Stories – Page 3 – writinghersense

The View Out My Window, or Watching Bridge Construction

One of the main reasons I bought my condo was its view of the Hudson River and the Tappan Zee Bridge. I’ve watched the river traffic for years now. Summer evenings mean sailboats gliding from one side to the other. Winter mornings feature the Coast Guard cutter going upriver to look for ice, and on one memorable occasion an ice-cutting ship.

In the fall the view is framed by orange and yellow maple trees. In the spring it’s a vista of green buds which eventually open up to block part of the view. Construction of the new luxury townhouses and condos by the riverbank has taken off the bottom of the view. Last October I watched Superstorm Sandy drive the Hudson over its banks as the water swelled up.

Now my view is changing again, due to construction of the new Tappan Zee Bridge. Barges, tugboats and dredges are moving into position. I understand one of the largest cranes in the world is on its way through the Panama Canal to help with the construction.

This will go on for five years, I’m told. I’m not sure how crowded the river will be before they are done. There has already been a terrible accident when a powerboat hit one of the construction barges at night. Since then the barges are lighted more prominently, and I think I heard that river patrols have been stepped up.

I hope the sailboats and pleasure boats will still be able to cruise above and below the construction. So far the noise has not been bad on my side. There will be a certain fascination in seeing this massive structure rise and the old bridge be taken down. But I already miss the days when sailboats and the occasional barge were the only vessels disturbing the peace of that grey water.

9/11, Twelve Years Later

I was grateful today that it wasn’t one of those blue-sky September days, but muggy and cloudy. Every September when the sky is that clear, unclouded blue I remember how lovely it was on 9/11 in 2001, and how that day fell apart into terror and dread.

It’s amazing to me how New York City has come back and how people have carried on with their lives. New Yorkers (and New Jerseyites, for many of them were killed that day) are tough.

The reading of the names still makes me cry, and the footage of the attacks is still horrifying. But every day people commute to the city to work, and millions of others live there. The Freedom Tower looms over lower Manhattan. Downtown businesses came back. Children have been born who will have no personal memory of what happened. Tourists come and go in their hordes. At least now they have a memorial to look at instead of a gaping hole.

“Never forget” is the motto you see at many fire stations and police stations, throughout the tri-state area, where first responders poured into the city to help the New York City forces. But I wonder, will the day come when the pain is not remembered? At least, will the day come when a blue September sky doesn’t make us uneasy?

Kitten Therapy

One of my neighbors is fostering some tiny kittens whose feral mother seems to have disappeared. Her (adult) daughter found them and brought them home, and is supposed to be responsible for feeding them and taking care of them. I think her daughter is doing most of the heavy lifting, but my neighbor is filling in quite a bit. She texted me a few days ago, “Want to help me kitten-sit?”

I went over to hang out, pet them and help socialize them. There was an article in the New York Times science section several years ago which explained the types of cat personalities and said studies had shown cats are more socialized toward humans if you handle them when they are small kittens, less than 8 weeks old. So playing with and petting kittens is actually good pet parenting. It’s a great excuse, anyway!

Spending an hour with them reminded me how much fun they are–and how much work! I’ve always adopted adult cats because they have a harder time getting adopted, and because they already have their personalities and habits.

These three little kittens were tiny furballs in perpetual motion, then they would just conk out. The largest was a grey male with white paws, whose fur stuck out in all directions. The middle one was a pretty female, sort of tabby. The runt of the litter was a tiny female with muddy markings and a white stomach but a loud squeak of a meow and a purr bigger than anything a creature that small should be able to produce. She discovered she could climb up the front of the couch before I rescued her from an end table.

Kittens are like wild children, running until they are exhausted–wild children with claws, who can climb curtains and shred chairs! I was tempted by the runt, but I’m afraid my aggressive cat would not react well to a small, furry irritant.

Playing with them and petting them was good for them, but it was great for me. It’s impossible to think of anything unpleasant when a little fur lump has its head tucked under your chin, purring. I’ll come play again before they find homes, I hope.

Into the Dark

Any of us whose parents live to be elderly are likely to experience their long, sad decline at the end of life. I’ve had both extremes–Daddy died suddenly at a relatively young age, of a heart attack, while Mother spent a couple of decades with heart failure and then strokes. Even when you’ve had lots of time to prepare it always comes as a shock. How can they be gone? How will my life go on?

Scott Simon, an NPR host and former Today show weekend host, went through this with his mother in Chicago. He tweeted throughout her time in the ICU, until she died, and after, an online journal of his thoughts and feelings in 180 characters per message. If you haven’t read them, here is a link: https://twitter.com/nprscottsimon

I’m a bit disturbed by the concept of typing on a smartphone while your mother is dying, but his writing and emotions disarm that. He held her in his arms, sang to her, listened to her while she could still talk.

When I worked for a hospice agency I was told the most important things to say when you’re saying goodbye are: I love you, please forgive me, I forgive you, thank you. Sometimes a parent needs to hear you say, “It’s okay for you to go, I will be all right.” Mothers are still mothers, even on their deathbeds. One nurse told me that sometimes the mother will wait to die until the children are out of her room. “I think some of them want to spare the children, right to the end, ” she said.

It’s important to know when to let go, and to get the help you and your parent need. Facing the end is terrible, but anyone who has mourned a dying person knows the truth: we’re not mourning for them, we’re mourning for us and our loss.

Beauty

I was thinking about beauty and ugliness today because of the Ugliest Dog Contest, which was hyped on the Today Show among others. Here’s a clip: http://www.hulu.com/#!watch/504008

I think poor Walle’s problem is that his proportions are just soooo wrong– poor little beast. His owner said, “He tends to fall over.”

The ancient Greeks held that beauty was all about proportion and dimensions. Here is a quote from the Wikipedia entry on beauty: Although style and fashion vary widely, cross-cultural research has found a variety of commonalities in people’s perception of beauty. The earliest Western theory of beauty can be found in the works of early Greek philosophers from the pre-Socratic period, such as Pythagoras. The Pythagorean school saw a strong connection between mathematics and beauty. In particular, they noted that objects proportioned according to the golden ratio seemed more attractive.^[9] Ancient Greek architecture is based on this view of symmetry and proportion.

Now there is some evidence that symmetry, which can be expressed mathematically, denotes genetic health. There are a lot of articles and studies on this topic. The general tenor seems to be that symmetry and masculinity are preferred across cultures and even across species.

Where does that leave all of us who are a little less than perfect? Perhaps hoping that someone loves us for our personalities or our souls, especially if we aren’t part of the gene pool going forward. Thank goodness for that!

Practical Magic

Since the earliest times, people have tried to influence fate or luck or fortune, whatever you want to call it, with charms and amulets. Some of them “work” by sympathetic magic–something represents something else, and gives you the properties of that thing. For instance, the horn that some men wear as a pendant is supposed to bring sexual potency and/or fertility, by association with a ram or bull (and the shape is pretty suggestive, too.)

Others invoke the properties of the stone or charm itself–hardness, strength, the lights within it, etc. And others are representations of a god or goddess or saint, seeking the protection of that spirit or the gifts he or she can bring.

I’ve been thinking about this lately for a number of reasons. I’m working for a small company owned by South Asians, and our office has a number of representations of elephants, and of the Hindu god Ganesha. He is the Hindu lord of success and the destroyer of evils and obstacles, as well as the god of education, knowledge, wisdom, and wealth. No wonder there is a little brass Ganesha in the reception area, on the president’s desk, and little elephants on almost all of the (tiny) cubicles most of us work in. It’s a bit strange to see religious icons in an office in the U.S.

Another reason is that I have been in search of an effective good luck charm for many years. Nothing seems to work for me, perhaps because in my heart of hearts I don’t believe in lucky charms. But as a friend observed to me several years ago, “I think you really believe if you find the right shade of lipstick your life will change.” I said, “It won’t?”

I wish it were that easy. I wish all it took was the right charm or amulet or stone or whatever to make one healthy, wealthy and wise. It does take hard work to be all those things, and often luck or your environment or your genes intervene, for good or ill. All we can do is the best we can, and hope for the best. And I’ll carry the black tourmaline ($5) I just bought a street fair. If it could protect me, cleanse negative thoughts from others, dissipate my own negative thoughts, and relieve stress, I’ll wear it 24/7!

Alternate Universes, or, Not What I Had Planned

The Big Bang happens over and over again?

Yesterday I was driving around to run various errands. I was hitting the pre-set buttons on the car radio, trying to find something worth listening to, since I didn’t have my iPod with me. I landed on WNYC-FM, and began listening to a guy tell a story about alternate universes. The show was from TheMoth.org, which supports storytelling of true stories by real people.

Anyway, he said that every time there is a decision or a path is taken, two universes exist at the same time–one where you said yes, another where you said no, one where you went left, one where you went right. I think his last name was Reiser, I can’t remember. But he told a hilarious story about how, at a time in his life when he was feeling very lost and had quit his job to “find himself”, he dreamed up this whole alternate universe in which he was a professor at Cornell.

He had all the details–married, lovely wife, two great kids, successful career, perfectly happy. In his current life he felt very depressed by this vision, and went to his “family psychic” (his words.) The psychic told him the rest of the story. “You could have taken this path if you had gone to Cornell,” the psychic said. “But then your wife would have cheated on you with your best friend and left you, taking the kids, and you would start drinking, and you wouldn’t get tenure.” So it was just as good an alternate universe to be driving around in a beat-up Volkswagen van, having left his job as a database consultant, and not knowing what he was supposed to do with his life.

I’ve been thinking about the story ever since. The guy really made me laugh. But I wanted to know, is he happy now? I think he is doing some kind of new-age thing in Boulder, Colorado (makes sense with the rest of the story.)

As Americans, we’re all about reinvention. I can’t tell you how many people said to me, when I was out of work, “You need to reinvent yourself.” And how badly I wanted to slug them in the nose. I liked the me I was, and the work I did before! But the world changes, so we have to move on.

So maybe it’s not reinvention I need. Maybe it’s that alternate universe. If I had called that made-for-TV-movie producer who gave me his card on the flight to NY, who owned the horse farm outside of Nashville, or had gone to school in English lit instead of business? Or run away when I was 35? But it would just be another story, and maybe not a happier one.

I have to think about that some more. What about you guys? Do you want an alternate universe?

BTW, I found the guy and his story–Tom Weiser.

Tuesday’s Child?

Do you recall that old Mother Goose rhyme?

Monday’s child is fair of face

Tuesday’s child is full of grace

Wednesday’s child is full of woe

Thursday’s child has far to go

Friday’s child is loving and giving

Saturday’s child works hard for a living

But the child that is born on the Sabbath day

Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

I was born on a Tuesday, and I spent many years wondering why I wasn’t a dancer, or able to walk on a balance beam without falling off. It was a long time before I learned the rhyme might have meant a different kind of grace. According to Merriam Webster, there are a lot of possibilities:

Unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification
A virtue coming from God
A state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace
Approval, favor
Charming or attractive trait or characteristic
A pleasing appearance or effect
Ease and suppleness of movement or bearing
Used as a title of address or reference for a duke, a duchess, or an archbishop
A short prayer at a meal asking a blessing or giving thanks
Sense of propriety or right <had the grace not to run for elective office — Calvin Trillin>

I have decided my favorite one is #8. Just address me as “Your Grace,” and all will be well.

So, my friends, which day of the week marked your birth? Let me know. In case you don’t know, here’s a fun website that will calculate it for you. And I hope you aren’t full of woe.

Love in a Cold Climate

Two of my cousins got into genealogy some years ago, and delved into the Bowers family tree back to the early 1600s in Connecticut. They then pursued a line back to England, but it turned out to be mistaken. It’s clear, however, that the Bowers’s came from England at some point prior to that, and settled in Connecticut, and then in New Jersey, and then moved to Tennessee and stayed there for nearly two centuries.

The family is present on both sides of my immediate family–my parents were distant cousins, not unusual when you are born into a farming community in Tennessee before the Great Depression. I’ve been thinking about it today, however, because my sister Glenda and I have both been dealing with skin cancers for several years, and no one else in our immediate family has had that problem.

We are both pale, fish-belly pale, even though we once had very dark hair. Glenda has brown eyes, and I have light hazel eyes, like our mother’s father. There’s a lot of environment going on, because no one in the 1800s was lying on a float in a swimming pool for hours at a time. There’s also misguided medical practice, because I had x-ray treatment for acne when I was a teenager.

But I like to picture our foremothers (and forefathers) plowing fields in a green England under perpetually cloudy skies, or maybe cruising around in Viking boats, pale as ghosts and deadly as spectres. It’s a comforting fantasy when the dermatologist starts to biopsy that basal cell carcinoma. If we were still in Wales or Yorkshire or Denmark, this wouldn’t be happening.

Getting Through February

Unlike T. S. Eliot, I believe February is the cruelest month. It’s when the snows are the deepest, the winds are the coldest, and even though the days are longer, the winter seems harsh and unending. I have a bias, too, from my youth. Growing up in the south, spring came in March, so February was the end of winter. Here in the north, we have at least another month of snow, wind and cold to go.

February is cruel to me, as well, because my daddy died in this month, decades ago, and my longtime companion Ron died 13 years ago today. But bad stuff happens in every month, you know? Good things happen as well. My niece Judy and my sister Juanita were born in this month, and what would life be without them?

So my goal with February is to cheer myself up as much as possible, enjoy what I can, and move on. Here are some things I recommend for these cold, dark days, and the warm hearts we all know and love.

Have a good cry. See “Les Miserables” or watch a good old tearjerker on Turner Classic Movies or Netflix. “You had me at hello.” Hello? My favorite: “Enchanted April.”
Chocolate. The more the better.
Go to a warm spot if you can afford it. If not, take a movie holiday. Gidget Goes Hawaiian!
Don’t be proud. Call a friend if you need one, and just hang out. DO NOT think Facebook or Twitter is a substitute for human companionship. IT IS NOT!
Go shopping for something inexpensive. This is a true story. When Ron was in law school at Yale, he was friends with Anita Hill, a fellow law student. I came up from Philadelphia (Wharton) to visit, and we were chatting. She said to me, “When I want to go shopping, I go buy nail polish, because it’s pretty, and it’s cheap!” We were all starving students then, but there is still a lesson there.
Hug your dog, or your cat, or your rabbit, or your hamster. They are warm, small, and don’t understand why you are unhappy, but they still love you.
Re-read a book you love.
Read a book you haven’t read before, especially if it’s unlike anything you’ve read before.
Call or write someone and thank them for something nice they did for you.
Do something for someone else. It’s the best way to get outside of your head.

I hope this helps. Let me know what you think.

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