Thanksgiving 2016

There is always something for which to be thankful.  As the quick taglines have taken to saying, "Gratitude is an attitude" - not the most eloquent of sayings, but we Americans have made an entire holiday around it.  And it is maybe my most favorite of holidays.

Thanksgiving was the usual good food (great food), family, and this year some parental friends and their daughter.  Altogether lovely.  I would say not my most successful of culinary executions, but not bad.  Every year one learns a bit more and does a little bit better - mashed potatoes will be a little lighter and fluffier next year, braised cabbage will be a little less liquidity and a little bit more flavorful, roast vegetables were just fine, salad was fine, pumpkin pie crust will need some tweaking next year, but the chocolate addition to the bottom was terrific, although next year will be a little less scorched.  All lessons learned.  And one year I will learn to debone the chicken and make the sweet rice stuffing.... But I am thankful for the plenty that we had to eat.  And, really, the amount of food was just about right, and more than enough for the meal and leftovers.

And this year, Thanksgiving also fell on the death anniversary for my second Ba Ngoai (my maternal stepgrandmother - but the one who was there when I was born).  It was cold, but some of the flowers from the Mother Garden were still alive - enough for a spray for the altar table.

Roses and chrysanthemums from the Mother Garden, on the altar table for Ba Ngoai.

It was a bit of a tight schedule; we barely stayed into Friday - but all about balance, right?  Friday night back in the city for a Match date - nice fellow, but no legs for the long run.  All about fitting it in where one can.

Pretty on the Inside

Outside it may be bone-chilling (the forecast says it is 37 degrees outside), and our fine-foliaged friends may be wilting and drooping and losing their leaves, and everywhere there may be reminders of life on a wane, but a few hearty souls are coaxed back to life by the cold.  The Christmas cactus being one.  Just starting to make a comeback.

 

The Christmas cactus sisters live in the guestroom - 3 of them.  They came, I think, from the Mother House - not the Mother Garden, mind you, the Mother House.  They are of the indoor stock, not happy in the out of doors.  They have done well in the guestroom. 

 

Of course, they might do better if I could offer a bit more natural light - if the blinds could be raised.  But, alas, Sissy has been using the guestroom as her photo studio, for the clothing she pulls for her styling classes.  Just a little longer, she assures me, before I get my apartment back.  Balance - sometimes there is a price to be paid for a happy relationship with one's siblings.

 

When the guestroom comes back to me, the Mandavillas can come inside too.  They are not happy with me; they are dropping their leaves like crazy.  They are NOT used to these temperatures; they have no idea what has hit them.  Although last year they suffered a few cold nights, and seem to have pulled through ok.  So, hopefully, they can put up with a few more nights.

Cold Second Chances

The rain had exhausted itself, apparently, by the time the morning came.  No more fell during the day, proving the weather forecasts of the last few days for this grey but dry Sunday wrong, at least as far as precipitation.  Today, that was not a bad thing.  It provided the second bite at the apple - a little more time to get in the last of the rescued tulips bulbs from the spring. What the forecasters got dead on, though, was the temperature.  That cold front was ushered in big time, and stayed.  It was frigid out.

 

Yesterday's running shorts and sandals gave way today to leggings and socks in clogs.  The bulbs that were yet to be interred at mid-afternoon.

Getting those bulbs in was cold work.  But it had to be done.  Mid-afternoon did not feel as warm as one would hope.  But the bulbs that were in overnight, with nothing but a cursory afterthought light soil blanket, seemed none worse for the wear for being left out in near freezing temps and the heavy rain, but surely they would have been had the task been left undone for very much longer.  The job was done in stages, with several indoor retreats to warm the hands in between.

First was the continuation of the planter by the door.

The newly interred additional tulip bulbs.  Yesterday's are on the left, under their light soil blanket.

The near-empty planter holding the dislodged soil.  There seemed still to be some left over, even after the planter by the door appeared to be refilled.

The refilled door planter, level with the original soil line.  Allium shoots, I think, in the foreground.

Then the planter with the shivering hibiscus, which was trenched along the circumference at the back - enough for about four or five big bulbs.  And one was tucked into the foreground, between the short hibiscus on the left and the, likely dead, twiggy one on the right.

Hibiscus planter - before.  No pictorial record of the trench that was dug, or the bulbs nestled in.  I forgot; the cold may have frozen part of my brain, to say nothing of my hands.

Then a few little tulip cloves were tucked between the calabrochoas in the wooden planter with the honeysuckle trellis.  Only four or so.  It was just too cold by then.  Probably six or seven little tulip cloves remained; if they never make it out of the plastic shed, so be it.  They may have been too small to amount to anything anyway.  They got put away.  It was just too cold by 4pm, and the light was beginning to fade.

The last duty of the day was taking in the Thai lime tree.  It came in with all of its attendant weeds - too cold to weed it first.

The coddled Thai lime tree, safely inside.  With its weedy friends.  Some of the top leaves were limp and soft - the effects of the cold, although it wasn't supposed to have dropped to freezing last night.  The collected rainwater that was emptied out certainly didn't freeze.  But it certainly wasn't Thai weather either, far colder than the poor thing's native climes.

And the little Thai lime may see some action in the next few days.  My Mama's Thanksgiving guests accepted, and it sounds like she may incorporate some Thai lime leaves into the meal somewhere.  She said her much bigger, more robust tree became infested with some sort of pests that are now clinging to the trunk and the leaves.  She will not bring it in, not even to the garage.  So it will be left out - which means it will die, sadly.  Maybe during my Thanksgiving visit I can convince her to give it some sort of shelter outdoors; perhaps a dome of some sort will focus the heat and kill the bugs, and it may yet have a second life.

Running Behind

Ah to be Martha Stewart, with her neat little monthly calendars, setting out exactly what is to be done each day, in the garden, in her home, in her personal life - and with the publication deadlines for her magazine, she's got to have gotten those done a good six months in advance.  Does anyone other than Martha manage to live that way?  Is anyone ever so on top of things?  Part of the brilliance of Martha is achieving that perfect work/life balance - to monetize one's life and go about the everyday routine as one's business, that seems the only way to get that all done.

Well, with today's unseasonably warm 60-some-odd degree day, it seemed a resumption in the running routine was in order.  Seize the day, take advantage of outdoor running weather while it lasts.  The plan was to tackle that (get out some of the lactic acid buildup from Woodloch), and then some overdue garden chores - namely, the planting of the tulip bulbs.  Still, conceding to the temperature sissy within, I checked the NY1 temperatures through the morning trying to find the warmest part of the day before heading out.  I missed it - the predicted high was 64 degrees; at about 1pm it was 61 degrees, and then a bit later, 59 degrees - wrong direction, and so out I went.  It was a bit more chilly, at first, than I thought; I considered turning back for more layers, but, gladly, did not succumb - by the end, I was warm and sweaty.

By the esplanade, in the East River, there was a huge crane.  Likely some part of the 81st Street overpass being prepared to be hoisted into place.  Although which part it might be was not readily evident.

Still warm on my return, I headed out to the terrace to start the planting of the bulbs rescued from the Park Avenue median back in late spring.

The Park Avenue tulip bulbs.  See the beginnings of the new growth?  Some of them are rearing (raring?) to go!

The right home seemed to be the planter by the door, the one that held the fingernail flowers and the angel hair cardinal vine.  Why?  Well, both of those seed incredibly easily, so I figure they don't need to germinate at great depth.  So if the same plantings are retained for next year (which is the current plan), the tulips should not be disturbed.  They should come up, and be done, well before the fingernail flowers.

Before: The planter, with sprouting Allium (I think) in the foreground.

Close-up on the Allium; those needed to be left intact and undisturbed.

But the fingernail flower carcasses needed to be put down first.  They weren't quite carcasses yet - still at the end stage of life - in hospice, if you will.

The central fingernail flower plant.  At one time, it was so thick and robust.  If you see its base, there are remnants, still, of its past glory.

A survivor - still hanging on to life.

As suspected, rather shallow root system.  Not sure whether that is just now, in its post-prime, or whether that would have been the case at the height of summer as well.

Yank.  Plant euthanasia.

More shallow roots.

Unclear whether any seeds matured in the tiny green (not brown and matured) seed pods, but they got saved - just in case.  And then the carcasses were cut up - to offer themselves up as mulch for the plantings to come.

Salvaged seed pods.

Sacrificial fingernail flower plant stalks.

A trench was dug, and bulbs were nestled in. 

Prepared home in the planter by the door.

The few resettled bulbs.

But it got cold, and dark, very, very quickly.  It was as if the clouds rolled in and the cold with it.  The forecasters predicted the cold.  It was too much.  Some of the soil that was removed to a largely-empty planter to the side was hastily thrown onto the few transplants - lest they freeze.  The other host planter - the hibiscus planter - wasn't even touched.

Hibiscus planter - in its untouched, weedy glory.

And in the evening, safely ensconced in my warm apartment, the sound of a good hard rain - the rain that was to come on Sunday.  And late, on the late night local news, they said it snowed in parts around the city.  Yikes - just got in the few.  But the tropical plants - the Thai lime tree, the mandavilla - all got left out to fend for themselves.

Sigh - a better plant mommy would not have been so behind on her garden chores.

Retreat

Maximum vacation day accrual policies force some sort of balance - to avoid leaving money on the table and working for free, it becomes imperative to schedule some sort of vacation.  And in my line of work, Decembers don't work - especially when the IRS chooses December 1st as the final day to submit comments to some far-ranging regulatory changes, after which date the proposed regulations can become effective at any time.  And, even worse, when the head of one's practice group decides she will take her annual weeklong absence in late December; if one wants to present as a responsible member of the team, December is not the time to request vacation.

So November it was, and nearby.  And hence was born a Woodloch spa vacation.  Originally, this was to be an Enchantment Resort vacation in Sedona, but they were all booked (and really, really expensive).  And when the research was done, Woodloch was a lovely, and oh so convenient, alternative.  Lots of fitness classes, all-inclusive, hikes, spa facility - all a girl could ask for.  And something to look forward to after the week that was - the news of the Trump transition followed to the spa, but at least there was some respite in the moment.

The hikes were not all that strenuous, but definitely country, a breath of fresh air.  Selected photos from the getaway.

Woods on the Woodloch property.

View from balcony of my room toward the small lake.

View from balcony toward an outdoor terrace.

Dock between the trees.

Outdoor terrace.

The Lily Pad - locus of outdoor activities.

Archery - for one's inner Catniss Everdeen.

What are these little rock piles called?

Witch hazel.

Milkweed pods.

Cattails.

Fire pit beckons.  Well, to me, anyway.  Apparently to no one else - so solitude it was.

Indoor fires.  There were quite a few of them.  Absolutely perfect.

Woodpecker tree.

On a berm - on the Dorflinger property.

The manmade reservoir - similar to the treatment of Lake Wallenpaupack nearby.

Lightning strike.

More lightning damage.

Mushroom host.

This one was large - at one point.

Wood duck house.