Celebrating Boxing Day

Time shifting the holidays seems par for the course when all the months after "pre-COVID" just blur into one long COVID period.

Gifts wrapped by me, using the fabric and ribbons that have become my hallmark for Christmas.

So, this year we celebrated Boxing Day.  It wasn't intentional, but that was how the chips fell.  After the effective cancellation of Christmas Eve, of course Sissy and I didn't head to the Mother Ship until Christmas Day, and late, at that - Sissy took forever to launch; I even managed to catch some of the Yule Log before it went off the air, which was still before Sissy was ready to go.

WPIX Yule Log - a staple for New York City residents, most of whom do not have fireplaces.

En route, we decided to support a family favorite, Pho Bac in Elmhurst, and picked up food for an ultra-late lunch/early dinner - linner.  And with all that good food in our bellies, naps were taken, and before you know it, everyone had had Christmas on social media, and we hadn't even wrapped gifts.  I told Sissy she had thoroughly ruined Christmas.  So we went to bed, woke up, and tried again... on Boxing Day, which, actually, was quite appropriate for us. 

Clivia, among the indoor holiday blooms at the Mothership.

Boxing Day spread for lunch.

This year's tree.

Pistachio cannoli - from the work kit for a summer associate event.

Chocolate chip cannoli - same kit.

Congee for the evening meal.

Mama Hen's flan.

More to come. 

[No more to come; closing out after editing to add captions to the photos August 27, 2023.]

Christmas Eve 2020

The reindeer and drum ornaments are stalwarts, the fairy lights new, the juniper sprig from the Jardin.

Ghosts of Christmas Eves past, present ... and future?

The worst Christmas Eve that I remember was during one of my early years out of law school.  I was the most junior associate, there were deliverables that had to go out, and I was stuck drafting and running changes - paying my dues.  But they needed to be reviewed, and I was taking them well into the evening into the partner's office - where she looked them over while wrapping Christmas gifts for her children.  And it was then that I realized that the work demands would not change upon grasping that brass ring.  I got out to Queens that night late - took a car, but it was close to midnight when I arrived; it felt terrible.  And the knowledge of the hefty bonus to come that year didn't make any sort of dent in that feeling. 

There have probably been late-working Christmas Eves in the years since.  But that one left an impression - the partner's rolls of wrapping paper, the tape and scissors, the bag of unwrapped gifts.

This year was only a hair better.  The political uncertainty and (positive - IMHO) election results nonetheless have meant a tsunami of year-end work, which dominated my day.  Truth be told, I could have done much of it earlier, but my ability to focus has been very elusive.  And then we had this rainstorm, and Sissy got nervous about the winds and insisted on battening down the hatches and not driving with the risk of falling trees - all overblown worries, I predict.  Sissy is prone to overblown worries.  (Though the garden shed that blew over earlier this year did seem to be struggling against the wind when we were out there tying it down.)  But, anyway, she and Mother Hen called off Christmas Eve, so this is maybe the first we haven't been in Queens or with the folks.  I suppose because it was a choice, it felt not as forlorn.  In some ways, it was pleasant to get to slow down. 

And so ... Christmas Eves future - what will they be like?  My goal is to not repeat the ones described above - the pinched time, the rush home, the scramble for leftover scraps of the day, shoehorning family time and rituals into a workday rather than the workday ceding to the holidays and family...  And I think that requires jumping off the hamster wheel.  Twenty years feels like enough dues paying time.  So, we'll have to check in on status next Christmas Eve....

"FIRE" Up, or Put Out the "FIRE"?

Musings on the FIRE movement by a single, former refugee, woman of some color.

I posted the below as a response to a post by One Frugal Girl regarding how much of our finances is actually within our control, and her acknowledgment of the positive factors she has been fortunate to have had in her favor (not sure whether my comment will actually appear):

Thank you for addressing this head on; I think it adds credibility to your perspective and your blog to acknowledge your advantages. I had read your post from a few back (the one on how you began blogging), and the safety net provided by your marriage struck me acutely. I am an unmarried woman and over the past year finally took steps to explore becoming a single mother. In the process of considering whether I could take time off to raise a child full time for a few years if I had been successful, I analyzed my balance sheet and cashflow more times than I care to admit, and despite earning well into six figures for close to two decades, saving steadfastly, and living well within my means, there would have been no way for me to do this, or to return to work and afford legal childcare, without depleting a portion of the savings I had earmarked for retirement or selling my home and moving to one with lower ongoing maintenance costs (a major lifestyle tradeoff that would have entailed a significantly longer commute) - whereas my peers married to equal or higher-earning spouses do this all the time without changing their lifestyles, without worries about continuing health insurance coverage, without seeming to bat an eyelash. 

Even without the factor of a minor dependent, considering a change to a lower paying position in order to gain more time and flexibility, or embarking on a new business venture - these risks are mitigated by the safety net of spousal support not only from a financial perspective, but a psychological one as well.

In fact, my frustration about trying to figure out how people manage to do all of these things without throwing themselves into a financially precarious position set me off into searching for FIRE blogs by single women - I haven't done an exhaustive search, but those seem to be far fewer than ones by marrieds/coupleds. And I bet if I tried to find ones by women of color who are first or zero generation immigrants/refugees (like myself), there would be even fewer. And I am the first to acknowledge that even given whatever obstacles I may have had, I am HIGHLY PRIVILEGED compared to most Americans.   I suppose the ability to even consider "financial independence" or "retirement" - early or not - is in and of itself a mark of privilege.

I truly had considered a post some weeks ago mulling over this topic - is FIRE even within the realm of possibility for normal people?  And if it is not, does it merit any of my time or attention?  Any of my aspirations?  Maybe some of these perspectives on FIRE will be more relatable... more exploring to do; still lots of marrieds in that article, but with some refinement, I might cobble together some guidelines that work for me, some inspiration to get me going and focused.

I first saw the FIRE acronym in the media some years back.  And when I was dating former-NF, we discussed it periodically - retirement, how to get there, how to balance working hard with easing up and not burning out, having time to follow passions.  A major commonality for us was having come out of modest families and finding ourselves in an "elite" school on the Upper Eastside at a young age.  How we processed and navigated money and that world of elite schooling with limited familial financial support (but bountiful familial support in every other way) has shaped our lives to some degree.  What we aspire to today as adults is informed by our different senses of financial security - what is "enough" so that we can have the freedom not to worry.

So some of FIRE goals are universal - the desire to be secure, for example.  But, let's face it - some of its tenets will never be attainable for a good portion of the American populace: financial independence requires generating one's own income, and most Americans don't even have emergency funds; ditto early retirement, to say nothing of just regular on-time retirement.  

And that very ability - the differences between the haves and have nots, economic inequality and wealth disparity - is at the heart of some of the trickiest political issues today, right?  Bernie and AOC versus the moderate Democratic middle, to say nothing of the vast Republican contingent, is very real.  Wealth disparity is real.  The excesses of unfettered capitalism are real.  The pandemic brought shined a light on that like nobody's business - or, like everyone's business.  The compromises we come to as a society will determine the trajectory of this country, whether it is worth continuing in and investing in.  

Sadly, the expat life has never had as much appeal as during the last four years.  That's basically what former-NF chose.  I haven't gone there.  I still have hope for here.

"A-Drift"

Drifting snows, drifting goals.

Punny post title, no?  Well, chuckleworthy to me, anyway.  Gotta find some humor in these times.

The snow came, just as forecasted.  The meteorologists were all patting themselves on the back with this one.  So there was some time to prepare in advance - the composter came in closer to the door; I pulled the sleds closer as well, but haven't had a chance to use them - needed to actually do the day job, couldn't go play hooky, though it seems like all of the rest of New York City did.

Storm day + 3.

Storm day + 1.

Storm day.

But therein lies the rub.  I didn't go out sledding, but I wasn't all that productive, either.  Out of balance everywhere.  Focus on professional tasks at hand has been elusive since the Project ended.  The current situation has outlasted its usefulness.  Project reminders come in every so often, offers of services no longer needed, and now the shelter shows I watch for fun to get me away from reality echo that reality - and they trigger the tears when I wasn't expecting them.  And maybe, maybe, the desire to put everything in the past is driving a push to steer in a different direction.

A halfhearted shot in the dark in a dufferent direction was launched, prematurely.  Feelers have been put out to friendly ears.  Unsolicited inquiries get more attention.  And on the personal front, the dating app is getting some play again, too - though that is likely shortlived; COVID times don't feel particularly conducive to dating.

So we're a little rudderless at the moment.  Come 2021, though, we'll have some direction, hopefully. 

December Bouquet

A very long year, and, surprisingly, a happily lengthy gardening year - a rare gift bestowed by 2020.

December's unexpected gift summer bouquet.

Flowers and stems cut and rescued this morning before the big snowstorm - hydrangea, geranium, rose, mint, chocolate mint, bundled together into a makeshift nosegay.  Why should the snow and winds claim my blooms?  They didn’t grow them or water them all year... And what a long year this has been; quirky that it was a long growing year too - whoever heard of flowers in December?  But, ok, if we have to take the bad, I get to harvest the good, too, right?  It’s only fair.

(Pre-bouquet shots were taken this past super-warm, 60 degree December Sunday - Jekyll to today’s frigid, 30 degree blizzardy December Wednesday.)

I suppose life itself tends to cycle in some good to balance out the sorrow.  It must.  Otherwise, we would all go and do desperate things instead of soldiering on.  (When I was 20, I had a heady debate with a boy I was crushing on about nihilism and this very concept, and came away with the logically weak, but for me necessary, belief in some sort of higher order order... discussion for another time.)

For me, in addition to this last bouquet, 2020 bestowed me job stability - in spite of a drastically changed schedule, at a firm that built a practice that can weather economic downturns.  So my finances are intact, better off proportionately, even, than in other years.  And another gift was this experiment with remote work - should serve well to open the door for more workplace flexibility.  And, finally, clarity - a swift kick in the pants to try to shape the second half of my working life more in my own image.

Just need to pull all of those together and act.

 

Light in the Darkness

Fairy lights - weapons to defeat the gloom of short near-Winter days.

Losing sunlight at 4:30 in the afternoon is a rough blow - this year more than other years.  That’s what led to the first forays into the festive flourishes - the deployment of the first string of fairy lights.  They worked; the twinkly lights helped my spirits immensely.  

So I spent a bit of time this past weekend setting out the other holiday decor items, and THAT has helped my mood immensely.  So, may I present: the little holiday vignettes - NYC apartment-sized.

Light to pierce the darkness.  Fun holiday tasks as a counterweight to the heaviness of the looming, incomplete work assignments. 

Balance to stave off the insanity that might otherwise pose a danger.  Seasonal affective disorder is real.  Grief and regret over life decisions is real too.  Not necessarily crushing ... when there exist ameliorating measures like fairy lights.

Pretend Normal

A first social gathering since the onset of these COVID times.

No urgent purposes, no missions.  Just getting together with friends for the sake of company.  Masked, outside.  A city "hike" around Roosevelt Island.

To the lighthouse ... on Roosevelt Island.

Friend "Writer/OT" proposed it; I was marginally hesitant, but then another careful friend, "Activist," was willing, which made me more willing.  Sissy was not so keen, but since I won't see the folks again until Christmas, she begrudgingly accepted.  Not that she could have done anything to stop me from going.  I jumped at a chance to resume some sense of normalcy, and to put off impending work - a rite of the long Thanksgiving weekend.  Balance.

So we went.  The three of us took the tram, which required masks, limited capacity, and had the transoms open for the short four minute trip over - not bad for precautionary measures.  We met friend "Defense Attorney" there.  And we walked, and talked.

Duplex for some lucky birds.

Friends were here before us - at some point.

There was nothing monumental about it.  Other than that it happened - the first purely social get together since March.  Eight months. 

From Tom Otterness's "Marriage of Money and Real Estate."

It was not as fulfilling as perhaps I was hoping of a reunion after so long a period apart.  Though, truth be told, I had seen two of the three during Defense Attorney's pressing office move a few weeks back - so that might have contributed to the lower sense of novelty and satisfaction.  

But it distracted from matters at hand.  And so in that sense, it was a successful excursion.  Thanksgiving was the start of that process - refocusing my attention on all I am fortunate to have.  This excursion was more fortune piled on top.  It all helps to suppress the mournfulness.  Maybe that was really it; to expect a friend gathering to completely subsume the other was really too much too ask.  Evaluated on its own merits, the outing was lovely.

Making Way for Bigger and Better, Hopefully

Clearing the underbrush to make room for more vigorous growth.

Former home of two hibiscuses protected by a kind stranger, then rescued and brought home for the Winter.  Future home of a true tree, off to the left, its burlap-wrapped rootball taller than the two sapling hibiscuses. 

Backdrop: On the way home from an appointment this morning for a medical test, I stopped in to my local post office seeking prepaid postcards for the get out the vote campaign for the Georgia runoff elections for the U.S. Senate - none.  Detoured to the next closest post office - also none.  Apparently my neighborhood has many activists who feel passionately enough about the direction they'd like this country to take that they are exhausting the local supply of cheap postcards.  (Backup plan was to print my own; Sissy offered up unused excess cardstock, and I put my printer to use, and found a U.S. embassy-utilized get out the vote graphic (so, as a taxpayer, I figure I paid for that in part), and it all worked out in time for me to join the evening Zoom postcard party.)

En route home from the second post office, I decided to check in on one of "my" tree pits.  And happened along just as a truck with workers and mature young trees were being unloaded on the block.

They were digging up the tree pit I had planted back in the Spring with the weakest of the maples, one that did not make it.  But someone else adopted the tree pit and planted flowers, protecting the little garden with a brick border.  The workers were digging up that work to put in the new tree.

Farther down was "my" pit - that had received the second smallest of the seedlings in Spring; it, too, had died.  And then I had come back earlier in the Fall to plant two hibiscuses.  It was the day I had the nasty encounter with the tree hater.  But then I came back the following day to find my hibiscuses ringed by protective brick fragments - no doubt the work of the guerrilla gardener down the block, and my faith in community greening was restored.  Next to my pit was a tree, positioned for planting.  Mixed emotions - on the one hand, my poor hibiscuses; on the other, of course I wanted the block to have a REAL tree.  So I documented them, wondering ... should I attempt to rescue the hibiscuses?  I had no tools to dig.  Could I go home and come back in time?

I decided to cross the street to check on the maple trio.  They seemed fine, undisturbed, amid their cheerful overgrown begonia tree pitmates.  Around the corner from them, though, more mature young trees with their burlapped rootballs, positioned for planting. 

I crossed York Avenue again, thinking about my hibiscuses.  It was then that I took the above photo - just as the workers were beginning to dig up the brick rings and their supervisor was walking toward the pit.  And I decided to just ask, "If you're digging those out, could I have them back?  Of course I want a real tree to be there, but I planted those when there was nothing."  With their proper equipment, the saplings came out lickety split.  I had nothing in which to carry the bare root hibiscuses, but I rescued them back, and brought them home, and put them into a planter with the catmint - to keep them, hopefully, through the Winter.  In the Spring, if they survive, I can decide what then for them.

They were just underbrush to the City, that suddenly awoke to tend its tree pits.  But they were my little darlings, tied to Mama Hen's garden or grown from seeds I gathered, nourished, cared for, transplanted - in hopes they might thrive and grow and blossom and make my neighborhood better.

So, then ...

... Sometimes we pour all of our efforts in pursuit of a cherished hope.  We put all of our eggs into one basket, figuratively and literally.   And it doesn't work out as we'd hoped or planned.  And then, we can only hope that bigger things are in store, beyond our puny dreams.

Beyond my little hibiscuses, I had dreams of nurturing different life, bigger life.  Had... and then after bringing home the rescued hibiscus darlings, got the test results, and had to start to learn to let go of those dreams.  Processing it all still...  

...I came back to this, to provide the backdrop narrative, now with a bit more distance and perspective.  It is all still a devastating blow.  But I know I will be ok.  The rescued hibiscuses have lost their leaves as our temperatures have dropped.  But their roots should be safe under all the catmint...

I can only hope that there is more in store for me - something bigger, better than my puny little dreams.

Spring in November

Spring-like tidings in mid-November.

Well, the beautiful, sunny, warm weather made it feel that way - mood-lifting, outlook-shifting ... helped in no small part by Saturday’s call of the election for the Biden Harris ticket - thank the stars!  The ticket itself - Biden with his more than four decades in elected service, and Harris with all the “firsts” she checks off - seasoned, yet new and fresh.  Hip hip hooray!

And so today, the Monday after, was a lovely 70-something degree day to be out to soak in some sunshine, activate the vitamin D, and celebrate with lunch of tofu poke with my favorite sister (putting aside for a few hours the work that always hangs over heavy - sigh).

On the river, a jet skier whizzed by the colorful trees of Roosevelt Island, as if there were a whole season full of warm and sunny days ahead, like it were mid-May rather than mid-November.

And in the news, a vaccine, with results in based on 44,000 volunteers, with a tentative effective rate of 90 percent!  We might slowly be able to resume life before too much longer.

To a sense of fresh beginnings in November, ushering in better days.  To finally exhaling, being able to breathe again - literally and figuratively. 

A Taste for Dairy and Sugar - On Instant Gratification

On empty calories and instant gratification. 

It is far more fun to tweak this blog than to do work on what should be the bookend weekend of my vacation week.  How's that for stating the obvious?

Seth Meyers told Jimmy Fallon about his son and his introduction to, and affinity for, ice cream.  There was never any doubt that he would love it; that's not the reason that parents withhold ice cream from their children.  More likely, it is to introduce them to other, perhaps less obviously tasty, foods that might offer more nutritional value and acquire a taste for those, before the easy instant gratification "food."

And so it is for me with blogging and gardening - they are my ice cream, so easy, so sweet.  Not so much return for the time spent.

But I succumbed.  

And in soaking in the Jardin, I came across this guy - a black soldier fly.  I think there were larvae in the compost pile - we first saw them when the bucket was emptied into an empty planter for temporary holding.  When the compost went back, there were wriggly dark and large maggot-like creatures at the bottom.  Ugly, scary, trying to crawl out of the planter.  But then, all grown up, and in the sun, how gorgeous - the purples and blues.  Under the "Fauna" page, I selected the title, rank, really, of "Staff Sergeant" - in honor of one I know, who fit the bill - a bit scary and unruly in youth, who grew into himself beautifully.  And hurt my heart.  But did so in an honorable way, did what had to be done when I suppose he saw "we" didn't have legs.  It's why we're still friends.

As for the instant gratification blogging, well, the end result of the most recent tweaks:

Needs more work to realize its full potential.  But it's a start.

The problem with instant gratification is, as Americans, most of us are so primed for it that we are being spoon fed critical COVID-19 information as if we are toddlers.  This ridiculous Presidential Administration can't handle the truth, and its agencies assume we Americans cannot either, have no discipline or depth of understanding to adopt the measures that will really stem this pandemic.  And the numbers bear out that that assessment is accurate for a huge swath - people won't even accept the simple request to don a mask.  So we are led to believe a vaccine might be just around the corner and when it comes, all will go back to normal.  When apparently the State Department in other parts of the world tells our international partners to plan for years - 2024, perhaps; a marathon, not a sprint.

Preparations - psychological and otherwise - for the one versus the other are quite different.  It would be nice to just know the truth, so those of us who can handle it can prepare properly.

Staff Sergeant Black Soldier Fly has gone off to a land where they are planning for the marathon, on the advice of the American embassy there.  A land far away.  Among the main reasons "we" could never have grown legs.

Election Day Colors

On the literal and metaphorical colors of Election Day.

In particular, the reds ... in the tree I passed en route to an appointment yesterday ...

...(Compare its progression from September 25th) ... 

...Tucked away and hidden in a large evergreen as I left the appointment, but cheerily chirping to draw attention ...

Can you spot the red?

... And, blended with blue in today’s apparel selection.  

I wanted a decisive blue wave yesterday; I have been distracted today at how much angry and hateful red is out there when I thought, and hoped, there would be so much more blue ... but following a tradition a friend started years ago (before the red and blue divide felt so starkly unbridgeable, back when he tended to lean more red, and I wanted to affirm our friendship - we both lean blue these days, a telling indicator of how the Republican Party has changed) - “Purple Wednesday” - on the day after Election Day, like it or not, we must remember that we are a purple land, and figure out some way to co-exist, difficult as that may seem in the moment.  Wearing purple is my tangible reminder to try to be civil, and renew my efforts to bridge the color gap.

October Gardens (2020)

October transitions in the garden - some plants fade toward dormancy or demise, others defy with a last burst of life and growth.

At the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, a new planted slope is apparently only now coming into its own, revealing its unreined autumnal splendor, after taking last Winter and the COVID seasons away from the crowds to establish itself - something new to look forward to when it's safe to visit again.

In the beds of the Esplanade by the East River, while just about every other plant is past prime, the goldenrod stands out, still blazing amber - for whatever butterflies might still pass through en route south to escape our coming cold.

And in the Jardin, the once green foliage of the blueberry bushes have gone fiery red, their last glory before going bald and dormant.

Meanwhile, the tomato plants are nurturing the last of their offspring, draining from the few remaining leaves the last of their energy in support of the ripening fruits.  A handful of late sweet treats awaiting harvesting.

But the sugar snap peas - the ones from the summer that sat in the fridge so long that they started to go bad and began to sprout - they actually grew!  And they are flowering!  And they have begat pods!  New life, even in the season of winding down.  Less vigorous, maybe, than they would be in Spring, but not bad for a Fall crop grasping at the dwindling light, shoved into the last corner of the terrace that still gets what few direct rays manage to make it from the now low-hanging sun over the top of the building.  Dreaming ahead to how well they might do come Spring if they get the benefit of lengthening days rather than shortening ones, warming soils rather than cooling planters.  They should come up before the tomatoes, so maybe they can climb the tomato cages so that the trellis now supporting them can get a trumpet vine.

The Jardin might be drawing to a close during this last week of October, but there is still just enough activity to seed hope for the Spring.