Canary in the Coal Mine

For at least a week, the jardin was left to fend for itself.  And from the looks of it, there was precious little rain in New York City during that time.

The first of the plants to show signs of stress this year has been the Vietnamese balm (kinh gioi), which is a shame, since it adds such a lovely lemony touch to dishes - though it's seen little play time this year with all the shiso (tia to).  But looking past it, the hydrangea was wilty, the Sunpatiens not so sunny, the blackberry was droopy, and the morning glory quite other than glorious... the proverbial canaries

(As contrasted to the literal avian variety. Photo from the New York Times; article link below.)

in the jardin, warning of lack of water, and possible impending doom....

Unlike the Vietnamese balm above that bounced back with a bit of water, the hydrangea, today, still hasn't found its pep.  Hopeful the stress wasn't too much.  It's a survivor, I think.  Meanwhile, the cuttings from the farmer's market rescue hydrangea stems seem to have established; the leaves are growing - unevenly, but growing, so maybe there will be viable backups.

The Sunpatiens (above) also took a deep drink.  But unfair to compare to the blackberry that barely got any water yesterday. 

Less than glorious morning glory.  Also barely got watered - it is a weed, after all - but was shown more mercy today.

... Like the millions of young people who joined Greta Thunberg in her global climate strike yesterday, reminding us that we need to pull our imperiled planet back from the brink.  Also warning us adults (how did that happen so quickly, the forced adulting thing? - the event came up in my feed, so up my alley, but, well, work, recent return from vacation, upcoming extended absence, responsibility) that they will oust us all and perhaps enact dramatic change if our halting and faltering gradual steps don't accelerate soon....

... Like the billions of lost birds - the literal canaries - warning us that we have let it go too far already, and mass mammalian extinction is not impossible.

Grim.  So those canaries, we need to heed and protect those little canaries.

Trying Not to Forget

Not that anyone who lived through that horrible day with any consciousness could forget - no one with any ties to New York City, anyway.

18 years.  The babies who weren't yet born and never got to meet their parents who died that day are about to become legal adults.

View of the Tribute in Light, for the first time from Hudson Yards.

It was soon after that day that BigLaw as a long-term journey for me was scheduled to, and did, begin - in October 2001, the first start date after September 11th.  That had the benefit of offering perspective early on about what is truly important and precious in life.  But also exerted a pressure that for years has kept everything just a little out of whack.

The rubber soled loafers that have been at the office, under the desk, from the beginning, just in case there was a need to run or go down many flights of stairs.  The loafers came in handy during the big 2003 blackout.

A month or so after starting, an essay appeared, probably in the New York Times, on keeping sight of the people and priorities that were true, not succumbing to workaholism, on making time for those precious individuals and activities.  That essay was clipped and went up on the office bulletin board as a reminder. 

By then, after only a month, it was already too late.  That first associate year workdays usually began at 9:30 and wrapped almost every day at 2:30 in the morning.  Diligence and competence paid off in more work; the prize in a pie eating contest is usually more pie.  And with the economy tanking and BigLaw laying off first years for the first time in memory (general wisdom was BigLaw just didn't do that - after all, what skills do first years have to make their way in the world?), it seemed like gratitude and hard work were the right response and approach for all that work.  And then there was a hiring freeze, so for years I was the low associate on the totem pole.  Ever more work, accompanied by fear of losing the job, and not being able to repay student loans, meant gritting teeth, bending my head, and continuing head down on into the storm.

The essay on priorities and balance stayed on the bulletin board.  It just became part of the background.

BigLaw has a way of becoming the biggest tree in the Urban Jungle - casting the biggest, darkest shadow.  But also providing sustenance, even abundance.  Double-edged sword, the cliche golden handcuffs.  And everyone knew this.  The people I loved waited in cars for accumulated hours over the years waiting for me to come down after just one more email or call or document before we could start our family vacations.  Scheduling had to avoid tax filing deadlines.  Birthday and special dinners started later, happened near the office....

Fending off burnout can only continue but for so long.  Through the revolving door of maternity leaves (in an overwhelmingly female practice group) and attrition, coping took the form of joining firm committees and groups - sanctioned work activities.  And that has continued to the present.  Well, there are the principled purposes of these firm groups, but, yes, also a coping strategy.

The terrarium made during a summer event sponsored by the women's affinity group, the setting for the pride flag distributed this past June by the affinity group for LGBTQ attorneys.

Office plant babies.  The jade was inherited twice over from colleagues who went on to greener pastures.  The little cacti in the red bowl were a holiday gift from an assistant.  It's nice to nurture living things in the office.

But at the end of it all, that's just all in-office time.  To balance it all out, there just needs to be time away from the office - to recharge and reconnect.  I KNOW that.  It's still hard to do, still hard to put oneself first, still hard to accept that peak efficiency is not possible every single minute of every single day.  Hard to see that 11 hours in the office somehow doesn't translate into 11 billable hours.

So, back to that essay.  What happens in the office doesn't count.  It's what happens outside of the office that counts.  That was the takeaway from 18 years ago, the guiding principle to keep in focus.  That's what to try not to forget.

Please, Sir, Can I Have Some More?

Tiny Tim may have needed more, nutritionally; the rest of us, probably not so much.  The statistics on societal food waste are pretty astounding, and shameful.  Achieving that delicate balance of just enough, physiologically, nutritionally, and convincing the mind that there is, in fact, abundance, a supply of more, can be tricky.  On the macro level, in developed countries, we've veered too far the other way - creating a classic First World problem in search of a solution - leave it to the more enlightened parts of Europe to start figuring it out.  Although, not to give all credit to the Europeans, there's also Cake Scraps in a Sad Box - the Canadians repping the North American enlightened (wry smile).  Kudos to S-market, Too Good to Go, Loop, and Milk & Cookies Bakeshop for coming up with some solutions!  And in the nonprofit sector, City Harvest, Food Forward, Garden to Table, Fruit for All, among others.

But the relationship with food is complicated.  My experience, growing up poor, is to clean my plate - even to the point of oversatiation.  In middle age, seems it is catching up to me, and now requires some action to bring it all back to balance.

But the flip side is food waste is a no-no in the UTJ household.  Food gets eaten, even if on the cusp.  Cuspy milk has turned into flatbread for pizza.  Mold has gotten scraped off for application of the sniff test to determine meal viability.  Meat in the freezer from pre-vegetarian days has gotten consumed.  At work, there is a drawer of snacks from Firm events.  I am trying to move away from beginning tendencies toward food hoarding.

But in the jardin, gosh darn it, if the herbs can be eaten, they will get eaten - we want them to attain their highest and best purpose to nourish the body if they are going to die anyway.

All season long, it's been all about the shiso.  This past weekend yielded a tasty new salad combo using quick-pickled shiso - a good way to consume a decent quantity.

Raw beets, celery, baby favas beans, and soy sauce, mustard pickle juice, agave, and smoked paprika quick-pickled green shiso, all dressed in a combination of the shiso pickling liquid and tahini.  The subtle sweetness of the raw beets paired well with the salty shiso, and the tahini dressing was overall savory.  The crunch of the beets and celery contrasted nicely with the softer marinated shiso; the baby favas beans rounded out everything and were al dente, filling and fibrous.  Successful vegetarian salad recipe!

Saturday's first salad trial was paired with leftover torta and charred leeks from Friday's dinner with a friend at the restaurant at Little Spain.

Potato torta and charred leeks from Little Spain.

And the tasty shiso-using salad combo came at just the right time, because ... [dum dum dum - cliche suspense/dread musical notes] ... the shiso plants are flowering, so the seeds are not far behind.  Ack!  Help!!!

Shiso in bloom.

Weekend Off

Met rooftop sculpture, with the looming anorectic towers of "Billionaires' Row" in the background. 

Laid back weekend.  Every now and then, it is important to grant self permission to just not do anything and wander around and follow one's sister to exhibits at nearby (but, sadly, infrequently visited) museums.  Even if there are deadlines looming.  Even if vacations and extended absences are on the horizon.  Sanity and mental health are important too.  Just because the body CAN work does not mean it must.

Looking toward Central Park West.

Meandering in search of other exhibits led to a wind through of the Islamic galleries...

...such intricate mosaic work...

...and carvings...

... absolutely beautiful embellishments.  How can one fail to consider the breadth of philosophy of a religion and civilization that produces this?

A Tomato Grows in Brooklyn

A tough little tomato plant she is, too.  Like Francie from "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," an absolute fave - figures it would make a gardening allusion.  Any little being growing up in a city like New York is more tested, more scrappy, more of a survivor, and has a bit more of an in straight to the soft spot of my heart and soul - New Yorker thick skin and armor notwithstanding.  What's more lovable than an underdog?

Photo by Matthew Frey as published in the New York Times.

And look at the sweet little red tomato!  Our tomato plant actually managed to have a kid and raise it in the city!  Inspiring.  And she managed to do it in a quintessentially New York way, clearly aided by some pigeons, and after having to deal with all manner of crap, literally.

Also love that she and her kid were discovered by a kayaker - good things come from kayaking ...  Get out there and paddle!

After the Summer "Storm"

The calm has arrived, but not without a bit of tumult.  It wasn't really a storm, more a heavy downpour.

So, when the rain stopped, I stepped out to the jardin to assess the plants, and almost immediately heard a crunch. On the ground was a snail wedged between terrace pavers, with a cracked shell - apparently caused by moi 😪.

Managed to dislodge it, happy to see it still move, but the cracked shell was quite evident.  

And as it went off on its snaily way, it shed a piece of shell, leaving a part of its body exposed. It didn't seem bothered, but the interwebs say it can only repair minor cracks and damage, so this one may be doomed 😥....

It went off between some planters to a dark crevice. Sigh.

Hyper aware and keen to avoid a repeat misplaced step, I began to notice snails everywhere, in all stages.

But the poor first fellow - probably off to hospice somewhere.

So the rain drenched, "crying" rose that presented itself seemed appropriate.

Sadness; I didn't mean to do it.