the rock and suspended myself, wedged into the opening.
I looked at my friend, who is my age, and I shook my head angrily, laughing. I'm not a big guy, but boy this middle life stuff is terrible.
Shortly after being stuck, we heard thunder and saw dark clouds start roiling so we snapped the group photo and descended briskly down the mountain.
Occassionaly, and even now as I write, I curse middle age! Too fat for the cave. My goodness.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Heat, Just HEAT
I returned from Brooklyn last night. During the day, I walked around Manhattan doing a bit of research for sales at ArtToFrames.com. In Central Park two young Asian girls asked me survey question regarding air pollution. They spoke halting English, but persisted to ask me questions.
Later I saw other kids from their group wandering in pairs or with adults through Central Park.
Then on the subway off the Q line, I think, a flood of red shirted kids from a church-related group poured into the subway car. The energy and clamor were unbelievable! A young girl in cute cornrows whispered to a chaperone. 'I don't have a seat.' I caught the chaperone's eye and soon the girl took my seat.
A stop later, the girl stood for some reason and a new rider plopped herself down. Again, I made eye contact with the chaperone and we shrugged in quiet disdain for the selfish adult.
Someone seems to be picking on my car in the gentlest way. Twice now I see my gas door open. Once when the car was parked right in front of 820 and then again when parked towards the corner. It's quite mild, but I hoped to be invisible while I live at 820. Oh well.
The temperatures didn't cool much when I got home to New Hampshire last night. The sweltering heat persisted into the night. My ride home was fast and short - thankfully. But I was caught in a conundrum. To stay alert while driving, I drank an iced tea. But the caffeine worked its magic for too long, well after I returned to my home.
This afternoon, I walked to the local bank and then to the Town Field where some kids are in a soccer camp. Walking and taking photos was enough to be drenched in sweat. The kids were in a cycle of drill, water, drill, water - rightfully so.
I returned home and made a few calls for AYSO and I am dreading the rest of the calls. I don't talk very much in general and to break my reticence and call strangers is not a thrill for me. Now if I could type into e-mail, who could shut me up?
ArtToFrames.com made a corporate business page on their Website and that will make it much easier for wholesale orders.
Shortly I am going on my date and I look forward to meeting her and I especially look forward to our conversation. I enjoyed our e-mails and chats. Funny, too, that we're meeting for ice cream on what must be the most hot and humid day of the whole summer. Is that considered an ice breaking topic? I think, rather, a melter.
Later I saw other kids from their group wandering in pairs or with adults through Central Park.
Then on the subway off the Q line, I think, a flood of red shirted kids from a church-related group poured into the subway car. The energy and clamor were unbelievable! A young girl in cute cornrows whispered to a chaperone. 'I don't have a seat.' I caught the chaperone's eye and soon the girl took my seat.
A stop later, the girl stood for some reason and a new rider plopped herself down. Again, I made eye contact with the chaperone and we shrugged in quiet disdain for the selfish adult.
Someone seems to be picking on my car in the gentlest way. Twice now I see my gas door open. Once when the car was parked right in front of 820 and then again when parked towards the corner. It's quite mild, but I hoped to be invisible while I live at 820. Oh well.
The temperatures didn't cool much when I got home to New Hampshire last night. The sweltering heat persisted into the night. My ride home was fast and short - thankfully. But I was caught in a conundrum. To stay alert while driving, I drank an iced tea. But the caffeine worked its magic for too long, well after I returned to my home.
This afternoon, I walked to the local bank and then to the Town Field where some kids are in a soccer camp. Walking and taking photos was enough to be drenched in sweat. The kids were in a cycle of drill, water, drill, water - rightfully so.
I returned home and made a few calls for AYSO and I am dreading the rest of the calls. I don't talk very much in general and to break my reticence and call strangers is not a thrill for me. Now if I could type into e-mail, who could shut me up?
ArtToFrames.com made a corporate business page on their Website and that will make it much easier for wholesale orders.
Shortly I am going on my date and I look forward to meeting her and I especially look forward to our conversation. I enjoyed our e-mails and chats. Funny, too, that we're meeting for ice cream on what must be the most hot and humid day of the whole summer. Is that considered an ice breaking topic? I think, rather, a melter.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
August
Cool air spills through the window and I look outside into the gentle morning light. A guy walks by in a dark blue t-shirt. I notice that he's carrying something, odd, a frying pan. Only in New York.
Yesterday had two distinct halves. The first half was arid and the second rich with excitement and possibility making sleep difficult late into the night. I waited silently at ArtToFrames.com through the morning, through a long lunch break where I returned my car to 820, silently alone in the conference room before the meeting.
Salient phrases in the meeting included Yossi saying, 'Right. We're not at a point where there is money for QA and Usability. We don't need that.' And when Jeff said, 'But as a saleman, you can be part of our family!' And easy forthright honesty poured from me, 'I keep wondering. Am I a salesman? I'm honored that everyone here thinks that I am.'
Jeff will draw up a contract and I will sleep on the offer for a few days. I was clear and everyone was comfortable about my desire to live in New Hampshire. Yossi later looked at my property via Google maps and I showed them where I fish, hunt, and raise chickens.
After the meeting concluded, I spoke at length with Yossi to get a deep understanding of the technology, the business processes, and most importantly the sales cycles. I need to know who has the money, authority, and need for corporate framing services.
A brief digression - from my window, I see the man carrying the frying pan return, but this time with a bicycle tire pump in his right hand. The frying pan continues to swing back and forth in his left hand as he walks. My Chinese neighbor appears swinging his gate open with a slight, high-pitched squeak. He shakes his right leg and leans forward into a jog up the street.
My conversation with Yossi continued at length and I suggested the virtual reality game, Second Life, as a source of revenue. I gave a brief demo of Second Life and I chatted with my art student friend in Connecticut who started a design business in the game. She plans to give us a demo today at 10:30 and for much of the evening, I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I am doing business with someone who I have little to no contact with outside a game.
Things at home are flourishing with the return of my sister's family from their summer-long trip. A family from Minnesota arrived and I look forward to sight-seeing with them over the long weekend. My roommate returned, also. The Minnesota family plans to follow me to Brooklyn on Sunday afternoon and we'll sight-see in New York. My sister peeped that she might like to take her family here, too, so there may be up to 11 people in the apartment if they all arrive.
My Chinese neighbor returned from his jog, slowing his steps in front of his building, rubbing his chest once, swinging his arms, and walking away to cool down.
I'm looking at my trusty laptop computer. Yossi used it briefly yesterday and he noted that the L key is gone. I smiled replying, 'Just the label is worn away.' Several keys have a distinct wear pattern much like stone stairwells in New York that have bore millions of people in their paths. I'm intrigued that plastic keys have sworls and grains under their veneer.
My Chinese neighbor is now hanging clothes from the air conditioner grate. Another Chinese man in flip-flops walks casually through the street and sidewalk. He starts the daily sweep of his sidewalk.
I return to New Hampshire today. I'm unsure of my schedule and I should trim the grass in the front and back yards and prepare the apartment for guests. The weather is going to be hot and sticky for the next week or so and I should plan to have fans running for everyone's comfort. I'm wondering if my virtual friend in Connecticut would like to have dinner with me so we can discuss business.
I laugh as the blue t-shirt guy walks again past my window. But now he traded, bartered maybe, his frying pan and bicycle tire pump for two grocery bags full of products.
Yesterday had two distinct halves. The first half was arid and the second rich with excitement and possibility making sleep difficult late into the night. I waited silently at ArtToFrames.com through the morning, through a long lunch break where I returned my car to 820, silently alone in the conference room before the meeting.
Salient phrases in the meeting included Yossi saying, 'Right. We're not at a point where there is money for QA and Usability. We don't need that.' And when Jeff said, 'But as a saleman, you can be part of our family!' And easy forthright honesty poured from me, 'I keep wondering. Am I a salesman? I'm honored that everyone here thinks that I am.'
Jeff will draw up a contract and I will sleep on the offer for a few days. I was clear and everyone was comfortable about my desire to live in New Hampshire. Yossi later looked at my property via Google maps and I showed them where I fish, hunt, and raise chickens.
After the meeting concluded, I spoke at length with Yossi to get a deep understanding of the technology, the business processes, and most importantly the sales cycles. I need to know who has the money, authority, and need for corporate framing services.
A brief digression - from my window, I see the man carrying the frying pan return, but this time with a bicycle tire pump in his right hand. The frying pan continues to swing back and forth in his left hand as he walks. My Chinese neighbor appears swinging his gate open with a slight, high-pitched squeak. He shakes his right leg and leans forward into a jog up the street.
My conversation with Yossi continued at length and I suggested the virtual reality game, Second Life, as a source of revenue. I gave a brief demo of Second Life and I chatted with my art student friend in Connecticut who started a design business in the game. She plans to give us a demo today at 10:30 and for much of the evening, I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I am doing business with someone who I have little to no contact with outside a game.
Things at home are flourishing with the return of my sister's family from their summer-long trip. A family from Minnesota arrived and I look forward to sight-seeing with them over the long weekend. My roommate returned, also. The Minnesota family plans to follow me to Brooklyn on Sunday afternoon and we'll sight-see in New York. My sister peeped that she might like to take her family here, too, so there may be up to 11 people in the apartment if they all arrive.
My Chinese neighbor returned from his jog, slowing his steps in front of his building, rubbing his chest once, swinging his arms, and walking away to cool down.
I'm looking at my trusty laptop computer. Yossi used it briefly yesterday and he noted that the L key is gone. I smiled replying, 'Just the label is worn away.' Several keys have a distinct wear pattern much like stone stairwells in New York that have bore millions of people in their paths. I'm intrigued that plastic keys have sworls and grains under their veneer.
My Chinese neighbor is now hanging clothes from the air conditioner grate. Another Chinese man in flip-flops walks casually through the street and sidewalk. He starts the daily sweep of his sidewalk.
I return to New Hampshire today. I'm unsure of my schedule and I should trim the grass in the front and back yards and prepare the apartment for guests. The weather is going to be hot and sticky for the next week or so and I should plan to have fans running for everyone's comfort. I'm wondering if my virtual friend in Connecticut would like to have dinner with me so we can discuss business.
I laugh as the blue t-shirt guy walks again past my window. But now he traded, bartered maybe, his frying pan and bicycle tire pump for two grocery bags full of products.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Flat Brooklyn
Overnight, the temperatures cooled and I put on my pajama top. The sound of a helicopter hovering somewhere over Brooklyn woke me around 7:00 AM. I have to move my car today for the street sweeping so I think that I'll go to ArtToFrames.com early to use the Internet and prepare for the meeting today.
The day feels flat again. In my youth, days that started like this turned out to be the best days.
The day feels flat again. In my youth, days that started like this turned out to be the best days.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Brooklyn Wakes
I slept in today and I finally rolled out of bed around 7:30. I re-read and edited my post from yesterday. The air is cool and crisp. The high-pitched rapping of a jack hammer echoes through the streets. People are walking along the sidewalks. A few friends are chatting across the street, one entering his car now. Sunlight is soft. Brooklyn wakes.
While I was at ArtToFrames.com, I searched for 'lunar cycles' and I learned that the full moon peaked at 48 minutes past midnight. The day was flat. My mood was poor. Yossi was still making his way back from Brazil and I left in the early afternoon to work on the 820 apartment.
I mistakenly, perhaps, lay down when I arrived at 820 and fell asleep. My friends from Minnesota called and woke me up and we made tentative plans for their visit to New Hampshire and possible jaunt to NYC early next week.
Rather than paint, I took measurements from the shell of the bulkhead in the back and I designed the replacement for the decrepit one there now. I called home. I ate olives, chocolate, and pasta for supper. I played the brain sucker games on my computer.
The wireless router appeared, surprisingly, so I chatted with the RN in Gardner who didn't have much of a better day than I. I used the Internet and after the router disappeared, I lay in bed restless. Since I wasn't sleeping, I got up and I tried to find the ArtToFrames.com HTML code in the Firefox cache, but I couldn't find it.
I spent an hour or so thinking about what I might say at the technical meeting today at ArtToFrames.com. Finally, sleep.
While I was at ArtToFrames.com, I searched for 'lunar cycles' and I learned that the full moon peaked at 48 minutes past midnight. The day was flat. My mood was poor. Yossi was still making his way back from Brazil and I left in the early afternoon to work on the 820 apartment.
I mistakenly, perhaps, lay down when I arrived at 820 and fell asleep. My friends from Minnesota called and woke me up and we made tentative plans for their visit to New Hampshire and possible jaunt to NYC early next week.
Rather than paint, I took measurements from the shell of the bulkhead in the back and I designed the replacement for the decrepit one there now. I called home. I ate olives, chocolate, and pasta for supper. I played the brain sucker games on my computer.
The wireless router appeared, surprisingly, so I chatted with the RN in Gardner who didn't have much of a better day than I. I used the Internet and after the router disappeared, I lay in bed restless. Since I wasn't sleeping, I got up and I tried to find the ArtToFrames.com HTML code in the Firefox cache, but I couldn't find it.
I spent an hour or so thinking about what I might say at the technical meeting today at ArtToFrames.com. Finally, sleep.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Art of Community
The weekend is winding down here. Afternoon rain wet the sidewalks and the air feels humid, muggy.
As I wrote this, my wireless connection found an unsecure router connection so I hijacked time and while connected I set up a coffee date with someone off of PlentyOfFish.com. She's an RN who lives in Gardner, MA.
A dialog with myself flowed through my thoughts for most of the day today. After I arrived in Brooklyn by taking the usual route in just over 4 hours, rather than taking my road less travelled that often leads me to a 5+ hour trip, I settled in quickly. And then I figured out the trains to the Brooklyn Waterfront Artists Coalition (BWAC.org) art show off Van Brunt in the Red Hook neighborhood in Brooklyn.
Being naive here has it's pros and cons because in eschewing the added cost of bus fare (I later learned that it's a free transfer) I walked through the East and West Redhook Public Housing projects from the Smith and 9th subway station to the art show. It was raining and few people were on the street, but none-the-less, I walked right through the projects.
Is that dangerous? Probably not. But I suspect that it's like dealing with livestock where a calm, steady hand causes no alarm, but fear, anxiety could trigger mayhem. So without event, I arrived at the art show.
When I approached the pier where the show was, I saw that some drainage blocked up, and the end of the street was full of runoff water. A little blue Honda civic was up to its chassis in water! I pined for my camera (at 820, bummer!) and I thought that I could help push the bugger out.
I walked in and Betty and Pauline greeted me and gave me brief instructions to see the show. I walked into the show and I saw a sign that said 'free lemonade' so of course I indulged and had some polite chit-chat with the lady pouring the lemonade. She laughed sarcastically, 'Squeezing the lemons was soo difficult!' as she opened a freezer and took out a can of frozen lemonade concentrate!
The show is for starting artists and simple membership lets anyone and everyone display their work. Iris insisted that I could join BWAC.org and it didn't matter if I were from New Hampshire, but I was still cautious in my thinking. My situation is so unsure.
A great thing about the show is that many photographers displayed their work. One photographer framed his photos with the $3 plastic frames that we used at Compuware. Some other photographers purchased (or made?) intricate frames and used double-mats to display their work. Prices for photography ranged from $75 to $500 and comparable work to mine averaged between $150 and $200.
The gallery had three main sections on two floors and after I explored them all, I wandered outside to the pier. As I wandered, I kept seeing with my photographer's eye and wishing that I had my camera. Using the windows of the warehouse would frame the pier, docks, buildings, grass. And the light was soft enough that I could have exposed (I think) everything with one metering.
Craftsmen and women displayed their work in an adjoining building and I had a great time talking to a jeweler and a metalsmith. While talking to the jeweler, a harried woman rushed in talking a mile-a-minute about her blue Civic that was buried in water. Ha! I thought. It's her car.
Some guys volunteered to push her car out of the flooded street so I joined them and we easily leaned into the car and pushed it up onto the sidewalk so she could drive it away. A different lady approached me, thanking me, and said, 'You know that water you waded in is real dirty!' I smiled and said that I rinsed my feet off in a rainpuddle (not runoff) and I called the floodwater, 'Toxic!'
Speaking of which, I need to better wash my feet and ankles before I sleep.
Talking with the metalsmith was fascinating. She, K. Allyson Hayes, was knowledgeable and talkative about her craft and it resurrected memories from high school of my experience with casting pewter, the melting point of silver, and other tricks of the trade. Allyson showed me a ring she made by fusing strips of silver and copper into a layered two-tone ring with a red stone set into the center of the wide band.
Then she explained the process and showed me a prototype for a wedding band she made. This resurrected another deeply seated memory where I always planned on making the wedding bands if I ever marry and I asked some gentle questions of Allyson to see if her studio was available for other artists to ply their trade. She's open to it, but she's soon moving to New Mexico. I wallowed briefly in sentiment as I remembered those long-forgotten fancies of my younger days.
But as I often respond to people, smiling the whole time, who joke with me about finding the woman of my dreams this summer, 'Why would I want that right now to spoil my adventure!'
I kept wandering the exhibits noting the prices marked on the photographs - especially in the auction section where patrons indicate the price that they are willing to pay. From what I could tell, the prices in the general gallery are slightly higher than the market will bear, but the market is huge - 8.2 million people in New York so why not set the price a little higher than mainstream? Someone will bite.
As I approached the main doorway, Betty and Pauline at the front desk chatted with me and the topic turned to the featured photographer who studies light much like I do with my work. This turned into encouragement on their part for me to sign up with BWAC.org and display my work in September. Before I knew it, I was explaining my dual-citizenship between NYC and NH to Ammie who is taking new registrants.
She politely listened and took my $80 membership fee listing my address as Newipswich, NY 03071. A bean counter is going to flip somewhere!
BWAC.org requires up to 16 hours of volunteer service so I kept pushing Ammie whether or not I can do my service before the end of August when my free rent is up at 820. Things are in such flux that I don't know if I should stay, go, or whatnot, but my current plan is that I'll leave NYC at the end of August.
I could always ask John if I could rent the half-apartment upstairs (cheaper, I assume than the first floor) to retain a place to sleep if ArtToFrames.com and BWAC.org business bring me regularly to the NYC.
After I left the BWAC.org show, I wandered into a new Fairway market which bills itself as a unique market. I wandered about the grocery store, a comfort zone of mine surprisingly, and I compared prices to the other stores in NYC and NH. I found huge tubs of olives for sale and I found Greek Olives, keeping a mental note, because I was determined to buy nothing. But the prepared food, olives, and other smells and sights kept me salivating. Stubborn. No purchases.
And then *poof!* my resolve evaporated when I saw Finn Crisp crackers! Oh man I thought as I grabbed a package of the multi-grain crackers. Finn Crisp with butter is a delicacy, if you can call it that, often forced on polite, quiet young kids like myself who didn't care for it at the time, but reveal a well spring of sentimental feelings and loosen $1.69 from the wallet.
So I continued through the store, Finn Crisp in hand, and I saw that the selection of King Arthur flour was slight - surprisingly. And I made all sorts of notes to self as I wandered the aisles. I remembered the olives. And since it was nearly 6:00 PM, I thought I could buy something pre-made for supper. Dang Finn Crisp!
I scooped a small quantity of olives into a container and sampled a salty specimen, spitting the pit into my fingers to put into the pit containers scattered throughout the display. The briny bitterness is what I expected and I remembered the Greeks in Greenville, NH who introduced me to Greek olives on pepperoni pizza. MmmMmm.
I looked at the pre-made food and I settled on a half-chicken for $2.99. The chicken barbeque sauce spilled from the container at the checkout line and a sharp-spoken manager pushed the cashier to, 'Wipe! Wipe! Wipe! Then check the customer's purchases. Wipe! Ok?' And the girl rolled her eyes and made eye contact with the bagger girl before wiping up the mess.
My bill? $7.03 put on plastic.
Outside, I debated my options for returning to the subway station at Smiths and 9th St. I wanted to walk, but I was weary from travelling. Besides, I am too unfamiliar with this neighborhood to have a good sense of security. So I went to a bus stop and the signs eventually told me that the bus would be going the wrong way. I walked another street where I saw a bus stop sign with arrows and route that go towards my destination. I sat and waited in the small, empty bus stop shelter.
Soon some women arrived. I asked an elderly Italian woman if she wanted to sit, but she refused and eyed the bench suspiciously as I did wondering if some paint was wet or not. Then a man with short-cropped hair, an earring, and a cigarette dangling from his lips walked towards the bus stop; his hand nestled hand in hand with his girlfriend.
Across the street, kitty corner two attractive young women and a man appeared from a gated entrance. The younger woman smiles and waves saying goodbye. Goodbye? I wondered silently. She can't be waving to me. But she waved persistently until the man with the short-cropped hair called to her, 'See you soon. Where are you going?'
The girl replied simply, bubbling with delight, 'Paris!'
And the man and his girlfriend had a conversation about her background.
Then a car stopped in the street, a woman walked briskly to the window to talk. A bus casually went around the parked car while the women talked. Someone else smiled and nodded to each other - a man holding his son's hand. The elderly Italian woman gossiped with an Asian woman who had walked into the bus shelter.
Community.
My thinking went back to talking with Derek about the loss of the American community in our mass-marketed materialistic American ambition. And how his tribal, African friends all want the American dream, infected almost, but yet they are mortified that Derek lived previously for years in a neighborhood where he never ever said a single word to his neighbors. His African friends were stunned! So during our conversation, Derek and I mourned the loss of the American community, but here in Red Hook, the signs are plain as day. People care. People talk. Community thrives.
The bus arrived, I transferred to the subway, disembarked at 9th Ave and walked up 41st street. Lilly was taking some air in her doorway so I stopped to chat for a few minutes. Cecilia's son walked by and I called to him because he didn't hear Lilly. 'Nicky!' He turned and walked back to use and kissed Lilly in a traditional Italian greeting. They exchanged pleasantries for a moment before his mother called him home again for a minute.
Lilly glowed while talking about how well-bred Cecila's sons are. Her genuine smile provoked memrories of Aiti telling the story of meeting Isa (my grandfather, but the Finnish word for 'father') because simple love transcends all and stays eternally young.
The key revealed itself plainly when Lilly raved about Nicky's deceased father. She smiled, glowing, 'He'd do anything for me around the house. Even snow!' And as I said my goodbyes to Lilly and shook Nicky's hand goodbye as I walked up the street, I had just witnessed for a brief moment the product of love and generosity cast through our generations.
I walked and turned the corner onto 42nd Street. I saw two of my Asian neighbors sitting on their stoop. I approached and we smiled, nodded, and genuinely acknowledged that we are good neighbors. I touched my key to the lock on the 820 door and I paused. The community which I cherish in New Ipswich is also here. I know my neighbors. There's love here. Things are not so bleak as my pessimistic streak tells me they are.
My last topic thread for this entry, I think, has to do with Aaron's counter and my rebuttal regarding Section 8 housing in Brooklyn. One of his relatives audits Section 8 rents to ensure that the earnings of the tenants are within the guidelines. He futher detailed a scenario where a his relative contacted a tenant, explained the guidelines, explained the violation, and listened--horrified--as the woman cupped the phone in her hand yelling to her son, 'You're quitting your job tomorrow or else rent goes up. Quitting, got it?'
Aaron's story stopped there, but on reflection I rebut. The tenant hung up the phone on his relative so the sub-story ends naturally. But I still believe in the possibility that the son stood up to his mother and said, 'No. I'm not going to quit.' Innately part of the American dream of self-sufficiency by showing that he's working his way out of Section 8 status.
Sure a majority may abuse the system for their own good, but a small percentage will benefit from the system as designed and their families will last. Mix in heavy, consistent doses of love and respect, and the elixir is set for sustained family. Think of Lilly, Cecilia, and Nicky on 41st Street?
While Tristan and I climbed Mt. Watatic yesterday, I told him the Section 8 story and he passionately verbalized my thoughts, 'But Tim! There are people in Section 8 that are not going to stay there. They're going to pay their rent. It's a hopeful place!'
So either my blog influenced his ideology (his mother, turns out, is one of my few loyal readers and reads excerpts to Tristan) or our Somero blood senses the same hopefulness in inner city living. I prefer the latter.
A family story tells of one of my great-great aunts, Finnish of course, breaking segregation in inner-city Detroit to live with blacks. She lived there, taught there, protested there, and briefly went to jail there. Most likely for the same ideology that I describe here.
As I wrote this, my wireless connection found an unsecure router connection so I hijacked time and while connected I set up a coffee date with someone off of PlentyOfFish.com. She's an RN who lives in Gardner, MA.
A dialog with myself flowed through my thoughts for most of the day today. After I arrived in Brooklyn by taking the usual route in just over 4 hours, rather than taking my road less travelled that often leads me to a 5+ hour trip, I settled in quickly. And then I figured out the trains to the Brooklyn Waterfront Artists Coalition (BWAC.org) art show off Van Brunt in the Red Hook neighborhood in Brooklyn.
Being naive here has it's pros and cons because in eschewing the added cost of bus fare (I later learned that it's a free transfer) I walked through the East and West Redhook Public Housing projects from the Smith and 9th subway station to the art show. It was raining and few people were on the street, but none-the-less, I walked right through the projects.
Is that dangerous? Probably not. But I suspect that it's like dealing with livestock where a calm, steady hand causes no alarm, but fear, anxiety could trigger mayhem. So without event, I arrived at the art show.
When I approached the pier where the show was, I saw that some drainage blocked up, and the end of the street was full of runoff water. A little blue Honda civic was up to its chassis in water! I pined for my camera (at 820, bummer!) and I thought that I could help push the bugger out.
I walked in and Betty and Pauline greeted me and gave me brief instructions to see the show. I walked into the show and I saw a sign that said 'free lemonade' so of course I indulged and had some polite chit-chat with the lady pouring the lemonade. She laughed sarcastically, 'Squeezing the lemons was soo difficult!' as she opened a freezer and took out a can of frozen lemonade concentrate!
The show is for starting artists and simple membership lets anyone and everyone display their work. Iris insisted that I could join BWAC.org and it didn't matter if I were from New Hampshire, but I was still cautious in my thinking. My situation is so unsure.
A great thing about the show is that many photographers displayed their work. One photographer framed his photos with the $3 plastic frames that we used at Compuware. Some other photographers purchased (or made?) intricate frames and used double-mats to display their work. Prices for photography ranged from $75 to $500 and comparable work to mine averaged between $150 and $200.
The gallery had three main sections on two floors and after I explored them all, I wandered outside to the pier. As I wandered, I kept seeing with my photographer's eye and wishing that I had my camera. Using the windows of the warehouse would frame the pier, docks, buildings, grass. And the light was soft enough that I could have exposed (I think) everything with one metering.
Craftsmen and women displayed their work in an adjoining building and I had a great time talking to a jeweler and a metalsmith. While talking to the jeweler, a harried woman rushed in talking a mile-a-minute about her blue Civic that was buried in water. Ha! I thought. It's her car.
Some guys volunteered to push her car out of the flooded street so I joined them and we easily leaned into the car and pushed it up onto the sidewalk so she could drive it away. A different lady approached me, thanking me, and said, 'You know that water you waded in is real dirty!' I smiled and said that I rinsed my feet off in a rainpuddle (not runoff) and I called the floodwater, 'Toxic!'
Speaking of which, I need to better wash my feet and ankles before I sleep.
Talking with the metalsmith was fascinating. She, K. Allyson Hayes, was knowledgeable and talkative about her craft and it resurrected memories from high school of my experience with casting pewter, the melting point of silver, and other tricks of the trade. Allyson showed me a ring she made by fusing strips of silver and copper into a layered two-tone ring with a red stone set into the center of the wide band.
Then she explained the process and showed me a prototype for a wedding band she made. This resurrected another deeply seated memory where I always planned on making the wedding bands if I ever marry and I asked some gentle questions of Allyson to see if her studio was available for other artists to ply their trade. She's open to it, but she's soon moving to New Mexico. I wallowed briefly in sentiment as I remembered those long-forgotten fancies of my younger days.
But as I often respond to people, smiling the whole time, who joke with me about finding the woman of my dreams this summer, 'Why would I want that right now to spoil my adventure!'
I kept wandering the exhibits noting the prices marked on the photographs - especially in the auction section where patrons indicate the price that they are willing to pay. From what I could tell, the prices in the general gallery are slightly higher than the market will bear, but the market is huge - 8.2 million people in New York so why not set the price a little higher than mainstream? Someone will bite.
As I approached the main doorway, Betty and Pauline at the front desk chatted with me and the topic turned to the featured photographer who studies light much like I do with my work. This turned into encouragement on their part for me to sign up with BWAC.org and display my work in September. Before I knew it, I was explaining my dual-citizenship between NYC and NH to Ammie who is taking new registrants.
She politely listened and took my $80 membership fee listing my address as Newipswich, NY 03071. A bean counter is going to flip somewhere!
BWAC.org requires up to 16 hours of volunteer service so I kept pushing Ammie whether or not I can do my service before the end of August when my free rent is up at 820. Things are in such flux that I don't know if I should stay, go, or whatnot, but my current plan is that I'll leave NYC at the end of August.
I could always ask John if I could rent the half-apartment upstairs (cheaper, I assume than the first floor) to retain a place to sleep if ArtToFrames.com and BWAC.org business bring me regularly to the NYC.
After I left the BWAC.org show, I wandered into a new Fairway market which bills itself as a unique market. I wandered about the grocery store, a comfort zone of mine surprisingly, and I compared prices to the other stores in NYC and NH. I found huge tubs of olives for sale and I found Greek Olives, keeping a mental note, because I was determined to buy nothing. But the prepared food, olives, and other smells and sights kept me salivating. Stubborn. No purchases.
And then *poof!* my resolve evaporated when I saw Finn Crisp crackers! Oh man I thought as I grabbed a package of the multi-grain crackers. Finn Crisp with butter is a delicacy, if you can call it that, often forced on polite, quiet young kids like myself who didn't care for it at the time, but reveal a well spring of sentimental feelings and loosen $1.69 from the wallet.
So I continued through the store, Finn Crisp in hand, and I saw that the selection of King Arthur flour was slight - surprisingly. And I made all sorts of notes to self as I wandered the aisles. I remembered the olives. And since it was nearly 6:00 PM, I thought I could buy something pre-made for supper. Dang Finn Crisp!
I scooped a small quantity of olives into a container and sampled a salty specimen, spitting the pit into my fingers to put into the pit containers scattered throughout the display. The briny bitterness is what I expected and I remembered the Greeks in Greenville, NH who introduced me to Greek olives on pepperoni pizza. MmmMmm.
I looked at the pre-made food and I settled on a half-chicken for $2.99. The chicken barbeque sauce spilled from the container at the checkout line and a sharp-spoken manager pushed the cashier to, 'Wipe! Wipe! Wipe! Then check the customer's purchases. Wipe! Ok?' And the girl rolled her eyes and made eye contact with the bagger girl before wiping up the mess.
My bill? $7.03 put on plastic.
Outside, I debated my options for returning to the subway station at Smiths and 9th St. I wanted to walk, but I was weary from travelling. Besides, I am too unfamiliar with this neighborhood to have a good sense of security. So I went to a bus stop and the signs eventually told me that the bus would be going the wrong way. I walked another street where I saw a bus stop sign with arrows and route that go towards my destination. I sat and waited in the small, empty bus stop shelter.
Soon some women arrived. I asked an elderly Italian woman if she wanted to sit, but she refused and eyed the bench suspiciously as I did wondering if some paint was wet or not. Then a man with short-cropped hair, an earring, and a cigarette dangling from his lips walked towards the bus stop; his hand nestled hand in hand with his girlfriend.
Across the street, kitty corner two attractive young women and a man appeared from a gated entrance. The younger woman smiles and waves saying goodbye. Goodbye? I wondered silently. She can't be waving to me. But she waved persistently until the man with the short-cropped hair called to her, 'See you soon. Where are you going?'
The girl replied simply, bubbling with delight, 'Paris!'
And the man and his girlfriend had a conversation about her background.
Then a car stopped in the street, a woman walked briskly to the window to talk. A bus casually went around the parked car while the women talked. Someone else smiled and nodded to each other - a man holding his son's hand. The elderly Italian woman gossiped with an Asian woman who had walked into the bus shelter.
Community.
My thinking went back to talking with Derek about the loss of the American community in our mass-marketed materialistic American ambition. And how his tribal, African friends all want the American dream, infected almost, but yet they are mortified that Derek lived previously for years in a neighborhood where he never ever said a single word to his neighbors. His African friends were stunned! So during our conversation, Derek and I mourned the loss of the American community, but here in Red Hook, the signs are plain as day. People care. People talk. Community thrives.
The bus arrived, I transferred to the subway, disembarked at 9th Ave and walked up 41st street. Lilly was taking some air in her doorway so I stopped to chat for a few minutes. Cecilia's son walked by and I called to him because he didn't hear Lilly. 'Nicky!' He turned and walked back to use and kissed Lilly in a traditional Italian greeting. They exchanged pleasantries for a moment before his mother called him home again for a minute.
Lilly glowed while talking about how well-bred Cecila's sons are. Her genuine smile provoked memrories of Aiti telling the story of meeting Isa (my grandfather, but the Finnish word for 'father') because simple love transcends all and stays eternally young.
The key revealed itself plainly when Lilly raved about Nicky's deceased father. She smiled, glowing, 'He'd do anything for me around the house. Even snow!' And as I said my goodbyes to Lilly and shook Nicky's hand goodbye as I walked up the street, I had just witnessed for a brief moment the product of love and generosity cast through our generations.
I walked and turned the corner onto 42nd Street. I saw two of my Asian neighbors sitting on their stoop. I approached and we smiled, nodded, and genuinely acknowledged that we are good neighbors. I touched my key to the lock on the 820 door and I paused. The community which I cherish in New Ipswich is also here. I know my neighbors. There's love here. Things are not so bleak as my pessimistic streak tells me they are.
My last topic thread for this entry, I think, has to do with Aaron's counter and my rebuttal regarding Section 8 housing in Brooklyn. One of his relatives audits Section 8 rents to ensure that the earnings of the tenants are within the guidelines. He futher detailed a scenario where a his relative contacted a tenant, explained the guidelines, explained the violation, and listened--horrified--as the woman cupped the phone in her hand yelling to her son, 'You're quitting your job tomorrow or else rent goes up. Quitting, got it?'
Aaron's story stopped there, but on reflection I rebut. The tenant hung up the phone on his relative so the sub-story ends naturally. But I still believe in the possibility that the son stood up to his mother and said, 'No. I'm not going to quit.' Innately part of the American dream of self-sufficiency by showing that he's working his way out of Section 8 status.
Sure a majority may abuse the system for their own good, but a small percentage will benefit from the system as designed and their families will last. Mix in heavy, consistent doses of love and respect, and the elixir is set for sustained family. Think of Lilly, Cecilia, and Nicky on 41st Street?
While Tristan and I climbed Mt. Watatic yesterday, I told him the Section 8 story and he passionately verbalized my thoughts, 'But Tim! There are people in Section 8 that are not going to stay there. They're going to pay their rent. It's a hopeful place!'
So either my blog influenced his ideology (his mother, turns out, is one of my few loyal readers and reads excerpts to Tristan) or our Somero blood senses the same hopefulness in inner city living. I prefer the latter.
A family story tells of one of my great-great aunts, Finnish of course, breaking segregation in inner-city Detroit to live with blacks. She lived there, taught there, protested there, and briefly went to jail there. Most likely for the same ideology that I describe here.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Sunset on Mount Watatic
Once or twice a summer, I enjoy the 45 minute climb up Mount Watatic at any hour of the day. Tonight, Tristan and I climbed at sunset and gingerly made our way down after dark.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Respite in New Hampshire
I returned to New Hampshire and I picked up my brother in Connecticut on the drive home. We had a nice dinner and good conversation during our return and he even drove for a while, a welcome relief.
Before I left, I visited Lilly and Annabelle and their eyes both lit up with delight when I read some of the stories that I wrote in my blog. Lilly modified the story about the kids in front of her house, 'They were DISGUSTING! Awful!' But she was thrilled that her words made the Internet and once again, I couldn't help but have my eyes well up with happiness while I visited her house.
This weekend seems like a down weekend so I may return to Brooklyn on Sunday morning. It's a big week at ArtToFrames.com as I plan to help their lead developer with QA and Usability testing. I started scouting for jobs here in NH and MA, also.
It's fun to be live like the wind on my two-point rail.
Before I left, I visited Lilly and Annabelle and their eyes both lit up with delight when I read some of the stories that I wrote in my blog. Lilly modified the story about the kids in front of her house, 'They were DISGUSTING! Awful!' But she was thrilled that her words made the Internet and once again, I couldn't help but have my eyes well up with happiness while I visited her house.
This weekend seems like a down weekend so I may return to Brooklyn on Sunday morning. It's a big week at ArtToFrames.com as I plan to help their lead developer with QA and Usability testing. I started scouting for jobs here in NH and MA, also.
It's fun to be live like the wind on my two-point rail.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Humidity Returns
I don't want to write. I feel tired and sore and my attitude seems a little negative. I think it's due to the soreness.
Last night after work, I was late. Late to meet Derek in Central Park so I scurried quickly to the 36th Street subway to catch the D train and ride to 59th and Columbus and then I walked to Sheep's Meadow so we could visit and play soccer.
Before I left work, a customer walked in to ArtToFrames.com much like I did a few weeks prior. She had a camera slung from her neck, a backpack, and a quiet, meek question, 'I'd just like to know about your pricing.' She's a photographer, Iris COlon, who like me was initially attracted to the adjoining cemetary to take photos and she stumbled upon ArtToFrames.com.
She talked to Amy first about framing and photography, and then we talked about ArtToFrames.com. I watched her use the site and took usability notes. She was excited about the site and made notes herself so she could tell her friends.
Then she shared information about the Brooklyn Waterfront Arts Council at BWAC.org giving me insight and contacts into displaying my photography in their gallery (hopefully in September). I had seen BWAC.org weeks ago while I researched opportunities in Brooklyn, but their motto was, 'Brooklyn-based artists', so I asked Iris, 'What if I live in New Hampshire?'
She smiled and said, 'They don't care where you live.'
This may also turn into a deal between ArtToFrames.com and BWAC.org. It's certainly worth exploring.
So immediately after work, I rode the D train all the way to 59th and Columbus and I arrived one or two minutes after 6:00 PM. I took of my shirt and sandals in Sheep's Meadow and Derek and I played soccer and talked. Afterwards, we walked through the adjoining neighborhood and found the Pizza Cave where we ate a few decent (but not great) slices of pizza and an orange Fanta.
On the return to the subway, Derek and I said our goodbyes and I used the free Internet service in Central Park. My wireless adapter detected a couple dozen wireless routers, and I finally figured out how to connect to the NYC Park system one rather than some poor suckers linksys.
I saw the Red Sox score and I chatted with some friends, but sitting on the stone barrier between the Columbia Square and the park was awkward and painful so I gave up and returned.
In 820, I surprisingly had Internet access so I learned that the Sox lost a nail-biter 1-0, I made a date with Betsey to go for coffee after I return and she recovers from the flu, and then I browsed some New York-based listings on PlentyOfFish.com to find someone that I might ask out for coffee. I saw a few attractive profiles for women who do not drink, so I wrote to them and asked them out for coffee and for advice on what to do in the City for non-drinkers like ourselves.
I tried to sleep, but I was wound up so I fell asleep well after midnight.
Today I'm looking out the bay windows and the street is mostly devoid of parked cars and yesterday the road eater ate the majority of the asphalt. The street is an ugly mixture of concrete, steel, and asphalt. Old notices are on the poles and fences so it's unknown to me when the crews return to pave the street. I hope soon.
I pick up my brother in CT this afternoon and we return to NH where he leaves tomorrow with his daughter to MN. I thought about my schedule and I plan to return on Sunday night, I think, so I can work on Monday when Yossi returns through Wednesday when I'll go back to NH to visit with Kindall and Sue's family. Unless, of course, they want to visit Brooklyn and I'll stay here to receive them when they come down to sight-see.
We have church on Sunday and I'll likely return on Monday before going home that Thursday to prepare for soccer training on the 11th. Then the next weekend, I want to fly to Wisconsin to help my cousin build his house and also visit with friends and family.
Large recycling and garbage trucks rumble past 820 today. They drive unrestricted because of the absence of cars. It's early yet to go to work, but the humidity returned so I don't feel like lying down and sleeping as I did a couple of days ago. That makes me think about how I hobble like an old man when I wake up - muscles sore from walking and exercising. I'm surprised that I'm not more sore from soccer especially since I played barefoot, but maybe it's simply a delayed soreness.
Time to start my day.
Last night after work, I was late. Late to meet Derek in Central Park so I scurried quickly to the 36th Street subway to catch the D train and ride to 59th and Columbus and then I walked to Sheep's Meadow so we could visit and play soccer.
Before I left work, a customer walked in to ArtToFrames.com much like I did a few weeks prior. She had a camera slung from her neck, a backpack, and a quiet, meek question, 'I'd just like to know about your pricing.' She's a photographer, Iris COlon, who like me was initially attracted to the adjoining cemetary to take photos and she stumbled upon ArtToFrames.com.
She talked to Amy first about framing and photography, and then we talked about ArtToFrames.com. I watched her use the site and took usability notes. She was excited about the site and made notes herself so she could tell her friends.
Then she shared information about the Brooklyn Waterfront Arts Council at BWAC.org giving me insight and contacts into displaying my photography in their gallery (hopefully in September). I had seen BWAC.org weeks ago while I researched opportunities in Brooklyn, but their motto was, 'Brooklyn-based artists', so I asked Iris, 'What if I live in New Hampshire?'
She smiled and said, 'They don't care where you live.'
This may also turn into a deal between ArtToFrames.com and BWAC.org. It's certainly worth exploring.
So immediately after work, I rode the D train all the way to 59th and Columbus and I arrived one or two minutes after 6:00 PM. I took of my shirt and sandals in Sheep's Meadow and Derek and I played soccer and talked. Afterwards, we walked through the adjoining neighborhood and found the Pizza Cave where we ate a few decent (but not great) slices of pizza and an orange Fanta.
On the return to the subway, Derek and I said our goodbyes and I used the free Internet service in Central Park. My wireless adapter detected a couple dozen wireless routers, and I finally figured out how to connect to the NYC Park system one rather than some poor suckers linksys.
I saw the Red Sox score and I chatted with some friends, but sitting on the stone barrier between the Columbia Square and the park was awkward and painful so I gave up and returned.
In 820, I surprisingly had Internet access so I learned that the Sox lost a nail-biter 1-0, I made a date with Betsey to go for coffee after I return and she recovers from the flu, and then I browsed some New York-based listings on PlentyOfFish.com to find someone that I might ask out for coffee. I saw a few attractive profiles for women who do not drink, so I wrote to them and asked them out for coffee and for advice on what to do in the City for non-drinkers like ourselves.
I tried to sleep, but I was wound up so I fell asleep well after midnight.
Today I'm looking out the bay windows and the street is mostly devoid of parked cars and yesterday the road eater ate the majority of the asphalt. The street is an ugly mixture of concrete, steel, and asphalt. Old notices are on the poles and fences so it's unknown to me when the crews return to pave the street. I hope soon.
I pick up my brother in CT this afternoon and we return to NH where he leaves tomorrow with his daughter to MN. I thought about my schedule and I plan to return on Sunday night, I think, so I can work on Monday when Yossi returns through Wednesday when I'll go back to NH to visit with Kindall and Sue's family. Unless, of course, they want to visit Brooklyn and I'll stay here to receive them when they come down to sight-see.
We have church on Sunday and I'll likely return on Monday before going home that Thursday to prepare for soccer training on the 11th. Then the next weekend, I want to fly to Wisconsin to help my cousin build his house and also visit with friends and family.
Large recycling and garbage trucks rumble past 820 today. They drive unrestricted because of the absence of cars. It's early yet to go to work, but the humidity returned so I don't feel like lying down and sleeping as I did a couple of days ago. That makes me think about how I hobble like an old man when I wake up - muscles sore from walking and exercising. I'm surprised that I'm not more sore from soccer especially since I played barefoot, but maybe it's simply a delayed soreness.
Time to start my day.
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