Everyone has their inner clock to mark the passing of time. It may be the beginning of a new calendar year, the September back to school rush or a birthday. Mine is rooted, literally, outside the bedroom window. It is around the third week of March when the bare limbs of the magnolia tree start to wink little slivers of cotton candy pink from the heavy buds that have carried the weight of winter snow and frost. Someone, who was my introduction to gardening and the strength of perennials, once commented when I was talking about what I would do differently for the next growing season. "It's in your soul now," she said. "People who really love their gardens in their souls are always looking ahead at ways to improve or plan differently." March is the month of seed and garden catalogues, trays and garden magazines and it feels like a new beginning every year to me.
When we moved into our house on an unseasonably warm day in November ten years ago a friend of mine stopped by with her three small children. One of her boys had the classic Elmer Fudd 'r' speech pattern and pointed up at the magnolia which had dropped most of its leaves by then. He said "I have one of those 'twees.' They are 'pwetty twees' but they are 'vewy, vewy' messy!" He sure knew what he was talking about. I love the magnolia but each season aside from winter has a different clean up assignment. There are enormous leaves that drop, candle shaped parts of the flower pod that bounce off the car and eventually all the delicate pink pedals will come down, leaving the tree bare once more, before the leaves fill in the blanks with new green leaves.
For about two weeks the magnolia tree will start its journey from its winter rest with what seem like tiny pink light bulbs that get a bit brighter every day. The buds are all out of their protective cocoons now and the timing of warm weather arriving in the next few days will be the perfect combination for the perfume of the magnolia's flowers to fill the yard. The magnolia flowers mingle with the intoxicating scent of the hyacinths that sprout at the tree's roots along with daffodils and later the tulips and I welcome the display every spring. The enormous spray of pink flowers against a cerulean sky is a sight so lovely the garbage truck lingered at the end of the drive on one collection morning last year. "Wow. That's a great tree," one of the men yelled to me last year as I worked on my flower boxes.
When the tree drops its leaves in the fall it feels like the awning that we ate outdoor candlelit meals under has been retracted for the season revealing the bird nests that were hidden among the tallest branches. That is the time we retreat indoors and on those chilly days when it feels like spring will never arrive. The first bit of pink in the buds of the magnolia tree says it is indeed on the way.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
march madness
There is something so restorative about this time of year. The first garden growth of the season emerge from the crown of plants and the delicate snowdrops dangling buds on arching stems signal the first signs of spring. It is the time of year to see signs of life start to burst forth in the buds of flowering trees and tiny clusters of leaves that appear on rose bushes that looked winter weary just a short time ago. The resilience of perennials never fails to amaze any gardener at their ability to come back to life, year after year, after a winter slumber.
March is the annual riddle of 'in like a lion and out like a lamb' that moves us forward to longer days of warm sunshine and outdoor activity. The reference of lion and lamb describes the beginning and the end of the month of March and the dance of weather patterns that it offers to tease and madden all of us who are ready to shake off the last signs of the winter season.
This month we got a drastic swing in weather systems in a few week's time. Winter's last wallop of a snowstorm had the neighborhood humming with snow blowers the first blustery week end of the month and the sound of leaf blowers and scraping rakes for spring clean up the next. Within a week we went from drying out our damp gloves, hats and scarves on the radiators to working in the yard without jackets.
It turns out the March weather surprises weren't satisfied with the juxtaposition of two back to back opposing weather scenarios. We are at the midway mark on the calendar and there has been a snowstorm, followed by a fling with spring and then a storm that Dorothy Gale and Toto would have taken pause. Howling winds shook the trees and tossed trash cans around the streets while the sky took on an eerie glow and the relentless rain pounded the streets creating lakes at intersections and swallowing small cars who dared to pass. Sirens wailed as fire engines went from one downed tree to the next blocking off streets with streamers of yellow caution tape. Huge trees that had stood for years in yards and parks were ripped from their bases taking squares of cement up with the roots. In a few hours massive trees were laying across lawns or tangled in power cords that left neighborhoods in darkness.
The strength of winds that rattle your windows with such force reminds you just how powerful nature's forces can be. The day after the sixty mile hour winds blew through the streets were littered with broken limbs of trees and mangled umbrellas turned inside out. A Brooklyn parish lost their pine tree that is decorated each holiday season for Christmas. The tree was planted thirty years ago to protect the church's stained glass windows from the footballs the kids like to toss around on the lawn. Here today, gone tomorrow. No amount of 'reality' tv could put on such a spectacle.
March is the annual riddle of 'in like a lion and out like a lamb' that moves us forward to longer days of warm sunshine and outdoor activity. The reference of lion and lamb describes the beginning and the end of the month of March and the dance of weather patterns that it offers to tease and madden all of us who are ready to shake off the last signs of the winter season.
This month we got a drastic swing in weather systems in a few week's time. Winter's last wallop of a snowstorm had the neighborhood humming with snow blowers the first blustery week end of the month and the sound of leaf blowers and scraping rakes for spring clean up the next. Within a week we went from drying out our damp gloves, hats and scarves on the radiators to working in the yard without jackets.
It turns out the March weather surprises weren't satisfied with the juxtaposition of two back to back opposing weather scenarios. We are at the midway mark on the calendar and there has been a snowstorm, followed by a fling with spring and then a storm that Dorothy Gale and Toto would have taken pause. Howling winds shook the trees and tossed trash cans around the streets while the sky took on an eerie glow and the relentless rain pounded the streets creating lakes at intersections and swallowing small cars who dared to pass. Sirens wailed as fire engines went from one downed tree to the next blocking off streets with streamers of yellow caution tape. Huge trees that had stood for years in yards and parks were ripped from their bases taking squares of cement up with the roots. In a few hours massive trees were laying across lawns or tangled in power cords that left neighborhoods in darkness.
The strength of winds that rattle your windows with such force reminds you just how powerful nature's forces can be. The day after the sixty mile hour winds blew through the streets were littered with broken limbs of trees and mangled umbrellas turned inside out. A Brooklyn parish lost their pine tree that is decorated each holiday season for Christmas. The tree was planted thirty years ago to protect the church's stained glass windows from the footballs the kids like to toss around on the lawn. Here today, gone tomorrow. No amount of 'reality' tv could put on such a spectacle.
Friday, February 26, 2010
go for the gold
For the second time in a month we have had an honest to goodness can't-get-the-back-door-open-because-of-the-snow-drifts blizzard. We haven't had many significant snowfalls the past few years so it was a reminder of what winter weather can do that we had two major storms dumping snow within a few weeks of each other making February a busy month of clean up. Recently, a school age boy offered his perspective of the winter season before the first big storm roared in and closed the schools. At that time he pointed out that we had only had what he decreed as 'week-end snow.' 'Week-end snow' does not bring the magical day of reprieve from all duties related to reading, writing and arithmetic so the storm shouldn't bother to blow through at all according to this second grade meteorologist. As long as I don't need to be anywhere I like a good snowfall as it slowly transforms the landscape outside. Sometimes, it is just the restorative break that you didn't know you needed until you got it.
The mountains of snow also provided the perfect backdrop for the Winter Olympics. I can't sit back and relax and watch Olympic athletes on display in their respective sports. It makes me very tense knowing how much time and dedication comes down to a fraction of a second or the slightest wobble of a step. I know that is the very essence of the Olympic intensity but it simply rattles me too much to be entertaining. There are always tales of insurmountable obstacles that have been overcome and heartbreaking near misses that stun the athlete and the supporters in the crowd. The images of skiers crashing into banks of snow or the figure skater who lands a jump seated on the ice. How do you shake that off? The thought of carrying that through the years emotionally after all the dedication and work that was invested is mentally numbing.
At the Calgary Olympics in 1998 Gerard Kemkers, a speed skater in the 10,000 meter race, fell on the fifth lap of his race but he made what he considers himself to be the biggest mistake of his career in the 2010 games. Last week, Kemkers, who now coaches a Dutch skater who has dominated the sport since the 2006 Olympics, Sven Kramer, mistakenly yelled for Kramer to take the inside lane which ended with Kramer being disqualified from the race. The call was made in an instant and Gerard Kemkers had to deliver the news during Kramer's cool down lap, unaware that his coach had made such an error. Kramer had finished the race with his fists pumped in the air thinking that he had his second Olympic record and gold medal of the Vancouver games and now his coach is breaking the news that his call of poor judgement has cost Kramer a victory in his 10,000 meter race.
Kramer's time of twelve minutes 54.50 seconds was stricken from the records. A South Korean whose time was 12:58.55 was awarded the Gold medal earning him an Olympic record, a Russian who trailed Kramer by 7.57 seconds got the silver and a fellow countryman took home the Bronze.
Now, Kemkers has two bungled Olympic mishaps to haunt him. One that happened to him and one he was the cause of for someone else. I felt bad enough for Kemkers, the coach, as his mistake came to light, only to find out about his own personal speed skating Waterloo back in Calgary. I wish I had never heard about that now.
The mountains of snow also provided the perfect backdrop for the Winter Olympics. I can't sit back and relax and watch Olympic athletes on display in their respective sports. It makes me very tense knowing how much time and dedication comes down to a fraction of a second or the slightest wobble of a step. I know that is the very essence of the Olympic intensity but it simply rattles me too much to be entertaining. There are always tales of insurmountable obstacles that have been overcome and heartbreaking near misses that stun the athlete and the supporters in the crowd. The images of skiers crashing into banks of snow or the figure skater who lands a jump seated on the ice. How do you shake that off? The thought of carrying that through the years emotionally after all the dedication and work that was invested is mentally numbing.
At the Calgary Olympics in 1998 Gerard Kemkers, a speed skater in the 10,000 meter race, fell on the fifth lap of his race but he made what he considers himself to be the biggest mistake of his career in the 2010 games. Last week, Kemkers, who now coaches a Dutch skater who has dominated the sport since the 2006 Olympics, Sven Kramer, mistakenly yelled for Kramer to take the inside lane which ended with Kramer being disqualified from the race. The call was made in an instant and Gerard Kemkers had to deliver the news during Kramer's cool down lap, unaware that his coach had made such an error. Kramer had finished the race with his fists pumped in the air thinking that he had his second Olympic record and gold medal of the Vancouver games and now his coach is breaking the news that his call of poor judgement has cost Kramer a victory in his 10,000 meter race.
Kramer's time of twelve minutes 54.50 seconds was stricken from the records. A South Korean whose time was 12:58.55 was awarded the Gold medal earning him an Olympic record, a Russian who trailed Kramer by 7.57 seconds got the silver and a fellow countryman took home the Bronze.
Now, Kemkers has two bungled Olympic mishaps to haunt him. One that happened to him and one he was the cause of for someone else. I felt bad enough for Kemkers, the coach, as his mistake came to light, only to find out about his own personal speed skating Waterloo back in Calgary. I wish I had never heard about that now.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
to a dear buddyroo
"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
Holden Caulfield's opening statement in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I can vividly recall the chair I was sitting in when I started to read those words. There is nothing better than being gripped by something you start to read and you instinctively know that you are going to get lost in it.
Much of what was written about J.D. Salinger in his lifetime referred to him as a 'recluse' when, in fact, he was leading a simple life in a quiet town on the Connecticut River. Perhaps, in an effort to explain why anyone at the peak of his career would do something as unthinkable as to walk away from it all, his story wrote itself for those who didn't understand. Obviously, he liked his neighbors and the town of Cornish, NH and the residents treated him like a regular guy and not a literary icon who lived in their midst. It wasn't a conspiracy of any sort that his neighbors not only respected his privacy, but helped him protect it, when strangers inquired about where his residence was from the proprietor of the local general store. The story goes that the ruder the request of the nosy stranger the more inaccurate the details provided. In this self confessional world we live in, with the infamous '15 minutes of fame' that seem to have stretched to at least an hour now, it is a testament to the residents of Cornish that they still have not revealed anything more about Salinger after his death. He was allowed to live his corduroy pants and sweater existence in a town he was fond of and attend church suppers just like anyone else. He was the guy who got his paper every day at the general store, had a favorite diner where he liked to eat his lunch alone and he got to be the guy who scribbled in his notebook and sat at the end of the table where they kept the pies at the church suppers.
Holden Caulfield, Salinger's protagonist in The Catcher in the Rye, longed to find a place that was 'nice and peaceful.' It seems that Salinger was able to do just that. He wasn't the mysterious figure in the window that some made him out to be but the man who wanted his privacy. Being alone at lunch doesn't necessarily mean that you are lonely. He tipped the young servers at the church suppers and agreed to allow neighborhood children to use the hill on his property for a brisk trip on a sled on a snowy day. It seems that there was a mutual respect between Salinger and his neighbors and not some contractual binding agreement that demanded their loyalty to his wishes. In this day of eroding respect for others this town is an example of the human spirit of common courtesy and decency. We could all take a page from their book.
The letters of correspondence of J.D. Salinger and a friend are being reviewed and dissected and one has to wonder why the friend parted with them at any point. There is some speculation that it is perhaps owed to the fact that Salinger refused the friend's request to furnish him with an autographed copy of Catcher in the Rye. In the letter to the friend he offers the explanation "Most stuff that is genuine is better left unsaid."
Holden Caulfield's opening statement in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I can vividly recall the chair I was sitting in when I started to read those words. There is nothing better than being gripped by something you start to read and you instinctively know that you are going to get lost in it.
Much of what was written about J.D. Salinger in his lifetime referred to him as a 'recluse' when, in fact, he was leading a simple life in a quiet town on the Connecticut River. Perhaps, in an effort to explain why anyone at the peak of his career would do something as unthinkable as to walk away from it all, his story wrote itself for those who didn't understand. Obviously, he liked his neighbors and the town of Cornish, NH and the residents treated him like a regular guy and not a literary icon who lived in their midst. It wasn't a conspiracy of any sort that his neighbors not only respected his privacy, but helped him protect it, when strangers inquired about where his residence was from the proprietor of the local general store. The story goes that the ruder the request of the nosy stranger the more inaccurate the details provided. In this self confessional world we live in, with the infamous '15 minutes of fame' that seem to have stretched to at least an hour now, it is a testament to the residents of Cornish that they still have not revealed anything more about Salinger after his death. He was allowed to live his corduroy pants and sweater existence in a town he was fond of and attend church suppers just like anyone else. He was the guy who got his paper every day at the general store, had a favorite diner where he liked to eat his lunch alone and he got to be the guy who scribbled in his notebook and sat at the end of the table where they kept the pies at the church suppers.
Holden Caulfield, Salinger's protagonist in The Catcher in the Rye, longed to find a place that was 'nice and peaceful.' It seems that Salinger was able to do just that. He wasn't the mysterious figure in the window that some made him out to be but the man who wanted his privacy. Being alone at lunch doesn't necessarily mean that you are lonely. He tipped the young servers at the church suppers and agreed to allow neighborhood children to use the hill on his property for a brisk trip on a sled on a snowy day. It seems that there was a mutual respect between Salinger and his neighbors and not some contractual binding agreement that demanded their loyalty to his wishes. In this day of eroding respect for others this town is an example of the human spirit of common courtesy and decency. We could all take a page from their book.
The letters of correspondence of J.D. Salinger and a friend are being reviewed and dissected and one has to wonder why the friend parted with them at any point. There is some speculation that it is perhaps owed to the fact that Salinger refused the friend's request to furnish him with an autographed copy of Catcher in the Rye. In the letter to the friend he offers the explanation "Most stuff that is genuine is better left unsaid."
Friday, February 5, 2010
don't ask, don't bark, don't tell
Man's best friend. That is until he barks in a New York city apartment. The same week that the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Adm. Mike Mullen, calls for the end of the sixteen year old 'don't ask, don't tell' law which would abolish what he refers to as "a policy which forces young men and women to lie about who they are in order to defend their fellow citizens" in the United States military, word comes of Nestle, a daschund-terrier mix residing on the Upper East Side with his human companions, who had his vocal cords cut in order to reduce his bark to nothing more than a raspy whisper. Someone in Nestle's building threatened to go to the co-op board about his barking.
A recent article reveals that it seems it is a common practice for dogs to be subjected to a procedure called 'debarking.' These dogs range from those living in private homes, to those on the show-dog circuit and includes drug dealers who want their attack dogs silent to conduct business in the shadows. The procedure of debarking has been around for decades but those veterinarians who perform the surgery don't often advertise that they do so.
Animal rights advocates denounce the practice as robbing a dog of the very essence of what is natural for the animal in order to communicate. In an article that I read it states the list of situations and things that Nestle would bark at, one of them being the new puppy. So, the owner doesn't do any type of behavior modification or call in a trainer but has the dog's vocal cords cut in order to comply with noise regulations set in his co-op building and there is now another puppy? A puppy who according to the owner who was interviewed may be headed for a similar fate. In addition to the veterinarians who don't advertise that they perform the procedure there is also a dog breeder and handler mentioned who wouldn't give his last name after being interviewed. If you are going to subject an animal to such a practice own up to it.
Both of my dogs were adopted from the North Shore Animal League. They are a no kill shelter that gives every animal a chance. After my first dog left us much too soon I went back to the North Shore to find my dog that I have now. He reminded me of my first guy and in a state of still grieving my first dog I walked out with a little bundle of blonde puppiness. He had that musky puppy smell with his adoption papers tucked under his thin blue collar that marked him as a male. That puppy was given the impossible task that is placed upon the dog who is adopted after the loss of a beloved companion.
My dog barks at the mailman every day. Every day. The mailman joked to me one day "is it just me he doesn't like or does he bark like that at everyone?" Dogs bark at mailmen for a reason. In their loyal minds they are protecting their home and that pesky mailman is the one guy who hasn't gotten the message and keeps coming back! When we lived in an apartment building years ago with our first dog I remember someone saying that when your dog barks at the front door you have no idea if he barked at someone passing by in the hall or if he just sent someone suspicious away from your door. How many times have you heard the story that had a happy ending about the people who narrowly escaped the burning building or the person who slipped through the frozen lake because the dog was barking? Sometimes, when I read stories like that it makes me like the dogs more than the people. Where's the Dog Whisperer when you need him? I have a plaque over my back door that reads 'Be the kind of person your dog thinks you are.' I try.
A recent article reveals that it seems it is a common practice for dogs to be subjected to a procedure called 'debarking.' These dogs range from those living in private homes, to those on the show-dog circuit and includes drug dealers who want their attack dogs silent to conduct business in the shadows. The procedure of debarking has been around for decades but those veterinarians who perform the surgery don't often advertise that they do so.
Animal rights advocates denounce the practice as robbing a dog of the very essence of what is natural for the animal in order to communicate. In an article that I read it states the list of situations and things that Nestle would bark at, one of them being the new puppy. So, the owner doesn't do any type of behavior modification or call in a trainer but has the dog's vocal cords cut in order to comply with noise regulations set in his co-op building and there is now another puppy? A puppy who according to the owner who was interviewed may be headed for a similar fate. In addition to the veterinarians who don't advertise that they perform the procedure there is also a dog breeder and handler mentioned who wouldn't give his last name after being interviewed. If you are going to subject an animal to such a practice own up to it.
Both of my dogs were adopted from the North Shore Animal League. They are a no kill shelter that gives every animal a chance. After my first dog left us much too soon I went back to the North Shore to find my dog that I have now. He reminded me of my first guy and in a state of still grieving my first dog I walked out with a little bundle of blonde puppiness. He had that musky puppy smell with his adoption papers tucked under his thin blue collar that marked him as a male. That puppy was given the impossible task that is placed upon the dog who is adopted after the loss of a beloved companion.
My dog barks at the mailman every day. Every day. The mailman joked to me one day "is it just me he doesn't like or does he bark like that at everyone?" Dogs bark at mailmen for a reason. In their loyal minds they are protecting their home and that pesky mailman is the one guy who hasn't gotten the message and keeps coming back! When we lived in an apartment building years ago with our first dog I remember someone saying that when your dog barks at the front door you have no idea if he barked at someone passing by in the hall or if he just sent someone suspicious away from your door. How many times have you heard the story that had a happy ending about the people who narrowly escaped the burning building or the person who slipped through the frozen lake because the dog was barking? Sometimes, when I read stories like that it makes me like the dogs more than the people. Where's the Dog Whisperer when you need him? I have a plaque over my back door that reads 'Be the kind of person your dog thinks you are.' I try.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
r u aware what all the texting will do 2 u l8r kids?
Turn on, tune in, drop out. Timothy Leary would be proud. The kids gather in groups most afternoons outside Starbucks. Their heads are bowed to their phones, furiously text messaging and they barely speak to each other. One day I just may do it. Walk up to them, take their phones out of their busy hands and make them talk to each other. Is your BFF here? Then have a conversation with her in person.
An entirely different language structure has emerged in this rushed world.
There have been many articles about texting slowly eroding children's vocabulary and linguistic abilities but now there is an actual estimate given. According to Jean Gross, England's first children's communication czar, (how's that for a title?) children are communicating in abbreviated text speak and only utilize a vocabulary of 800 words on a daily basis. With fewer words at their disposal it is going to have far reaching repercussions later in life. Nothing to LOL at. Perhaps it was inevitable that people would start to communicate in acronyms. The internet itself spawned 'www' which is the only acronym that takes more time to articulate than the words the letters stand for.
A friend of mine lamented that children aren't focusing on penmanship in school. Who is writing letters anymore that penmanship needs to be mastered? It's not just children though. An e mail I received from another adult's phone was littered with so many shortened words and acronyms that it actually took me longer to read because I am not proficient in the new text speak that is masquerading as language. "R u going 2 b thr? C u l8r!" What? I eventually figured it out but in this multi tasking world does it really save people that much precious time to not spell out an entire word? Are you so pressed to shave seconds off your day that the word 'to' needs to be abbreviated? The old PBS show Zoom had a made up language that we all tried to master when we were kids. "Hub I frub ends. Dub oo yub oo knub oo whub ut thub is ub is?" The idea was to insert 'ub' in front of vowels to 'Zoom speak.' The previous statement would be "Hi friends. Do you know what this is?" At least Zoom's tongue twisters required some creative thinking.
The young adults who are only using their arsenal of 800 words are supposedly doomed when they enter the workforce according to these studies that have estimated young people can't string an acceptable sentence together with adjectives and adverbs. But if their parents are adopting the same clipped communication won't everyone meet somewhere in the middle eventually?
Years ago Kentucky Fried Chicken came up with their 'new and improved' KFC Express. Faster fast food. Is it more important to do something quickly or do something well?
An entirely different language structure has emerged in this rushed world.
There have been many articles about texting slowly eroding children's vocabulary and linguistic abilities but now there is an actual estimate given. According to Jean Gross, England's first children's communication czar, (how's that for a title?) children are communicating in abbreviated text speak and only utilize a vocabulary of 800 words on a daily basis. With fewer words at their disposal it is going to have far reaching repercussions later in life. Nothing to LOL at. Perhaps it was inevitable that people would start to communicate in acronyms. The internet itself spawned 'www' which is the only acronym that takes more time to articulate than the words the letters stand for.
A friend of mine lamented that children aren't focusing on penmanship in school. Who is writing letters anymore that penmanship needs to be mastered? It's not just children though. An e mail I received from another adult's phone was littered with so many shortened words and acronyms that it actually took me longer to read because I am not proficient in the new text speak that is masquerading as language. "R u going 2 b thr? C u l8r!" What? I eventually figured it out but in this multi tasking world does it really save people that much precious time to not spell out an entire word? Are you so pressed to shave seconds off your day that the word 'to' needs to be abbreviated? The old PBS show Zoom had a made up language that we all tried to master when we were kids. "Hub I frub ends. Dub oo yub oo knub oo whub ut thub is ub is?" The idea was to insert 'ub' in front of vowels to 'Zoom speak.' The previous statement would be "Hi friends. Do you know what this is?" At least Zoom's tongue twisters required some creative thinking.
The young adults who are only using their arsenal of 800 words are supposedly doomed when they enter the workforce according to these studies that have estimated young people can't string an acceptable sentence together with adjectives and adverbs. But if their parents are adopting the same clipped communication won't everyone meet somewhere in the middle eventually?
Years ago Kentucky Fried Chicken came up with their 'new and improved' KFC Express. Faster fast food. Is it more important to do something quickly or do something well?
Sunday, January 17, 2010
out with the old and in with the new
The Christmas tree stands illuminated in the same corner location in the living room year after year. That's right. Not the politically correct 'holiday tree.' That's what it was called in our house when I grew up and that is what I continue to call it. If there is some gnarly branch or bare spot that I didn't notice when we purchased the tree I can just turn the unsightly side to the corner. Problem solved. The tree's corner location also affords me the opportunity to end the season with a ceremonial shove out the window. It has an extremely cathartic effect.
January brings some dreary days with the first month of the calendar year. Sorry to anyone who has a January 24 birthday since a British survey deemed it the 'most depressing day of the year.' The argument is that it coincides with when all the holiday bills fill the mailbox to capacity. It is the equivalent of a financial holiday hangover.
The turn of events of last January has changed the way that I will forever look at Canadian geese. The birds have always been the pesky nuisance of many a park keeper and they occasionally fly in a squawking triangle over the house. But last January 15 they were enough of a force to accidentally fly into the motor of an airliner and take it out of the skies with an emergency landing in the icy waters of the Hudson river. It was immediately dubbed the 'miracle on the Hudson' but after word of the quick thinking pilot and his calm instructions and maneuvers were revealed it seemed as if we should give more credit to Captain Chesley B. Sullenberger III for pulling off a miracle. His response to the situation meant that Flight 1549 became many stories to many people but they all had the same happy ending. It was a miracle that the plane floated but it was the quick thinking and response of Captain Sullenberger that had the plane come to its safe resting spot in the river. 'Mastery of the Hudson' perhaps.
On January 15 of this year the passengers gathered on the anniversary to reconnect and share stories. They sailed out to the very spot where that plane became the common thread in their lives and they toasted each other with champagne and the intentionally ironic choice of Grey Goose. After the events in the Hudson last year the jokes sprouted about ordering 'two shots of Grey Goose and a splash of water.' Now the King of Cocktails, Don DeGroff, has delivered 'The Sully' in a recipe in The New York Times which is essentially a Manhattan with a float of champagne on top. Someone chartered a small plane to fly over the Hudson to mark the anniversary as the passengers celebrated on their boat. Early into the flight though the plane was forced to, wait for it, make an emergency landing in the nearby Staten Island landfill. The banner the plane intended to display read "If you died today would you go to heaven or hell? John 14:16.' Pull out your best shaker and stirrer, mix your self a 'Sully' and ponder that thought.
January brings some dreary days with the first month of the calendar year. Sorry to anyone who has a January 24 birthday since a British survey deemed it the 'most depressing day of the year.' The argument is that it coincides with when all the holiday bills fill the mailbox to capacity. It is the equivalent of a financial holiday hangover.
The turn of events of last January has changed the way that I will forever look at Canadian geese. The birds have always been the pesky nuisance of many a park keeper and they occasionally fly in a squawking triangle over the house. But last January 15 they were enough of a force to accidentally fly into the motor of an airliner and take it out of the skies with an emergency landing in the icy waters of the Hudson river. It was immediately dubbed the 'miracle on the Hudson' but after word of the quick thinking pilot and his calm instructions and maneuvers were revealed it seemed as if we should give more credit to Captain Chesley B. Sullenberger III for pulling off a miracle. His response to the situation meant that Flight 1549 became many stories to many people but they all had the same happy ending. It was a miracle that the plane floated but it was the quick thinking and response of Captain Sullenberger that had the plane come to its safe resting spot in the river. 'Mastery of the Hudson' perhaps.
On January 15 of this year the passengers gathered on the anniversary to reconnect and share stories. They sailed out to the very spot where that plane became the common thread in their lives and they toasted each other with champagne and the intentionally ironic choice of Grey Goose. After the events in the Hudson last year the jokes sprouted about ordering 'two shots of Grey Goose and a splash of water.' Now the King of Cocktails, Don DeGroff, has delivered 'The Sully' in a recipe in The New York Times which is essentially a Manhattan with a float of champagne on top. Someone chartered a small plane to fly over the Hudson to mark the anniversary as the passengers celebrated on their boat. Early into the flight though the plane was forced to, wait for it, make an emergency landing in the nearby Staten Island landfill. The banner the plane intended to display read "If you died today would you go to heaven or hell? John 14:16.' Pull out your best shaker and stirrer, mix your self a 'Sully' and ponder that thought.
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