Fave, Fave, Fave (A Tardy Post)

Kayaking, art viewing, gardening - these are a few of my favorite things.

[Edited: This very short and underdeveloped draft was begun around September 2019, although the outing described seems to have been in August preceding that. The above tagline was written more or less contemporaneously with publication of this post, long after the title (owning up to the fact that I was already late back then, so what's the harm of tacking on four more years?); knowing myself, the number of "fave"s was intentional, so I spent a bit of time guessing at which ones I intended and experienced during that outing in order to write the tagline. With year-end approaching, the rollout of never-published drafts for the publication queue continues, and this one works as a nice benchmark to compare the state of affairs then, and now, four years later. Comments and insights in hindsight are italicized. PLUS, the planned format of this post works so well with this publication date: 12-31-23, also known as 1-2-3-1-2-3!]

Fave #1: Kayaking - in the city!  And it was free!  And a community educational event to boot.  And not so overly crowded that it was more a pain than it was worth - it was fun, actually, and well worth the trip out that day.

That day being several Saturdays ago, on a warm, [presumably August, height of summer day. The Long Island City Community Boathouse had a walk-up kayaking event, which I had convinced the family to check out with me, in part to scope out that little "beach" as a launch spot. The sibs and I had our turns to be out in their kayaks in the little cove in 30ish minute sessions.

Back then, I was yearning to get back on the water more regularly, wanting the calming feeling of gentle rocking and bobbing, and being away from it all on the water, the very act a victory in carving time for myself and getting closer to the balance I was seeking. That outing set off much rumination and daydreaming about how to get back to our regular family boating routine of the mid-20teens, but with the lure of being so much closer, though still with the challenge of unloading and reloading, and the added difficulty of no parking nearby (an issue I would have been newly acutely aware of, having just gotten off my building's garage wait-list and acquired a new car over which I was protective).

The wheels in my head were turning about various options - whether joining the LICCB could be a way to leave the kayaks; but then what about Papa Rooster's canoe? Where was the clubhouse; it wasn't visible from the cove... And Long Island City, despite being viewing distance from my beloved neighborhood park, was still somewhat far from the Mothership. Still in contention at that time was the purchase of a little cottage somewhere in the country on a body of water - again, to have a place to leave the watercraft in order to get out onto the water quickly and with less labor. What to do, what to do... How to get to that feeling of being waterborne without locking myself into a massive financial and time obligation that would require me to keep running on the hamster wheel, that would ultimately put that balance further out of reach? 

This was the summer after SSSF (formerly known as NF), the ending of which brought into focus my need to plow ahead on my own with The Project before more time was lost, putting me on the path to the following month's prerequisite major medical procedure and subsequent launch of The Project. That, of course, led to its separate but related cycle of contemplating the massive financial/time obligation of a successful outcome, that could have chained me to the hamster wheel, with ever diminishing time for devoting to any successful outcome.

There was a LOT in play that summer.

Fave #2: Art in the city! It turned out that Hallet's Cove, the location of the kayaking event, was only a block or so from the Socrates Sculpture Park, which I had read about and had on my list of places to explore, but which none of us had visited (well, truthfully, art like this just isn't on the radar of the parentals or bro, and unfamiliar venues for it, and exploration, don't always make Sissy's list either). So of course I had to stop in, and dragged the fam. And it was charming, like a small urban Storm King. And the fam ended up enjoying it (as they often do once I've dragged them somewhere new).

Fave #3: Gardening in the city! The grounds of the park were planted...

... A stone patio area was surrounded by trumpet vine, one of my heart's desire plants. (I purchased one some years back to plant up a trellis, but the Jardin just doesn't receive enough sunlight, so I returned it).

... And there was Queen Anne's lace that framed the view back toward home in the loveliest of ways.

So the excursion checked off so many boxes for me.

Fast-forward to 2023:

Fave #1 in comparison: Kayaking... Unbeknownst to me at the time of beginning to draft the paragraph for that first favorite, there was a spot right near the Mothership for kayaking - virtually right under our noses. By August of this year, we had already been out there at least twice that I documented on Instagram, and then there was the infamously funny low tide outing. It has been wonderful, though does sometimes feel like an obligation (Sissy has expressed this) to optimize the investment in the fee - but how much less than a whole other house! Assembling Papa Rooster's canoe with all of its accoutrements is a process that I need to approach more patiently, or figure out a way to streamline. He enjoys it so, though. He already asks about the opening of the new season next April. So we are currently doing much better on this score.

Fave #2 in comparison: Art ... I feel like I have been able to take in more exhibits and shows and cultural offerings than I was able to do four years ago, based on a quick scan of this year's Instagram - which doesn't even capture everything (versus 2019's documented six). The new job has yielded more time and mental space to partake, and corporate memberships just make these experiences more accessible. And friends I have gotten to know better in the time since who are frequent consumers of Broadway and music have expanded my possible companions for these diversions. Assessment: Doing better on the cultural front now than then.

Fave #3 in comparison: Gardening ... Here I feel I have lagged in comparison. The Jardin feels unkempt and out of control, semi-feral. There are unfinished projects and deferred maintenance. I sleep more and later, so the early morning hours are no longer gardening hours, happy hours. In part, it is all the running off on weekends for kayaking, all the making time for cultural offerings, and for volunteer activities. All of that is good. But it is also more social media - this blog and Instagram, for one. And my fitness and cooking and financial monitoring have also suffered. So some tweaking is definitely needed.

Overall, some priorities are definitely more on track and in alignment with my long term intentions from four years ago. Some are a bit off. This post has been a useful exercise in assessing what requires some rejiggering. I and my life are a work in progress.]

Buddy's Warm Under the Collar, and Confused

Early budding during this too-warm Winter.

I took my not-quite-daily constitutional around the park late this afternoon and halted in my tracks to see ... forsythia blooms - in December!!! Way, way too early. They haven't even had a proper cold rest to store up enough energy; maybe that's why the flowers are a pale yellow and not the gold that they usually are in Spring. Global warming is so very real.

All the more reason to bring your once-live tree, if you got one, to be chipped for Mulchfest (where it can eventually help other trees and plants in the city) rather than relegate it to a landfill. Do it, folks! And remember to strip it of ornaments, lights, tinsel.

It was still so warm out, and, happily, the days are lengthening ever so gradually enough that when I got home I was able to do some composting and check on the Jardin. And lo and behold, my hydrangea is budding, too - it thinks it's Spring already. Which means as soon as we hit a freeze, those buds will die, and there will be yet another year without hydrangeas. And this particular hydrangea planter is on a part of the terrace that's in full shade. I don't know how to better mimick Winter.

I am not sure what's going on with the tricolor peach (that I thought had died two Winters ago, but seems to have sprouted suckers this past year), but some of the branches of the suckers seem decidedly green. I can't recall whether they haven't gone dormant and brown yet, or if they did and are now showing signs of coming back.

I wonder whether in time we'll all need to move toward plant varieties meant for much warmer climates.

Our poor, confused plants and planet. We need to do much better, much faster, with more means, greater creativity.

Under Your Spell, Untermyer

Introductory visit to Untermyer Park and Gardens.

Temple of the Sky.

As Friday unfolded warmer and less rainy than had been forecasted, the old folks called, itching for an excursion in the early afternoon. Sissy and I both had housekeeping planned, but it's hard to deny my sweet parents their field trips - these are the times we will remember one day; doing laundry or dishes, not so much.

Mama Hen and Papa Rooster had proposed just hitting Jones Beach, an old standby. But I like to try to introduce them (and myself) to new spots - change it up and stretch a little. We've reversed roles in some ways almost completely, with Sissy and I finding enrichment activities for them and fun places to take them visit to keep them stimulated. I suppose this is what has happened through the ages with aging parents. I now have a new perspective on "Benjamin Button." We want to keep them active while they are able. (We have been getting updates on my 99-year-old great-aunt in Nice, who no longer has that mobility.) And, after all, having the freedom to do precisely this - to be present and spend more quality time with the parental units - was why I left BigLaw last year.

So I checked my "Places to Explore" Insta folder (yay for social media! - sometimes), assessed the weather conditions, the accessibility for Mama Hen's jiggity knee, potential interest for them both, the time of day, distance, and the winner was [drumroll, please] ... Untermyer in Yonkers!

Of course, no one had eaten lunch, so while I drove (Papa Rooster has ceded more of the driving these days; all the better, probably, between his so-so night vision and occasional confusion), Sissy hunted for dining options en route. We stopped into the Applebee's closest to the park. It was a hit, and actually a pretty good bargain - better than any of us remembered, even had a vegetarian burger option me, and, as far as Papa Rooster was concerned, could have been the excursion in and of itself. In some regards, he is so easily satisfied; at 86, his wants have become simple.

By the time we were done dining, though, with these very short early Winter days, we lost light quickly. Happily, the park is having its Illumination evenings. The walled part of the garden was lovely at late dusk going into early evening. 

O' Christmas tree...

Persian Pool (view from the Temple of the Sky).

The grounds are the opposite of "simple." The life of the long late Mr. Untermyer, an attorney who became very wealthy, overlapped Papa Rooster's by three years; my guess is that is close to the extent to which their lives overlapped.

Sphinxes atop columns, looking toward the Amphitheater (from the visitor's perspective; the sphinxes face away from it).

View from the Amphitheater.

Toward the western horizon.

The Vista through the locked gate.

Peering past the gate at the Vista Overlook.

Good guard doggie at the loggia housing the gate that leads to the Vista Overlook.

Back toward the Temple of the Sky.

Persian Pool behind the Temple of the Sky.

Mosaic on the floor of the Temple of the Sky.

Tower in corner of the walled garden.

Close-up of wall tower.

The form of this tree was quite beautiful in person; the photograph does not capture the shape and grace of the trunk and main branches well.

The small area that we visited whetted our appetite to revisit during the day when we can see the full grounds (when it's warmer and the plants awake from their Winter dormancy) and gaze across the Hudson to New Jersey. We'll be back!

Neighbor, Mentor, No More

Marking the passing of a former colleague and champion.

Musician in passageway leading north to the Angel of the Waters at Bethesda Fountain, erected to commemorate the completion of the Croton Aqueduct. Its sculptor, Emma Stebbins, "linked the new, pure city water flowing from the fountain to the healing powers of the biblical pool, and quoted John 5:2-4 at the statue's dedication, saying 'Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called... Bethesda... whoever then first after the troubling of the waters stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.' "

Walking north into Central Park yesterday, there were familiar sights...

Wollman Rink.

... and then ones I had either never seen before or did not remember, ...

The Dairy.

Chess and Checkers House.

...as it is not often that I enter at the southern end.

I had been curious to search for the pet memorial tree when I first heard of it, but was prompted actually to go after I thought I recognized in the news clip a friend of a friend, who confirmed it was him, and urged me to look for the tree. But I was busy pre-Christmas, and said vaguely I would postpone the excursion for when I had more time, possibly during my staycation. And so yesterday, the stars aligned; the dentist was near the park, and I knew the weather would become inclement.

The music was "It's Now or Never." We only have the now.

This window of time that is all my own to spend as I wish is a luxury that I fully appreciate. Yorkville is not so far from Central Park, but it is no longer "my" park the way it was when I lived farther west, in one of the buildings in this vintage photo....

...Back then, I went running at the Reservoir regularly. Sissy and I moved there for easy access to the subway so we could commute to work; for me, that was my first BigLaw job as an attorney.

It was during my first on-site interviews for that position that I met the man who shaped my private practice career; I followed him through three firms - we'll call him The Engine (to my caboose). He was the highest ranking attorney I spoke with that day, so I have no doubt he was key to my getting hired. Then, at a time when I was starting to struggle with the partners there (in part as he assigned me more and more work for his clients, leaving me stretched to complete their assignments), he decided to leave and asked me to join him at a smaller firm, and I did. He negotiated for me and the other associates who also followed him to be paid the same as we would have been paid had we stayed in BigLaw. When he left that second firm to go back to BigLaw, again I followed. They were all mutually beneficial moves, but he chose and championed me.

He wrote my reference letter when I bought my apartment and walked me through the co-op buying process, how to check the outlets on the walkthrough, how to do due diligence. When we went to colleagues' weddings, we were dance partners and effectively each other's platonic dates (I consistently had no +1; his partner was long distance and unwilling to attend others' weddings in those years before Windsor). When I had my first significant surgery, he offered to donate his blood to me (although I think he would have been precluded); it was more than Lil' Bro was initially willing to offer.

Snowdrops, appearing early.

But he was also one of my bosses, and that made things complicated - for me, anyway. I was never able to shake that he was an authority figure, my superior, never comfortable that we could be true friends. It seemed that was less of a struggle for my other colleagues - by and large white. Even colleagues junior to me had an easier relationship with him, more parity. I have wondered whether that was a cultural block that I needed to own. In any event, he could be difficult to work for, and was often a source of my stress and strain during my BigLaw years. He commented on at least one review that I was not responsive to emails when away at the office; he would send emails in the middle of the night. He had cancer during my last few years in BigLaw, and, through no fault of his, I had to carry the mantle for the clients I had covered all those years, but coordinate with other partners on the work, which left me in awkward situations when he tried to remain involved in spite of management directives to step back and heal, and that added as well to my ultimate decision to leave. Though I waited, dutiful soldier, until a period he was relatively well and back (remotely) full time. So, yes, we had a complicated relationship.

Bulbs emerging too soon.

I think we could have been true friends if I had left sooner - perhaps a decade earlier, before the final firm, when it was already clear to me I was experiencing burnout and did not want to be a BigLaw partner. Not leaving sooner is entirely on me. We always got on well in social situations. I was always very comfortable with his partner, both of us commiserating over The Engine's being constantly chained to his Blackberry or phone through the decades, at the beck and call of his clients - to our respective detriment.

Hollow tree; so decayed that it was possible to see skylight on the other side through a small hole.

The Engine died recently, succumbing to the cancer, without completing his sixth decade. I have struggled to feel truly bereft. I am so sad for his partner; I don't at all like to think that The Engine was in pain at the end. But I had communicated with him less and less, even when we were still colleagues, and often prepared to take a defensive stance when we did toward the end of my BigLaw tenure. I feel some guilt for that, considering all he did for me. But I am also leaving myself space to work through my associating his role with much of what made me unhappy in BigLaw. Certainly there were other partners who reinforced the conditions that became unbearable for me. But I was a caboose, and he was always The Engine.

HIS park was always Central Park for the entire time I knew him; he lived near or across from it and walked there regularly, even toward the end. He was active in his neighborhood association, and was delighted when he saw my photo in a newsletter for participating in a tree trimming event organized by them. The Central Park Conservancy and that neighborhood association are designated recipients of gifts in his memory; he championed them, as he did me (after all, they do much of the work that contributes to his home value).

Pigeon patron of Fifth Avenue.

But I, for one, knew early on that I did not want to do what it would take to live across the street from Central Park; I did not want the lifestyle he had chosen, the stresses he had taken on. He showed me what grasping that brass ring required. And, in the end, there was not time for him to spend with his partner, except in sickness. It wasn't worth it for me. Even had he lived to see a proper retirement, that was not the journey I wanted.

Evergreen, lit for the holidays.

Park Avenue median, maintained at the north end by Carnegie Hill Neighborhood Association.

I thought of him as I walked home yesterday, through his park. And as I passed the Christmas trees on Park Avenue, the ceremonial lighting of which he used to attend annually with friends, inviting them for hot chocolate beforehand at his apartment. And as I went by other spots in the neighborhood.

Small wall hanging on the wall of a school across the street from the funeral home that handled The Engine's arrangements, and that will host his memorial.

He taught me much by what he did, but perhaps even moreso by what he didn't do. He was instrumental in many of my major life decisions, and set me up for the life I have. And I am so grateful for that.