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Time and Space: A Week in the Catskills

I am away from my beloved family for a week with a few women friends for our own mini-artist’s retreat in the Catskills. We have rented a magnificent old house with many bedrooms and an expansive stone porch with hammock, swing, a table where I sit writing. I am treating this space like my office – pausing to stretch, drink cups of tea, or watch the bees, butterflies and odd hummingbird feast on the flowers.  At home I hear the constant whirr of highway traffic but this week, the background noise is river flowing over rocks across the street, birds and the wind through the leaves.

I arrived yesterday after a two hour drive from Connecticut.  The road was familiar since we rented a house up here last year too.  The Catskills has the most reasonably priced rentals for big houses with lots of bedrooms. Last year there were about 10 of us at any given time, this year there will only be a few of us. For most of yesterday, I was here alone. Although I had a sense of expectation that felt weird as no one else showed up, I loved it. I moved from one side of the porch to the other, trying out the different chairs and the hammock. The hammock is very sweet.  I read and dozed, made a cup of tea, read then dozed again. Still, no one else arrived.  Finally, one friend called to tell me that two of them would not arrive until today. It was dark by the time Laura arrived – I was impressed by her navigation skills since I had doubted my ability to find the place during the day.

The house is perfect for many people but so far it is only Laura and I who share coffee, tea and wine and this time to rejuvenate our friendship and spirit. There is something magical about our group – an understanding of what the other needs in terms of time and space.  And that is what we savor during our week away:  time and space. How appropriate since our common bond is our remarkable sculpture teacher, the late Mike Skop, who taught us so much about time, distance and space.

Recent Memoirs

I just read back-to-back memoirs:  Laura Fraser’s All Over the Map and Burmese Lessons by Karen Connelly. I loved Laura Fraser’s new book almost as much as An Italian Affair. I devoured that a few years back on a sweltering summer day, in one sitting between dozing off on the front porch. I felt like I’d had a steamy affair in the sunny south of Italy.  That was years ago – since then, Laura has chalked up only failures in love as she zips around the world writing articles. Her adventures include an odd spark of possibility or two, but none are the true love she longs for.

I like Laura.  Not that I have ever met her – but I feel like if I did it would be like catching up with a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time but whom I have shared history and easy rapport.  Her story is at times poignant, hilarious and because of her fine writing, compulsively readable. You can’t help cheering her on.  I trust Laura’s story will continue (hint: expat life in Mexico) because she seems so utterly love-able, there will certainly be more romance to vicariously enjoy. In this book, she travels a rocky road through her forties and we find her edging up to 50 – doing just fine, although with a sad finale to one tale – there is the sweet beginnings of new adventure ahead.

Prior to Laura’s book (see – we’re on first name basis) I read Karen Connelly’s  Burmese Lessons also about love and exotic places.  I’m a sucker for those two ingredients both in life and literature. While Karen is certainly a capable, poetic writer and determined adventurer, I don’t think I would embrace her like an old friend like I would Laura.  I was intrigued by her – but did not, after reading her story, particularly like her.  In fact, oftentimes in her story, she doesn’t seem to like herself much either. Even her author photo is a little intimidating.

Karen becomes captivated by the Burmese people’s struggle against their government and then goes on to fall in love with one of their rebel leaders. They have a doomed love affair. Her descriptions of him and their time together are wonderful. I felt compelled to keep reading – you do want to know what happens to them both in their struggles – but in the end, I didn’t care enough.  That’s the key, I guess.  The question I must ask myself as I rework my own story again, again, again: who cares?

A Salty Peace

This summer, one of our goals is to be floating on the Long Island Sound by every Friday afternoon or evening. Within minutes of pushing off-shore, just a few paddles into the waves and my blood pressure drops and muscles, release. Yesterday, we left at high tide under an impossibly blue sky.  We paddled against a slight wind but the waves were minimal and unlike a Saturday or Sunday, there was not much motorboat traffic. The water appeared inky-black, a reminder of the approaching evening.  We are acutely aware of weather and tides these days, checking the chart stuck with a magnet to our refrigerator or doing the math in our head from when we were last out, we calculate a difference of 45 minutes later each day so we know what to expect.

At first, our goal is just to get away from shore, and we slide our paddles in and out in a swift, coordinated rhythm. Sometimes we stop to bounce along in the waves, close our eyes and breathe deep, damp, salty breaths. Yesterday, scanning the horizon – the lighthouse: too far.  The osprey nest: maybe. We opted to go between two islands that at low tide, becomes one.  Once out between the small patches of forest, floating close to the slightly submerged rocks and swaying green grasses, we paused to listen to a chorus of birds in evening song.

There is a watery spot out there that has become a favorite place in the world for me.  A few years ago, I did not know it existed – a paradise, so close.  We round a rocky bend a few islands out and find ourselves with mostly water beyond – only one more island between us that keeps the waters still calm.  There is no sign of the busy shore here, only a brambly-green of beach roses and scrub, trees, rock, sand. A bird preserve.  Here the water is warmer and always more still than the waves just a bit beyond and but for passing motorboats, all we hear are the odd throaty grumble of white egrets swooping by or the plaintive scream of seagulls fighting over a just-caught clam.  A little further along we reach a sandbar where the force of the tides pushes hard into this cove.  Sometimes, it’s a struggle to paddle against this current but when the tide is low, we must get out of the boat and lift it across the slippery rocks.  By the time we have reached this spot, pushed out of our peaceful little bay into the wavy expanse of the Sound, I am completely at peace.

On the Way Somewhere…

Missing from this lovely spot of ours is silence. The drone of traffic from I-95 just blocks away, is constant. The decibel level rises or falls according to the time of day, the time of year and the shifting winds. This is the sound of thousands of people moving through life on an American highway.

Yesterday, a steamy but sunny Saturday morning, the steady hum of cars, trucks and motorcycles exploded into the horrific sound of an accident. No fender bender – the explosion woke us and the wail of sirens continued for hours. Running an errand at 2:00 – at least 6 hours after the accident, I saw the strangely-bent trailer of a truck being hauled away. Injuries must have been dreadful and perhaps, someone died.  This thought lingered with us all day as we worked around the house and then blissfully went floating on the Long Island Sound in our kayak.  Who were the people whose lives took an unexpected, terrible detour this morning?  It could have been anybody.  Alert to life’s fragility, we move through the day into night, grieving for these strangers passing so close to our home but glad to still be here with limbs intact. Relieved it was not us.

PS: According to the local paper, the accident was triggered by a naked man yelling he was Jesus. (No one died.)

More Books

One of the greatest perks about working in a bookstore are the books.  Free books (Advanced Reader’s Copies –  ARCs – from the publisher), borrowed books (hard cover with a dust jacket), and discounted books (a generous employee discount). I get lots of books.  Currently I am finishing up a borrowed book: Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman – a memoir of the author’s stint in Danbury prison.  Any glimpse behind the frightening walls of a woman’s prison piques my interest but this author’s experience is particularly fascinating because she is like me.  An educated, (we’re talking Smith college) white, proverbial good girl who did some stupid things in her early twenties. She’s smart, funny, insightful.  We all think we’d never be behind bars but it could happen to anyone. (Martha?)  I’m fascinated with our capacity to adjust and create a new normal, to survive what we imagine to be impossible, to make lemonade out of lemons. You get the drift. While the author writes an honest portrait of her own challenges she also gives us a glimpse at the lives of many of her fellow inmates. These are prisoners from the shameful ‘war on drugs’, prisoners of domestic violence, prisoners of addiction. While ‘what they did’ may be the voyeuristic question that lingers, it’s the getting through the days, the weeks, the months, the years that drives these women and this story. There has to be a better way than the insanity of our prison system. Beautifully done.

So what next?  The piles of books around the house are getting crazy. My arc pile has Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes, The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall, Solar by Ian McEwan, The Swimming Pool by Holly Lecraw.  I picked these up because I either love the author (McEwan) the subject fascinates me (war experience, polygamy???) or because something in a review piqued my interest.  That’s why I bought Happy Now by Katherine Shonk – a novel about a woman whose husband committed suicide (research) but haven’t gotten beyond the first few pages.

Another recent purchase is  I’m Not Mad, I Just Hate You!: A New Understanding of Mother-Daughter Conflict – Surviving and Thriving During Your Daughter’s Teenage Years by Roni Cohen-Sandler – a local, smart shrink who specializes in the subject.  She was in the store for a talk when M was still a toddler and I remember that I liked what she said so many years ago so picked this up when I felt overwhelmed by a rare difficult spell with M. Things are peachy again so I’ve yet to open it.  I’m sure I’ll be reading it one of these days.

I also purchased Patricia Lanza’s Lasagna Gardening: A New Layering System for Bountiful Gardens: No Digging, No Tilling, No Weeding, No Kidding! which reads like a television infomercial. But it does work and is a great way to recycle newspapers and all that compost-able kitchen waste. This book I keep around like a cookbook – to dive into when I need it for adjustments and advice on individual crops.

So with only a few pages to go on the book I’m reading now, what next?  I might have to borrow the last Stieg Larson The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest – although I try to borrow less popular books so that if I love them, I can plug them. In any case, I’m spoiled for choice.  Now to find the time…

Food

Cilantro, mint, sage, spring onions, strawberries. The harvest begins!  Yesterday made a carrot, apple, ginger, mint salad with a yogurt, honey, lemon juice dressing. Roasted red pepper dip by blending cream cheese, cilantro and a touch of cayenne to give it even more of an edge. Strawberries are big and bountiful – the challenge is to get to them before the slugs and birds. Spring onions – fatter and more substantial than a scallion – are already forming scapes. I wonder if they can be eaten like garlic scapes?  Yesterday’s harvest was sliced thin and cooked in a skillet until they were crunchy bits – perfect to toss on top of the chicken cooked in a soy-ginger marinade with a preserved lemon thrown in for good measure.  A few leaves of sage as garnish for this crazy flavor combo.  After weeks of no inspiration, I am excited by cooking again.

In another few weeks we will be picking up our first CSA box of organic vegetables of the season. Always an adventure to open the box.  In the first weeks there will be plenty of greens – beautiful young lettuce, basil, garlic scapes, (pesto!) arugula and much tastier strawberries than ours. Then strange things like fennel and other vegetables I have to look up recipes for.  I have a weakness for cookbooks but in the end, use only three or so regularly.  Deborah Madison’s vegetarian cookbooks are fantastic – full of inspiring recipes using wacky veg.  A new favorite is Mark Bittman’s Kitchen Express. Rather than being in recipe format, the book is broken down by season with simple paragraphs giving suggested meals. Most of the ingredients are already in your cupboard and fridge but with Bittman’s guidance everything becomes more interesting. With just a few sentences of inspiration you can throw together simple meals, a catalyst for the kitchen.  That can of beans? Turn it into a burger that even your fussy kid will eat.  For something different try Japanese egg crepes or Peanut Soup. Yum.

Embracing the chaos

I am not an organized person and while I envy this quality in others, it will never be mine.  That’s not to say I am not efficient and responsible: my desk may be a mess at work and at home – but I never miss a deadline and my bills get paid on time.  This is just my style.  And it translates to everything – including the garden.

This morning, dressed in sweatpants and tee-shirt retrieved from the floor, hair flattened on one side and eyes still bleary with sleep, I took the dog out for his quick, morning walk.  I live on a quiet street and rarely meet anyone at this hour. Bordering our not-quite quarter acre,  Hosta, Iris, Day Lilies are growing in abundance.  Looking at this mass of green through my sleepy haze, I recall my autumn vow to separate these plants in the spring: divide the Day Lilies and Hosta plants, give away the Bearded Irises (strange, almost vulgar looking, I think) before they reached full bloom and I could still see space between them.  Too late: they swallow each other up in a green mass and they in turn, are overwhelmed by the hedge that stands now like a wall between our house and the street.  I used to be able to trim this hedge standing in the street – now it is at least 8 feet high and dense.

In another corner of the garden are the once scrawny twigs sent to me by the Arbor Society for a $10 donation.  I did this at least two years in a row – dutifully planting painted twigs only inches long into a corner of the garden where they would not get trampled.  Now we have about 7 trees in the works. They are growing within feet or even inches each other.  I meant to move a few of them this spring while it was still early – before their leaves began to sprout.  We moved two last year – digging around the roots and then wider, deeper yet to get some kind of root ball.  Finally, cursing and bothered, we chopped at the dangling roots and yanked them out – moving them, (not very hopefully) to a spot where they have more room to grow.  Amazingly, they survived the trauma and are still alive and  have grown quite a few feet.  We vowed to get to the others before they got bigger. Too late again.  None of those little trees I stuck in the flower garden for safe keeping and then, forgot about, will leave without a fight. For another year at least, there they will stay.

To add to the garden chaos, I planted two cherry trees in the hope of one day eating fruit from them.  Slightly bigger sticks that probably won’t bear fruit for a decade because I’m too frugal to spring for the $60 it costs to buy a large one from the garden center.  All of these saplings live beneath the massive oak that’s not far from the mulberry tree, so tall the branches lean over the garage. Another oak stands at the end of the drive and a quartet of trunks make up the maple tree shading most of the front lawn.

At this point, we feel overwhelmed by the growth, the weeds reclaiming a patch we cleared two weeks ago, the neighbors annoying forsythia that hangs like a curtain about to come down over our blueberry bushes.  But it’s nature doing its thing and it’s gorgeous and lush and the birds love us.

April Showers

Today’s rain is welcome.  Yesterday I spent hours potting herbs (parsley, oregano, lemon verbena, basil and more basil) and filling window boxes. As I make my morning tea, a movement outside my kitchen window makes me jump – newly planted red geraniums out of the corner of my eye appear as if someone is looking in at me. It will take some time to get accustomed to their presence.

Although recent sunny days have been lovely, I am glad  to stay inside, read papers and do indoor spring cleaning tasks. Every room in the house is filled with the scent of lilacs – the result of trimming almost 3 feet off the top of an overgrown bush. This was one of those jobs I have meant to do each year and never gotten to – until now.  The blossoms were out of reach of my nose so it was time. According to a Google of ‘Pruning lilacs’ one should wait until the flowers have finished blooming. But wanting their evocative fragrance in these rooms, we took the lobbers to the branches and now the shrub looks sad – all chopped up. Fingers crossed it hasn’t been traumatized too much and next year’s blooms will be glorious.

We’ve done a lot of that around here this year – hacking away at old growth, chopping butterfly bushes practically to the ground. What were awful looking stubs only a few weeks ago are sprouting green. It works. Of course, all summer we will have to look at the bald limbs of the lilac and trust we have done the right thing for the future. There are so many ways this applies to my life: in a mundane way, cleaning out closets, throwing out, giving away, making SPACE!  But in psychic ways too. I will try and examine thoughts and habits so long ingrained in my life they might just be stunting growth and try and be brave enough to make uncomfortable changes for a healthier future. A good exercise for the seasons.

How to Start

“Whatever the story is about, it is something that is of interest to human beings because it amplifies some aspect of what it means to be living.” I lifted this sentence off of a website for writers (were I more adept at this, I’d provide the link here – one day!) and simple as it is, I find it a helpful beacon as I swim around trying to re-start my book.

Beginnings: how can I hook you, reader? What is my story? Why did I write it? What do I want the reader to take away from it?  Why am I so stumped on these questions when they are so fundamental and I have hundreds of pages of ‘book’?Are the answers in what I have written already? Or are they still to be answered? My brilliant sister gently guides me with these questions. For weeks I have been juggling different parts of already written chapters — to start here? or here? cutting and pasting in the hope that the new combination will make my story sing.  But it doesn’t yet. Not yet.

What began as an exorcism of anger and grief became a hopeful testimony of love and determination that my daughter’s life be better than mine, and that my life, be better than before.  And it is.  I could leave it at that, but after working in the book business for more than a decade, I might as well shoot for those dusty shelves myself.  And perhaps one day my tale will serve as someone else’s beacon of light.

Slow Down Spring!

Forsythia is fading fast and daffodils are already shriveling. Last week’s days of summer temperatures seems to have fast forwarded us. I wanted to get into the weather car speeding us towards summer and put on the brakes.  Too fast!  The heat itself doesn’t bother me although I haven’t yet managed to do the seasonal clothes change thing (and I prefer this direction!) and so, spend such days, a little overheated. Much happier to be hot than cold, I never complain.  I feel like it slows me down to a more leisurely pace.

Still feeling behind in terms of the garden although I managed to plant some rainbow chard, kale, lettuce and peas last week.  The next morning, looked out the window to see a squirrel digging up the chard seeds – munching away as he looked around.  No wonder entire plantings from last year never even surfaced from the soil to be eaten by the groundhog.  Crazily, year after year, I plant again although I know this lumbering creature will climb the wall or dig a tunnel right into our little plot and devour what I plant.  Eyeing some seedlings at a garden store last week of red leaf lettuce and other beautiful leaves, I thought – a ready meal for the groundhog, and left them there.  I try and plant things he doesn’t want. Or just a lot of what he does so we get some too. We have onions and leeks and a big bag of lettuce seeds this year.  We will do battle again. And he’ll probably get the soybeans (love edamame!) before me, but I remain an optimist.

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