Arisen

Spring tulips emerging are a lovely counterpoint to the religious iconography of the day.

The tulips are up - vibrantly, egg yolky yellow, just the right shade for an Easter day post. This is the new life that I prefer to focus on and celebrate this day. Unfettered beauty, energy, and reassuring cycles, renewal.

The tulips are thanks to the Fund for Park Avenue's bulbs from last year's median gardens - a bit of trickle down into the community that actually works.

Last year's saved bulbs (a nice segue and opportunity to post photos that never saw the light of day with 2021's frenetic pace; so the photos also get their own resurrection with 2022's saner career rebirth)...

...were split between the Jardin on the terrace and the Mothership in Queens - so they are city and "country" siblings.

On this Easter Sunday, even as an adult, I find tulip resurrections to be a far more pleasant focus than religious ones. To each their own, and may we each leave room for everyone's ways of celebrating that bring no harm to others.

Perhaps that is a blasphemous sentiment to those who regard this as the holiest of days in their religion, and one for rejoicing, but I always found the story of the crucifixion to be upsetting and scary (I first read it as a child of 8 or 9, alone, without adult supervision or filtering, having encountered a children's picture book on a library book sale table - and even the animated illustrations weren't toned down enough for young consumption, in my opinion). Religious iconography is often rather upsetting, to say nothing of actions taken in the name of religion, and most especially without the accompanying faith beliefs to render any sort of mitigating comfort. Science and secularism for the win on this count, in my book - so, to tulips rising from what seemed like dead bulbs!!

That said, to the celebrants, best wishes for a Happy Easter, and to everyone else, Happy Spring!

City Circulatory System

When the subways don't run normally, it is as if New York City suffers a blood clot.

Taken from the Q, crossing the Manhattan Bridge heading toward Brooklyn, looking south along the East River toward the Brooklyn Bridge and the Financial District, on an early, stormy afternoon in late March.

The subway is like the lifeblood of New York City. It carries us where we need to go, allows us to do the things we need to do to keep the whole metropolis humming. It's the pulse, the vitality. 

It is the great leveler, open to everyone - billionaires and celebrities hoping for anonymity, and the straphangers aspiring to have more than a couple of nickels to their name and seeking their shot at fame and fortune.

Paraphrasing a friend's observation, to ride the subway is an act of communal trust, the essence, really of the social compact (she called it a Christian act - my take is, like me, decidedly more secular). Every type of person, from all backgrounds - ethnic, racial, religious, political, economic - coming together in this most utilitarian of pursuits, all headed in the same common direction, packed in a small space, shoulder to shoulder, with the shared interest of reaching the destination.

So when that journey is intentionally, horrifically, maliciously disrupted, attacked, it is like a stab wound that hits an artery - literally, and figuratively, spilling blood - one's fellow passengers - out from the trains. A savage breach of the common trust.

True New Yorkers, those who understand the ways of the life force, wouldn't dream of this, nor abide by it. True New Yorkers will also get back onto the subway again, because it's the most efficient way to get back to New York life.

Fragile, yet sturdy, metal beam of the Manhattan Bridge - surprising all of those rivets, constantly painted to fend off the rust. 

[Edited April 13, 2022.]

April Showers Bring ...

Before the May flowers, usually there are the cherry and magnolia and peach blossoms, then afterward their leaves; some years the fruit trees don't get the memo, and bud and leaf out at the same time instead of following the normal sequence.

Tri-color peach blossom, with its early leaf branch companions.

When the end of Winter temperatures yo-yo, freezing, then freakishly warm, before plummeting back to freezing, leaving the trees confused, so that the warmth-seeking leaves emerge on the same schedule as the chill-tolerant blossoms that typically precede, it doesn't make for the most picturesque scenarios, with the pinks and whites of the blossoms muted and muddled by the greens of the leaves. But the tree carries on, and by the end of the season it usually still manages to attract the insects to help do the important work of fruiting. The job gets done.

And so it is with life, too. Life changes happen, career changes happen. Ideally, blogs would be updated contemporaneously, recording the events for posterity in real time... But a post two months after an exit from BigLaw and more than four weeks into a shift to BigBanking still does the trick, right? A little out of order, but at the end of the day, the tardy entry still records for posterity the transition - a personally momentous decision to jump off the spinning rodent wheel, and into a slightly different, hopefully more humane, rodent obstacle contraption. Hard to tell yet if it's better or worse - different, slower, more manageable - so far.

Fingers crossed for a good outcome. And the rest of early Spring continues in its paces in the meantime. Green emerges triumphant over the bare brown of Winter, the planetary life forces surging on - only a few blossoms and leaves on a handful of tree species hunting at the blip of disruption to the usual rhythms. 

Early tulip baby.

Red Russian kale.

Pea shoot, emerging near cut remains of last year's stalk.

Hydrangea leaves emerging.

Apple tree seedling.

Hosta (?) shoots emerging.

Clematis, adopted and planted last Autumn. 

Blueberry leaf starts.

Chrysanthemum leaves.

[Edited April 12, 2022.]

Faux-liday Food

National Spaghetti Day and trying to keep food interesting in trying times.

Yesterday was National Spaghetti Day - a marketing gimmick, surely. But hey, if it helps me to decide what to eat, so that I actually eat (and avoid the paralysis of indecision, and the resort to snacks), I will take it… this stupid pandemic, combined with work from home that has basically morphed into all work all the time, and more home cooking than ever (and utter exhaustion with my own culinary repertoire), has taken a toll on my eating habits. Others ate more. I ate less; I tend toward that direction when stressed. I am back down to the weight I was two decades ago, 15 pounds less than 2.25 years ago, even with far, far less exercise. So maybe it’s not all bad.

Tonight’s meal had a hefty assist from Mommy sauce from the freezer - the sauce I grew up eating that someone pointed out has little resemblance to Italian spaghetti sauce. Um, yeah; we’re Vietnamese. Mama Hen has always added carrots and peas - probably in an effort to get veggies into us. But that’s my comfort zone pasta sauce.

The nod to adulthood is the fresh basil leaf adornment. That’s right - fresh basil in January, from the cutting Mama Hen put in water to root, that I decided to transfer to the hydroponic tier of the beta fish tank from some Christmases ago (the fish died soon after). My hope was that the basil would grow and flourish through Winter and I would have a steady supply of basil. The reality is I don’t think there is enough light in my north facing window, though it has popped some new leaves. C’est la vie. At least maybe I’ll get a head start on basil come Spring.

Speaking of out of season foods, a few weeks ago, in December, there was the pan roasted tomato sauce from the last of the tomatoes, including a handful harvested in December the day before the first freezing night. Tomatoes - in December! - to go with the tornadoes, in December, alas. Paired with whole wheat pasta and snack mozzarella balls - pretty tasty, even if not so visually appealing.

So, a faux-liday, with foods that would seem faux for the season, but are very much real.

[Edited January 6, 2022.]

First Non-Manic Monday

The dreaded, anticipated, manic Monday may be more monstrous mental manifestation than the music to be faced.

When I drew open the curtains this morning, this greeted me from the windowsill - the geranium I beheaded right before the first freezing nights a few weeks back, and plunked into water in hopes of propagating it for color over Winter and maybe getting a head start on planting come Spring if it survives. I have been checking for roots - none yet. But the upper leaves stayed green and vibrant, and this cluster of buds hadn’t withered. But only with today’s flowers can I dare hope it’s taking in water and still actually alive. And I didn’t even discover these lovely little blooms until after noon - because I was cocooning in bed until then (taking advantage of an “off” day of work for me - one of the few “off” days on my part-time schedule I have actually felt free to be off in the almost two years since I switched to this schedule), on this whiplash-inducing frigid January Monday that followed on the heels of a pair of 50+ degree days for the start of 2022.

The reduced schedule just hasn’t really worked out that way. The last two months leading into year-end have been rough work-wise. (The last two years have been rough work-wise, and otherwise.)

[No More to come.]

[Edited January 4, 2022; then to finality August 26, 2023.]

The Work of Elves

Small acts of community love, working behind the scenes.

In the spirit of the upcoming holiday, planting bulbs, partaking of holiday lights, and taking in a comedy show.

[Edited January 4, 2023 with addition of link.]

Free Time

Research says it's possible to have too much free time ... Um, what?!

Sunset rainbow viewed from the terrace, captured on a workday, during a break I gave myself from the grind - some stolen "free" time.

Others fantasize about money; those of us fortunate enough to have our material needs met fantasize about time.  I fantasize about all of the ideas that could break free from my brain and come to fruition - if only I had time to pursue and execute them; I fantasize about early retirement.  And those flights into lala land have become more frequent with these last couple of crazy years, when work has been on overdrive.  For the time deprived, it is hard to fathom that there could ever be too much free time.

But a study indicates otherwise - that over five hours a day mitigates the sense of well-being, while two hours a day is the floor for maintaining that sense of well-being.  This whole blog is geared toward attempting to hit that sweet spot - still elusive. 

The thing is, the study results seem to be premised upon "free time" being quite literally unoccupied time - such that the benefits can be regained by picking up a hobby, spending time with people, finding purposeful activities.  Well, no kidding, right?  Isn't that the whole purpose?  Who is left with nothing to do?  (Prisoners?  Torture victims?)  One would think anyone with a brain and some agency would find SOME way to occupy the "free" time.

On the other hand, it did occur to me that my assumption that "free" time would somehow be productively occupied is probably very much symptomatic of capitalist inculcation, if one wants to critique our systems that way.  I see a point in it - human beings shouldn't always be forced to be productive.  But, yes, my ableist default mode is to assume that intelligent people will have passions and curiosities and pursuits.  "Free" is not the absence of something to do, just the ability to control the selection of the cause to which to focus one's energy.

That's the very pursuit of happiness, isn't it?