A new journal: January 1993 through March 1994.
Maybe it's because when Tom's around he's talking and telling new stories. New words and patterns that I haven't heard before. I think of Tom as an average guy like myself. When I talk to Tom I don't feel nearly as self-conscious as I do with John. I still can't figure it out yet. Maybe because John is the "boss." I don't think that's it either. As he said quite some time ago, I'm intimidated by him. Made timid. But why? Am I trying to win favor, acceptance, friendship, good judgment? Maybe one, some, or all. Maybe because I think we're similar in many personal philosophies I put great weight on his words as some kind of guide. You know, though, that doesn't work and as you can see it creates weird pressures.
This talk with Tony (D'Agostino) on Friday while frustrating and time consuming could be used for my edification. "Think about what you say before you say it and consider your reaction to other reaction." Not with everything at least not the last part. I think I wanted to stick a needle in Tony's side about Dixie Lee Ray, which is okay but then my reaction to what Tony was saying about me wasn't okay. If was emotionally charged. The fact is, I was putting down a "favorite" colleague of his. Anytime you "dismiss" a friend of someone you better be prepared for the vituperative, venomous response. Cause you know damn well that is what you'll get. You certainly don't have the gift of oration like 95% of the people around you. Be aware of that fact. Not that you can't improve. But right now you're on ground zero or pretty close to it when verbal exchanges take place. Don't forget to laugh. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.
The laughing is one thing that I forget about underlying all life. The grand joke of God playing a joke with life. We're all a part of him. All of us in our many forms. But when I forget that and think of US and THEM life becomes the dichotomy. Republicans, Democrats, Gays, Anti Gays, Pro-Choice, Pro-Life. Right to Bear Arms, Gun Control movement. When Sandy's on the phone with Gary don't get bent out of shape. They, we are all one. You think your survival depends on Gary's love. It doesn't. He is but one portion of God. You don't have to worry about his love anyway because he'll always love you, just as you'll always love him. God loves everybody because they are all him. What a light that casts on this life. Instead of being down about what Gary's dreams are, help him, but be honest. Friendship is love. I guess my survival does depend on being loved. Gary's love, Mom's love, Terry's love, Karen's love, Diane's love. They are all a part of God. I care if they love me. What happens when they aren't around to love? Cross that bridge in its time remembering that we are all God.
January 19, 1993.
ReplyDeleteA timed writing. When the blue truck appears in the driveway, writing is over. Time's up. Lists are increasing in my life. Rather they're my tools. At least I'm more willing to try them. Lists for groceries. List for things to do at the hatchery. So far that's the extent. Not too bad. I think of Mom and her lists. Lists for groceries. Lists for things to remember when talking to family on the phone. Lists of things to do before she goes away from the house for any extended trip. I'll have to remember to ask Mom when she first started using lists. What made her or gave her the idea? It is remarkable how as we grow older we can see more and more of our parents in us.
Well, I've got to keep this ole pen a moving. Time is limited and here I sit reading back over the lines. I thing I started the list for hatchery work today because it helped me feel comfortable about work. Helped organize my thoughts. I'd like to save these lists and then look back at them after some time - six months. Maybe all they'd be good for is compost or fire starting papers, but who knows? Maybe you could see some strange eating patterns. It seems a shame that you'd have to save lists and then look back over them to be aware of what you were doing at some time in the past. Shouldn't you be a little more aware while you're doing these things? Sometimes though if you are aware of the moment and then the next day that moment could it be that you miss how they're connected? They're connected by night, being at home, reading, sleeping, eating, life.
I carry the same body from home to work. Granted maybe millions of cells have died and been cast off in twenty-four, forty-eight, seventy-two or twelve hours. They're at least in somewhat the same shape. The food I've eaten for breakfast is broken down during the day and gives me energy to do work. The lunch I make at home is carried with me and eaten at work, giving me more energy to do work.
I don't know where I was going with that. It reminds me of "Plain and Simple" where Sue says in the beginning she didn't know why she was drawn to the Amish quilts and then drawn to live with the Amish. She found that she didn't want to live on a farm or even become Amish. She was willing to live with herself and accept herself. I like her 'nine patch quilt.' They should be written down in here so I can come back to them.
"Patch #1 Valuing the Process/Valuing the Product
All work is important. All work is of value. The Amish honor what we would call the process and the product. BOTH. What I saw among the Amish was the amazing amount of energy available to people who get pleasure from what they are doing and find meaning in the work itself. But they are practical people who want that can of beans at the end of the day and the sixty-six jars of relish. For them, it's all connected.
Patch #2: LIVING IN TIME.
Since all work is honored, there is no need to rush to get one thing over so you can get on to something more important. The Amish understand that it's not rushing through tasks to achieve a series of goals that's satisfying; it's experiencing each moment along the way.
Patch #3: CELEBRATING THE ORDINARY.
"It's the everyday things that give life its stability and it's framework." The Amish honor the daily practices; work, like objects cared for in a home, can turn into a shinning thing. All of life is their practice.
Patch #4: HOME
Home is the focus for an Amish woman. The way she lives reflects her faith. With no special icons, her home glows in every corner with spiritual meaning. Home is as much an expression of who she is as any art work, a place where she can practice what she believes.
January 19, 1993 continued....
ReplyDeletePatch #5: COMMUNITY
Community life is a natural extension of home life for the Amish. Recreation and chores aren't rivals. Barn raisings, shared harvesting, quilting bees, communal singing mingled with feasting - times of celebrating. When the catastrophic happens, when lightning hits a barn, or crops are destroyed by hail or a surprise flood, the Amish face the unexpected with a measure of acceptance. They are not alone to face these difficulties. Brotherly love is expressed in practical ways. They share joy and hardship with others, their community.
Patch #6: LIFE IS ART.
Every Amish woman quilts and makes dolls for her children. There is no reason to single out and label her "artist." A doll or a quilt is no more special than a can of green beans or a freshly baked cake.
No deep search for self-experience goes into making the doll, and the mother's ego doesn't have to compete with the object. The beauty of the object, not the ego of the maker, is important.
Patch #7: LIMITS AS FEEDOM.
When expectation and achievement match, a person is content. The Amish standard of excellence is to do the best you can. Their deeply felt religious principles set clearly understood limits. As a result they do not spend time questioning who they are or where they belong. Accepting who they are brings a different kind of freedom.
Having limits, subtracting distractions, making a commitment to do what you do well, brings a new kind of integrity.
Patch #8: POWER OF CONTRAST
It's the startling balance of one kind of energy coexisting with a very different one that captured my imagination: the austere simplicity of the freshly painted white house with its thin black trim contrasted with the vitality of Emma's garden exploding with unexpected luscious hot colors.
The Spartan geometric quilt designs softened by feathery, organic shapesof tiny dark quilting stitches make the whole surface come alive.
Patch #9: CHOICE
Before I went to the Amish, I thought the more choices I had, the luckier I'd be. But there is a big difference between having many choices and making a choice. Making a choice - declaring what is essential - creates a framework for a life that eliminates many choices but gives meaning to the things that remain. Satisfaction comes from giving up wishing I was somewhere else or doing something else.
Article from the "Patriot News" January 11, 1993.
ReplyDelete"Maple Syrup Production Called 'fairly good.'" Written by Mary Klaus.
"...Maple syrup is made by gathering sap from sugar maples trees, boiling it down and straining it...to be tapped, a sugar maple tree has to be about 40 years old and at least 12" in diameter...the sap runs best when the nights are below freezing and the days are in the mid-40s. When we have freezing nights and thawing days, we drill a hole in the tree and insert a special spout called a spile....forty gallons of syrup boils down to 1 gallon of syrup. Finished syrup is strained, then either canned immediately or stored in barrels and jugs to be canned later..."
January 22, 1993.
I wish I was sitting at the kitchen table on a cloudy Friday, wet morning. I've drifted from the timed writing sessions and letter-writing. All hell's broken loose. Well, not really. Emotions, big, bold and self-defeating have blown on to the scene. But, the deneumont is at hand. After waking up at four last night, hearing Sandy's feet cross the living room then return to the living room, turn on a light and riffle through her belongings, my groggy dream-filled head was fertile ground for wild imaginings. I thought for sure she was looking for contraceptive material; especially, when I heard her head back to the bathroom, then back to the bedroom. I lay in my bed heart beating louder and louder, sensing adrenaline coursing into my veins. I wanted to scream out. STOP! I thought I imagined, whatever, the sounds of a creaking bed, my mind flashed back to the scene in "Black Robe" where all the Indians and two Frenchmen are sharing a teepee. In the middle of the night an indian brave and woman are having sex and he father looks over at them. Then looks away. I was all ears thinking and hearing. Then I realized maybe the sound was my own heart thumping wildly in my chest, or maybe it was the rain hitting my window, then I had to stop those thoughts. I thought about fate. And hope. Maybe whatever their doing: loving, sleeping was meant to happen. For what reason I don't know. Maybe to make me aware of the importance of women in my life, in Gary's life. Maybe to put an end to my reluctance to pursue women. Maybe to value relationships and not let them become automatic, unthinking, for-granted. Maybe to tell me to get on with my life. The fate idea came from Gary. More and more I want to let it take its role in my life and be aware of its presence. I think I can control my life. The little, unimportant things sure. The hope idea sprang up to help me deal with fate. Hope that I will understand, hope that things will work out and that I'll understand that, yes, they have worked out.
January 24, 1993.
ReplyDeleteFate and hope. Hope and fate. Don't forget those concepts. Laughter. Laugh at life. Fate and hope. These will guide me on my way. What fate would cause me to move to the land next year? What fate would cause me to buy a boat and live on it? What fate would give me the momentum to acquire some underwater land from the State so Rick and I could grow oysters? Is there, will there be signs that show wate fate desires? Probably but not before I attempt a direction. Then the signs will be all too clear. I hope. The sings felt strong to me in the direction of State lands and oyster grow-out on Friday at the Fisherman's Forum. Steve Hendrickson's and Dick Fox's (New York State Department of Environmental Conservation) talks on permitting for five acre parcels had me excited. I had many questions and am sure they showed my hand to John. I didn't say anything more though. I have Steve's card and will be able to call him at home. I think I can talk to him at home. I think I can talk to him frankly about what I'm considering for an oyster grow-out idea. But before I do get in touch with him I need to figure out more clearly the plan for doing this project. Pear nets. Bottom gear. Rebar racks plus vexar bags. I need to get dimensions on the bags provided by A.D.P.I. so I can figure out a cage plan and with that specs on weight. Once I do that I can start to get an idea of what the initial investment will be. Plus I need to get a reprint of the article on shellfish prices for '92 so I can figure our what numbers of shellfish - oysters need to be grown to break even, etc.
January 25, 1993.
ReplyDeleteDrip, drip, drip, drip. STOP! Whew. My oatmeal is gone. Into my stomach. A fulfilling feeling. Monday and back to the factory. The morning jitters at the beginning of a new week. Somewhat calmed by walking in the early morning light. Yesterday I walked the same course: out to Cedar Street and around to Long Lane. But it wasn't the same as when walked during the week when I'm out before the sun. It's a gradual awakening when my walk starts in darkness. As I'm out, in imperceptible changes, the sky turns form black to blue. Stars fade from white pin points into nothingness. When I get back to the house, yes, it is lighter. Not dramatically though. Comparing this walk with yesterday's which started later than when I got back today, is like comparing night and day. There is a more abrupt change from sleep to walk when I wake up and go walk after the sun is up. Today, or when I walk when darkness greets me at the door, it's as if I'm really still asleep as I begin on the trip. No bright lights of sunlight, a few street lights in the beginning but then none. My mind is filled with thoughts running inside me. When I walk and I can see houses, trees, cars, scenery clearly my mind is reacting to those sights. For some reason, Gary tells me I was in a bad mood yesterday morning. Stange, I thought, considering I had a walk around the loop plus a walk into the village. I wonder if I was a bit more moody or brooding because I went from darkness of sleep to bright wakefulness of lit day. I'll have to observe this a little more and see what I can come up with. The mood, which I'm not really sure I agree with, might have been due to other factors. Feeling like I needed to get together with Mike to look at boats that I had seen the day before from a distance and ruled out was weighing on my thoughts. Possibly the long line at the A & P at 8:30 in the morning might have influenced me.
I sometimes, quite often, get so wrapped up in this budget idea that I make more problems for myself. I try to spend less than my alotted budget and then get all anxious and cheap about groceries and gas. The "is it coming out even," "am I paying more than my share" mentality affects my overall mood. It's one thing to get anxious if you're not able to stay on the budget because you're buying much food for communal consuption. But it seems ludicrous to get edgy, anxious, or upset if you've bought food for three meals for the week and still have $20 left over for incidentals. That's when the budget is becoming a problem itself and not alleviating the problem it was meant to counteract.
January 26, 1993.
ReplyDeleteExcerpt from "Technopoly"
"Those who resist the American Technopoly are people:
who pay no attention to a poll unless they know what questions were asked, and why;
who refuse to accept efficiency as the preeminent goal of human relations;
who have freed themselves from the magical power of nubers, do not regard calculation as an adequate substitute for judgment, or precision as a synonym for truth;
who refuse to allow psychology or any "social science" to pre-empt language and thought of common sense;
who are, at least, suspicious of the idea of progress, and who do not confuse information with understanding;
who do not regard the aged as irrelevant;
who take seriously the meaning of family loyalty and honor, and who, when they "reach out and touch someone" expect that person to be in the same room;
who take the great narratives of religion seriously and who do not believe that science is the only system of though capable of producing truth;
who know the difference between the sacred and the profane, and who do not wink at tradition for modernity's sake;
who admire technological ingenuity but do not think it represents the highest possible form of human achievement."
"A resistance fighter understands that technology must never be accepted as part of the natural order of things, that every technology - from IQ test to an automobile to a television set to a computer - is a product of a particular economic and political context and carries with it a program, an agenda, and a philosophy that may or may not be life-enhancing and that therefore require scrutiny, criticism, and control. In short a technological resistance fighter maintains an epistemiological and psychic distance from any technology, so that it alwasy appears somewhat strange, never inevitable, never natural."
January 28, 1993.
ReplyDeleteThursday morning. Time to write. About what I'm wondering. I realized where "Writing Down the Bones" is. At Laura's. I loaned it to her along with the illuminated journal-writing book back in October. I hope she's looked into the pages nad found them of use or inspirational to her journal keeping. I feel like I should write Laura a letter and explain myself. More like, lie about why I stopped, so suddenly, seeing her and calling. A lazy side of me says, "Ah don't bother, you don't have to explain yourself." This keeps nagging me though so I guess I should do something. Tuesday night we were near having some snow. Yesterday a flurry for ten or fifteen minutes was all we got. Then the sky cleared from north to south and the sun came out bright and brilliant as only it can in the winter. Winter to Spring in less than an hour. Once the sun neared setting; though, winter returned with clear, open skies and crisp, clear points of star light. The moon is following or being followed by a planet.
Gary and I watched "Shadows and Fog" last night. Woody Allen looks old. I think it wasn't very good. It was filmed in black and white to add to the foggy feeling. It seemed like a dream, loose, disconnected. I wonder if the Woody/Mia news story last fall makes me uninterested in their films. This film seemed like an opportunity (once again) for Woody to be his neurotic self and Mia to show her love of children. Who am I to judge those two people's private lives? I'm really no one for judging, but being exposed to their personal story through the press - pictures and one story that I partially read - they are made too human, almost TV characters in a daily soap opera. Cheap. Petty. Trite. It's apparent from this that I held Woody and Mia in high regard, as above the fray. But they are, after all, humans. They have their problems like every one of us. But because they are "famous" their personal problems are mde public and they become "infamous." What good does it do, really, to know the private dealings of public people? I guess I didn't have to look at the pictures or read trivial articles.
Trivial is the word that comes to my mind when I think about my writing so far. What mundane little absurdities I can find to hone in on and wonder, circle after circle, around. You've got to get out and volunteer some time and effort helping people. Call Meals on Wheels and find out what they're up to and how you could help out. Remember Grandma. Give something back to your community. Help clear trails. Do something but don't keep going around in circles about these things. Don't get caught up in the ideology or the internal politics, just help out.
Tonight I should undertake a refinishing project for Kathryn and Cameron. Just spend an hour on it. So, after a few weeks it will be complete and you can feel you've accomplished something. Read, write. You can do all these things just give 'em a go. I don't know what you're wating for sometimes. The right space, mood, or energy to sieze you by the neck and get you going. I'll start looking through the garage for materials now.
January 29, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTrying to figure out how to pay the upcoming bills.
Feb.
oil - $100.00
rent - $250.00
electric - $50.00
phone - $50.00
D & B - $500.00
weekly allowance - ($85.00)
$340.00 - total allowance for month
auto insurance - $285.00
Total - $1575.00
Now in checking - $330.00
savings - $180.00
Pay 2/5/93 - $700.00 - D & B
pay 2/19/93 - $700.00 auto insurance
Total $1910.00
Looks like it'll work. Barring any unforseen bills. Is there anything I could be overlooking here? That's a great feeling to sit down, think about what you're expected bills are, calculate your earnings and get and idea of how you'll come out. Roughly of course. There's a bit of margin for breathing room. That's good. This is a definite benefit of being employed by someone or something else. Imagine for a few minutes what it would be like to be self-employed. How much of my weekly allowance would be reduced by say a farming venture? I give $50.00 a week to buying food. $25 to entertainment and $15 for gas and car maintenance. If I heated a log cabin with wood, and cooked on a wood stove, I could do away with the electric and oil bills. I wouldn't have a phone so htat would take care of that one. Auto insurance. I guess I could insure a car for six months of the year - for winter travel or employment. But if summer employment, then food bill at or near $50 a week during other time of year. The insurance probably would be much more than just half of what I pay now. Seriously, I'd probably need to have a car year-round. At least to start. I'd still have to pay taxes on the land, but if the move happens after I build a cabin, then rent will not be a considerable bill.
AFTER WORK
Warm weather and rain moved on. Now the wind is howling through the naked trees. The door to the mud room rattles every once in a while. Neighbor's dog is barking. A wild night. Gary just pulled up and parked in front. They blow in the front door as refuse swept along by this wild and wooly evening. Ah, he must be....
January 31st.
ReplyDeleteLast day of the first month of this year 1993. A cloudy Sunday this morning. Could snow be looming? I'm quiet and relaxed after reading over the entries in here. I should ead over old journals. It helps to look back over writings from the past. I wonder if patterns would come to mind by a reading of several years' journals? One that isn't clear to me now. Very possible. I feel more at peace this weekend. I've decided not to rush out and shop for hte week's supplies righ away. I might be taking a trip to Scottsdale, PA to pick up the tanks we're having made, stopping at Mom's on the way and back. A change from regular patterns. I slept in the same bed with my friend without having sex. My thoughts were quiet and peaceful. I wasn't worried about what family or other friends would think. I wasn't worried about sleeping perfectly soundly with great depth. It just felt comforting to lay with my arms and legs intertwined with my friend. A more erotic feeling than old sexual manuverings and goal-oriented encounters. I find myself stopping to reread and push myself on. But what dto say now. I'm reading Postman's "Amusing Ourselves to Death." So far he's talking about typography and the print media of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It amazes or surprises me the literacy figures of 95 to 98% he cites of white males and 60% for females who first came to the shores of New England. You would think that if these people were so versed in literature that they would have dealt more rationally with the Indians they found here. Assuming, of course, that literacy is directly related to wisdom. An assumption that if it stands, does so barely and is teetering at best. An assumption that is akin to today's idea of being up on the NEWS of the day, via CNN or the newspaper as a sign of intelligence. Which makes me wonder, are intelligence and wisdom the same, or interchangeable, there must be subtle differences in those words. Let's see.
Wisdom - 1. undrstanding of what is true, right, or lasting. 2. common sense; sagacity; good judgement: "it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desparate things." (Thoreau).
Intelligence - 1. the capacity to acquire and apply knowledge. 2. the faculty of thought and reason. Superior powers of mind. 3. received information, news 4. secret information; especially, such information about an enemy. 5. the work of gathering such information, 6. An agency, staff, or office employed in such work.
February 1, 1993.
ReplyDeleteIs tomorrow Ground Hog Day? Me thinks it is. Jay, the guy with the 1965 Ford Pick up for sale on Shelter Island called me yesterday. He said he'll take $1,000 dolars. I said I'd pay him that. I don't know what came over me. Budget and all, but it seemed right. I had crossed the idea off since he seemed set on $1200.00. Really what's two hundred dollars? But for him to call me back two weeks later tht must mean something. I'm the only fool that offered him something close to what he was willing to sell for. I figure I'll get a personal loan and pay it back in a year. Less, if I do go through with, or actually, we go though with the idea of selling "Seasoned." I won't try to get her road ready until this summer. Legal is what I mean - insurance, inspection, registration. John suggested I ask Tom to check her out with me just to see if he could see any major expenses looming. A good idea! I'll keep my car insured and on the road until I'm sure that the truck will be reasonably reliable. Of course I'll have to take her out for a spin every week just to make sure everything's staying lubricated. The more I think about her, I'm thinking about naming her Emma, the more excited I get. She's a six cylinder, F150. Not too much rust.
I'm gaseous lately. I didn't accomplish too much at work. We talked quite at length about a new algae schedule and John worked it out. I futzed around with putting screen on new upwellers; making phone calls to figure out how we were going to have shipping paid for the fencing material when it was understood that the freight was to be C.O.D. I felt sorry for Marty Cramer the woman I'd been talking to at C.F.M. I didn't feel the need to become irrate, loud and angry when she told me what I had a suspicion of on Friday. So some people don't pay freight is the lesson I learned. Another lesson is that I don't really get into yelling at other people. It's not my style mormally; although, given the proper situation it could be.
Now I sit by the fire, ocassionaly tossing STK (Straight, Tight, Knot) decking grade cedar pieces - cut offs from a picket fence - into the fire that makes my face feel warm on this, probably the coldest night of the winter. Fort Pond Bay was whipped into a froth today. I should have checked the dock, it was probably one 100' long icicle by the time I left this afternoon.
Angus Whitaker called last night. I was suprised to hear from him. And just abut five days shy of a year that Jenn and I met him and then went on our escapade in the middle of Ponce de Leon Bay, Everglades. (I thought it was Shark River Bay - will have to check a map.) He's a nice guy to call and find out what happened to us.
I need to think of something to write for Karen and Rich's wedding or else find some passage to read. Short and simple are good margins for the reading.
I'm sure this is Ground Hog's Day but I don't see it noted in the calendar. Could it be that a weather-worn tradition like G.H.D. is slipping into the cultural abyss?
Gradually, old habits are overtaking me. STOP. NO. I CAN'T LET THEM. Unhand me you cads.
Venting my frustration at the upweller I was working on. My newness with the undertaking frustrating me beyond a composed level after a month of making rafts and working through tried and true procedures.
2/6/93
ReplyDeleteSnow day. And still snowing at 3:30 in the afternoon. A good day. Walks. An experience with someone who thinks I don't deserve to have a dog after leaving Boris tied outside A&P while I was getting groceries. The woman was uninterested to hear the details of why the dog was outside all that time. Fortunately a total stranger walked by as I was being lectured and noted that dogs can take the cold. They're used to being outside. Well, Boris got even with me after I punished him by knocking him around and puttiing him on the leash after he ran across North Main Street. It was poetic justice for him I'm usre to watch me got hot and bothered by this fucking bitch who wanted to pass judgment without regard to any information as to why the dog was there. Where do people like her get their nerve? I hope she had indigestion as she was eating her meal. My regret is that I wasn't a little more composed in my confrontation with her in Fiero's (Pizza). Of course she muttred the last words as I walked out. Really, what a crazy even to get worked up ovr. Of all the fucked up things in the world that was one that could and should've been easily passed over. I don't know who she things she is telling me that I don't deserve to have a dog. She must've had something else going on in her life that made her so hostile. It seems to me a scary place where people are so focused on what others are doing instead of their own actions. A good thought in hindsight: Take more time to think about your response if you're going to have a second confrontation with a person. Count to ten and ask youself is it really worth it. She was expressing her opinion. So what. No need to get all pissed off because she doesn't like you. I'm sure that's hard for you to accept though considering the pains you take to make sure that others will like you. Just remember another total stranger said something on my behalf without any enticement. So sure there are going to be people who don't like you from the start, but there'll probably be just as many who do. I'm using life in a very superficial way here, of course. But it seems I respond to a person liking me on a very superficial, ultra-sensitive level. A good example is my interaction with Paul at Fibertek. I was bending over backwards tryin gto be likeable as he expressed the one "major" flaw - really minor as I was concerned - and as I noted imperfections like the drain not being flush with the bottom of the tank - that actually an oversight unitl the drive home and the pin holes in the gel coat. I don't know, it didn't occur to me to talk about deducting some money from our bill. Alas I am always so young and naiive. I hope to hell I can remember that experience for future experiences where I'm buying or pick something up for myself or someone else. All these lessons are good if I can just remember them. If I could only remember my propensity to try to be freinds with everyone and to have everyone "like me" then maybe I could steer clear of, or rather evaluate more clearly situations where that propensity can be used against me or to my loss.
2/6/93...continued.
ReplyDeleteThe snow stopped. It looked like the sun peeked out for a few seconds.
Eddie, our neighbor in the front house had his snow plow out this morning clearing the snow from the gravel driveway. Why do we do the things we do? I guess because we like to. Laer he was towing his kids on their sled with the lawn mower back and forth in the driveway. I like Ed. It doesn't look like he's too concerned about what others'll think of him. I'd like to develop that tendency more.
(Funny how that as I'm entering this into the computer/blog, I'm thinking about how I "knocked" Boris around. Sadly, I was physical with him. I was so afraid that he would've been hit when he crossed North Main Street, the adrenaline, whatever, I lost my cool. Definitely not an excuse for inappropriate behavior on my part. I'm not writing this because I'm worried about what people will think about me for hitting my dog. I'm saying it because I believe my behavior was wrong.)
Monday, Feb 8, 1993
ReplyDeleteThe Monday jitters again. Why don't I get over these? I've had a mini vacation since last Wednesday. I'm disappointed with my reacton of relative uninterest to Gary's helping a client who's just starting on a divorce. Gay's a good-natured guy willing to help people who appear to need help. That's a good thing. Don't be jealous. That is stupidity. Your insecurity is showing. Why now? Life is going smoothly. I just bought the pick-up truck that looked like it wasn't going to happen. Automatically you take people's suggestions as if you must follow them. You accuse Mom of doing that when she gets advice from others, or she admitted that she feels obligated to act out advice that she's asked of others. I am no different. John suggests I ask Tom to check out the truck before I buy it. I consider it and within an hour am asking Tom if he could check it out. All the while thinking in the back of my head that $1,000 doesn't sound too outrageous for a pick-up of that age considering it appears in relatively good condition and runs. Also knowing that Tom's a busy guy and probably the last thing in the worl he'd feel like doing is driving over to Shelter Island on a day off with me to check out a truck that I'm already hell bent on buying. So why do I do these things, acquiescing when I feel sure of something? Backing down when I should be unrelenting? It's the same thing that I want people to like me. Unfortunately, I think htat in order for people to like me I must agree with them...the 'agreement' chapter in "Winning Through Enlightenment" would be good to read now. Although I can almost remember it, at least the underlying message of what agreement is based on...the underlying need for survival. Survival being brought about by air, water, food, and love. "Enough" of these is the gray area that causes me problems. Without thinking, automatically, I'm trying to make it easy for peope to "like" me so that having enough love will not threaten my survival. I forget that I have loving family and friends and the need or desire to make it "easy" through agreement for others to like me is a sleeping kind of activity. Not only am I negating the love I'm given because I'm ignoring it but I'm causing myself more problems by trying to make myself agree with everyone else. It seems a vicious cycle. Never ending, causing me to be brooding and ovrsensitive to strangers and unsensitive to friends and family. Realize this before you absent-mindedly speak your oh so agreeable statements. Of course you don't need to go overboard and be caustic. Just be aware and in touch with what you're saying and aware of what it's coming from. I'm going to go start the truck.
February 13th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteVALENTINE'S EVE DAY. Clouded in fog inside. Clouded in fog outside. The rain drops fall to the ground. The snow flakes float to earth. Water as they strike. Flowing into the pubbles, puddles moving overflowing into a stream, down a road into a drain, a gutter, off and on into the ground, over the ground. Along waterways into bays, creeks, harbors and oceans. I can't wake out of the fog it stays with me for the dinner and day. I nap and wake, it's there. I sleep and escape, but wake and it hands around and through my porous head. P.V.C. glue, oil-based paint the merciless killing of brain cells goes on without so much as a whisper of protest from the advocacy groups. Where have they gone? Why not stop the killing? Are Haitians with AIDS being allowed to enter this country more important than the indiscriminate killing of harmless, peaceloving brain cells? What will happen to the person in whom they reside? He, she, it will die? Willl live by killing others for their brain cells. He's deficient, omnicient oh my GOD he is under the skin of the floor's thin veneer screaming to me to rescue him. But how will I find him under the skin of the floor boards resounding with footsteps and dust and dog hair and NO. Dead skin cells cast off by a passing brush against the door jam. Please, please help the cells. The poor, abused, unappreciated cells of our living life, our bodies. The clouds confound me with their manifest destiny. They've come to expand their frontiers. No longer happy with their pie-in-the-sky, they move down from up in the atmosphere. Descending upon us like hawks upon careless rabbits playing in the field. Why can't those fat clouds stay in their own place? Aren't they happy there? Why do they seek out our fine, healthy young women? Only to shroud them in their wet kisses? What else those lecherous monsters of the sky want is terrifying to me!They want to caress, fondle, tickle, rub, assuage.
Sunday, Valentine's Day, 1993.
ReplyDeleteMorning walk with Boris down to Beach.Looking for things colored blue. King Stree to road along railroad tracks. Fresno Place to GingerbreadLane. Not really noticing anything blue except clouds which were more grey than blue. Down the sidewalk to John Marshall Elementary School. Out the entrance onto Church Street. Blue plastic cover over part of the jungle gym in the school playground. Blue house next to entrance just south of the school (?) Blue house across street from blue house south of school entrance. Americanflag flying over Most Holy Trinity church on Buell Lane. Blue plastic bags covering Sunday "New York Times" on Buell Lane. Flag flying at intersection of Buell, Main, James adn Dunmere. Blue shutters but now I can't remember where. Blue sign for Mulford Farm restoration project. A few blue bulbs in a string of unlit Christmas lights. A blue tarp covering firewood on Ocean Ave. Blue ring around a Scan Security sign. Blue Suzuki four-wheel-drive at stop light - black convertible top. Blue mittens, blue long johns, blue in my knit cap and blue - aqua- anorak. Walking along the wave-smoothed sand. Footsteps up near the dune. Bird (gull) foot prints after the rock jetty. Highway Behind the Pond I started thinking about words that start with "G" that I saw along the way. Like the Geese in Hood Pond. A blue tarp covering work across on the other side of the pond, road and Golf course. "Gorse" kept coming to my mind but I don't know what it is. Or if it's just a word for shrubs. Gulls flew high overhead as I came into Dunmere Lane thinking that it was Further Lane. Then when I turned on to Egypt Lane the sign on the post said "Further Lane." Grass, garden is this somekind of child's game? Well onward to Hunting Lane but no more thoughts about blue or "G" until the intersection of Main Street. A flat at the Hunting Inn and another across the street at the old Beecher house, oh a blue sign in the Scan Security sign. Across the street, MARK, FORE and STRIKE letters in blue, a blue awning on White's Pharmacy (?) a blue awning on the Coach Factory Store. I'm overwhelmed by blues in window displays for knitting. Blue carpet. Blue signs with gold letters. Blue letters for Fleet Bank. I stopped thinking about blue when we got our money from the machine. A black Pug or Peekinese dog found Boris and followed us to Bucket's (Deli). I asked if anyone had stopped by asking about a missing dog. "No, but you can look on the tag if there's a Vet's # that's how you can trace down the owner. I keep a name tag on my dog. He doesn't leave the house or yard. I've had a lot of stray dogs, usually in the summer when all the city people are out. One time we had a dog who was from Montauk, my husband and I live in Amagansett."
Once I got my rolls, eggs and newspaper only Boris was standing at the door. I look back toward town, and on the other side of Newtown Lane was the whirlwind black dog running around and around. I gave Bo half a biscuit once we got to the tracks adn we headed on home. I thought for a few seconds about going back to get the "lost" dog, but then thought he'd figure out what to do and where to go. Sometimes not intervening is a better approach. If he followed us back to the house then I would have called the Vet's # on his tag but I'll let fate get him home.
February 15th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTruck plans:
clean engine
clean truck
shop manual
fix charging problem
new tires
exhaust - manifold to tailpipe.
new seat cover or upholstery
clutch, throw-out bearing
seatbelts
bumpers - $89.95.
Rear bearings and seals, price ?
check fluid in differential
wear on bearings.
February 22nd, 1993.
ReplyDeleteA week later adn white pages. Another symptom/or side effect of the cold that's taken over my head. Antibiotics - minoxidol (?) is the cure this time. My head is almost cleared up. Tomorrow will be the end of the second week of this event. Kinda humbles me when I think about breaking out of this modern society to go live in the woods. Although, lately,until yesterday and today I haven't really thought about those "I's" too much. Not at all. It's time to pull them off the shelf again to reinvigorate my sense of wonder,work,longing and direction. I'm back where I started before I left on the six week vacation. Asking questions of "what do I want?" with questions of "what do you want?" Crazy I tell myself dedicate to the relationship and then I subdue my I's wants and poof am back in the same situation that I worked to extract myself from. Primarily because, well maybe not primarily, but in part because I haven't been writing or conversing with people I know who have the I's that I tapped into on the trip. Namely Terry and Caroline. I've got to sit down and get letters out to them and tell them my dire straits in needing reinforcement, reinvigorment with my farming ideas. Who cares if they're crazed? Don't forget them.Work with them and get them going. I know I can do it, but then I'm surrounded now by people here with different mind sets and the chameleon in me takes over. I take on the attributes or rather the likes and dislikes of those around me. Don't stop thinking, reading or writing about the land idea/plan. It can happen. But as the saying goes, "You've got to keep the dream alive." Maybe it won't work out like I've dreamed but don't not do it because of something you think might be an outside possibility.
I'm wondering if this national health care reform isn't going to be another nail in our coffins. We're so caught up in demanding the best when we're sick and injured. Now we'll be able to fulfill that demand for everyone by taxing everyone. I don't understand. Are we moving closer to Huxley's view? I think about my own thoughts and reactions to the negative that I see even on a local/small scale here at home. I shy away from probing people on issues I know they have much energy wrapped up in because I'm in a hurry. Last Monday heading out to p.u. oysters suspended of the Harbor Master's dock I saw Bouson sitting in his truck. I stopped, passed some small talk and went on not wanting to stir his simmering stew of emotions about Bill's raise, the union's recommendation against it. I don't know much. Sometimes talk seems so futile. I wonder the purpose in asking people questions that I guess will throw them into a long tirade. Why? I'm trying to beat this Town employee image of always standing around yaking. I buy that image so try to compensate by keeping my chatting sessions with others to a minimum. Sometimes successfully, sometimes unsuccessfully. Maybe if I could economize on words. I should eat breakfast. Writing won't fill my stomach although it sure supresses my appetite.
Dear Caroline -
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry it's taken me so long to write back. Your letter was a bright spot in a barren January week. The ice is just beginning to think about melting on the ponds hereabouts. Although it's only been a little less than a month, it was late in coming and has presented itself as a novelty; not a thing to be taken for granted. Much of the time the winds in Montauk whip the bays into a white froth. It makes me unsettled and nervous without knowing why. Calm pond surfaces on wild windy days make me laugh that even in nature there is a pecking order among powerful forces.
Back in New York by New Year's and I'm part-time caretaker of my friend's personable, intelligent, yet psychologically comples yellow lab, Boris. One of Bo's demands, not being left alone for more than two hours, requires imagination and creativity to honor. Especially since, at home in the house, is not a valid option. Remarkable in this land of freedom that I let a dog with ludicrous demands complicate my life. But, I do it. Gladly. I don't know why. Maybe I do. I'm using him as an excuse to continue little rituals like early morning walks into the woods and down to the beach.
I wonder how your adjustment to life in the U.S. of A. is progressing. Your life in Male evokes thoughts of a more real existence than anything I can imagine in this country.
March 3rd, 1993.
ReplyDeleteI'm sitting in a tub of warm water. Soaking myself. Trying to find a communicator inside me. I don't know where that guy's gone. I feel like he went on vacation about a month after I came back from my vacation. I try writing to Carolyne, but I can't think of much to say. I don't knoow what the problem is but I don't seem to communicate too well with John. I must be overly sensitive. It seems that most of his comments to me are telling me to do something differently or what. I'm too damn sensitive and I've got to say what's on my mind when John tells me things. I get frustrated when I speak to him and he doesn't understand what I'm saying. Do I speak that unintelligently or incomprehensibly? I'm riddled with self-doubt and take things to heart too easily. How do I overcome this? How can I return to the vacation mode when my thoughts flowed freely? Am I scared of John? Naw, he's a nice guy. Maybe the end of Winter blahs wehn you make mountains out of mole hills. I don't have much going on so that's probably a good portion of my trouble. Self-inflicted. Boredom due to an unstimulated mind. But what should I stimulate myself with?
Too many possibilities, so I don't act on any. Make that choice to be here now.
DeleteMarch 4th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSELF - DOUBT. No reason to doubt myself. Yu can get shit done. You've finished the upwellers except for a quality check and waxing rivet holes. The rafts are built and you're starting to set them up with their flotation. I wonder abut an underpinning of religion. I think I really need to go to Church. If I can believe in God, surely I can believe in myself - one in the part of the other. I've got to wake up and communicate. I sit quietly back, not saying Boo and then other people say what I was thinking. Frustrating. Life is good. You have a nice life, good family, friends and coworkers. Don't make them in to demons and the institutions into prisons. No need to be so passive. All these great ideas about living on the land somewhat self-sufficient or having an underwater assignment to grow oysters or scallops but then I make myself paralyzed at work. Do dumb things, forget others. But, those mistakes are minor and I make them more important than they really are. They're history by now. Past, gone. But I know John judges me on those and I think he looks at me as an imbecile. My problem is that I put John up on a pedestal and respect and revere him so much that anything said to correct or alter my actions I take personally. Why do I put him on a pedestal? I think it's because he's smart, quiet and I've been told by others that we're very similar. So to disagree or put him down would be akin to doing that to myself. Fucked up. That's not the thought that goes through my mind when John's telling me something, but I think it could underlie my actions or lack of action. I tell myself to stick this out because if I can't overcome this hurdle how can I go on and do something on my own? But, then again. Nothing. I haven't really tried to work this out. I'm only just aware of the problem and then it fades from my awareness. Then later on it crops up. It's like I can't get by this place in our relationship. Subordinate. Underling. Looking away from eye contact.
March 8th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteA new week? Calendar, time arbitrary assignments. Yet they have power over me. Moods induced by a Monday then a Friday. Mom's got a buyer for the house. Her house. My old house. I'm glad. She can move into a shell that is less cumbersome for her. How will I visit? Fate will determine. How will I work out my difficulties with Tom? Fate again in part but I need to be aware of what I see going on and not stick my head in the sand. Friday evening's three hour snow is almost gone now. A warm weekend with sun. Ah. It went quickly.
Breaking VCR, backing into a van at the video store. Those last two could have easily been avoided. Something snapped in me Friday morning and it affected me the rest of the day. What was that something? Madness at the world doesn't pay. It slaps you down. All in history now. A new day. I sit and read too much of what I've written. Picking at sores doesn't help them it just makes it longer for them to heal, plus it leaves you with scars. Picking at experiences in the not so distant past and reliving them is good for what or whom? Move on. Think of what you want to do at work today and go do it. Other factors will enter which are out of your control. Roll with them. They'll work out and will I. You can do it old boy. I know you can work out your difficulties. You don't have to be like Tom or John. Just be yourself. True to yourself.
March 9, 1993.
ReplyDeleteA timed writing. Sitting here at the table in the kitchen on 15 A King Street. It's still light out and almost 5:45. I sit, writing with my right hand, feeding peanut butter-covered pita into my beardless mouth with my left hand. I'm famished. No Gary or Boris. Why do I like the taste of peanut butter? Let me count the ways. It goes well with so many amazingly different foods. Apples, bread: pita, white, whole wheat, pumpernickel, English muffins. Apples should be expanded to Granny Smiths, Jonagold's, Fuji, Winesap, Delicious, Macintosh, what were those ones that Laura and I picked this fall at Halsey's? What a great idea to have a U-pick section in your apple orchard. Thoughts about leasing preserved farm land came to me this morning. I've had that idea before but now it's blossomed again. This time with fruit and nut trees, berry bushes, beehives, wheat, oats, clover and vegetables. Instead of dumping much time and energy and money into a water-based farm, I'm wondering if a back to basics farm wouldn't be a more reachable goal. Trees and berry bushes would be the major expense. Fields are already cleared, unlike the land. It could be a maple suparing branch that I could go to in February and March. Good idea. Then the rest of the year I could be here on this ocean moderated island. Growing veggies, apples, nuts and husbanding bees. Leasing the land is the difficult part. Potentially. 5 acres a year at $100/acre. I've got to get in touch with the guy who does the cooperative garden in Amagansett. Better yet, maybe I should just do it/ Plus with a land-based farm, I'd be able to have a return immediately whereas with oysters or scallops it would take me at the very least 18 months but more probably two to three years before I could get a return. I wonder who I would talk to about leasing farm land and if I could get a long term lease, say twenty years. Twenty years! That's a bit scary. Right now I'm telling myself I like it here and have to make some kind of a commitment. I should do that with work, but I don't see how I'll ever gain more control over the daily schedule. But that's pretty ridiculous considering how much control I have over my daily ritual now. Could I plant trees on a leased piece of property? Break out the old "Organic Gardening" articles. Nuts, fruit, herbs, veggies, honey.
March 12, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSpawning our first group of oysters next Monday. Barb Graeff Ingram's birthday. The Ides of March! Beware. Farting uncontrolably this morning. The smell is the sickening part. Must be the combination of pickled cabbage slaw, cream of broccoli soup and eager digestive juices reacting and producing sulpher-bound gas bubbles. The innocuous workins of chemical reactions, nature forever moving onward, decaying and digesting. Sun bright, sky blue and clear as I sit here writing and eating oatmeal with honey and raisins at the kitchen table. I use Gary's silver cross pen for the morning's exercise. Bo is sleeping on his bed in the living room. A bite of oatmeal. I write this for myself. I write this for myself and no one else. The yard out behind? to the side of the house is bright with sun save the shadow of the kind? of tree in it's center. Amazing how a state of mind (mind-set) a thing not measurable can hae such measurable real impacts. My gruff, pissed-off attitude of Friday morning messed me up from beginning to end. I am being aware of my presence in anticipation of the interview with a student from Suffolk Community College. Normally I am unaware of my presence until after a situation has occurred, and then I wonder how it happened. Awareness is critical in understanding how events come to pass. Why not be aware at all times not just for interviews or interviewing? Laziness is a factor coupled with forgetfulness. The strength of Friday is in my veins. That fucked up attitude last Friday must be remembered and learned from. It is a powerful message for me. Don't forget the message from the sterilized bottles day when John was away skiing. Rushing around does no one good. Most importantly, me. It makes me forget chunks of thought.
March 26, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTwo weeks since I've written. Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. I want to attribute my confused state lately with no journal writing. I will. It's my journal and I shall attribute what I will to what I want.
The quintessential Spring day fills the outdoors as I sit here writing and waiting for oatmeal water to boil. The sun is bright. Sky is blue, cleared of the clouds that reigned the last forty-eight hours. I hear the multitude of bird song. Although now only one song predominates - a Cardinal? Blue Jay? I need to learn the smaller birds. They are everywhere yet I know little about them. Any birds for that matter. The thought of moving up to the land rises in my blood again. I've been thinking about renting/leasing an acre or less in Amagansett this summer. So far I haven't gotten by to talk with Scott Chasky (A@ Quail Hill Farm in Amagansett a CSA). Maybe this weekend. Now what to say? The 30-minute daily writing routine has fallen completely away from me. Lately or still I think too much. More effort should be put in to doing. I'm unhappy with work at the hatchery because I view myself as at the bottom rung. A stupid view because it does no good and if anything drives me down there quicker. Every comment from Tom I take personally. I've got to stop it becaue it'll make me crazy, moody and a general pain-in-the-ass. The morning I was thinking that I should roll with the flow. Just take each moment as it comes. Come up with a plan in my head about how I'm going to do something then if others have different ideas think about them then make decision. Don't just automatically do what they say adn don't automatically do it your way.
April 6, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTuesday - Reading Dad's journal has inspired me to cut back on the emotional meanderings and deal more with doings and events. A new philosophy overcomes me the first two days of this week. KEEP BUSY. DON'T LET YORUSELF REPEAT TAPES OVER AND OVER. WHEN YOU HEAR OLD TAPES COMING ON, STOP.
Took Boris for a walk around Cedar Street/Long Lane Loop. Removed rear wheels from truck and had East Hampton Tire put snow tires gave me on rims. $20.00 cash. If you ask for a receipt they have to add tax. Ordered two new 235/15s for front. Should be in 2 to 3 days ~ 45 or $49 each + $? for balancing. Paid rent to Barbara Field and gave notice that this well be last month. Checked on film @ Reed's. Not in from Kodak 'till 2:00 p.m. got Shellfish license from Town Hall when I p/u mail for hatchery.
Worked 10:30 - 5:00. 1/2 hr. lunch. Put straps on 4 old rafts. Ran out of galvanized screws and washers, ordered 2 boxes from East End Marine. Cleaned mass culture tank, flushed lines from algae and hatchery head tanks. Worked on maps for Clerk's offices in E.H. and Montauk.
Took down aluminum awning at Gary's (house on Norfolk Dr. in Springs that he bought and we're moving in to.) Cleaned up leaves and swept around slider. P/u branches and piled in back corner of yard. Boris hanging out with me all day. Gary painting ceiling of front bedroom.
April 8, 1993.
ReplyDeleteThursday - walked Boris on Buell lane/Main Street/ Park loop. Jump-started truck. Drove around Stratton Square to charge up battery. Shucked 12 spawned oysters for Karen Tmelty as pay back for "Star" calendars. Siphoned broodstock. Checked 70's for foot action. Non-apparent. Making cultch by pond. 2 mallards look to be making their home in the pond.
Called Allstate to get policy for truck and car. Cultch till 1:30. Lunch. Fed larvae, putting cultch in set tanks. Left hatch @ 3:00. Pd Karen for classified ad adn dropped off oysters. Long wait at Allstate for policy. Ok $490/6 months about what I pay now for 1 car at U.S. Capital. Revco to p.u. supplies for Tom. Too late for Nugent & Potter. Registered truck @ D.M.V. in Riverhead. Got plates! Gary treated me to pizza and ice to celebrate getting the truck on the road. Of course we took the truck! ($156 to register truck) amount determined by the weight of vehicle.
April 9, 1993.
ReplyDeleteFriday - T.G.I.F.
Drove truck to work after morning walk with Boris. Great feeling tooling along the Napeague stretch past the high bush blueberry, bear berry and heather-covered dunes. A new driving experience. No radio or clock to distract me. No thoughts of the day ahead at the hatchery. Just I hope she makes it to Montauk, and Wow, this is great! Boris seemed comfortable as he stretched out across the bench seat.
Took down conicals. Filled set tanks with oyster larvae. Most of the 70's had moved to 60 and were beginning to set on the sides of the conical and in the blue buckets we were holding them in till the set tanks were filled. 8 set tanks and 18 conicals now. Cleaned broodstock. Washed and rinsed head tank. Home.
Bo ran off. Dinner w/ Chris and Larry @ Danny's in Shinnecock Hills. I was expecting all-you-can-eat fish fest. But had misunderstood Gary. Food okay...reasonable price. Waitress looked like she was dressed for Spain in short ruffled skirt and white short blouse cut to her bellybutton. Turns out that the waitress was a girl who came pounding on Chris' door one day last fall. She escaped from a driver who she had hitched a ride with when the driver tried to advance on her. She didn't seem to show any recollection of Chris (Zaloga.)
April 15, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTAX DAY.
Mailed my 1040 EZ and IT200 forms in yesterday.
Gary's been telling me about this guy Sean at Kathleen's Bake Shop that makes his own salsa and sells it through Kathleen's store. It got me thinking...
I want to rent land for a garden in Amagansett. Why not grow the basil, parsley and garlic for pesto and then sell pesto? Looking through the vegetable encyclopedia I noticed that those three vegetables or herbs have few insect/bacterial/or viral pests. Questions started popping in to my mind about:
1. packaging,
2. labeling,
3. distributing,
4. producing,
5. making,
6. figuring price.
Sketch of a label with "Amagansett Grown"
Ingredients:
Basil, garlic, parsley grown in Amagansett. Parmesan cheese, olive oil, pignoli nuts and black pepper. (I need to get some basil, parsley and garlic to set up for the drawing.)
I could get the cheese, olive oil and pignoli nuts from the food coop.
DeleteApril 27, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTuesday - moving week.
Last week at 15A King Street. Usual coocurrence of the many loose strands of yarn in this unraveling sweater of life:
Saturday, April 24th - in PA helping, Mom, Diane, Bob, Ed and Terry pack Mom's belongings and move her out of her home for the last 17.5 years at 70 Wedgewood Circle.
Sunday, April 25 - Work at hatchery, harvesting algae and feeding animals. Christening of Cristina Isabel Estupinan in Southampton. Followed by a reception at Mr. and Mrs. King's (Barbara's parents) Jack and Peggy, MiAmelia and Esteban, Barbara's uncles, John (Jesuit Preist) and Ray (firefighter from Jersey City) Patty (Barbara's sister), Gary, Chis, Tom, Lori and Lindsey Ackerson. I had a bit too much red wine and got sloppy.
...actually might've spilled some red wine on Barbara's parents beautiful pink couch...behind a cushion thankfully plus said to Lori Ackerson, I remember when you were pregnant, when they introduced me to their obviously brown-skinned daughter whom they adopted...oops.
DeleteMonday, April 26, 1993.
ReplyDeleteHell of a day, recovering from hangover. Take-down day. Drained, rinsed, refilled, fed sets. Ditto conicals, then on to out-back sets. Sue Talay surprise visit, looking tanned, not jubilant about CA as I would have expected. Anna in after 12:30 till 5:00. Moved load of Greg's, Gary's and mine from basement to 96 Norfolk Drive.
Tuesday, April 27 - Packed more of Greg's and books from living room into car. Fed Thal to sets and outbacks. Ran out halfway through outback. Cleaned algae mass culture A tank, refilled. Cleaned broodstock and refilled. Went to South Lake Dr. to check out Richard Lester's powering demonstration but wind was blowing too hard out of N to NE too choppy. Postponed til Thursday @ 11:00. Finished feeding mix to conicals and set tanks. Lunch. Loaded 6 blocks of trays on to truck and took 30 trays os set oysters out to T.M.H. finger across from Halsey's Marina. Work 8:00 - 5:00.
Moved more junk from old to nw house. Van and car loads.
Wednesday, April 28, 1993.
ReplyDeleteBusy, but can't remember hours @ work. Took down 2 set tanks adn moved to outback, rinsed remaining sets. Drained conicals and seived. Cleaned, filled, redistributed larvae, feed. Took down outbacks w/ help from George and Anna (interns from Suffolk Community and Southampton College), cleaned, refilled, fed, cleaned head tank and feed tank.8:30 - 5:30.
Thursday, April 29th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteDropped TV and VCR off at Mae and Lou's for their return Sunday. Took down 3 set tanks and moved to outback. Drained 6, 70 conicals and put in two set tanks. Took #30 trays out to T.M.H. field site. In A.M. fed and went to powering demonstration (technique used by baymen to harvest clams whereby they use their outboard motor in reverse over the bottom to "blow" sediment away to access clams). Looks like Tom Knobel (East Hampton Trustee) doesn't really have a clue why he's so hot on this survey beside assessing hatchery's success ?! 7:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.
Decided going to N.C. for 4 days would be irresponsible on two fronts: work and moving. By the time I got home Gary had cleaned most of the 15A King Street house. He brought home a stray dog that he picked up near Caldor that he thought was going to get run over (Wednesday night). The poor dog must have thought he was in the twilight zone with all the yelling I was doing Wednesday night and Thursday morning. Realizing the ration of shit I was giving Gary about trying to complete mud room project when we should've bee moving, plus completely loosing any sense of sanity when the stray dog jumped in my car with muddy feet because he wanted to play w/ Bo who was going with me to work Then after I yanked him out and he ran along side the car as I was driving out then jumped up on the hood when I stopped and tried to make him go inside the house until I left, made me realize that I was under a little bit of pressure and should probably cancel my plans for N.C. It was the right thing to do. Whether or not the family thinks so.
First night sleeping in the new house.
Gar figured out why my truck was making hellish sound. Wheel was coming off. Lugs working their way through the rim. Now truck is running okay.
Friday, April 30, 1993.
ReplyDeleteMom closing on her house through realtor.
Days getting longer. Bad night sleep 'cause I though a squirrel had found it's way in through the opening (used to be door) to mud room and was nestled inthe pile of junk I call my treasured belongings (when I can't think what the hell I have them for) and trying to scratch it's way out. It took me several hours of tossing and turning to realize that it was Boris on thte other side of the wall rolling in his sleep.
Took down three more set tanks and moved to outback. Drained remaining sets, refilled, fed. Drained conicals, larvae into 3 of 4 available set tanks. Anna making cultch. Drain, rinse, refill outbacks. Feed. Clean head tanks.
Saturday, May 1, 1993.
ReplyDeleteHatchery 10:00 - 4:45. 15 min. lunch.
Feeding animals, havesting algae, refilling working on cultch.
June 28th, 1993.
The time she is passing quickly by. Rainy Sunday keeps me inside paying bills, making phone calls. Writing in here of all things. Life has calmed considerably since the last entry. It looks like a different person was writing on the pages before this.
July 4th, 1993.
Moring walk with Bo down Gerard Drive to point and home not so tranquil. Cars purring by one after the other weaving in and out of walkers, bikers, runners, dogs. One honk (prolonged) at Boris because he was walking in the middle of the road. Got my adrenaline pumping and made me yell at the guy to "SLOW DOWN, WHAT''D HE THINK WAS GOING ON? A ROAD!"
Often I'm amazed at the garbled thoughts that seep out in a torrent through my mouth. The sun felt hot on me as we walked. The air clung to my sweat glands. The horizon was a grey haze. Summer is here. No doubt. Neither Boris nor I realized the meaning of this until yesterday. Boris still doesn't realize it. The two lane, curving roads that felt like the country, winding past views of marshes and glints of water are now a-buzz with cars, a-whir with bicycles and rollerblades and befuddled with walkers, juggers and runners. It's crowded as hell. I think an appropriate course of action means staying at home and cleaning up the Nova, scraping paint off the boat and otherwise eating, sleeping and reading. Oh, and writing. Writing my blurb for Karen and Rich's wedding. Karen wants it by the end of the month so the Pastor can look at it and figure out what he wants to say. Maybe I shall start now with a draft of some lines...
Rich and Karen asked me to read a favorite passage or write something for their wedding. I was really honored by their wanting me to play this role in their wedding. And then as I started to think about it the friendly gesture turned, in my mind, into the Gettysburg address. Karen, just trying to get things coordinated, asked me if I had anything. Months progressed and each time she asked my "no, not yet" sounded more and more like an indictment of our friendship. A finger-pointing to my procrastination.
Well, it's not the Gettysburg address and I'm perfectly able to say some simple words to two friends that I love, who are getting married. The question is, what are those words? First, I admire their courage to say to us, your family and friends, through this ceremony "we want to spend the rest of our lives together." In a period of history when change, progress and speed have become ends in themselves, the role of marriage with it's need for patience, humor, understanding, sharing and self-sacrifice appear incompatible.
July 5th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteBack again. Timed writings to limber up my mind so I can write something for Karen and Ricardo. Don't tell me this. It's not. A temporary block in the flow of ink. Monday. A hard day to get into after the loafing Sunday. Remembering on the way home that I should be glad I have the job that I do. It's come along well and I have some authority. At least John feels comfortable enough with me harvesting tubes and putting up new ones on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I can't let my forgetfulness lull me in to sleep and let the quality of my work go down the drain. The last two weeks I find myself thinking about other jobs, whining about the monotony of the job, blah, blah, blah. I sound like a man who's forgotten how lucky he is. I've forgotten that I work with bright, happy, hard-working people, in a job that I've wanted since I left Penn State. I live in a beautiful part of the country, where many people value open spaces, clean harbors, plentiful wildlife, and fresh air, and therefore are striving and accomplishing the feat of maintaining these aspects of the East End. What the hell does that blather mean? got me!
Now I've got to settle down and think out a letter to Richie....
Dear Rich,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Late again....if it's any consolation I just mailed my sister-in-law a birthday card and her birthday was in February.
(Lots of writing but most crossed out)
I'll have to think on this some more...
Hope you're celebrating in style. It'd be nice to klink a beer with you. Take care, Rich.
July 7th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteThe hosue is quiet, hot and sticky. Outside the windows, blackness broken by rumblings of a thunderstorm that I doubt will bring rain. Inside the quiet broken by a fan moivng hot air by me and occasional taps on the windowscreen of the front door as night beetles crash into it as they're pulled to the light by my chair.
I got home from work at seven after talking to a guy named Chris Pickerel who was planting Spartina at Pussy's Pond. What was I thinking in desiring black beans and rice? As it was no canned black beans lived in the closet, and the house was hot as me. Why cook a hot dinner? Habit, big and sleepy. Kidney beans and rice. A tasteless hot dinner. A fruit salad and vegetable salad would've tasted ten times better and taken fifteen minutes to put together.
July 13, 1993.
Talked to Terry and Judy in Fort Morgan. Two more weeks for Terry to finish truck driving school.
Gary, Chris(tine) and Steve (friends from Ohio who visit for a little while in the summer. Steve Strauss' parents own a beach house between Napeague Harbor and the ocean) and I saw "The Firm" last night. Just as could only happen in Hollywood all lose ends came together and were resolved by movie's end. That's okay. I wanted to be entertained. I enjoyed the movie because it entertained me.
I'm keyed up from talking to Judy and Terry because talking to them makes me thing about their upcoming wedding. I've never thought so much about a wedding before. It's bizarre!
The damned no-see-ums are working their way throug the windowscreens in search of my tender skin. My patience level was low today. Probably because I went to bed after 11:00 on a "school" night and didn't get my attitude sleep. For every hour under 8 hours sleep an extra "A" is added to my attitude for the next day. Plus, farting around with the pumps for almost two hours at the day's start didn't add anything to my stretched humor. Especially when I didn't expect to have that time swallowed by the pump pit. I need to roll with the punches when unexpected situations like that come up instead of letting them throw me off balance.
July 24, 1993.
ReplyDeleteStill can't think of anything to write for Karen and Rich. I know it doesn't have to be monumental or earth shaking. But as always I'm making a simple thing difficult. I wonder where the hell that family journal got to. Packed away in one of Mom's boxes at the old house.
Rick (Salter) and I are doing a "recreational salvage dive" (in Skunk's Hole, Napeague Harbor) to look for cages tomorrow at low tide ~8:00 a.m. The clothesline technique will be employed.
Thoughts are slow to come to me. A gunshot pierces the night. Then silence. I want to write something that's not missing the point. The point of why Karen and Rich and you and me are here at this restuarant. Why do people spend thousands of dollars throwing a big party?
August 7th, 1993.
Terry and Judy's wedding was great fun. In my mind, I picture the oriental rug in the living room covered with about 40 white folding chairs, the piano behind the last row of chairs. Up front by the sliding glass doors, ferns and flowers break the junction of wood floor and glass windows. Beyone the windows the tide is low. Mud flat is exposed from edge of Spartina out almost to the end of the 200+ foot dock. The water of the sound is rippled but not waved. Peace, simplicity, love. (Judy and Terry's wedding was at Diane and Bob's house in Spooner's Creek, Morehead City, NC overlooking beautiful Bogue Sound.)
August 15, 1993.
ReplyDeleteOverdue with my piece for Rich and Karen. A message from Rich (he and Karen are living in Hawaii but having their wedding in East Hampton) asks for it so minister can coordinate times. I think I've found a piece that can start the thoughts flowing.
It's from my still damp (went on Everglades kayaking trip) copy of "The Education of Little Tree" the story about a young boy being raised in the mountains of Tennessee during the 1930s by his Cherokee grandparents.
"...Grandpa said if there was less words, there wouldn't be as much trouble in the world. He said privately to me that there was always some damn fook making up a word that served no purpose except to cause trouble. Which is reasonable. Grandpa favored the sound, or how you said a word, as to its meaning. He said folks that spoke different words could feel the same thing by listening to the sound of music. Grandma agreed with him, because that's the way they talked to each other.
Grandma's name was Bonnie Bee. I knew that when I heard him late at night say, "I kin ye, Bonnie Bee," he was saying, "I love yem," for the feeling was in the words.
And when they would be talking and Granma would say, "Do ye kin me, Wales?" and he would answer, "I kin ye," it meant, "I understand ye." To them, love and understanding was the same thing. Granma said you couldn't love something you didn't understand; nor could you love people, nor God, if you didn't understand the people and God.
Granpa and Granma had an understanding, and so they had a love. Granma said the understanding run deeper as the years went by, and she reckined it would get beyond anything mortal folks could think upon or explain. And so they called it "kin."
Granpa said back before his time "kinfolks" meant any folks that you understood and had an understanding with, so it meant "loved folks." But people got selfish, and brought it down to mean just blood relatives; but that actually it was never meant to mean that." Forrest Carter.
What follows is what I wrote and spoke afterwards:
To me, these words deftly announce a simple truth, that love and understanding are one in the same. That message can tie many aspects of life and love together. A great example is this ceremony and celebration that Karen and Rich have invited us to join them in.
We've come here from all parts of the East End, New York and the U.S. to witness this occasion. We visit with Rich and Karen's relatives and friends, other pieces of their lives. We tell old stories and new stories, we eat, we laugh, and we cry. If we're listening and a little lucky during our time together, we'll take home with us more than just a few extra calories, some good jokes, and a few rolls of photographs. We'll take home a keener understanding of who Rich and Karen are as individuals and as a couple. And, maybe we'll even have a broader understanding of ourselves. Then with this understanding out love for them and each other will be deepened and we will be ..."kin."
August 20? 1993.
ReplyDeleteSunday's Bob's Birthday. I've got to do some shopping manana. Busy, busy week. Monday started early at the hach sieving scallops. Then after giving Sheno (a graduate student of Dr. Monica Bricelj, researcher at S.U.N.Y. - Stony Brook. She was my Aquaculture professor at Southampton College who also let me work on a bay scallop overwintering project from 1985 into 1986.) her ~5,000 scallops, I dashed to J.F.K. to pick up Vicki (Marsland, neighbor from Sale, Australia) and Nick (Vicki's beau) and drove them to Cynthia's - Vicki and Kathryn's cousin - on the west side of Manhattan. Had dinner w/
August 29th, 1993.
Don't forget to make reservations to New Bern for Oct. 15th before good fares expire.
Dear Judy, (my sister-in-law)
Impressive thunderstorms yesterday evening washed away the dust and humid weather of summer. The sky this morning is clear blue with an occasional cotton ball cloud skidding by.
Thanks for your letters. I'm really glad I got to be with you at your wedding and finally meet your family, Judy. It's a good thing to have some faces to put behind their names. I especially enjoyed talking to your Dad. He's got great stories!
How is your coordinating postion working out? With only a week to go before Labor Day, I guess your really feeling the pressure of getting lesson plans, your room and everything else in order for the fifth graders.
My work season is starting to slow down. We've started seeding out our oysters since they're over an inch long, most of the clams are in our field-grow out system (20 rafts in two harbors) and our scallops are starting to go into their field system - 500 to 600 pearl nets in one harbor. Now I'm finding time for loafing on the beach with a good book on the weekends or walking through newly discovered trails in a county park. This is a beautiful time of year here to spend out of doors.
How's your garden holding out? Mine is, at best, unimpressive, but I'm looking forward to next year when I'll have a sunny spot and rich compost to add to the soil. I've enclosed a couple articles on attracting garden visitors that I think were interesting.
August 30th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteDear Mom,
Hurricane Emily Eve for you and Diane as I write. At work today listening to John, my boss, talk abot the impending hurricane, I had the impression that Emily was intended to hit Long Island by Tuesday night. I was so influenced by this dire prediciton that after work I hustled to the grocery store to stock up on canned goods, charcoal, etc, to the bank, and to the gas station to fill up my truck. I got home and listened to the radio only to hear that a little rainy weather is predicted for Wednesday. I hope that's all we get and you too.
I hope this letter finds you happy and healthy and not suffering from the effects of Emily. It amazes me how these storms develop and grow, working their way across hundreds, even thousands, of miles of ocean to land by chance on one island, or section of coastline causing great damage to our ordered world.
Sept 8th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteHome from work by 5:30! Hot showered to clean off oyster and clam sieving dirt. Rainy/cloudy day out on Napeague. Hickory nuts are falling. Every once in a while a loud clunk on the metal shed roof. Now I hear the culprit. A squirrel jumps from tree top to tree top. He stops before a jump to lecture me. Have I invaded his peaceful kingdom with my noisy thoughts and thunderous writing? A dramatic change has occurred in 24 hours. Monday traffic buzzing, people astir in the neighborhood. Now quiet sounds of crickets,water dripping through the down spout and even an occasional car or truck driving by. This past weekend the whole area seemed inhabited to the utmost - barking dogs, radios, voices. My body feels tight and stiff from today's work.
Dear Georgette & Ed,
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!
It's after a rainy day quiet here, except for the sounds of someone's music winding it's way through the woods. Birds calling to one another sometimes overshadowing the human music then subdued by it. No sun yet. Just clouds looking like they need to be blown away in time for a brilliant sunset.
The air has a moist smell of cedars mixed with wet leaves and grass. Bluejay squawks. Still leaves. Night wanting to descend.
My love to you as you celebrate another year of marriage.
Have fun.
Love, Craig
Dear Aunt Dorie,
ReplyDeleteA peaceful evening as I sit in a wooden chair with the light of dusk thinking of words to write to you. The rain is done for today and all is quiet. Time to light the charcoal so I can grill the tuna a friend caught.
I really missed seeing you at Judy and Terry's wedding. After the initial shock of hearing about your having cancer, I was relieved to know that the surgery went well and all the cancer was removed. It must've been comforting to have Viki with you through the initial doctors visits, surgery and then the recovery.
I hope you're feeling stronger and more like your able-bodied self each day. I wish I was closer, Aunt Dorie, so I could drive by with some chicken soup or cookies, hold your hand, or just sit quietly with you.
Your in my thoughts Aunt Dorie.
Love,
Craig
Monday, September 13, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSlightly overbrowned granola in my cereal bowl.
Busy weekend working on Gary's house. Primed trim and rolled in walls of mud room. Picked up 1.5 yards of bank run sand for 8' x 8' slab, large float and edge trowel plus five bags portland cement.
Snow White (the latest name for my white 1965, Ford pick up) was loaded to the max from Wainscott to Springs. The guy at the sand yard said the 1.5 yards of sand weighed about 3500 lbs and each bag of cement was 95 lbs. Steering was very unresponsive with that kind of load. Shoveled sand out of bed at home. Should've put it on to a tarp instead of right on to the grass. Put second coat of green on outside trim. Should've sanded trim w/ sap spots before painting. Helped Gary pour slab. He made form out of 2 x 6's. Cut grass off and dug down ~ 1- 2." Then leveled form. Took out bows by filling sand on one or both sides of a bowed side. Tamped down earth. Put in a layer of sand and wetted w/ H@O. First put piece of chain link over sand. Fired up cement mixer which was stationed at corner of form. 5 gallons water, 8 square shovelfuls of sand, 1/2 bag cement, 8 more square shovels sand. Let mix then poured into corner. Gary deflecting cement w/ shovel. Used rake to spread away from corner. Went through all five bags cement plus 1/2 bag in garage, screened cement w/ 2 x 6 across form to get out high spots. Ran water into mixer while running + 3 smooth rocks to clean up. 1/2 hour laer floated cement and edge troweled. Next morning slab was hard and ready for us to roll, egyptian-style, the grey shed from the house down the yard and on to it. Moved shingles into shed. Sanded and put first coat on back door after taking it off it's hinges. Later on in the day put it back on its hinges and painted the other side.
Thursday, Sept. 16th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSound of wire brush on brick floor coming from the mud room as Gary completes one of the last steps of that project. Wind blows outside my window, the trees are rustling. Drip, drip, drip from the gutters. Last night one of my dreams was about Boris on the far side of a busy, many-laned road. I yelled for him to stay, but he ran across the road to me. He caused several, at least two cars to collide. The police came, and I explained what happened. Boris made it across the road unhurt. I try thinking about what the dream can mean. What were my emotions? Gladness that Bo wasn't killed, but what else? Always explaining the obvious? Look up dog in the dictionary or encyclopedia. Was there a dog god in Greek times? Teh encyclopedia tells about dogs but it doesn't help me much in understanding the Bo dream. My eyes are getting heavy as I lie on my bed writing. Kidney bean-less chili digesting in my stomach.
I don't want to get caught up in Gary's madness to have the addition done for Christmas. He's invited his entire family to 96 Norfolk Dr. for the holidays. 2 bedrooms and a fold out couch won't cut it for Gary, Mae and Lou, Greg, Linda and guest and George and guest. Good luck Gary. Already I'm caught up in the struggle. Maybe when Mae and Lou are here they'll make the decision not to come for Christmas despite Gary's invitation. It'll be good to stay outside the drama and just watch it unfold. Alas, if only I can keep from jumping in and getting all angry or whatever my emotion du jour. It will all work out. As will the hatchery and all it's goings on.
September 26, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSitting at the paint-mottled 18" x 36" table rescued from the shed of everything wanting to be forgotten and out of the way. It crowds my room sitting in the corner by the closet sandwiched between wall and nightstand. But, I need a place to write. I try writing at the kitchen table which works well when Gary's not around. But it's surrounded by space and big windows. The windows call me to look thorugh them. The space around me, kitchen and living room are a vacum sucking thought away from my writing hand. I like small human dwellings. Small bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens and living rooms (as if the other rooms aren't for living). As I am told, by Terry, some yellow labs and golden retrievers like small spaces. Perhaps it makes them feel secure. Stands to reason tht if their old time home before domestication was a den then of course they'd feel secure in a small enclosed space as their nest from outdoors. Considering the efforts of being outside most of the time, being on guard for predators and stalking food and mates it would be a blessing to be in contact with all four to six surfaces of your resting spot.
As Gary draws up plans for the addition and other improvements to the house I notice more and more differences in our personality. Not so much personality, but ways of looking at "home." Then again his plans might not be what he thinks his home should have, but more what he thinks a house that he's going to rent should have so that it would attract an affluent renter.
Perhaps my laziness is showing as he draws up plans. I hear his talk about a deck, then a brick patio, wit trellis work over the deck as work that seems unnecessary. Work that will occupy mch of my free time this fall, winter, next spring, summer, fall and winter. At times I say to myself that I should look at these plans as an opportunity to learn building skills. An opportunity to take each day as it comes w/out worrying about the next. Yet, I am divided. Other times I think I am expected to help out and get frustrated because I have no time to work on my own projects like he kayak, sailboat. No time to garden, go bicycling, write or read. I have had time to read. I don't have any input into this house because I'm just a renter. I like it that way, but I don't like the fact that decisions are made about doing something the "right" way at the expense of my time. What am I hoarding up all "my" time for anyway? My daydreams about building a cabin on he land have drifted away for now. Partly becasue they seem unrealistic. How would I (we) make money or grow all the food we'd need for a year?
Rainy days, especially Sundays, offer time to reflect, read and write. I've done so little reflecting since the hatchery season started that my experiences have jumbled together like notes on scraps of paper stuffed into my pockets. Now that I take time to pull them out I see that some have been through the wash many times and are faded, mushy, impossible to read. I can pick out words here and there but not enough to be intelligible. What lessons have I learned about the world, other people, scallops, clams or oysters? Myself, Gary, Boris? Much of the time I think it is futile to look for order in life and my experiences. To do so would require keen attentiveness on my lazy part. Besides my definition of order is not the truth. So, how could my observations of "order" be truth? Gary says he as someone figured out. That concept is unimaginable to me. After 3 to 4 years of working with John I understand him no more than when I first started working with him. The same could be said for my having Gary figured out after 8 years of friendship. Maybe I've never really thought about figuring some one out. I'm just constantly reacting to their actions. Trying to find agreement with them.
September 26, 1993 - continued...
ReplyDeleteWind and rain are strong now. Just rain as I look to the unshaking leaves through the window. Boris is asleep and snoring on his bed in the corner of the room here with me, the table, lamp, handkerchief and chicken decorated mug of cold lemon tea.
I enjoy the rustic. I think I've found a long lost friend in this table. you can't touch it without your fingertips coming away with some dirt. Dirt being whatever dirt is - little pieces of paint, undoubtedly lead based, sand, splinters of wood. It is a rich table to behold. My half-hearted scraping and sanding efforts on the top reveal bare spots of wood, scrape marks in the impenetrable white paint, greys and in rough corners saved by fasteners of screws or nails the mustard brown of the top coat. Its edges are softened on the ends by years of use while the long side's edges show the effects of hard scrapping, collisions with harder objects, and being thrown into the shed of out-of-sight, out-of-mind in the back yard. I bought this table at a barn between Middletown and Lancaster (PA) for $20 on the way home from Thanksgiving at Mom's with Gary as we drove his black Mazda pick up.
Dear Chris and Steve,
A rainy Sunday. No trip to the Strauss' beach today. Last weekend Monarch butterflies were headed west along the beach. Flowering golden rod are a favored rest stop for these travelers. From one to a whole mass of drifters can be found on a single plant.
The sun's rays weren't able to warm me beyond goose bumps due to the northwest wind last weekend.
Yesterday, Gary, Bo and I sent snorkelling to get an idea of the scallp set in Napeague near the Walking Dunes. Nice eelgrass beds adn nestled beneath, lovely little scallops the size of half dollars. Looks good to me but I never saw it in the "really good" days. Fall is here.
I've been making bread religiously, thanks to you and the yeast. Gary even made a couple loaves. I've substituted some whole wheat for the white flour and haven't had to buy sandwich bread for the last month.
Your sailboat is covered and resting quietly on her cradle (in the driveway of the beach house).
Hope all is going well for you two.
October 6, 1993.
ReplyDelete38 F. John and Paul Beckwith, Baymen, son and father, Napeague Harbor Rd.
November 9, 1993.
Cookies: oatmeal-raisin baking in the white-enamel Hotpoint Delux electric oven. I sneak a peak a minute ago an they were beginning their almost migration across the cookie sheets - I like big cookies. The tube directions said htis would make three dozen! I might have eighteen or maybe two: one big rectangle and one medium-sized rectangle. I think I have a little piece of the wraper stuck in my throat. those are big cookies. The smell is starting to tickle my nostrils. Oat-sugary smell wafting through the air. I think it's reached Bo because he's staring this way from time to time.
November 13, 1993.
ReplyDeleteI'm ready for a new job. After dragging through this hell week, I've decided I've had enough. This has been a particular arduous week at work becasue we finally had to do something with the overwintering experiment. Wednesday was a day that John and I were going to work out the "technique" for putting the bags in the bottom. I made suggestions about how we might approach working out the technique, but alas they were shot down in favor of a digger that we (I) would make, which proved worthless for the two following days. Coupled with this was having to listen to John drone on about how this experiment wasn't going to work, ad naseum. This talking about the pointlessness of our field site went on through what seemed the first three hours of our attempt on Thursday with Eric Nuzzi - the student who is doing the project and has made all 48 trays and 48 wire cages. I was thinking that it must've been disheartening for him to listen to John's belaboring the futility of the experiment.
What is my gripe with John? I like John as a person. What that means is that I think he's honest, he's dedicated to this project, he's worked above and beyond what most any other person would do in his situation. My gripe with John is petty: that my suggestions aren't acknowledged as worth consideration, yet often times they're used. It's purely an ego problem I have. But it's my problem and it doesn't serve the hatchery. My problem is with the job. And, frankly, that's why I'm ready to move on to something else. What somehting else is, is anothe topic of discussion. My problem(s) with the job are:
1. If I work hard and long hours during the "growing" season. I can never get back those hours thorugh time, money or other compensation. Sure I get some back in time, which is great. I don't expect to get them all back, but when I plan to take off time I feel guilty because there's still so much to do.
2.) I'm demoralized by John's prognosis of things to come with Tom Knobel, the Trustees and two years down the road. If I accept his forecast, then really what is the point of me continuing on when, I'm not planning on workng for the hatchery till my retirement days? He and the Hatchery should have someone who's willing to fight to the bitter end. "Shit or get off the pot" as Dad used to say.
November 20!
ReplyDeleteStill working at the hatchery at the end of a much better week.
Stuart Lester - 250 lobster pots and a trap in Spring and Fall.
Crazy bizzare dinner with Mark and Cindy two nights ago. From the moment Gary and I stepped in the door something felt strange. Thinking about the evening I liken myself to Alice in Wonderland. So many unexplained moods, actions, silences. Folk Art is something I wish to know nothing about. Cindy draws bed springs on old canvas canoes that have been partially stripped of their paint and partially gold-leafed. (As I copy this on to the blog, over 20 years later I'm intrigued by what Cindy was doing and "folk art.")
Blue skies are breaking through the grey clouds of this Saturday morning. Sun streaks across the leaf-littered yard. Friday's marker of passing time: John, Tom and I finished seeding the last of the scallops.
A rain and wind-driven day but not unbearably cold. We used "Ed" (galvanized, flat-bottomed boat) to ferry pearl nets from the strings to the big boat docked at the head of the harbor. Then untied nets one from another and unlaced the orange lines to empty the nets of the beautiful colored and varied blue-eyed shellfish.
Today Boris and I are drivng to NJ to visit Ilise at her camp outside Newton.
November 27, 1993.
Thanksgiving vacation - Saturday. Boris and I went to Atlantic Beach and walked east into Napeague Beach State Park. Wind SE 15 knots. Surprised to see the sun this morning. Boris and I made the most of it. Then stopped at Marty's Deli for a peanut butter and butter on a roll, regular coffee and a paper. Drove to the ramp at Louse Pt. read, watched the water, sipped coffee and chewed on my roll.
Gary's not on vacation so he's giving me a hard time about having Friday and Saturday off. I take it too seriously as usual. But sitting here I have much to be grateful for and realize my complaints about others are kind of comical.
Clouds have overtaken the sun and now the day takes on a grey tone. Thanksgiving dinner wiith Gary and Cindy was amusing, filling and joyful. Mom's Peruvian dishes were hauled out of their boxes. Grandma's silver made an appearance for the event, too. Made me think of the Thanksgivings growing up in PA. Readying the house, dinner, driving to Camp Hill to pick up Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Doris. Who would've thought they'd take on such a golden lustre as I think back on them.
Dear Ilise,
ReplyDeleteI sit at the kitchen table watching greyness overtake the morning sun. Boris and I had a blustery walk on the beach. The waves have a different look at this time of year. With the sun at a winter angle, light shines through the wave as it crests and gives it a clear glass green color. The wind was blowing from the ocean on to the shore. Sand marched across tire tracks and footprints like an eraser across the blackboard.
That was a fantastic visit last weekend. I really appreciate your showing me around some of the local trails and all your info, thoughts and books about Mexico. As the departure date draws near I sense some second thoughts on Gary's part about the trip. But as I read about Baja from the "National Geographic" and Mexico from the Guide Book, I'm getting more enthusiastic.
If I don't talk to you before you head south, best of luck on your trip and Happy Holidays.
Dear Mark and Penny Hooper,
ReplyDeleteMy name is Craig Hassler. I work at a Town run shellfish hatchery on the East End of Long Island, NY which has produced 10 million shellfish a year for two years as part of a restocking effort. We grow oysters, clams and bay scallops through one growing season and then seed our animals onto Town-owned bottomlands in the fall of each year.
My sister, Diane Hardy of Morehead City mentioned your oyster and blue claw crab operation. When I flooded her with questions she gave me your names and address and suggested I write to you. I'm interested in seeing your operation and talking with you about your business.
Eventually I'd like to establish my own business growing bay scallops to market size. But, before I do, I'd like to talk and visit with culturists like yourselves to get a feel for the pitfalls and harsh realities of small-scalle commercial aquaculture.
If it would be convenient for you, I'll be visiting family in Morehead in early January and was wondering if you'd have time to talk with me. Would it be possible to stop by during the 2nd week of Janurary to talk with you?
Hope to hear from you.
Nov 28, 1993.
ReplyDeleteSunday - I finished reading "Diet for a New America" last night. Now I'm thinking about leaving my job by this Spring and trying to find work in agriculture. Quail Hill Organic Farm, a guy on Sagaponack Main that has a stand that Gary mentioned.
I feel a pattern in my cycling of "What to do next?" Just yesterday I was scribbling letters about wanting to own a scallop grow-out business. What makes me so changeable? I think of what it'll take financially to grow-out scallops, plus it would require me to continue on at the Hatchery. If I switch to vegetable production I'd need to work in the field under someone to get some experience. Doing that and continuing at the hatchery would be impossible. Besides if vegetables are the future, and even seafood is linked with an unhealthy diet, then I should go with the green since that's what I've fantasized and daydreamed aoubt off and on for the past seven years.
Trip to Baja is postponed. Again. I'm getting a little frustrated with friendship. Feeling guilty because I don't do more with my friends around the big holidays. I work with them to schedule a vacation around what they would like to do, order airline tickets, get info together, get psyched up then, boom, they can't go because something came up at work. Of course this isn't a big deal. I understand that. To get angry at postponing a vacation is ludicrous. The issue itself is not what nags, but the example of a trend that I see developing with ME is more disturbing. It is the fact that I'm being held to a standard which isn't universal. To me family is important. I want to spend time with my family. Ideally, I think I'd move to North Carolina now so that I could be close to my family. I think I'm ready to "settle down." But I don't quite know what that means. If it means accepting a job, not questioning it or where you're going with it then maybe I'm not ready to settle.
Nov. 28, 1993 continued...
ReplyDeleteACCOUNTING TIME:
Monthly bills:
Auto insurance $75.00
Food $200.00
Rent $300.00
Loans $150.00
Gas $80.00
Lilco $50.00
NY tel $50.00
L.P. Gas $30.00
$935.00
Missing anything?
Dec. 25th - 26th, 1993.
ReplyDeleteTick in clear tape stuck to page w/ note: Tick on my neck from walk in woods.
Late night. Can't sleep. Clocks ticking, chiming, reminding me that I can't sleep. Thought after thought drifts through my mind. Each one carefully considered, but not completely until another thought rumbles in.
I've got to write a letter to Jerry Schubel. Monica Bricelj is up for tenure and needs letters from students.
5 pages of attempts this being mid way through:
Dr. Jerry Schubel, Director
M.S.R.C.
S.U.N.Y. - Stonyy Brook
Stony Brook, NY 11790
Recently, I've been made aware that Dr. Monica Bricelj is under consideration for tenure at the State University of New York at Stony Brook. As a former student of hers during 1985 and 1986 at L.I.U. Southampton I would like to offer my comments.
Looking back on my experiences at Southampton I can honestly admit that the Aquaculture course and Independent Study course, both taught by Dr. Bricelj, were by far the most influential in my college career. I can attribute this to her professional approach to teaching characterized by:
1. subject material enhanced with local, national and global knowledge.
2. thoroughly researched and well organized lectures, labs, discussions, handouts and exams.
3. valuable links with the public, private and academic sectors of the aquaculture community to enhance her students' learning experiences.
4. demand of high quality work from her students.
5. complete utilization of class time.
6. a willingness to develop worthwhile individual courses of instruction for interested students.
The above points were consistently incorporated into each class and acted as a highly motivating factor for me.
I hope my thoughts, a student's point-of-view will prove useful to you as you evaluate Dr. Bricelj for tenure.
December 31, 1993.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad that letter's over with and mailed out. What a production. Finally home. Relief welled over me last night as I sat eating stale pesto pizza and questionable eggless. Three of four inches of snow cover the back yard as I look out the kitchen window. My toes tingle with numbness and cold. No insulation under the floor.
I experienced out of the "normal" holiday/family feelings this year. Foremost - I had planned to be away from family for the "Holidays." Why? Change? We are all growing older. We're changing. More and more since I can't get to N.C. or Virginia often as I could get to PA.
I am an adult now. There's no getting around that. What does that mean? Since this summer at Terry and Judy's wedding I feel more aware of this fact. Desperately, albeit unacknowledged or unconscious, I cling to the belief that I'm still a kid, choosing to spend most of my time with the nephews and nieces. The youngest group of cousins. Meanwhile, the adults gathered in their group discussing matters of adult world: mortgages, investments, health-care, child-rearing, who knows what else? I don't fit in that world, at least I don't see myself fitting in that world, and yet I'm not able to get in on the young adults world either. I'm out of place. "Unique" I could think. So what's that got to do with this Christmas? The changing ways of life, I guess. How could I have approached the NC part of my visit differently?
My approach was rather elusive and schizophrenic. No dogs allowed in Mom's apartment complex. An avowel to Mom that I would stay at her place before the trip south. A commuter is a good word to describe me in NC. Shuffling between Morehead City and Beaufort. Mornings in Beaufort; a walk through the subdivision and then breakfast. Morning activities and then afternoon activity at Hardy's. Back to Mom's for dinner. Out to see a movie with Hardy's. Back to Hardy's to spend night. Up early the next morning to get to Mom's for a walk and breakfast, etc. At one point, a couple of times the thought of this being my last family visit felt comforting and agreeable.
I think the snow will melt today. I enjoyed being at Ed and Georgette's more than anytime in the past. More so than being in NC. A first. Ed seems like he's found a niche. He's funny, not stuffy. Just Ed. Like Dad used to be.
You know, I'm tired of playing the good little boy. Whatever that is. Trying not to make waves and have everybody get along. I want to see a change in myself. I didn't do any writing or drawing this trip. Too busy I guess.
Mom's letting herself get old. I know you can't be chipper and upbeat all the time, especially when you've got a health problem that's not getting resolved. Relationship. I notice that between Mom and Diane. Mom and Di call at least once a day on the phone. Mom has to call Di when she drives home from their place. Do they do these things because they want to or think they should? Diane seems like she's holding back things she wants to say. I know I feel that way all the time. It's good to be writin' again.
January 11, 1994.
ReplyDeleteHAPPY NEW YEAR
Back to spend New Year's Eve with my friends, but even that didn't seem quite right (I'm the common denominator in all these not right events). Chris and Steve, Aaron, Chris Zaloga and, for a short while Cindy and Mark. It was fun but without someone to be preparing the meal with, like Rich and Karen and Jenn and Gary, the preparation part was a separate and rather long process. I've got to say it was a relief being able to talk to Jenn when she came down the next day. Reading "Think Big" by Ben Carson helped me rise up above my down-in-the-mouth self, but now I find myself slipping back into "old" ways, constant nagging mind dialogue about John when I'm at work and then a nagging, unappreciative mind noise when I'm home about Gary. How do I get out of this? What's my problem? I really need to just get on with things and turn that background noise off.
How about imagining what your cabin on the land would look like?
March 3rd, 1994 - Cold hands in Beaufort, NC.
ReplyDeleteThere's a pen:
Books read in 1994:
"Think Big" Ben Carson
T alents/time
H ope for good thins/honesty.
I nsight from books and people.
K knowledge - seek it as the key to living.
B ooks - read actively.
I n depth. Learning skills. Develop them.
G od - never outgrow.
"How to Grow Plants for Profit"
Perennials For Profit or Pleasure."
"From Freedom to Slavery - The Rebirth of Tyranny in America"
by Gary Spence.
1. the Eye of the Wolf - the tyranny of Justice.
2. Easy in the Harness - the tyranny of freedom.
3. The Invisible Trap - the tyranny of fear.
4. Mountain Climbers - the tyranny of work.
5. The New King - the tyranny of the corporate core.
6. The New Indians - the tyranny of poverty.
7. Tree Huggers - the tyranny of viewpoint.
8. Eve's Return to the Garden - the tyranny of maleness.
9. Redesigning the Human Mind - the tyranny of the medic.
10. Kingdom of the Self - the tyranny of time.
Thoughts for Karen:
"Charriots of Fire," "The Graduate,"
Movies on college: think, check around.
"The Freshman," "When Harry Met Sally," "Maurice."
Sitting here in Beaufort, North Carolina. Rain splashes on the window next my car. Compost book sitting by the couch, it's my turn. So soon...? Thinking about those sheets of paper sandwiched between pieces of cardboard. I hadn't imagined rationalizations, fear and out right pain that an innocent request for simple communication could evoke from members of one family. How can this be so living in an age noted for its efficient and diverse modes of communication? Since we can surround ourselves by the "best" works of literature, art and music, do we loose the desire to write our own poetry, sing our own songs, draw our own pictures, make our own photographs, make our own stories, dream our own dreams, dance our own steps?
How to compost: low maintenance
1. Any vegetable cuttings, rotten potatoes.
2. Any uneaten fruit parts, peels, skins, cores.
3. Coffee grounds and paper filters.
4. egg shells.
5. grass clippings
6. pine needles, leaves
7. shrimp skeletons, clam, oyster, scallop, mussel shells.
Once a year turn pile over, or start piling compostables in a new pile.
March 1994: Ode to Compost
ReplyDeleteUnsung (and sometimes indistinguishable) heroes of the pile.
Farwell blessed grapefruit hulk.
Eaten religiously each day to fight our winter colds.
Adieu sensuous, honorable, uplifting coffee grounds.
You inspirers of good ideas and quick wit.
Dappled read and gold, a crispy, juicy, jonagold apple
plump with the warmth of summer. Ahhh.
So now it's gone and all that remains, reminds is the giant corre.
Beautiful sun-like orange, spherical orb.
Your flesh peeled away to satisfy our desire for your sweet inner juices.
Carrot tops and broccoli stalks - beheaded for a greater good.
O ye plentiful onion and garlic skins signs of someone's bad breath
and passionate life.
Are those moldering turnips, kale and slimy alfalfa sprouts at the bottom of the vegetable hydrator?
Lettuce remind you that shells from cooked crustaceans
and bivalves are a welcome addition to our gathering.
Oak and hickory leaves chased from their homes and scattered on the ground
by the winds of death, cold and darkness and now saddened by the distance
of bright, warm friend who used to rise above urging growth.
Goal: To write 1 short story per week in 1994 and be paid $200 for each story