Two words that go together, in my opinion, like peanut butter and jelly, gin and tonic, steak and potatoes. At least that's what I think and by the end of the day I'll know. I'm having a bunch of dental work done today. If I told you how much you'd likely think how could someone with a fancy-pants doctoral degree let her teeth get to the point where she has to have so much work done. Fear my friends, fear and Dr. Stern and Stein, my childhood dentists. But that's in the past, and the future looks like a big fat smile.
In other news, it's been one week since I had the caudal epidural injection and I feel like I have my life back. I wish I'd known about the injection years ago. So if you have a back injury, you should let a qualified physician stick 6 or 7 huge needles in your back. More on that later.
I'm giving up on waiting for anybody to post a piece about a place,so I'm going to post another one as soon as the sedatives wear off. Maybe before, ha ha. Might be the best thing I've ever written.
Happy Anniversary
My Loves
Vincent Murphy
Central New York
Rocks!
Spring
Come On!
Awwwwww
I miss my Missy
Better Days
they'll come again
Alicia Vida Billman
is 29 today
This says it all!
Friday noon, you're coming home with me Vinny.
Vincent Murphy?
What!?
Tuesday nights
are gonna change in May
Mr. Murphy
waiting for his haircut
When I get bored
I take pictures of myself in bathrooms
Graphic Boulevard
blown transformers and a tree
Cars in Bergenfield
didn't do well
House on Queen St
with a for sale sign in front of it
Bergenfield
Storm 2010
Vincent Murphy
and his look alike Bob Murphy
Off my back porch
Don't worry I didn't take this pic while falling
Down Kellogg Street
Up Kellogg Street
My house, our cars
Winter 2010
Summer!
I want summer back!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Waiting, Still Waiting
Come on people, I'm waiting for you post a brief piece about somewhere you've lived. Don't be shy now; you know you wanna do it.
Monday, June 6, 2011
One Whole Year
ago my father, Vincent Murphy, left us. I can't believe that I made it through a year without him. When he was dying I couldn't help but think selfishly that I didn't know who I would be if I wasn't Vincent Murphy's daughter. A year later I do know; I am Vincent Murphy's daughter and he loves me still. He just loves me from afar.
MNYAGG
MNYAGG
Monday, May 30, 2011
I remember
that my father, Vincent Murphy, went to sign up to fight in WWII and was turned down . . . the first time. He was told to go home and take care of his mother, something he'd been doing since he was 13 when his father died. But my father went back and signed up again, and at the age of 32 went into the US Army. Why? He told me "all my pals were doing it."
That in a nutshell was my father, never one to toot his own horn. But he was able to say to say such things because the larger issue, would he fight for his country, was never in doubt. Things like that were just that clear to him.
And so today I am thinking of him and his pals and all of those who deserve our remembrance. Odd that we say "Happy Memorial Day," isn't it?
MNYAGG
That in a nutshell was my father, never one to toot his own horn. But he was able to say to say such things because the larger issue, would he fight for his country, was never in doubt. Things like that were just that clear to him.
And so today I am thinking of him and his pals and all of those who deserve our remembrance. Odd that we say "Happy Memorial Day," isn't it?
MNYAGG
Saturday, May 28, 2011
That's My Girl!
Thanks Jess, for stepping up to the plate. What a great piece! A tannery, huh? Only in CNY. I'll be excited to see (hint hint) if anybody else steps up to the plate. Remember my pieces are all unfinished, but I'm putting up what I have as soon as somebody else puts something up. And my goal is to write more description, so every piece will at least begin with description before I launch into my usual self centered narrative. So here's my next installment:
McCall: McCall, Idaho sits at the top of the world, or so it seems sometimes. At over 5,500 ft. elevation, it’s not a place where too many summer gardens grow. Once I sat in my brother’s friend’s living room and listened to “the boys” talk about how once they saw snow on June 23rd. I didn’t know then how much a place could do to you. The Tamaracks that grow so straight because there’s really not enough room for them, the jumping into Payette Lake on May Day even though the water was not too long ago ice.
I suppose McCall is where I grew up, after running away from New Jersey and all my teenage angst. It seemed at first like time had not, would not, touch the place. In high school the kids couldn’t understand my accent; fresh from Bergenfield I probably sounded like I was talking under water to them. In McCall I learned to call a bag a sack, a potato a spud. I learned about isolation and that people in small towns can think enormously wrong things of you – until they get to know you.
1977: at my high school graduation party I look over to see my family standing, mouths agape, around my school principal who has just told them all how proud everybody is that I graduated with my class after dropping out of high school in my junior year. Quite a frozen-in-time moment, considering that my mother, father and sister where the only ones who knew until that moment that I had left school, that I had been a rudderless, woebegone kid who didn’t know what to do because nobody liked her, and who had walked away from school and spent a year working at a fish hatchery waiting to get on with it.
You can’t imagine what the air felt like to me when I first moved to McCall. I came from 80 ft. above sea level, from a place where on certain days you could smell ocean brine. The air in McCall was a sword at first, jousting with my poor asthmatic lungs. I felt like it dared me to breath. I couldn’t walk ten feet without the eerie feeling of needing something that wasn’t there. But somewhere along the way that gave way to the feeling that this was right, this living so high and close to such clear blue sky.
When you see the tips of Ponderosa pines look like they’re trying to make a mark on a big sky you know why people can love a place, really love a place in a way that almost hurts sometimes. The East was worn out I thought, had been used up by its own excess. In my high school journalism class I wrote an impassioned plea, a manifesto of sorts to what my homeland could have been. It was intended as some clarion call, a sort of “don’t let this happen to THE WEST” tirade against sitting idly by while the place you love goes to hell in a hand basket .
McCall: McCall, Idaho sits at the top of the world, or so it seems sometimes. At over 5,500 ft. elevation, it’s not a place where too many summer gardens grow. Once I sat in my brother’s friend’s living room and listened to “the boys” talk about how once they saw snow on June 23rd. I didn’t know then how much a place could do to you. The Tamaracks that grow so straight because there’s really not enough room for them, the jumping into Payette Lake on May Day even though the water was not too long ago ice.
I suppose McCall is where I grew up, after running away from New Jersey and all my teenage angst. It seemed at first like time had not, would not, touch the place. In high school the kids couldn’t understand my accent; fresh from Bergenfield I probably sounded like I was talking under water to them. In McCall I learned to call a bag a sack, a potato a spud. I learned about isolation and that people in small towns can think enormously wrong things of you – until they get to know you.
1977: at my high school graduation party I look over to see my family standing, mouths agape, around my school principal who has just told them all how proud everybody is that I graduated with my class after dropping out of high school in my junior year. Quite a frozen-in-time moment, considering that my mother, father and sister where the only ones who knew until that moment that I had left school, that I had been a rudderless, woebegone kid who didn’t know what to do because nobody liked her, and who had walked away from school and spent a year working at a fish hatchery waiting to get on with it.
You can’t imagine what the air felt like to me when I first moved to McCall. I came from 80 ft. above sea level, from a place where on certain days you could smell ocean brine. The air in McCall was a sword at first, jousting with my poor asthmatic lungs. I felt like it dared me to breath. I couldn’t walk ten feet without the eerie feeling of needing something that wasn’t there. But somewhere along the way that gave way to the feeling that this was right, this living so high and close to such clear blue sky.
When you see the tips of Ponderosa pines look like they’re trying to make a mark on a big sky you know why people can love a place, really love a place in a way that almost hurts sometimes. The East was worn out I thought, had been used up by its own excess. In my high school journalism class I wrote an impassioned plea, a manifesto of sorts to what my homeland could have been. It was intended as some clarion call, a sort of “don’t let this happen to THE WEST” tirade against sitting idly by while the place you love goes to hell in a hand basket .
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Waiting
Come on people, I'm waiting for you post a brief piece about somewhere you've lived. Don't be shy now; you know you wanna do it.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The First In a Series of "Here Goes Nuthin'"
Pocatello sits in a gash that runs west/east through the eastern part of the southern part of the state of Idaho. Technically a gap, in places around the city of Pocatello the landscape looks like it was hacked out, made into something it wasn’t meant to be. Sourtheast Idaho is not hospitable looking; mostly treeless mountains ring the city of Pocatello in one way or another. The high mountain desert is formidable, stern looking when seen from the lower elevation of Pocatello’s downtown. The scrubby juniper and sage and rabbit brush don’t beckon “welcome”. But the people do.
1999: We’re in the state car driving back from Idaho Falls’ outreach campus to the main campus of Idaho State University. Of the four of us in the car, only two of us know that the driver is in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Terry knows, I know; I’m the driver. The two others, visiting assistant professors we carpool with twice a week, probably just think I’m weird.
There’s a place on I-15 where you crest a hill and see the Portneuf Gap just as you’re coming into Pocatello. And it is there where Terry leans over and whispers “beautiful, isn’t it?” Comic relief at a time when I was afraid to take the responsibility of driving anyone anywhere. When I was coming undone.
1999: We’re in the state car driving back from Idaho Falls’ outreach campus to the main campus of Idaho State University. Of the four of us in the car, only two of us know that the driver is in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Terry knows, I know; I’m the driver. The two others, visiting assistant professors we carpool with twice a week, probably just think I’m weird.
There’s a place on I-15 where you crest a hill and see the Portneuf Gap just as you’re coming into Pocatello. And it is there where Terry leans over and whispers “beautiful, isn’t it?” Comic relief at a time when I was afraid to take the responsibility of driving anyone anywhere. When I was coming undone.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Just as you start to complain, remember that's why you call it home.
My new mantra. I was leaving D's house this morning, and in my head a little voice wanted to complain about all the wiggly thwigs (my neologism, I hope) the trees had left on my car -- all over my car to be precise. I know that little voice and how even though it can start softly it can, if left unchecked, turn into the heckler in my head. I'm talking about my tendency to become depressed.
Depressed in summer, to be more precise. Case(s) in point, the last two summers: first the summer of no promotion, then the summer of dad's death. Before summer depression number three hits, I thought I'd set myself a few ground rules.
1) I have a schedule: morning work on online class and/or fall classes, afternoon dig, plant, weed. You guessed it; I'm doing another feeble attempt at gardening. Some time in the day I read about service learning in tech and professional writing classes.
2) I have a plan that involves you, my beloved blog followers. Are you listening? Getting excited? Wait, do I have blog followers? I'm going to write posts about the places I've lived, the people I knew in those places, you know the whole literary thing. Now I haven't lived in that many places, but I'm not going to aim for finished pieces; instead I'll start a piece on, let's say Pocatello on a Tuesday then next I might write about Bergenfield, then back to Pocatello or throw a little McCall in the mix.
Here's the challenge:
If you're out there reading my blog, why don't you post a little somethin somethin in the comment section about some place you've lived? When I post, you post. Get it? Just do it, and who knows what'll happen?
3) I said I would devote the summer to my back and it has begun. I got a letter from my insurance company yesterday saying the caudal epidural injection had been approved. So on Monday (I needed a day to think about all this) I'll call to set up the procedure. There are no guarantees that this means I'll avoid back surgery, but it's a start, and frankly I'm sick of being in pain all the time. I'd rather inflict it than have it; just ask my students (bah dump . . . ).
So that's it for now, time to finish putting up the online class that opens Monday.
Will you take my challenge?
MNYAGG
Depressed in summer, to be more precise. Case(s) in point, the last two summers: first the summer of no promotion, then the summer of dad's death. Before summer depression number three hits, I thought I'd set myself a few ground rules.
1) I have a schedule: morning work on online class and/or fall classes, afternoon dig, plant, weed. You guessed it; I'm doing another feeble attempt at gardening. Some time in the day I read about service learning in tech and professional writing classes.
2) I have a plan that involves you, my beloved blog followers. Are you listening? Getting excited? Wait, do I have blog followers? I'm going to write posts about the places I've lived, the people I knew in those places, you know the whole literary thing. Now I haven't lived in that many places, but I'm not going to aim for finished pieces; instead I'll start a piece on, let's say Pocatello on a Tuesday then next I might write about Bergenfield, then back to Pocatello or throw a little McCall in the mix.
Here's the challenge:
If you're out there reading my blog, why don't you post a little somethin somethin in the comment section about some place you've lived? When I post, you post. Get it? Just do it, and who knows what'll happen?
3) I said I would devote the summer to my back and it has begun. I got a letter from my insurance company yesterday saying the caudal epidural injection had been approved. So on Monday (I needed a day to think about all this) I'll call to set up the procedure. There are no guarantees that this means I'll avoid back surgery, but it's a start, and frankly I'm sick of being in pain all the time. I'd rather inflict it than have it; just ask my students (bah dump . . . ).
So that's it for now, time to finish putting up the online class that opens Monday.
Will you take my challenge?
MNYAGG
Friday, May 20, 2011
When is summer coming?
I think that's a fair enough question. Summer will likely not come to CNY this year because I bought a 12,000 BTU air conditioner, yo. It weighs almost 70 lbs and will likely rip the window I put it in off the house.
Oh but I won't have to worry about that, will I? Who needs ac when temps are in the 60's? We'll all be pasty here in CNY if this keeps up, pastier than usual.
What's the weather like where you are? Is summer coming in all its splendor?
MNYAGG
Oh but I won't have to worry about that, will I? Who needs ac when temps are in the 60's? We'll all be pasty here in CNY if this keeps up, pastier than usual.
What's the weather like where you are? Is summer coming in all its splendor?
MNYAGG
Thursday, May 5, 2011
When Will I See You Again?
Google tells me that song is by The Three Degrees, a one hit wonder of sorts. That's how I feel about you blog. When will we have a chance to sit down and catch up? The answer is when my grading's done. Until then . . .
Happy Spring to my faithful follower(s),
MNYAGG
Happy Spring to my faithful follower(s),
MNYAGG
Monday, May 2, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Uh oh!
I really don't have a thing to say as I slide into the end of the semester, but blogging's in my blood, so I thought I'd better come up with something. A list perhaps, of all the mundane things that are going on in my life:
1) I called the doctor's office yesterday to find out that the nurse didn't "check the box" to order the MRI I've been waiting for. Way to go non-box-checking imbecile. After all, it's only constant pain I'm in.
2) I did some yard work and while I thought I might never walk again last night I am fine this morning, well as fine as someone in constant pain can claim to be.
3) Vincent got his claws stuck in a screen window on the back porch and lost part of one. No blood and one less nail to clip.
4) Last night I dreamed of my father's funeral and that he woke up in the middle of it. Not really woke up, more yawned and rolled onto his side and went back to sleep. I sort of liked this dream (not at first) because it gave me the idea that he might be sleeping (metaphor!) peacefully in Mt. Carmel cemetery.
5) I will likely not go to graduation on May 7th. Sitting for two hours in a metal chair will render me incapable of most movement and in wretched pain for days. I will likely go surprise Mrs. Murphy for Mother's Day instead.
In not-so-mundane news, D's parents are coming for a visit this weekend. I'll be taking bets on how long it'll take them to notice that gorgeous ring I'm sporting on my stubby little finger. Your bets?
Enjoy the spring weather, if there is some where you are.
MNYAGG
1) I called the doctor's office yesterday to find out that the nurse didn't "check the box" to order the MRI I've been waiting for. Way to go non-box-checking imbecile. After all, it's only constant pain I'm in.
2) I did some yard work and while I thought I might never walk again last night I am fine this morning, well as fine as someone in constant pain can claim to be.
3) Vincent got his claws stuck in a screen window on the back porch and lost part of one. No blood and one less nail to clip.
4) Last night I dreamed of my father's funeral and that he woke up in the middle of it. Not really woke up, more yawned and rolled onto his side and went back to sleep. I sort of liked this dream (not at first) because it gave me the idea that he might be sleeping (metaphor!) peacefully in Mt. Carmel cemetery.
5) I will likely not go to graduation on May 7th. Sitting for two hours in a metal chair will render me incapable of most movement and in wretched pain for days. I will likely go surprise Mrs. Murphy for Mother's Day instead.
In not-so-mundane news, D's parents are coming for a visit this weekend. I'll be taking bets on how long it'll take them to notice that gorgeous ring I'm sporting on my stubby little finger. Your bets?
Enjoy the spring weather, if there is some where you are.
MNYAGG
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
What Could Make Me Happier?
Spring coming, that's what. Yesterday as I was driving home from work it started snowing. It didn't stick, mind you, but it was enough to ice the cake of what the hell happened to spring this year. I, like many others in CNY no doubt, expected to be rewarded after this horrible winter with an early and beautiful spring. Alas, that is not what's happening, not here at least. The buds on my trees are probably wondering what's going on, but the little purple and yellow flowers on my lawn still insist on standing proud against the 40 mph winds that kept me indoors on Saturday and Sunday. They're tougher than I am, that's for sure.
What's spring doing in your neck of the woods?
MNYAGG
What's spring doing in your neck of the woods?
MNYAGG
Sunday, April 17, 2011
So I said . . .
to D "you know I don't just love this ring because it's so pretty. I love it because it symbolizes our life together." I also said something about him having to pry it off my cold dead hand. I'm cheerful like that.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
I love it. I love it. I love it.
So why can't I get a decent picture of it? My new engagement ring, that is. I'm gonna ask D if he'll try taking a picture of it. And then I'm gonna put that picture here, so stay tuned.
MNYAGG
MNYAGG
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Dear Vincent,
I love you, you know I do, but you are really making me sneeze right now. May I please have you shaved, or would that do something to your cat dignity? Maybe I'll buy some antihistamines.
Your Owner,
Dr. Patricia Murphy
Your Owner,
Dr. Patricia Murphy
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Spoil Sports
Don't you hate it when a few people just spoil "it" for everyone else? Yes, I'm talking about plagiarism, the reason my students didn't get both of their assignments back last night (online class). I said that it was because it takes longer to grade when I have to look for plagiarism, and that's true. But it also made me mad enough to not want to look at annotated bibliographies just then and have to determine whether or not some of them were also plagiarized.
Don't you hate it when a few people just spoil it for everyone else?
Don't you hate it when a few people just spoil it for everyone else?
Monday, April 11, 2011
So, how big are these needles, anyway?
I'm going to have a procedure -- an epidural steroid injection. They will stick needles in my back, and happily two of them will contain anesthesia. I am calm now, but I suspect that when it is scheduled (and further, when it is happening) I will not be calm. I will ask for a sedative; of this I am sure. I fear too that I will start talking while sedated and reveal unsavory details about myself. Gawd knows there are plenty of those I could go on about. Mostly, I'm afraid that they'll stick the needle(s) in the wrong place and I'll wind up ...
well, I don't want to think about that.
How was your day?
MNYAGG
well, I don't want to think about that.
How was your day?
MNYAGG
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Yes,
I'm grading letters from my online bus com writers. I really am. I'm not blogging to avoid that, not me. But since I'm here I should tell you to check out a feature of Smithsonian magazine (yes, I have a subscription; yes, I'm a nerd) that's online. It's called My Kind of Town, and after reading Charles Michener's piece on Cleveland in this month's print version I had to go look for more. I found Anthony Doerr writing about Boise, Idaho and Mark Doty expressing his love for Houston. Made me miss that Big Sky. You should check it out http://microsite.smithsonianmag.com/content/my-kind-of-town/
You can thank me later.
MNYAGG
You can thank me later.
MNYAGG
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Spring, I'll Get Back To You On That One
I was toying with the idea of having a bbq this Sunday, one that would involve me cooking outside while friends come and clean up my yard. It's a nice American tradition I think, to feed people after making them work for you: sort of like a barn raising.
Last night my roommate (who has actually said that he misses winter) asked me if I was still going to do it. Since it's been raining and snowing every day despite the "50% chance of rain" predicted on the news, I'm gonna say no. Sometimes here a 50% chance of rain = 100% rain, 100% of the time. I've learned this after seven years.
Don't get me wrong; we do have spring here, most years. This year winter started early and has stayed like a drunk at a party. You know the one: everybody else leaves and s/he lingers, maybe falling asleep a few times but rousing him/herself to talk about the good times, the bad times, whatever. Spring this year in CNY is that guy, the one who winds up sleeping on your couch after you thought s/he'd sober up enough to go home.
Winter has to stop sleeping on my couch. I am sick of turning the upstairs heat on.
Yes, there are more serious things I could blog about besides my fluffy cat, my dear deceased dog, and the weather, but that's not this blog. I have my feet firmly planted in a blog world where I can choose what I want to write about. Sometimes I bet people who wander "into" this little world by mistake (probably after typing a search like Murphy's Law) must think. "Who is this vapid middle aged woman who's obsessed with her pets and the weather?. Well, take it or leave, that's me. I have really serious things on my mind (the professor who was arrested for closing his student's laptop on her hands) but I don't want to talk about them in myhappy sunshine gripe about the weather place.
That's me, and if you did a google search and you're disappointed, sorry. Go read the NYT online for free while you can. It's full of bad news.
MNYAGG
Last night my roommate (who has actually said that he misses winter) asked me if I was still going to do it. Since it's been raining and snowing every day despite the "50% chance of rain" predicted on the news, I'm gonna say no. Sometimes here a 50% chance of rain = 100% rain, 100% of the time. I've learned this after seven years.
Don't get me wrong; we do have spring here, most years. This year winter started early and has stayed like a drunk at a party. You know the one: everybody else leaves and s/he lingers, maybe falling asleep a few times but rousing him/herself to talk about the good times, the bad times, whatever. Spring this year in CNY is that guy, the one who winds up sleeping on your couch after you thought s/he'd sober up enough to go home.
Winter has to stop sleeping on my couch. I am sick of turning the upstairs heat on.
Yes, there are more serious things I could blog about besides my fluffy cat, my dear deceased dog, and the weather, but that's not this blog. I have my feet firmly planted in a blog world where I can choose what I want to write about. Sometimes I bet people who wander "into" this little world by mistake (probably after typing a search like Murphy's Law) must think. "Who is this vapid middle aged woman who's obsessed with her pets and the weather?. Well, take it or leave, that's me. I have really serious things on my mind (the professor who was arrested for closing his student's laptop on her hands) but I don't want to talk about them in my
That's me, and if you did a google search and you're disappointed, sorry. Go read the NYT online for free while you can. It's full of bad news.
MNYAGG
Sunday, April 3, 2011
One Year!
Well, Vincent and I have been together for a year, yesterday actually. I guess April 2nd will be his birthday, since I have no idea when he was born. He could be two years old. He's at least 21 months by now. He's a joy, so sweet and lovable. Handsome too in a fluff ball kind of way. I remember how worried I was that Missy wouldn't like him or would feel jealous, but it all worked out and we had nine good months together. We both miss her, but let's not talk about that. Whether or not I use April 2nd as Vincent's birthday, it'll be our happy anniversary. So, to celebrate, here are a few of his nicknames:
Vince, Vinny, Vin
VJ Supercat
Fluffmeister Phil
Vin Diesel
My Cousin Vinny (used rarely)
Bunny (Daryl's not mine. Daryl seems to get bunnies and cats confused.)
Mr. Murphy
Superchunk (Daryl's again. My cat is not chubby; he's fluffy.)
Sometimes I call him Sweet Sally Sue when I first come home because that's what I used to say to Missy. I hope he doesn't find it too emasculating.
Anyway, I'm glad he's mine.
MNYAGG
Vince, Vinny, Vin
VJ Supercat
Fluffmeister Phil
Vin Diesel
My Cousin Vinny (used rarely)
Bunny (Daryl's not mine. Daryl seems to get bunnies and cats confused.)
Mr. Murphy
Superchunk (Daryl's again. My cat is not chubby; he's fluffy.)
Sometimes I call him Sweet Sally Sue when I first come home because that's what I used to say to Missy. I hope he doesn't find it too emasculating.
Anyway, I'm glad he's mine.
MNYAGG
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Cash Crops and Other Things
Clark asked about cash crops, in part I think because he's from a place where the farms are big and profitable (for the most part). Where I live there are few large farms and few wealthy farmers. Central New York has farms; don't get me wrong. They tend to be small, don't use irrigation like Idaho farms (after all it rains here), and sometimes the people who own them are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. There are largish farms (not large by Idaho standards, Clark) that sell to processors, but a lot of farms around here are farm stand/farmers' market sellers. As a matter of fact, upstate New York in general (that means anything north of Yonkers to some people) is becoming home to organic farms, artisan cheese makers and growers of organic meat. So Clark, that's what they grow here.
Clark asked too about retail items, and well, that's a tough one. I assume he didn't just mean what do people buy here but more what do we sell here that we're known for. Since this used to be the place where Oneida silver was made, if I were writing this post 50 years ago I'd say "Oneida silver". Or since Revere Ware was made here until relatively recently, were I writing this ten years ago I could've said that. But the days of upstate being a hub of manufactured goods are gone, with some notable exceptions.Remington Arms is still in Illion NY, and as far as I know Daimler Chrysler Commercial Buses of North America, Inc.still makes buses in Oriskany.
Mostly though, manufacturing is gone and old mill and factory sites are empty or transformed into restaurants, apartment buildings, gyms, and a few other things. Sad are the ones that sit completely abandoned. I never thought I'd say that such buildings can be beautiful, but they really are. Better to see them put to some use.
So manufacturing is gone, farms are small and not always profitable, but hey, at least it's not Detroit. Oh wait, I already said we've lost more people than Detroit. Somebody out there who's local and/or likes riggies should tell Clark about the food we're known for. C'mon peple; it's dialogue time. Somebody at least tell him about Utica Club.
Clark asked too about retail items, and well, that's a tough one. I assume he didn't just mean what do people buy here but more what do we sell here that we're known for. Since this used to be the place where Oneida silver was made, if I were writing this post 50 years ago I'd say "Oneida silver". Or since Revere Ware was made here until relatively recently, were I writing this ten years ago I could've said that. But the days of upstate being a hub of manufactured goods are gone, with some notable exceptions.Remington Arms is still in Illion NY, and as far as I know Daimler Chrysler Commercial Buses of North America, Inc.still makes buses in Oriskany.
Mostly though, manufacturing is gone and old mill and factory sites are empty or transformed into restaurants, apartment buildings, gyms, and a few other things. Sad are the ones that sit completely abandoned. I never thought I'd say that such buildings can be beautiful, but they really are. Better to see them put to some use.
So manufacturing is gone, farms are small and not always profitable, but hey, at least it's not Detroit. Oh wait, I already said we've lost more people than Detroit. Somebody out there who's local and/or likes riggies should tell Clark about the food we're known for. C'mon peple; it's dialogue time. Somebody at least tell him about Utica Club.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The Two Pet Household
Anybody who knows me knows I used to have a two pet house before the lovely and loyal Missy died. It was fun. I was nervous at first, and every time Missy looked at Vincent crooked I was there with that tone saying "Missy, that's our kitty; be nice" and other inane things. When I first got Vincent I left him upstairs behind a closed door when I went to work. It took me awhile to let the two of them have the house to themselves. Now I wish I'd gotten a video camera and set it up to record what they did while I was at work. Too late for that though. Missy's gone. It's a one pet household.
But not when Vincent and I come to Daryl's house for a few days. Then it's a two pet household, but the two cats are separated by a screen propped up in the doorway of the extra bedroom. Vincent's inside; Sophie's got the rest of the house from which to observe him. She used to hiss and growl and be so agitated I'd be afraid to walk past her when she was out in the hallway. She'd be hunkered down, looking under the crack in the door when it was closed, occasionally putting a tiny but aggressive paw under the crack in the doorway to give a swipe. Once Vincent pushed a toy out in response. He's a lover, not a fighter.
And neither is Miss Sophie. She's a sweet, good nature, and beautiful little girl. Formerly named Charmin, she came from the Rome Humane Society and is the love of Daryl's life, justifiably so, she gives him less agita than I do. I still remember holding her in my lap when he went to get cat supplies the first day he had her. I told her it would be okay and that she would have the best life, better even than the barn they'd found her in. Now it's all these years later, and I'm bringing this big fluffy dude into her house! Maybe it pisses her off that he came from her rival human society, Stevens-Swan.
The thing is, they're both so sweet and I love them so much. But they're killing me. When they're together they produce so many pheromones from their heightened agitation. It's spring too (at least on the fur shedding calendar). Don't get me wrong. Sophie's agitation was pretty mild this visit, and Vincent never seems agitated. That is, until 4:00 in the morning. In the wees hours of the morning yesterday, he decided it was time to "tear down that wall" and thumped and scratched at the screen keeping him in his room, the room full of cat x's 2 because Sophie sleeps in there. I went in and hung out with him. We watched tv together on my computer. It had taken two allergy pills and a hit from an old inhaler to get me able to sleep, and in the wee hours of the morning as I held that purring fluffball I wheezed and sneezed and wipe my nose and thought about the future.
I thought about the life ahead of me with these two lovely creatures. They will run around the house and maybe even sleep together. Older woman, younger man. It happens.
I thought about how much good we do when we give these wonderful creatures a good home.
I thought about the pets that I've had and how each one of them (from rabbit to dog) helped me become the person I am.
I thought about Missy and how much my father loved her and love napping with her.
I thought about how right it is for all of us to give pets who live in cages good homes.
I thought about allergy shots.
MNYAGG
But not when Vincent and I come to Daryl's house for a few days. Then it's a two pet household, but the two cats are separated by a screen propped up in the doorway of the extra bedroom. Vincent's inside; Sophie's got the rest of the house from which to observe him. She used to hiss and growl and be so agitated I'd be afraid to walk past her when she was out in the hallway. She'd be hunkered down, looking under the crack in the door when it was closed, occasionally putting a tiny but aggressive paw under the crack in the doorway to give a swipe. Once Vincent pushed a toy out in response. He's a lover, not a fighter.
And neither is Miss Sophie. She's a sweet, good nature, and beautiful little girl. Formerly named Charmin, she came from the Rome Humane Society and is the love of Daryl's life, justifiably so, she gives him less agita than I do. I still remember holding her in my lap when he went to get cat supplies the first day he had her. I told her it would be okay and that she would have the best life, better even than the barn they'd found her in. Now it's all these years later, and I'm bringing this big fluffy dude into her house! Maybe it pisses her off that he came from her rival human society, Stevens-Swan.
The thing is, they're both so sweet and I love them so much. But they're killing me. When they're together they produce so many pheromones from their heightened agitation. It's spring too (at least on the fur shedding calendar). Don't get me wrong. Sophie's agitation was pretty mild this visit, and Vincent never seems agitated. That is, until 4:00 in the morning. In the wees hours of the morning yesterday, he decided it was time to "tear down that wall" and thumped and scratched at the screen keeping him in his room, the room full of cat x's 2 because Sophie sleeps in there. I went in and hung out with him. We watched tv together on my computer. It had taken two allergy pills and a hit from an old inhaler to get me able to sleep, and in the wee hours of the morning as I held that purring fluffball I wheezed and sneezed and wipe my nose and thought about the future.
I thought about the life ahead of me with these two lovely creatures. They will run around the house and maybe even sleep together. Older woman, younger man. It happens.
I thought about how much good we do when we give these wonderful creatures a good home.
I thought about the pets that I've had and how each one of them (from rabbit to dog) helped me become the person I am.
I thought about Missy and how much my father loved her and love napping with her.
I thought about how right it is for all of us to give pets who live in cages good homes.
I thought about allergy shots.
MNYAGG
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Rust Belt Livin'
I just read in the New York Times that Detroit is facing a 25% decrease in population. After attending the Levin Institute talk at SUNYIT the other night, I had to chuckle when I read this statistic. Upstate New York has lost population listed at, well, let's say more than 25%. We have no industry anymore, and we're on the cusp of joining the 21st century of manufacturing. We have an older population and statisticians point out that while people get "educated" here at the many institutions of higher learning, they then leave, often. We don't have high speed rail and so are not efficiently connected to the rest of the state and the region. All in all, the picture seems a little bleak, that is until you stop and think about all of the good things here.
So let's do it. I'll start.
The people here in central New York (technically I suppose it's all "upstate" to everyone else, but we here make the distinction) are nice. They're not dumb or conventional or provincial (well, some are). They're smart and savvy and they possess an underdog mentality that I respond to. They're friendly but not "in your face" friendly. I like them.
Okay, if you read my blog and you're from this area (Justin) step up to the plate. What do you like about central New York? If you're not from the area, ask me a question about where I live (Clark, are you there?) and I'll find out the answer.
Let's do it!
MNYAGG
So let's do it. I'll start.
The people here in central New York (technically I suppose it's all "upstate" to everyone else, but we here make the distinction) are nice. They're not dumb or conventional or provincial (well, some are). They're smart and savvy and they possess an underdog mentality that I respond to. They're friendly but not "in your face" friendly. I like them.
Okay, if you read my blog and you're from this area (Justin) step up to the plate. What do you like about central New York? If you're not from the area, ask me a question about where I live (Clark, are you there?) and I'll find out the answer.
Let's do it!
MNYAGG
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Isn't Life Funny?
Today I have something on my mind. It's a big deal, and its outcome could change things for me. Oooooooooo, am I being cryptic enough? Well that's how we have to be sometimes when things weigh heavy and are unresolved. Don't worry, this "thing" will be resolved soon. My point is that even though I'm a bit jangly with apprehension and probably smell like fear, Vincent doesn't care. He wants to cuddle, doesn't give a crap about me having something on my mind, and that's a good thing. He knows (maybe he doesn't know; cats are not supposed to understand time) only that I've been waking him up these last few mornings. How do you like them apples, Mr. Supercat?
Wish me luck, even if you don't know why you're doing it.
MNYAGG
Wish me luck, even if you don't know why you're doing it.
MNYAGG
Sunday, March 20, 2011
I Wrote This
and yes it's a rough draft, but I'm happy to be writing again. So read it, will ya?
Bird Watching In Central New York
One
Is when I get out my binoculars
To zoom in on a cardinal
Eating in a snowless patch
In my backyard, small dart,
Red and determined to graze.
He’s gone in an instant.
It’s March; when the hell
Will the birds come back?
Two
Is when I put on my facebook page
Patricia Murphy + binoculars = your thoughts?
My friends respond: birdwatcher, sniper,
Paranoid. I don’t get the last one.
Three
It’s the butt crack of dawn, and
I am looking for deer, moving
Through my yard and back to the woods,
Silent and graceful like small ships,
But I see none.
I imagine seeing someone at the edge
Of my property looking at me, or worse,
Looking at me through binoculars.
Four
The yard is less snow, more grass now.
I am reinventing myself with spring
Into a birdwatcher, deer watcher, crocheter
Of long and apparently endless chains
Because I cannot turn and stitch.
I am calming myself with tasks that
Require patience.
Five
I have thrown my chain in the bedside table
And twice across the room. I’ve cut two
Lengths for the cat to play with. The scarf
I predicted would be soothing and a gift
For my love should be done by July, if ever.
Six
There is danger in promising gifts
That signify creation, that require more than love.
Bird Watching In Central New York
One
Is when I get out my binoculars
To zoom in on a cardinal
Eating in a snowless patch
In my backyard, small dart,
Red and determined to graze.
He’s gone in an instant.
It’s March; when the hell
Will the birds come back?
Two
Is when I put on my facebook page
Patricia Murphy + binoculars = your thoughts?
My friends respond: birdwatcher, sniper,
Paranoid. I don’t get the last one.
Three
It’s the butt crack of dawn, and
I am looking for deer, moving
Through my yard and back to the woods,
Silent and graceful like small ships,
But I see none.
I imagine seeing someone at the edge
Of my property looking at me, or worse,
Looking at me through binoculars.
Four
The yard is less snow, more grass now.
I am reinventing myself with spring
Into a birdwatcher, deer watcher, crocheter
Of long and apparently endless chains
Because I cannot turn and stitch.
I am calming myself with tasks that
Require patience.
Five
I have thrown my chain in the bedside table
And twice across the room. I’ve cut two
Lengths for the cat to play with. The scarf
I predicted would be soothing and a gift
For my love should be done by July, if ever.
Six
There is danger in promising gifts
That signify creation, that require more than love.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I found a place to get married
and D likes it, or he is being agreeable. He usually is, strike that, always is. Someday we're gonna have a really big fight -- a brewhaha, but just the two of us.
But I digress. I want to get married at The Beeches in Rome (NY, not Italy) cause it's cool and kinda funky all at the same time. You should check out their website, maybe offer to make a new website and brochures for them. Strike that; I should make a new website and brochure for them and have them take it off the bill. How hard could it be?
But I digress again. The Beeches has some really big appeal: nice grounds, a seventy-room hotel, outdoor spaces, they set up the tent (and I don't think they charge extra to do so), complimentary cake cutting, free breakfast for the bride and groom the next day, and . . .
in the basement room a dance floor and plenty of room for my djs. I hope they take the job when I offer it to them for no pay.
Yes, I'm aware that the long sentence above had huge parallelism issues. Maybe I'll use it in my bus com midterm.
In other news, I have finally reached the chapter in At Day's Close: Night in Times Past that is the reason I bought the book. It's titled "Sleep We Have Lost" and it's delicious, as is the entire book. I'm gonna talk more about them (the book and the chapter) soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not, but soon.
I'm also gonna post a new poem. That's right, I'm writing again -- prose and poems. Can't keep anold windbag earnest writer down.
Have a lovely day. We'll be resealing and setting (fingers crossed) a toilet.
But I digress. I want to get married at The Beeches in Rome (NY, not Italy) cause it's cool and kinda funky all at the same time. You should check out their website, maybe offer to make a new website and brochures for them. Strike that; I should make a new website and brochure for them and have them take it off the bill. How hard could it be?
But I digress again. The Beeches has some really big appeal: nice grounds, a seventy-room hotel, outdoor spaces, they set up the tent (and I don't think they charge extra to do so), complimentary cake cutting, free breakfast for the bride and groom the next day, and . . .
in the basement room a dance floor and plenty of room for my djs. I hope they take the job when I offer it to them for no pay.
Yes, I'm aware that the long sentence above had huge parallelism issues. Maybe I'll use it in my bus com midterm.
In other news, I have finally reached the chapter in At Day's Close: Night in Times Past that is the reason I bought the book. It's titled "Sleep We Have Lost" and it's delicious, as is the entire book. I'm gonna talk more about them (the book and the chapter) soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not, but soon.
I'm also gonna post a new poem. That's right, I'm writing again -- prose and poems. Can't keep an
Have a lovely day. We'll be resealing and setting (fingers crossed) a toilet.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I'm Writing Again
I haven't written anything creative since my dadso died. I'm pretty happy to say that I'm working on a creative nonfiction piece. I am doing so mostly because I teach the genre and make the students write so what the heck I should write too, right?
This piece is a follow up to one called "The Fall" that I wrote years ago and that talks about my loss of faith in Catholicism. It starts in Idaho, then goes back in time, then, oh shit here it is. Just read it and tell me what you think. Harold Wyndam was right when he told Jeremy Petersen, Mark Brown, Dorian and me that if you need to set up a piece too much it's not worth the reading.
Return to the Fold
Idaho, 1999
I am thirty six years old, give or take a few half years. I’ve been in a marriage fraught with problems for almost sixteen years and it’s getting harder and harder to keep it all together. My husband has become less explosive but no less anxious. Prone once to volcanic anger, he is now more like a frayed electrical wire. He can’t contain the agitation anymore; he cries sometimes at odd moments. Things on television make him weep, but he remains steadfast in one aspect of our life together. He will not seek help, not with me or without me.
When I say that I want us to go to couples’ counseling, his response is usually something like “I don’t know why you think we need that.” He has also responded “I don’t know why you think we need a divorce” and famously “I don’t know why you think you’re unhappy.” The last one’s my favorite.
So I’m trying to keep it all held together, but half the time I think that like the dam I live downstream from, the floodgates are gonna give way any minute. We’re all going to be swept away by this man’s swelling anxiety. I’d like to say that at this point in my marriage his anxiety comes and goes, but I don’t think it goes much. It stays, but I have taken to leaving.
I go to church. I go other places too, to school, to the grocery store, to an occasional poetry reading. Sometimes I even read my poetry at downtown readings in the small city thirty miles away from where we live. These are readings he never attends; crowds make him uncomfortable. In a moment of desperation I drive to the local catholic church one Sunday. After Mass, the librarian says in a snide voice “What are you doing here?” as if the devil had taken human form and sneaked in while their backs were turned. I do not go back to that church.
Instead I get in the car on Sundays and drive the thirty miles to the small city and attend Mass at the catholic church that is sort of near my college. There is a church on campus, but I know that many of the English department faculty worship there, and I don’t really want to see them or any of my students. Besides I have gotten the idea that since the church is on campus it might be like a catholic version of the Mormon singles ward, where young ones go to look for other single Mormons to hook up with, excuse me, to wed. I am having none of that.
The other reason to go to a parish where nobody knows me is that I cry a lot during Mass. Not sob out loud crying, but crying nonetheless. I am also nervous at first because I think I will have forgotten everything. I soon find out that forgetting the Mass is impossible if you spent eight years in catholic school and went to Mass twice a week, once with your class and once with your parents.
New Jersey, my entire childhood
I go to Mass with my father, my brothers and my sister. My mother goes with her sisters on Saturday night, but my father likes to go to the 12 o’clock Mass on Sunday. He likes to sleep late, cook and enjoy his breakfast, and have the requisite one hour fast before receiving Communion under his belt before we go to church. Even though we go to 12 o’clock Mass we are always late and always stand along the side walls of the church under the Stations of the Cross. Sometimes someone makes room in a pew, and as the smallest I am allowed to go and sit. Sitting with strangers is better than standing with your family.
Mass is impossible to see when you are a) very small and b) stuffed between a brother and a brother or a brother and a father. Most of the time they put me in front, sort of a tiny masthead figure for the good ship Murphy Familia, but even then there’s always someone or some other family in front of our family, and everyone is taller than me. Mass is better on the occasions when we get there early enough to snag seats. Then I can see and hear and actually pay attention.
Mass changes for catholic kids once they make their first Holy Communion and at the age of seven pledge themselves to something they can’t even begin to understand. Christ = bread, bread=this little dry wafer that you must not chew, so receiving this dry wafer that sticks to the roof of your mouth (do not chew it!) means you are receiving (eating?) Christ. That’s pretty symbolic for a seven year old.
This piece is a follow up to one called "The Fall" that I wrote years ago and that talks about my loss of faith in Catholicism. It starts in Idaho, then goes back in time, then, oh shit here it is. Just read it and tell me what you think. Harold Wyndam was right when he told Jeremy Petersen, Mark Brown, Dorian and me that if you need to set up a piece too much it's not worth the reading.
Return to the Fold
Idaho, 1999
I am thirty six years old, give or take a few half years. I’ve been in a marriage fraught with problems for almost sixteen years and it’s getting harder and harder to keep it all together. My husband has become less explosive but no less anxious. Prone once to volcanic anger, he is now more like a frayed electrical wire. He can’t contain the agitation anymore; he cries sometimes at odd moments. Things on television make him weep, but he remains steadfast in one aspect of our life together. He will not seek help, not with me or without me.
When I say that I want us to go to couples’ counseling, his response is usually something like “I don’t know why you think we need that.” He has also responded “I don’t know why you think we need a divorce” and famously “I don’t know why you think you’re unhappy.” The last one’s my favorite.
So I’m trying to keep it all held together, but half the time I think that like the dam I live downstream from, the floodgates are gonna give way any minute. We’re all going to be swept away by this man’s swelling anxiety. I’d like to say that at this point in my marriage his anxiety comes and goes, but I don’t think it goes much. It stays, but I have taken to leaving.
I go to church. I go other places too, to school, to the grocery store, to an occasional poetry reading. Sometimes I even read my poetry at downtown readings in the small city thirty miles away from where we live. These are readings he never attends; crowds make him uncomfortable. In a moment of desperation I drive to the local catholic church one Sunday. After Mass, the librarian says in a snide voice “What are you doing here?” as if the devil had taken human form and sneaked in while their backs were turned. I do not go back to that church.
Instead I get in the car on Sundays and drive the thirty miles to the small city and attend Mass at the catholic church that is sort of near my college. There is a church on campus, but I know that many of the English department faculty worship there, and I don’t really want to see them or any of my students. Besides I have gotten the idea that since the church is on campus it might be like a catholic version of the Mormon singles ward, where young ones go to look for other single Mormons to hook up with, excuse me, to wed. I am having none of that.
The other reason to go to a parish where nobody knows me is that I cry a lot during Mass. Not sob out loud crying, but crying nonetheless. I am also nervous at first because I think I will have forgotten everything. I soon find out that forgetting the Mass is impossible if you spent eight years in catholic school and went to Mass twice a week, once with your class and once with your parents.
New Jersey, my entire childhood
I go to Mass with my father, my brothers and my sister. My mother goes with her sisters on Saturday night, but my father likes to go to the 12 o’clock Mass on Sunday. He likes to sleep late, cook and enjoy his breakfast, and have the requisite one hour fast before receiving Communion under his belt before we go to church. Even though we go to 12 o’clock Mass we are always late and always stand along the side walls of the church under the Stations of the Cross. Sometimes someone makes room in a pew, and as the smallest I am allowed to go and sit. Sitting with strangers is better than standing with your family.
Mass is impossible to see when you are a) very small and b) stuffed between a brother and a brother or a brother and a father. Most of the time they put me in front, sort of a tiny masthead figure for the good ship Murphy Familia, but even then there’s always someone or some other family in front of our family, and everyone is taller than me. Mass is better on the occasions when we get there early enough to snag seats. Then I can see and hear and actually pay attention.
Mass changes for catholic kids once they make their first Holy Communion and at the age of seven pledge themselves to something they can’t even begin to understand. Christ = bread, bread=this little dry wafer that you must not chew, so receiving this dry wafer that sticks to the roof of your mouth (do not chew it!) means you are receiving (eating?) Christ. That’s pretty symbolic for a seven year old.
Monday, March 14, 2011
This is why I never blog in the evening
By evening I'm boring, so I'll just post this link cause it's way funnier than I am.
http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/wafflehouse
http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/wafflehouse
Friday, March 11, 2011
I do believe
I know what you're thinking after I posted about St. John's the Evangelist, but no this isn't a post about me becoming Catholic again. I could post about my several failed attempts to go back to the Catholic church and how/why they were unsuccessful, but I thought that instead I would talk about my secular beliefs. Those of us who have no faith in a higher being are still full of beliefs, at least I am.
I believe that the world will right itself someday. I think that people want to feel that their voices can be heard and that their lives have meaning. The problem often lies in what we do to others as we seek to have our voices heard. Words can be hurtful.
I believe that if everybody read a good book half of the world's problems would go away. If everyone could just take some time to read about what someone thought important enough to write about we would learn so much. If someone knocked on my door and wanted me to go blow up a building and I was reading a good book I'd decline. Well, maybe I'd decline anyway.
I think that we all get new chances in spring. Maybe that's because every spring the plants in my garden get a new chance to come back and be neglected again. So like the bleeding hearts and California poppies we all get to come back in spring and flower again.
I believe that we can make the best of all sorts of situations even when they turn out so unexpectedly different than we thought they would. After all, I once thought I'd be an elementary school teacher in Idaho and that didn't turn out as expected. It turned out better.
I also believe that if you have good friends who want to spend time with you, you should consider yourself the luckiest person in the world. If you have a family that loves you you're doubly blessed, but we can make families. The word means all kinds of things.
I believe that I'd better see the beginnings of a new poem soon, or I'm going to get nervous. I haven't written a thing since, oh my, since my dad died. Better get on that.
So that in a nutshell is what's on my mind today, oh that and this:
How Fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! ev’n as the flowers in spring;
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.
Who would have thought my shrivel’d heart
Could have recover’d greennesse? It was gone
Quite under ground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
Yes, that's George Herbert writing about spring in his poem "The Flower". Who would have thought my shriveled heart could have recovered greenness? Well me because I think we all get new chances in spring, right? Apparently so did George Herbert.
Happy Spring!
It's coming, I swear
MNYAGG
I believe that the world will right itself someday. I think that people want to feel that their voices can be heard and that their lives have meaning. The problem often lies in what we do to others as we seek to have our voices heard. Words can be hurtful.
I believe that if everybody read a good book half of the world's problems would go away. If everyone could just take some time to read about what someone thought important enough to write about we would learn so much. If someone knocked on my door and wanted me to go blow up a building and I was reading a good book I'd decline. Well, maybe I'd decline anyway.
I think that we all get new chances in spring. Maybe that's because every spring the plants in my garden get a new chance to come back and be neglected again. So like the bleeding hearts and California poppies we all get to come back in spring and flower again.
I believe that we can make the best of all sorts of situations even when they turn out so unexpectedly different than we thought they would. After all, I once thought I'd be an elementary school teacher in Idaho and that didn't turn out as expected. It turned out better.
I also believe that if you have good friends who want to spend time with you, you should consider yourself the luckiest person in the world. If you have a family that loves you you're doubly blessed, but we can make families. The word means all kinds of things.
I believe that I'd better see the beginnings of a new poem soon, or I'm going to get nervous. I haven't written a thing since, oh my, since my dad died. Better get on that.
So that in a nutshell is what's on my mind today, oh that and this:
How Fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! ev’n as the flowers in spring;
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.
Who would have thought my shrivel’d heart
Could have recover’d greennesse? It was gone
Quite under ground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
Yes, that's George Herbert writing about spring in his poem "The Flower". Who would have thought my shriveled heart could have recovered greenness? Well me because I think we all get new chances in spring, right? Apparently so did George Herbert.
Happy Spring!
It's coming, I swear
MNYAGG
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Ten Things I Love About Daryl Lee, Birthday Boy
1) Daryl Lee has hella sexy hair.
2) Daryl Lee reads the newspaper to my mother.
3) Daryl Lee put up with Missy for seven years and even loved her.
4) Daryl Lee has put up with me for over seven years and will marry me next summer.
5) Daryl Lee said yes when I asked him to marry me at the Paramus, NJ IKEA store.
6) Daryl Lee will let me live in his house next year.
7) Daryl Lee is kind to his parents.
8) Daryl Lee is brilliant; at least he seems pretty smart when I let him get a word in.
9) Daryl Lee is too tall, but I love him anyway.
10) Daryl Lee loves his pets, Sophie and Vincent.
P.S. Those are Daryl Lee's legs to the right. So . . .
11) Daryl Lee has great legs.
2) Daryl Lee reads the newspaper to my mother.
3) Daryl Lee put up with Missy for seven years and even loved her.
4) Daryl Lee has put up with me for over seven years and will marry me next summer.
5) Daryl Lee said yes when I asked him to marry me at the Paramus, NJ IKEA store.
6) Daryl Lee will let me live in his house next year.
7) Daryl Lee is kind to his parents.
8) Daryl Lee is brilliant; at least he seems pretty smart when I let him get a word in.
9) Daryl Lee is too tall, but I love him anyway.
10) Daryl Lee loves his pets, Sophie and Vincent.
P.S. Those are Daryl Lee's legs to the right. So . . .
11) Daryl Lee has great legs.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Yeah, I get it
If everybody lived forever the world would sink under the weight of so many people (and pets). I get that. But right now I do feel like I'm a bit surrounded by the presence of, well, death. I'm sitting in the living room at my mother's house in Bergenfield, NJ where my father died last summer and where my dog died over Christmas break. My mother is sitting close by and I have to say that the last few days with her have been rough. My dad's 100th birthday on Thursday, the one he didn't live to see, has taken its toll on her.
Last night I went to a Mass in honor of my Aunt Eleanor's death twelve years ago. I carried the communion up to the priest with Aunt Grace, and I even received communion, something I was able to do because the Mass had started with Confession.
As I sat, knelt and stood in the pew at St. John the Evangelist Church I thought about how much of my family's lives has taken place in that church. I was baptized there, received my First Holy Communion and made my Confirmation there. My aunt and my sister were married there, my grandfather, aunt and father had their funerals there. My mother's funeral will be there too. So much joy and sadness in one church. So much of my life has been connected to a place I rarely visit.
Enough! The sun is out here in New Jersey and I am done with my grading, for now. Winter's on the wane and I see the smallest buds on the trees in my mother's backyard. There is even a new tree in the yard that I swear wasn't there last fall. We will all be okay because that's what we have to be. That's what we do.
After this semester in over in late April it will be wedding planning time in earnest. Weddings apparently don't plan themselves. Neither Daryl nor I have ever planned a wedding and boy is there a lot to do! More to come, such as date, music, invitations, etc. soon.
Have a lovely spring wherever you are.
MNYAGG
Last night I went to a Mass in honor of my Aunt Eleanor's death twelve years ago. I carried the communion up to the priest with Aunt Grace, and I even received communion, something I was able to do because the Mass had started with Confession.
As I sat, knelt and stood in the pew at St. John the Evangelist Church I thought about how much of my family's lives has taken place in that church. I was baptized there, received my First Holy Communion and made my Confirmation there. My aunt and my sister were married there, my grandfather, aunt and father had their funerals there. My mother's funeral will be there too. So much joy and sadness in one church. So much of my life has been connected to a place I rarely visit.
Enough! The sun is out here in New Jersey and I am done with my grading, for now. Winter's on the wane and I see the smallest buds on the trees in my mother's backyard. There is even a new tree in the yard that I swear wasn't there last fall. We will all be okay because that's what we have to be. That's what we do.
After this semester in over in late April it will be wedding planning time in earnest. Weddings apparently don't plan themselves. Neither Daryl nor I have ever planned a wedding and boy is there a lot to do! More to come, such as date, music, invitations, etc. soon.
Have a lovely spring wherever you are.
MNYAGG
Friday, February 18, 2011
Winter . . .
you are on the wane and might as well admit it! Ha!
In other news, I'm sad to say that my alma mater made the front page of the Chronicle of Higher Education. I hope everyone's okay.
http://chronicle.com/article/State-Board-of-Education/126437/
In other news, I'm sad to say that my alma mater made the front page of the Chronicle of Higher Education. I hope everyone's okay.
http://chronicle.com/article/State-Board-of-Education/126437/
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Well, well, well . . .
we meet again my blog. Here I sit in my office at home (red walls, gold trim) watching yet another snowfall in central New York. Winter started early this year, I swear it's not my imagination, and now it's wearing thinner and thinner with each new storm. In fact, I think it snows a little every day. There are huge piles of snow everywhere, and I'm even past the point where I want to take pictures. I will, however, say that my spirits are pretty good, considering that I'm usually the one who complains more about winter than anybody I know. I actually found myself saying to Aunt Grace today that even though it's snowing right now that means that the temperature is above zero, so I'm optimistic.
Is it the yoga? Not likely since I talk about doing it more than I actually do it. Is it the prescription vitamin D? Perhaps. I can tell you one thing; it's not because of the great nights' sleeps I'm getting. Winter insomnia and I are at it again, but we're comfortable companions this winter.
There are simple things I'm okay with, and that seems to be making a difference. I am happy that I don't have to worry about Missy lying down in the snow and refusing to come in, happy that she didn't suffer, and after the initial adjustment happy to have her ashes here in the house.
I am learning that we can't, try as we might, hold on to everything with an anxiety-riddled grip. We have to let some things go because if we don't they build up like plaque (pardon the shitty dental metaphor, but I've got a lot of dental work coming up relatively soon).
For me, it's a pretty good time overall. I'm winding down the days of living in this old house and starting to think about where and when and how we can pull off this wedding thing. All I really know is (and maybe this is the Valentine's Day talkin') that I'm gonna be somebody's wife again and I think that's pretty damn cool . . .
except for the scary parts, that is. You didn't think I'd changed that much, did you?
Alright, namaste m'f fers. I gotta go do some yoga.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Try It Now and Save!!!!
That's how I feel about blogging. If I try it now it might save me, not that I'm depressed but I am in that sort of state where I worry about whining. But I do want to try and catch you up, my faithful followers (ha ha! Really could anybody possibly even check this thing any more?). So here goes:
1) I miss Missy but it's getting easier, that is until some dog barks or I go to the store and see dog toys. I loved that dog! Still do.
2) Sophie (Daryl's cat) and Vincent (my cat) are getting to know each other and are now separated only by a screen (pics soon, Daryl took some with his phone).
3) Insomnia level: code orange. Up at 4:00 some mornings (not too bad) 2:00 some mornings (not too good).
4) Thanks to 3 I am sending out poems to all kinds of places, which makes me so happy. Speaking of which,
5) Bighead will be moving here to live with mommy in August. I'm deliriously happy about that.
Sometimes I think Missy's gonna come back, I guess because she died in NJ and her ashes are still there. It's like she's out in the backyard and I forgot to let her in sometimes. I hope that passes because when it happens I have a terrible second of fear and dread that I left my ancient dog outside.
Welcome back to the go go, if you're still out there, that is.
1) I miss Missy but it's getting easier, that is until some dog barks or I go to the store and see dog toys. I loved that dog! Still do.
2) Sophie (Daryl's cat) and Vincent (my cat) are getting to know each other and are now separated only by a screen (pics soon, Daryl took some with his phone).
3) Insomnia level: code orange. Up at 4:00 some mornings (not too bad) 2:00 some mornings (not too good).
4) Thanks to 3 I am sending out poems to all kinds of places, which makes me so happy. Speaking of which,
5) Bighead will be moving here to live with mommy in August. I'm deliriously happy about that.
Sometimes I think Missy's gonna come back, I guess because she died in NJ and her ashes are still there. It's like she's out in the backyard and I forgot to let her in sometimes. I hope that passes because when it happens I have a terrible second of fear and dread that I left my ancient dog outside.
Welcome back to the go go, if you're still out there, that is.
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