Hurricane Sandy's Effect on Country Trees

I had planned on working remotely a few days after Hurricane Sandy, but S. had called to say that things were a bit touch and go there as far as telephone/internet access. And electricity for that matter. So I held off going up a few extra days. When I drove up last Friday evening there was a marked moment in the drive where things suddenly got darker than usual, and there were still a few big trees that hadn't been removed from the country roads. It was striking to see all the downed wires and old trees that had met their ends as a result of Sandy. My neighborhood in Philadelphia was almost entirely untouched. We never lost power nor did we experience flooding. In fact, there's a travel coffee mug on our deck table, which even during the windiest and most rainy part of the storm, didn't budge an inch. We were lucky of course, especially compared to NYC or the Jersey shore. The country also didn't fare quite as well. The next morning I woke up far earlier than I meant to, and instead of just going back to sleep I decided to take a walk to see what could be seen as far as trees down. This tree fell smack dab on some group of wires.

Same tree, different angle.

Bird house becomes mouse house?

I found it interesting that the inside of this tree was hollowed out a bit. Obviously it had already been cut, but had it already been like that? Or did some intrepid animal quickly think that a little digging out the tree remainder could become a nice home?

Poor little fence.

This was just a pretty view.

Yup, already starting to be cut down to size, but the damage to the fence remains.

As a kid I was always sort of amazed by the ability to age a tree by counting its rings.

I am still pretty amazed by it, but also by the images that can be captured/created over the years.

Poor trees.

This storm was no joke.

No joke at all.

This tells the story of one tree falling on another, and that one also succumbing to the wet ground and strong winds.

Yup. They went down together.

Whooooooooosh.

And on a political note. The jerks who put these stickers on these signs are, I'm sure, quite disappointed with the results of our election. I, frankly, can't understand how we can be so divided about issues that seem so obvious. Gay marriage is a civil rights issue and anyone who feels like it is anything else than that is a terrible combination of ignorant and hateful. I know that's not very charitable, but for me it's true. Though I am not gay, it hurts me to the core to think that people truly think they are somehow 'better' or 'more worthy' of the rights and privileges that come with a legally recognized marriage. I think for many of us with that basic vantage point, the true thing that 'sticks in our collective craws' is the fact that extending the rights of marriage, or serving openly in the military, for gay/lesbian/etc does not in any way actually affect the lives of people who oppose it. They think it does. But seriously, they are wrong. I'm getting angry and sick just thinking about this, so I'm going to end it. But I do have to write some sort of something about just how I feel about the strange polarization that's going on and how it's hard to figure it out.

Maryland Memorial For Mom

During my mother's first hospitalization last April, she quickly told me her thoughts on burial/cremation. Her basic thoughts were that she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread in three places that had meaning to her. The first was Abbo's Alley in Sewanee, which happened within a week of her death. The second was the back yard of the house I grew up in, which is in Maryland. We'll get to the third another time. It was quickly decided that the Maryland part would happen on the same weekend as the Preakness. B. and D. created a lovely email invitation with a great photograph of my mother, and did all the prep work (from counting heads to organizing a menu). In the end about 35 people gathered to witness the spreading of my mother's ashes in the back yard of the home she loved for over 20 years. In this picture alone there are relatives, coworkers, and friends. Many of whom have a slightly different meaning for me; they were the parents of my childhood friends, my softball coach, my piano teacher, my sometimes boss. Neighbors as well. And the children who grew up with my mother before I did and saw her as a 'spare.'
Dad said a few words then spread the ashes. We then invited those gathered to say a few words or share any memories they had of mom. J. remembered Mom showing him how to tuck his shirt into his pants 'like a cowboy' when he was no more than five. The trick, it seemed, was to stuff them into your underpants. R., a neighbor whose sons I played with throughout my youth, remembered Mom being the first person in the neighborhood to welcome his family. R., R.'s wife, remembered tye dying with my mother with two little babes nearby. J. remembered Mom's willingness to help, as did D. and C. and so many others.
It was sad, of course, but not heartbreaking. There is solace to be had in the good memories others hold dear.
And this house will always hold so many of my memories.

We returned to B. and D.'s house afterwards for a reception. They had decided that the menu would consist of things that my mother liked. Deviled eggs freshly made (so there could be no worry about spoiling). Texas-style hot dogs, complete with chili and chopped onions. Mini crab cakes and, hmmm, I think something else. It was a lovely theme for the food and so generous and kind and thoughtful of the T.s to put it together. The beer of the event was Heineken, also Mom's favorite.

Cousins. I do like taking pictures of kids. I guess because they are more reliably interesting and potentially photographic than adults?
Or I'm simply less scared of them being annoyed that I'm taking photos of them. Adults can get tetchy.

Me, my father, his sister and my half-brother.
I am grateful to all who came and shared their appreciation of my mother with us.

A Small Tribute

My mom died late last week. This is what I wrote and read at her funeral:

My mother liked her soup hot and her oysters cold. She enjoyed a strong cup of coffee in the morning and an equally well made gin and tonic in the evening. I tend to experiment when I am in the kitchen, but she preferred to follow a recipe instead of making it up as she went along. When it came to beverages and meals she believed in following a set of rules (truly let the butter come to room temperature before adding it to the cookie batter etc) but when it came to the people in her life she was far more flexible and forgiving.

From our family’s annual pair of new Christmas slippers to a necklace or earrings for my birthday - or a new shirt my father was convinced he didn’t need but would inevitably find to fit just right - she had great taste and had an uncanny knack for finding the gift perfect for whomever was on her mind. To that end it was she, without my being present or giving her much guidance, who found not one but two dresses for me to consider wearing for my senior high school prom. It’s so easy to feel misunderstood or unknowable in this world, and yet by her tokens of affection to me, I was given a clear message: she saw who I was and knew what I liked…no easy feat as a mother of a teenager, I would expect.

Mom was an artist and a teacher, and had a great ability for dealing with the whims and moods of children and adults alike, which definitely served her well in regards to my father and myself. As a child I loved looking at the photographs underneath my parents’ bed, which Mom had created before I existed. There was something so fascinating about seeing this creative inner life that predated me, and there is no doubt that my own interest in photography was inspired by that treasure trove of black and white images. Her lifelong commitment to looking at the world and reflecting it through her creative endeavors is admirable and something I will always value about her.

Throughout her life, many of Mom’s friends would describe her as ‘sweet’ or ‘quiet’ and while both these adjectives are fitting, you didn’t really know my mother unless you understood that under that sweetness and quiet there was an active, intelligent and funny mind at work.

Though she had her convictions, Mom never tried to overpower anyone with her ideas or opinions, but that shouldn’t be confused with her not having any. Whatever thoughts she did have on a subject, whether how to make a bed or what to do about a boy, she tempered her delivery with compassion and insight into her audience’s feelings and perspective. This, of course, made her a wonderful sister, aunt, wife, mother and friend. Earlier this week one of Mom’s friends mentioned that she felt that she could tell my mother anything without having to worry about being judged or misunderstood, and this is a sentiment I echo heartily as well. My mother was an unfailing sounding board for any scheme I came up with or dilemma I encountered in life. And while I didn’t always follow her patient guidance, her perspective was invaluable to me and influenced who I am and how I live my life. My belief that you should try always to see the good in people and take whatever life throws at you with grace and as much humor as you can muster are just a few examples of what my mother taught me.

My mother never swam with her head completely immersed in the water and didn’t care for murky lakes or strong waves. And yet she encouraged me to swim and embrace that which she feared. I can only hope that she had this impact on many others in her life. She was, simply put, a fantastic human being.

While I know grief fades and the absence Mom has left in our lives will soften, I will miss her forever.

I don't know why these fonts won't behave for me, I made the text plain before copy and pasting it, but it's weird.

Unconnected

On two, extremely different, notes.

Last night this was my Facebook status:
"Raise your hand if you just saw a pants-less man (in all his balls and penis glory) in the back of your hotel's well-lit, well-traveled parking lot! (I AM RAISING MY HAND)."

And, completely unrelated, today marks the 12th year since Carter Waghorne, a friend from high school, died. I haven't had the same kind of time to reflect on what this means as I have had in years past, and maybe it's not necessary to try to glean any new meaning out of the tragedy. But I still note this day and remember those with whom I grieved, and I hope that no one is offended that I'm remembering Carter's death right after mentioning a pants-less man.

Dilly Burger c/o Dilly's Corners and Hardly-Any-Proof-Tubing

As I have mentioned, I planned to go and camp on the Delaware shore this past Sunday/Monday, but that ended in total failure. When I woke up on Monday I was determined to get the fuck (pardon me) out of dodge. So I emailed Mr. Ass and asked him if he knew of any nice swimming holes in Bucks County country. He couldn't really think of any proper swimming places but mentioned that there was always tubing. I then convinced him (with very little effort) that he should come tubing with me, and a plan was born. Before going tubing we stopped at Dilly's Corner for lunch. Mr. Ass ordered a cheesecake yogurt and coca cola float (as well as food), which I thought sounded disgusting...and I will never know if I was wrong because I did not try it. I can say that Mr. Ass seemed a little let down.
I ordered a Dilly Cheeseburger with tomato, it was delicious. Liberal with the mayo, cheesy and a nice sized patty (though lacking a little in seasoning).
Then we went tubing c/o River Country. There is no hard evidence of this, however, because I did not think it was a good idea to take the camera on the Delaware River. I sunscreened the hell out of myself and ended up not burned at all, which is a minor miracle...perhaps my ironic Gap visor (not pictured but in total effect) was the key...or spraying sunscreen on every part of me, whatever. The closest thing I have to proof is the photographs I took once we ended our two hour float. A running theme of the summer: me in my bathing suit (but hiding my gut, of course), making funny faces in a pretty setting.

So much pretty river-ness, just a little more than an hour away. Why does it take me til the end of summer to realize all I could be doing?

Above is proof that Mr. Ass was there as well...in his relaxed state. This was exactly what I needed: new places, cool water, sun, and a pal. Somehow tubing by oneself seems sad. Kind of like watching movies in a theater by oneself (which I don't really think is sad, I mean really) or sitting at a bar alone (that, too, doesn't have to be sad, though I haven't done it since I first moved to Chicago). Wait, none of that is sad per se, that was just my cultural conditioning coming out. Stupid conditioning. Sad is babies in wells or wet kittens...or the last unicorn...now that is sad.

Waking to the Pretty

On Easter Sunday I awoke and loved opening my eyes and looking out the window at this. Serious pretty going on.

M.'s mom, also known as S., had cooked up bacon and made a lot of very tasty pancakes and had a pot of Earl Grey tea at the ready. Oh, it was heavenly.
The morning was lovely and the food quite tasty, but it was a sad morning. During the night A. and M. had received a phone call from the animal hospital with bad news. Smackers had died. Though the pain of losing MeowCat has abated, I knew just how deep and real the loss of a pet can be...and A. and M. are seriously good pet owners...and I felt for them both.