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.

Blustery

Snow days aren't what they used to be.

[Edited: This was drafted February 4, 2021, and as we march toward year-end, I am continuing with clearing the decks of never-published drafts and turning them into content for the publication queue. This is fitting for today, when we have mist and rain, but not yet snow. Someone mentioned that it had been over 600 days since New York City had snow; internet research says last measurable snowfall was early March 2022, and February 2022 was the last time we had at least an inch, so "blustery" is apt - right now, Winter is lots of bark and no bite, though windy; that we are not getting snow days like we used to have is also apt, and self explanatory. Contemporaneous comments and substantive clarifying edits are italicized.]

We got some legit winter snow [in February 2021], a solid wallop.  

And we all [had known] it was coming; the forecasters have been pretty on target of late.  Well, the ones I watch on News4NY, anyway - might be their proprietary radar.

I had hoped to go sledding.  But I wasn't disciplined enough to get my work done over the weekend.  So I had to work, and hard.  Even though the sleds were [temptingly, distractingly] right there by the door.

And no snow day for city school kids either.  The school buildings were closed, but now that we are [in 2023, mostly past] COVID mode and everyone has figured out that remote learning is possible, that's what the kids had to do.  No off days for snow fun, poor things.

When it's all gone, though, and [with] this awful virus [largely] under control [for most of us], I'd like to rededicate myself to making the most of the terrace and the Jardin - take some inspiration from these folks.

[Now, almost three years later, the work situation is better - not so many grueling hours, productivity no longer measured in 6-minute increments. But the hours to dedicate to revamping the Jardin remain elusive. Hosting guests and making full use of my rare New York City "amenity"  remains a goal to be achieved. With the constant technological connectivity, serendipitous interludes of unscheduled time - for play (in the snow or otherwise), for socializing - feel fewer and further between. The internet enabled distractions are constant and have a tendency to gobble time, and a seemingly insatiable appetite. But finding time, making time, for other pursuits, and real life people, is just a matter of setting priorities, as has always been the case.

This post-Christmas staycation week is about carving time for back burner tasks, prioritizing maintenance that is too easily ignored: housekeeping, health appointments. Maybe, though,  there will still be some openings for happy surprises...

Not exactly a surprise, but having heard about the Central Park pet memorial tree, which has a "secret" location somewhere in the Ramble so that passersby can just happen upon it, I headed toward home after my dental appointment today via Central Park in search... and found it! 

So sweet. And a New-Yorkers-bestowing-kindness-on-other-New-Yorkers exemplar if there ever was one. We are, at heart, a warm and fuzzy bunch - albeit often secretly so. (Lots of bark, not as much bite as one might assume... unless it's really called for, then watch out. See what happened there? Wink, wink.)

Taking the longer path yielded other nice moments that I will share in another post.]

[A Past] Shot In the Dark

Aiming for aspirational positions, aspirational states of being.

[Edited: This post was drafted on November 30, 2020, over three years before today's publication date. I was in a different state back then - mourning about The Project, deeply unhappy at work and so overworked, almost desperate in wanting a change, needing a change. I don't remember why I didn't publish it; perhaps it was too personal and I was too raw. Today, in post-Christmas 2023 vacation mode, I am clearing the decks and queueing up content. There are still unfulfilled aspirations that I wrote of then, and lessons to be gleaned on reflection, and so worth a revisit as we gear up for 2024. And the sharing of an opportunity at the heart of this post is in the spirit of Boxing Day, being celebrated today. Contemporaneous commentary/substantive edits required for clarity appear in italics.]

Lobbing long shots - not quite on a whim, but from so very far away that they might as well be guided by mere whims, for they are surely not grounded in reality.  At least, not my current reality...

The idea of a position in the Biden-Harris administration came about from a conversation with an old friend, my free spirited wandering friend who is for now in [Asia - adding a bit more ambiguity here; she has since relocated Stateside].  The purpose of the call was really her reaching out to check in on me on the end of The Project.  But in the course of our call, she mentioned being recruited loosely by her friend, a political creature who soon will be the Chief of Staff of the [then] incoming First Lady.  The talk turned to career changes - hers.  But afterward, I looked up the site and thought, "Why the heck not?"  So I set up a follow up call to suss her out on process.  And I received an access/referral code passed on by her friend, the political creature, that, as it turns out, did not match any field for insertion [- no box to check -] on the application as far as I could discern, so I had no occasion to use it after all.

During the course of applying, the more research I did, the more self reflection and assessment I performed, the clearer it became that positions, even those of a mere cog, in a Presidential administration are, for me, aspirational at best, given how out of my league they are, and how underqualified I am - professionally, politically, all around.  Grasping at straws would be an accurate description of what I was doing.  Flailing a bit, even.

But I no longer feel tethered.  Without the need to stay for The Project, there is nothing left for me where I am [in BigLaw].  So, why the heck not?

Similarly, nothing left for me with former NF.  So, since he relocated to [Asia during the Spring], I introduced him to my free spirited friend, knowing full well they might hit it off.  They are alike in so many ways [- world wanderers and professional do-gooders].  And she has a little boy; it would be so nice for him to have a good, steady male influence[, and NF is such a loving uncle and has always wanted kids].  In theory it all sounds lovely.  Facilitating that relationship [earlier in the year], in that moment, was my act of care - for NF, for my friend, for her son - an expression of the selfless person I wish I were more often, an embodiment of goodness and generosity that are the pinnacle of what I am capable of when at my very best.  But, frankly, one that does not come naturally to me.  I fight my baser instincts all the time.  My ambivalence [then] in the aftermath demonstrates the true me, my true feelings catching up to the actions - a discomfort, tinge of jealousy, and hurt that belie the pettiness and immaturity that I had hoped to surmount.  They are not dating yet, but do have a friendship separate and apart from me.  They sent me a [joint] selfie from the Thanksgiving dinner that she hosted partly for him - an innocuous photo, yet she [is standing behind his seated frame and her arm] is draped over him in a familiar manner that I envy.  I never managed a photo together [with NF], never even got a photo OF him; as if he and I never were.  That Thanksgiving photo of them, [her] mention[ing] that he was having movie nights with her son - all that I hoped for them and engineered - yet, giving rise to pangs of... what?  envy?  regret?  I should be better than that; I know I should be better than that.  So that introduction I made connecting the two of them - it was another lob in the dark, a blind aim for that elusive best incarnation of myself.  Yet that lob made so vividly clear to me how great my shortcomings are. 

And maybe, perhaps, that's why The Project didn't come to fruition.  I wasn't mature enough.  Even had all gone perfectly, I am not sure I could have managed it.  I saw a post recently that posited that God gifts to us all that we receive, and protects us from all that we were not gifted.  Maybe that's true.

[That professional shot in the dark was a good catalyzer for me to begin the process of extricating myself. I arrived at a happier professional place, where hopefully I am better positioned to share of my good fortune. I aim to be a more generous and giving person, to be authentic and give fully and without reservation when I do, to come closer to the best incarnation of myself.]

Creative Christmas Coziness

Streamlining Christmas to meet us where we are.

It was a low-on-spoons Christmas. No one could quite muster up the energy for a full tree set-up. So, instead, I designed what hopefully passed for a cozy backdrop with Lil' Bro's tabletop tree and some holiday throw blankets (to hide a multitude of sins), and thank goodness for easily accessible Yule Log options on television and YouTube.

Even low on spoons, there were enough for leisurely experimental cooking. I used almond flour for the first time (Sissy brought some with a "best by" date of 2021 in hopes we'd make something with it somehow), and leftover Thanksgiving cranberries, for brunch pancakes to fuel us through last minute gift wrapping (mine made easier by reusing the holiday fabric remnants from Christmases past - switching from wrapping paper to fabric still stands as one of my best holiday decisions ever!).

And we did it, pulled off a lower stress, less demanding celebration that still had the hallmarks of Christmas. So that's another one in the books.

Do We Know It's Christmas Time At All?

Procrastinating on Christmas Eve, with a nod and a wink to BandAid.

Christmas Eve late afternoon at Roosevelt Field Mall.

The tradition at the Mothership is not to place presents under the tree until Christmas morning. I have never remembered a time when wrapping happened earlier than Christmas Eve night.

Cornish game hens, red rice, salad, mushroom lobster soup.

Perhaps it was a function of celebrating Réveillon in the French colonial tradition. Apparently we are to stay awake through midnight into the early morning of Christmas. But the result - eating late into the evening, barely awake, no time to digest - just feels absurd for a modern American lifestyle, and at odds with the Santa tradition of getting to bed early and staying on the good list to get the presents.

Maybe it came about because we never believed in Santa - at least, I don't think I ever believed; I was just too wise to the world, and I was probably too young to be entrusted or recruited into keeping the knowledge a secret and preserving the magical fantasy for Sissy or Lil' Bro if either of them ever believed. I mean, Papa Rooster tells the story of pushing one of us in a stroller and someone pointing out the colorful cover of a book of food stamps on the ground and saying, "Look, money!" The cover was abandoned and empty. But we were wisened to the world and knew that meant food. Apparently it motivated him to work harder and get our family up and out of that struggling status. Anyway, I do have vague memories around when I was in nursery school, in the city we lived in prior to moving to New York City, of going to a Salvation Army "store" and picking out a gift, and that was the one I got for Christmas. So we knew where gifts came from early on.

My full plate.

So there's never been any hiding that the Christmas production requires the work and efforts of the whole family. And it's rare that Christmas Eve wasn't a work or school day like any other; it's not as if there was proper leisure time to put everything together, let alone go shopping. So is it any wonder we got into the habit of putting it off?

That said, without the "magic" of Santa needing to be preserved for little children in our immediate family, and absent any of the Christian religious imperative to observe the perceived birth anniversary of any savior child, as we've moved well into the stage of geriatric and middle aged, mostly secular observance, we have of late evolved to debating about how much, and whether, to even bother with the tree. Even the artificial one has gotten to be too much effort, particularly when the tree has become somewhat tired-looking from too many rounds of floofing for display, followed by constriction for storage; those wired branches can only bend and unbend so many times. The poor thing has started to drop its own plastic needles.

And gift exchanges. We've gotten real, and practical. At one point there were lists that gifters could choose to fulfill. We have all done the cash and gift cards. This year, Mama Hen requested we purchase our own, and we will be reimbursed. I actually seriously contemplated getting myself a replacement toilet seat for this purpose; I think I'll get myself a Marie Viljoen foraging walk instead - it is a bit of a luxury and would be a nice treat. Today, our foray into the mall came about because Sissy had waited till today for shopping (unlike her - usually she is an online shopping fiend and orders well in advance, copious numbers of small and large items), and took Lil' Bro in to select and try on his gifts. I made the most of Cyber Monday this year, selecting the same useful, practical, nice to have but not absolutely necessary item for everyone. I would just as soon dispense with the gift exchange altogether and just gather for food and the company of family.

Anyway, we may have outdone ourselves with the procrastination this year. There is no tree (although I did drag the box out of the basement as a first step, inspired by the 2 minute rule; it took 4 for the drag, but still pretty good and in the spirit of the rule). There are no stockings up. Mama Hen waited so long that there is not even a poinsettia for purchase anywhere.

Maybe, perhaps, it is generational trauma playing itself out ... Decades of war and upheaval, forced abandonment of material possessions, impoverished and spartan beginnings, followed by a reactionary gathering of too many things into a cluttered space to make up for the lean times, a learned comfort with chaos, then self-inflicted and imposed artificial mayhem via procrastination only to exert control over it all to feel our own power, and arriving back to the stripped down truth and comfort that we only need family/ourselves to feel safe. A difficult cycle to break.

Next year we may retire the current tree for a simpler pop-up version.

Better, Incrementally

Reflecting on one "Great Resignation" - My Own

Rum cake, produced by a Black woman owned and operated Upstate business that had set up by the firm cafeteria earlier in December. Shared tonight at the Mothership.

Yesterday was the last day at work this first full calendar year with my BigFin employer, as next week I will be off for Christmas and am taking vacation days until the new year. So it seems a good time to take a step back and assess.

Generally, I feel this job is so much better for my well-being. Though on a daily basis, I wonder where the time goes, still, and am incredulous that maybe I was better able to keep my life in order while at BigLaw?!!

Better: That I can schedule vacation days at year end without coordinating with all of my colleagues and feeling guilted (living locally and being childless and not Christian or Jewish) into being on duty and covering work assignments during the time between Christmas and New Year when everyone else is off. The lack of anxiety about being responsible for implementing year-end estate planning. That vacation days away are by and large respected. Summer wellness days. Perhaps they are only superficial, but the employer campaigns around promoting good eating, women and minority and disabled owned and operated small businesses, supporting charitable monetary contributions and for community volunteerism through matching funds. That my supervisors are not micromanagers, though I've come to the realization that maybe I need a little more of that for full productivity; so far, however, my ok productivity seems to be good enough (knock on wood). That the saner pace and respect for my time, respect for ME, has allowed me to spend more quality time and be actually PRESENT with the people I care about, and also to volunteer and participate in mentoring programs - activities I also care about. That was the goal, the whole point of changing jobs.

And yet: My home remains a mess; so much so that I have yet to host. The Jardin is as feral as it's been in a while. I cook less than I did and snack for dinner more regularly than I care to admit. I regularly fall asleep on the couch trying to multitask and watch the late evening news, awaken in the middle of the night, and then drag myself into bed. My exercise routine feels rather cursory and irregular. There are days when I cannot manage to get out of bed before afternoon, as if I were still burnt out - maybe there's lingering PTSD from BigLaw? These are all regular life maintenance routines that I want to be more diligent about and handle better.

Suspected impediments: Too much time spent perusing social media. Lack of appropriate media devices in the kitchen. Cluttered abode cluttering my mind.

Goals: Tackle those, and see if those areas of my daily life that are in disarray can't be straightened out so that the true promise of this job, and of my home life, can be unlocked. Some of that starts next week during my staycation. Wish me luck!