I love New York

Long may it live.

Today, I’m thankful that I have heard from most of my NY/NJ friends.

Hurricane Sandy—as far as I can judge from a distance—was about the worst thing that’s happened there in a long, long time. It’s true that it lacked the shock value, the loss-of-invulnerability fear factor of 9/11, but the damage was more widespread.

However, people have been speaking up here and there, and they all seem to be all right. Most of the New Yorkers even have power. Some of the Long Islanders and all of the Jersey folks are in the dark, but they have roofs over their head and working cell phones.

I suppose the biggest problem is water—inside and out. Flood waters are health hazards on many levels—and high rises depend on pumps so even if the water mains are intact, there’s no running water in the building. So, that’s a concern.

There are millions, if not billions, of dollars worth of damage. And a fair number of homeless people just now.

But most of the people are okay.

And that is certainly something for which to be thankful while we sympathize with those who have lost their lives, their living spaces, and, temporarily we hope, their livelihoods.

As always, the Red Cross is on the scene.

If anybody wants to help out, you can donate $10 by texting REDCROSS to 90999 on your cell phone. Quick and easy. The $10 just gets added to your cell phone bill for you to pay next time around. As in most disasters, they really need money more than canned goods or blankets or whatever.

I’m sure that New York and New Jersey will survive this, as they survive most things—with panache. But, golly! What a mess!

I’m also sure large thanks are due to New York’s finest and to their Jersey equivalents and to FEMA and the National Guard and to all the federal, state and local officials who worked so hard to coordinate with each other.

I love New York. Thanks for hanging on and hanging in.

A breeze and some sunshine

And humidity under 80%.

I had such a nice day yesterday. Didn’t get much done, but that was part of what made it nice.

First of all, I overslept—which could, of course, be a disaster if there’s somewhere you have to be, but I did not have to be anywhere. For me, it was a surprising blessing.

We moved here because of noise. One of the things I particularly hated about the noise was I never got to wake up on my own time. I had quit my job, and I thought I was entitled to revert to my natural rhythms. Left to myself, I want to stay up until about 1 or 1:30 and get up around 8 or 8:30. I had the staying up part down, but big crashes and stomps above my head were never going to let me sleep in.

So, we moved. At which point, I found myself going to bed at around 9 or 10, exhausted from all the new things required of me by the new house—by owning a house at all. And I was waking up by 6, if not at 3 or 4.

In an odd, inverted way, it reminded me of this little stanza by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Grown-up

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

All of that is kind of beside the point, however, which is that I overslept today for the first time in years.

That put me a little bit behind, but I got my workout in. I used my new nut catcher to round up some sweet gum balls, and I used some Round-up to—I hope—discourage the sweet gum seedling that is trying to grow up in the middle of my labyrinth.

And then, I did nothing.

I just decided to put aside the multiplicity of imperatives that are usually buzzing around my head and only do things I enjoy and that I wanted to do.

I read a book.

Then, I realized that the weather was gorgeous, and I took my book out on the dock. The sun was shining. The breeze was blowing. The humidity had dropped to around 70%—which is low for here.

I realized that almost all of the days I like to revisit in my memory have been days like this. A Girl Scout camping trip to Cape Henlopen. An afternoon in a hillside cemetery in Nevada. A Connecticut meadow. A cookout in Indian River involving a 50’s style motel, a swimming pool, and The Music Man on TV.

Nothing much happening.

Just sunshine and a balmy breeze.

The days when you have all the time in the world, and you hope time never comes to an end.

Aaaagh!

The unbelievable gardening accident that ended well.

I hope.

I spent some time weeding one of my flower beds yesterday. It’s finally gotten cool enough that a person can stand being outside more than absolutely necessary. So, I’ve been catching up on my weeding, a little at a time, over the past week.

I have these flower beds—although why I’m calling them flower beds when only 2 of them have actual flowers is something we can examine later. Anyway, I have these flower beds. There are about 7 of them. Two feet wide or so. Running along the length of various portions of the house, with concrete borders.

A while back, we bought some large river rock to use as—what?—a sort of ground cover. In lieu of mulch. I’ll say this for the river rock. It makes it easy to see what’s a weed and what isn’t. Because there’s not much else planted in these beds.

We have some larger, shrub-like plants, a vinca, a ton of canna lilies, a couple of spider lilies and a hydrangea. In the back, there’s a begonia, in a pot, sitting on top of the rocks, and a flowering shade plant whose name I cannot remember and which has yet to grow more than an inch or show any sign of flowering. Anything else green that pokes its head up through the rocks is a weed.

I like that. Knowledge is not required. See a green thing. Pull it up.

But yesterday, this lack of knowledge could have had some disastrous consequences for a baby lizard.

What happened is this.

I was weeding. Specifically, I was pulling up dollar weed. This is something of a losing battle. In a defined area, however, it is possible to eliminate visible signs for a while. If you are careful, you can also pull up a fair length of the subterranean runners. They are tubular and white.

So, when I found a small round white ball, I thought it had something to do with the dollar weed. I picked it up. And then I dropped it. By accident.

Imagine my surprise at seeing a wet and slimy baby lizard clinging to a rock after the round white ball—otherwise known as an egg—broke open.

Imagine my horror at realizing I had just played midwife to a lizard—and caused a premature delivery.

Imagine my relief when the slimy little thing dried out and scuttled away.

I’m not enamored of lizards, but they are harmless and amusing, and I don’t want to kill them if they can manage to stay outside—which, so far, most of them have. Even if they come inside, I try to have the MotH catch and release. (Haven’t quite gotten there myself. Maybe someday.)

So, I’m thankful that the lizard seemed okay after our mutual shocking experience.

Next time I see one of those small white balls, I’m leaving it strictly alone.

And then you’re afraid you won’t.

Why I got a flu shot.

[Note: This post was intended to appear on Oct 11. I’ve just noticed that I apparently never hit the Publish button. Ruined my perfect record!]

I got my flu shot the other day.

I’ve been getting them every year around this time for the past couple of years. Never bothered before then because I thought I’d had the flu many times. I had all kinds of illnesses over the years with flu-like symptoms. I was pretty miserable each time, but no big deal. Better than a poke in the arm with a sharp needle, anyway.

Or so it seemed.

And then, I got the flu.

At that point, I realized all those other illnesses were something else. The flu is to those other ailments as an anaconda is to a garter snake. You don’t want to fool around with the flu.

When I had the actual flu, I was out of commission for about a week. Fever, chills, and an aching in the bones that just wouldn’t quit. It was exactly like that old joke: First, you’re afraid you’re gonna die. And then you’re afraid you won’t.

What a misery! I understood for the first time how it was that the 1918 pandemic killed so many people. Estimates are as high as 50 million. I’m sure whatever strain of the flu it was that I had was nowhere near as virulent as the 1918 version. It was bad enough, though.

Consequently, I get a flu shot every year. I don’t want to go through that again. Better a poke in the arm with a sharp needle.

I highly recommend a flu shot if you haven’t already gotten one. It only hurts for a minute. (Obviously, you should check with a doctor before taking any kind of medication you’ve never taken previously. But it’s worth checking.)

Today, I am thankful that I have access to modern immunization procedures. And I am thankful that I have medical insurance that covers a yearly flu shot.

And I am more than thankful that I do not have the flu!

It’s all over

By the time you read this…

…the first Presidential debate of the 2012 election season will be over–which makes this an overwhelmingly thankful Thursday.

The candidates, I’m sure, are thankful to have it behind them.

Their supporters are thankful that, all in all, they can continue supporting their chosen candidate and hoping, praying, working for the defeat of the other guy. (In all likelihood, neither man did anything so overwhelmingly outrageous during the debate as to cut the legs out from under his campaign. If one of them did, I’ll have to come back and edit this scheduled post!)

The political pundits and newscasters are thankful that the amount of attention they’ve gotten in the past few hours has ratcheted up significantly.

If an informal poll of my friends is any indication, popcorn makers are thankful that sales increased as folks prepared to enjoy the show.

And I am thankful that we live in a country where debate is allowed, encouraged and even celebrated. Where we are free to voice our opinions, however partisan, however well- or ill-informed. Where we are free to judge our leaders loudly, openly, and harshly. Where we get to see some part of this wacky, nearly always almost broken system play itself out in public, with the freedom to watch it or to ignore it.

The system is, indeed, nearly always almost broken, and yet it seems to survive. I’m thankful that I get to hope it will survive this time, too.

As Winston Churchill said, “Democracy is the worst form of government. . .except for all those others that have been tried.”

So, I’m thankful for the Greeks and the Athenian democracy, for the Barons at Runnymede and the Magna Carta, and–although their influence on our founders has been disputed–for the Iroquois League of Peace and Power. (I will step outside my original intention in this post not to take sides, for just a moment, and say that if we’d been influenced a little more by the Iroquois’ reported inclusion of women in our governing processes, we might be better off today!)

It’s an amazing thing we do every four years.

It’s maddening, hilarious, expensive, lofty and idealistic, down and dirty, boring, fascinating. totally insane and immensely important.

Thankful may not be a strong enough word.

A rose by any other name*

…might not get the right plant food.

Today, I am very thankful for my friend Carole who has an uncanny ability (and, probably, some robust internet sources) to identify every plant I put in front of her—virtually speaking.

When we bought Casa Lagarto, we became the proud owners of a lot of flora and foliage. Previously, I could recognize a pine tree, a cactus, a daffodil and a rose. Also, hyacinth and hydrangeas. And not much else.

But here’s the value of networking—and a reminder that your network isn’t just your business acquaintances.

The first thing that happened is that my mom’s garden club held a meeting at my house. After lunch by the water and their business meeting, they walked me around my yard and identified 90% of my botanical holdings.

There were a few things they didn’t recognize, and that’s where Carole came in. She has unhesitatingly identified the Fringe Tree, the Mexican Hydrangea and the Spider Lily. Also, the Canna Lily.

From pictures.

It’s an amazing talent!

And now everything in the garden is not only lovely, it has a name.

So, what’s in a name?

Sure, names don’t alter the essential nature of the thing being named. On the other hand, if you’ve got a broken arm, you really don’t want your doctor calling it a brain tumor. Trouble will ensue.

A plant without a name renders my essential botanical cluelessness even more deadly to said plant than it might otherwise be. What generally saves them is my laissez faire attitude toward gardening. Non-interference results in more weeds than are strictly necessary, but it supports the “First, do no harm” doctrine that is at the heart of my horticultural practice.

With a name, I can look things up. I can research the best time of year for pruning, whether they need extra water (not too much of a problem in this year of the unending deluges), etc. In addition, cause of death can be narrowed to something other than “I did something wrong.” The carnation died from lack of water, the vinca died from too much water, but the begonia has survived because I recognized it needed water!

I don’t have a green thumb. But I do have good and knowledgeable friends, and any plants that perish have only me to blame.

Thanks, Carole!

* Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Sc. 2 (Flapdoodle!)

It could be worse

…by a lot

I’m talking about the love bugs here.

Plecia nearctica.

Don’t worry; that won’t be on the final.

It’s love bug season again in Florida. Happens two times a year, more or less.

What’s a love bug?

It’s a small flying insect also known as the honeymoon fly or the double-headed bug. This is because during the mating season, also known as a “flight,” these bugs are more than usually enthusiastic. They can and do remain coupled for several days. So, generally, you don’t see one love bug without another.

They’re out and about in force just now, whirling all around my head when I’m mowing, smacking into the windshield when I’m driving.

Perhaps I may have mentioned that I am not fond of bugs. I am especially not fond of bugs in swarms–and this could safely be called a swarm. Things flying at me and crawling on me. . .just, no. I don’t like that.

But it could be worse.

Because love bugs don’t bite. They don’t sting.

They are basically harmless except for a tendency for the acidity of their body chemistry to damage automobile paint–not so much of a problem with newer cars–and for their unfortunate corpses to clog radiator air passages and, thus, interfere with the radiator’s ability to cool the engine.

It’s just the sheer number of them that is. . .unsettling.

On the other hand, it’s not a swarm of locusts. Or grasshoppers. Which–heaven forfend! (And, ick.) It’s just a bunch of little black and red bugs. And since any biting bug makes a beeline for me, I am more than thankful that these are too busy to be biting (even if they could–which they can’t). Plus, they don’t actually live that long. It will all be over in a few days.

So, as bugs go. . .not so bad. Like I said. . .it could be worse.

Mad dogs and Englishmen

And Floridians…

Go out in the midday sun.

But we’ve turned the corner on the weather, I think, and I am so thankful. A couple of days of 85° temperatures and only 52% humidity.

Note that “only.”

It’s astonishing how relative everything is.

There was a time when 52% humidity would seem awfully high. (I went to grad school in Denver, for one thing.) The average relative humidity around here, however, is 89%. And it rained for all of August. All of August! ALL. So, 52% is a good number. We like it.

All of a sudden, it is rather pleasant to do yard work. Mowing, edging, pruning. I am Gertie the Gardener this week. Even a mosquito bite seems more bearable when it doesn’t feel like the insect had to swim through the air to get you.

The thing is, however, that it’s a little hard to adjust to this different weather pattern. In the old days (two years ago), this would be the time of year when I would be launching new writing projects, starting new classes, attending first-meetings-of-the-year for a bunch of organizations to which I belonged. It would be the time to start putting away outdoor toys and accessories.

Down here, however, I am learning that this is the time to start thinking about your outdoor projects. Now is when the ligustrum needs to be pruned and anything I want to transplant needs to be dug up and moved (and, knowing me, likely killed–but that’s a different post).

This is the time to think about cleaning out the garage, tidying up the dock. It’s the time to think about repairing the driveway. (I don’t know anything about concrete, though, so thinking is as far as that will get for now.)

It’s time to get serious about weeding the flower beds, and it’s probably time to figure out how the lid to the dryer vent comes off and clean out any lint.

Trouble is, of course, that it is still time to be launching new writing projects and whatever else comes with a new year.

Because this is the new year, really.

That thing in January–that’s just a Hallmark holiday.

No mercy?

“Computers are like Old Testament gods; lots of rules and no mercy.”

That is a quote from the ever-brilliant Joseph Campbell. It is both funny and true, as the best quotes are.

However, it’s Thankful Thursday, and while I realize most of you will think we’ve gone past this point by this time, I am going to talk about how thankful I am for computers.

I love computers. I know, I know. Two of the most dreaded words in the English language are “computer error.” Almost as bad: when the phone rep says, “the computer is down.” We hate the computerized phone menus that seem to be malevolently blocking us from talking to a human being. We are annoyed when the people we are with keep checking their smartphones instead of giving their undivided attention to our scintillating conversation. We can’t understand how we come to waste so much time on Facebook.

But, oh! The hours of entertainment. The increase in productivity. In my case, the leap from temporary secretary at $15-$20 per hour to computer programmer and over a hundred. Even more important, I sometimes think, was the antidote to powerlessness.

There is no one who has less power than a would-be actor. Almost all other artists can practice their craft in the absence of recognition. If you are a writer, all you need is a pencil and a scrap of paper. If you are a visual artist, you can draw anywhere. A singer may sing in the shower. If you play an instrument, you can play it any time (taking into account consideration for neighbors, of course).

The actor, whose instrument is herself, cannot do much without other actors.

It is the only craft I know where you need permission to practice it. And another hundred people just got off of the train.* The competition for that permission is fierce. Opportunities can be few and frustratingly long in coming. It’s easy to feel discouraged and incompetent and without power.

But. . .you can sit down at a computer, and if you know the right keys to press, you can make it do anything.

I love computers.

* Stephen Sondheim, Company, “Another Hundred People”

Of course you do!

Who knew I had a network?

I did.

To a point.

I mean, I knew I had a network of theatre colleagues. Twenty-some years involved in New York theatre, and I’d better. If I don’t, I have been seriously wasting my time.

What surprised me recently is the realization that I have a wider, more diverse network than that. And I’m very thankful to have made the discovery.

Last week, I took a trip to North Carolina with my mom. We were going to meet my brother-in-law and my niece. The purpose of the trip from our end was to hand over a car which is being passed on to my soon-to-be-licensed niece. From theirs, it was to get the car and to look at several colleges. “Soon-to-be-licensed” equates in this case, as in many, to “contemplating college applications.”

So, great!

We took a look at University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill–bustling, beautiful campus–and Duke University in Durham. Not so bustling. Equally beautiful. (The students weren’t back at Duke, yet, while they were already arriving at UNC.)

All that is kind of beside the point.

When we got back to the hotel, my niece and I decided to go swimming. (Also not really the point.)

Down in the pool, treading water and trying not to get our hair too wet–(Don’t ask me. It was something about air conditioning and hair dryers)–we were discussing the colleges and what she thinks she might want to study.

She mentioned one possible career path, and I said, “You know, I know somebody who does that. If you want, I could ask him to talk with you some time.” She mentioned another possibility, and I said, “I think I was in a play with somebody once who is doing that now. I bet she’d be glad to talk to you.” A little bit later, she mentioned that she and her dad might stop to see Wake Forest on the way home. I said, “I know somebody who went to Wake Forest–” and she said, “Of course you do!”

It was funny–although maybe you had to be there–but it was also an interesting lesson.

Most of us are well aware that networking is important. A lot of us don’t think we’re very good at it.

But our networks are bigger than we think.

You know more people in more places and in more circumstances than you can possibly imagine.

Of course you do.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Tag Archives: Thankful Thursdays