a sad tale, part 1

That's Pookie, front and center, adoring her two-legged friend, Nape. Nape (right, you probably know the other two) is a story in herself, a Vietnam vet who was a man (part Lakota, part Jewish) until 40 when, she says, "I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life as a woman." So she had surgery in Amsterdam, nearly 30 years ago now.
    We met her in Sunshine, La., some years back. A few months ago, she left the Mississippi riverbank for the high desert near Palm Springs. That's when everything began to fall apart—the job, the family the girlfriend, the trailer she lived in and hauled her four-leggeds in: a family of four dogs, four cats, five chickens and four or five horses.
     And then Pookie died. Nape wept for days. "I have to get out of here," she told me after she buried Pookie. But the trailer needed a part machined and there was no gas money. "Would a couple hundred dollars help?" I asked. "Yeah! She said. I might be able to get out of here! If I had known what it would be like here—  Well, I had two balls but they weren't crystal!"

the mansion next door

Meanwhile, back on Block Island, the house next door is getting quickly enclosed—shingles, windows, whoopee! Then there will be earth moving and porches and interior. Maybe they'll put in one of these outrageous outdoor bathrooms. One could wish, for my tenants' sake, that the exterior was already finished. But looks like it will be very soon.
  In news from way the other side of the U.S., a friend has a new yarn she has spun and dyed and is giving some of it away. If you are a knitter, check it out and enter! Or buy some of her yarn. The drawing is on Wednesday, so you have to enter today or tomorrow.
Oh, and I meant to put this up. If you want to buy half of the family compound (we'll keep the other half, tnx) check out this ad. Only $6 mill, baby!

for someone who doesn't want pets

Now I have one on each doorstep. Yoyo has reclaimed her usual spot by the air conditioner and the cooler (she likes ice). And the cat realized that there was a front door to the house. However, her "owners" returned yesterday, so those fried clam strips will go a begging till they disappear.

i hate cats

This cat's name is Tripod, for obvious reasons. He or she sort of belongs to the kids next door. But they have been gone for several days, so when I try to do anything outside, the cat rubs my ankles (and transfers chiggers to me) and meows. And when I am inside it lies on the doorstep and meows. And when I try to go in or out, it tries to get in. And meows. I have not fed it.
     However, this morning when it had been like three plus days since my neighbors had been around, the meowing got to me. Obviously this cat can't run down wildlife to eat. So I gave it some chicken. The meowing ceased for a bit but then resumed with more insistent demands to be let inside. Word, Tripod: I too am leaving. Find another sucker.

scam alert?

Lately I have been getting inquiries through VRBO similar to those one can get through Craig's List: ie poor command of English and an undue interest in method of payment and my bank account number. However the following letter really captured my attention:
       Dear Ms. Dowling: I have found your houses on VBO, and they have take my breath away. I ask for your help in securing my dreams can come true.  I am a widow with five lovely children, ages 2- 10. My husband, Colonel Langouste Brown , was killed defending our country while stationed in Ethiopia.  It was always his wish for me that I spend every summer at the beach, and he has made sure in spite of his tragic demise, that I and our beautiful children can do this. He has left me sufficient funds to secure your lovely homes for 25 years to come.
I will send funds to you as soon as you let me know the cost of this agreement. We would like both houses the months of August. I am needing also maid service for this time. Please email me your sonsent, and the following information, and I will have my attorney, Nose Bite Kitty, mail you enough funds to secure your trust.
Thank you in advance for helping our family.  Sincerely,  Antoinette Brown

1) your full names
2) your mailing address
3) your bank account number at which to receive your funds

And then this.
Dear Ms. Dowling: Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nose Bite Kitty, acting attorney at law for Mrs. Langouste Brown, a widow currently residing in Monaco, France. It is my clients wish to rent your properties on Block Island, Rhode Isalnd for the months of August, from this year 2013 until the year 2038.
On behalf of Ms. Brown I will be issuing you a check to cover the costs of these rentals, plus maid service for 31 days per month. I will send you more than is asked, so there will be a reserve should any unforeseen mishaps, such as shortage of mice,  occur.
Thank you in advance for your co operation. Sincerely, Nose Bite Kitty

I don't see how I can possibly pass up this opportunity. The only thing thing that worries me is kicking out my long time tenants. And the mice, of course.

pick a color, any color

The current condition.

 The Goose obviously could use some paint on the exterior. I was thinking the flesh pink of the canopy might be nice. You know, pink, but not too pink. Not pink enough, as Bill Dugan said, that "all the cowboys from miles round would flock to the place." Not quite as pink, in other words, as Chris Garrison's photoshopped vision below. Though the flamingoes are a nice touch. I did have one, but it flew away.
What color would you pick?

Canopy rose? Peach? Lime?

Peptobismal Pink?

Note humming bird feeder. I will try for the rest of my days here to get a picture of an actual hummingbird but I doubt I will ever succeed. He's not used to seeing me.
   And speaking of trying to capture fleeting things, here is a video of Donna Ferrato's Love and Intimacy workshop in Venice this past March.
   One feature of my ruralization is that here in the hills and hollers I have much better Internet reception than I do in Block Island or even The City. Maybe noone else uses it? So I can watch video. Here's another on the Making of a Guitar String Bracelet from Hannah's Wear Your Music.
   And finally, for those of you who were interested in the Sherpa/climber controversy on Everest this season, you might want to read the New Yorker piece from the point of view of the climber and the British Mountaineering Council's interview with my friend Russell Brice on the Sherpas' point of view.  No video on these. But a reminder that the truth, in photographs or writing or in life, is as hard to capture as a hummingbird.

the country life

 But what do you do out there? That's what people ask when when they hear that I'm in the Ozarks.
Well, I caught a lightening bug for the first time in many years last night.
I went swimming in the river.
I refilled the hummingbird feeder, and have a taker.
Then there's the farmer's market, where the beans and tomatoes are coming in.
And yesterday the First Baptist Church had a fair.

I'm on what they used to call a repairing lease— after too much wine, women and song in the city, the dandies used to head for the country- side to restore their con- stitutions. "Rural sounds exhilarate the spirit and restore the tone of languid nature," William Cowper wrote. ("Though," groused one Georgette Heyer hero, "how you're supposed to get any sleep with a lot of damn cockerels crowing their heads off, I don't know.") Thus, in that great tradition—and yes, I endure the sounds of cockerels and woodpeckers and cows and logging trucks—I am ruralizing. After less than a week, my weight and blood pressure are coasting downward. Stay tuned.

rocket's red glare. . .

scenes from the apocalypse

. . .the bomb's bursting on the highway. First a cookout and some homestyle fireworks and then the real deal at the high school. A friend from El Salvador told me that she used to love fireworks before war came to her town and the popping sounds were bullets. I wonder whether vets viewing fireworks want to hurl themselves under the nearest shelter. Must ask Bill.
PS   A hilarious video of what happened in San Diego when all the fireworks accidentally went off at the same time.

touchdown

Left Block Island under my wing, crossed the mighty Mississippi in Memphis , bought hamburgers, corn on the cob, potato chips and firecrackers and flew into the Goose.

Yes, it's Independence Day.
What or whom would you like to declare independence from?

travel day

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Providence airport

goodbye to the sea

I had a seafood attack yesterday, likely because I know I was going to landbound catfishland for a month plus. Tomorrow. Suddenly, en route to RI from NYC, at about New Haven, I had to have a lobster roll. And it had to be from one of those places with picnic tables overlooking the water. Hannah informs me that the place of my dreams is Stowe's in West Haven, but I didn't know that, so I salivated until Mystic. Figuring that in a tourist spot there must be the kind of place I was picturing, I got off the highway and tooled along the water until I came upon it. There were even seagulls hoping to steal your food. And then I had shrimp and avocado cocktail at a fab Mexican restaurant for dinner. So I'm set up til August.

baptism by light

And a second generation is offered to the photo goddess: Donna Ferrato, photographer, with Fanny, Alaa and baby Ryan.

the pastoral life

Sometimes you just want to leave the big city for—Brooklyn. The people who live way the hell out there claim that quality of life is better than Manhattan. Note, however, that only the people priced out of Manhattan claim that.
   Still, Brooklyn has its charms. Less frequented (and less pricey) sidewalk cafes like Bar Tabac on Smith Street, for instance. As I took this picture, there were two guys doing some kind of deal just to the left of frame. I guess they thought I was taking their picture rather than that of a tree that grows in. . .  Anyway, by the time I put the camera down, they had both scarpered, and since one of them was in a wheelchair, that must have been some posthaste scarpering.
  So, yes. It was a lovely afternoon. And my lunch date has requested that I say "Yes, Ed, you were right. I am really looking forward to the gentle breezes, the vibrant street life, and the engaging social scene more regularly."
   I so am. Unfortunately, I will be out of town for the foreseeable future.

parking on 82nd

I have not been taking any pictures in NYC, which is my usual blog go-to when I don't feel like writing anything.
Let me just say that after spending from 9:15 this ayem until 12:30 parking the damn truck, including fights between drivers of other vehicles, a patronizing New Yorker who thought I didn't know the rules because I have an out-of-state plate and who managed to score my spot by talking loudly in a Long Island accent, a Craig's list person who wanted me to drive to furthest Brooklyn in the middle of the night to pick up a cabinet that she then gave to a neighbor, and a plethora of moving and mail trucks, I am basically done.
The truck is parked. I'm going to Brooklyn. On the subway. And then, soon,  I'm outta here.
#sweatinglikeapig

SCOTUS

At least for today, I'm gay.

split consciousness

 

I sit in New York, but I am working on Block Island: revising the rental site, rewriting copy, making lists of what's wrong, of turnover dates, emailing with tenants and cleaners and propane deliverers and fortunately not repairmen. Yet. Life on remote.
 It is weird to be in two places at once. Or three.

urban garden

Speaking of Van Gogh, I have not gotten a lot of culture since being back in the city, but I have seen many old friends. One of whom brought me this beautiful bouquet.

da bronx

Sat on the verahnda while the Yanquis game was going on nearby. I should check who won.

camping outfit

The Fairy Princess Ladybug roughs it.

second best shower in the world

Shower at Hannah's Hideaway

Though I don't know, the second best was looking its best when I left—with lilacs and iris, purple and yellow, in bloom. The whole thing is pretty great in this season. And thank goodness the walls are eight feet tall, now that we have a mansion hovering over us next door. . .

wilted

I, and the President of the Garden Club's peonies, were pretty much wilted by the time we arrived in NYC. The peonies have mostly recovered. Me, not so much.

and thems

Left the little family (soon to be bigger) to their own devices in Rhode Island and have now returned to the City So Nice They Named It Twice.
Many friends await me. And many bills. Anon.

goodbye to all thems

The push to get ready for season was over, and all that was left was the farewells. They got stuck with the howling winds last night but also with the green, the blue and the beauty.

the upside of rain

Don't remember ever seeing it so green. Can almost forget the ankle deep water around the house. . .

light at the end

So tomorrow I am out of here until—October? Doing touchup at Hannah's, with one more bed to make in the morning—mine. The iris bed never did get weeded and the driveway is one big puddle, but everything else is looking pretty spiff, thanks to all the help from my family. Now I leave it all up to my wonderful cleaners and hope for weather that will make everybody stay outside as much as possible! The sign in the sky last evening said all was well, and the deluge was over.

Check out the Wall Street Journal's  House of the Day, today featuring Hannah's grandparents' property.

family portrait

Chris Garrison took a great pic of his wife and child and my daughter and grand(s)!
Only four more beds to make. . .

deceptive calm

The placidity of this scene belies the chaos on the compound. Yesterday, the first day that has felt like summer, was particularly nuts, with me moving out of Claudia's to Hannah's, others moving out of Little Barn to Big Barn, various systems failures and a photo shoot for the Wall Street Journal that somehow required two dogs and a toddler and large dinners at restaurants, family-style. And when I say family-style, I mean the family that ate the world. Are we related to everyone on the island?

oh, deer

Yeah, I know, you can't see it. But I watched two gangly deer saunter up the driveway in broad but rainy daylight this morning, then fade over to the pond before leaping along the road to the neighbors' construction site. Alla you deer, get  outta my yard!

keep off the dunes!

Use pathways! Dunes are all that keep us from destruction. . .

design fail

This is the second complaint entry in a row. After this I'm done, I promise. Well, I may have a thing or two to say about mattress pads—being as how I'm now a vacation rental manager rather than an intellectual.
    But about French doors. I (or rather my brother) have now installed eight sets of French doors in two houses. The two first sets had to be switched out because they fell apart after a year.
    There are several problems with French doors in this location. a) they leak when rain and sand blow sideways leading to puddles on the floor that I find out about in the morning or in the spring, whichever comes sooner. b) No one knows how to use them and the way I designed them they have a wind tunnel effect. Slam. Bam. c) They have to be cleaned. d) They have to be painted (I'm doing that now which is why I'm complaining).
    Worst of all, I designed one room (above) that has nothing but French doors for ventilation. What was I thinking?

love those shades

When you have beach vacation and shades in the same sentence, you think of sunglasses. Unless you're a vacation homeowner, in which case you think of switching out moldy window blinds all with different hardware or untangling the damn strings that no one seems to know how to use.
    People, word: To halt a shade at a certain point, you typically jerk the strings left. To release, right. Also, with Venetian blinds, you twirl a little stick to make the slats horizontal before making the shades go up or down.
   How hard is this? Apparently it is beyond the grasp of most mortals. Hence the continual search for shades that are easier to use. (Curtains at the beach tend to get limp and yuk and pretty moldy after people leave the window open.)
   I have finally settled on vinyl blinds like these. You can wipe them with a sponge, you can switch them out quickly, the louvered light is beautiful—and they cost less than $4.
   Learn how to use them.

chin up

So the cousins from New Orleans (one of whom has a business card describing himself as a Soulless Automoton at TurboSquid (the employer of my dreams), headed out from Block Island towards more rels on the Great Northern College Tour. One more house to prep, and then I'm of here too.

the joneses

Can't keep up with these neighbors. In elevation they're a story taller than my houses. Full walk-out basement. The builders are moving right along, and hopefully by the time the high paying tenants show up it will be enclosed and roofed and the loudest of the outdoor work will be complete. Thank goodness I built the blind side of Hannah's towards it. And thank goodness I decided to use stockade fence for the outdoor shower Chris built. We're good.

showtime!

The lawn (thanks to Dada) is cropped, the windows are shining, the railings (thanks to Erin) are painted, the smoke alarms (thanks to Chris) are quiet. And tomorrow the first people arrive at Hannah's.
Season begins.

noguchi knockoff

Sometimes I get real lucky in the basement of 98 Riverside, and this was one of those times. Actually, I had a little help from my friends who work in the building who know I have houses to furnish. They called and said, "There's something being thrown out you might like." I liked.
Of course it immediately put me in mind of one of my favorite websites fuckyournoguchicoffeetable
And in the spirit of that site, I add
fuck your Mexican area rug
fuck your little tray of beach stones
fuck your plastic chandelier hung with rope
fuck your Ikea leather couch
and etc.

family trait?

Camilla, 2013

Eva, @2004

Is this a hereditary strain of OCD or just something every child—and not necessarily cousins— with an orderly mind might do?

crescent beach, block island

The beach across from the driveway features struggling Rosa rugosa that was planted to keep the sand post Sandy. The marital lines of the plantings both delight and repel me.

sea air

This is what a three-year-old hot water heater that lives by the sea looks like. Plus Sandy. Still, you wouldn't think that such salt as comes down a stovepipe (with a hat on it!) could do this. It has, however, and we have had no hot water for days waiting for parts—and service. The Block Island factor operates particularly well during opening of the season. Which is this weekend.

itsy bitsy

photo by Dada

Crab spider? Dunno. All I know is I've never seen anything like it before. I saturated the color a little bit—it was actually paler than this.
And speaking of spiders. . .


Check this out on Chirbit

more gardening

Flushed with success (and sun) from the first day of gardening, we soldiered on to weed and mulch the pathetic rose and the pathetic hydrangea (not this one—this is the good one). Still to come: the iris and lilac bush. We really hope the President of the Garden Club is happy with us when she arrives this weekend.

down and dirty

The great niece of the President of the Garden Club began her apprenticeship in planting things that do not take yesterday including weeding 101, edging, transplanting, planting and mulching. Things began well with a lovely day for planting followed by today and now a whole freaking week of rain. The only things that like rain more than new plantings are houseguests, of which we have quite a crop.

en famille

evening shadows

At this simple Catholic church  right in town, I watched Ted Kennedy Jr. walk out with his bride 20 years ago. I wonder if they started the Block Island wedding industry, which now keeps many of us busy for the month of June. I have stopped accepting wedding parties at the houses—too many people and too many showers—but accept sedate older parties, like this year's mothers and fathers. At least I hope they'll be sedate—we'll know soon enough!