Category: Uncategorized (page 5 of 11)

After our first 10 mile ride along the Cape Cod Rail to Trail, Benjamin and I were still feeling pretty good, so we decided to check out another trail called the Nauset.

This 2 mile beauty was part of the Cape Cod National Seashore. It followed the sand dunes from the Salt Pond Visitor Center, out to a gorgeous salt marsh, and finally to the Atlantic at Coast Guard Beach.

The trial was paved, thankfully, because even though my trusty bike is a mountain bike, capable of some serious off roading, riding in sugar sand is out of the question for my hip. It was challenging enough to push my body on those rolling hills, but I did it! And the rewards were spectacular!

We reached the boardwalk that extended at least 50 yards over the marsh, and parked our bikes to gaze. When the air smells like salt and wet grass, I feel like I can breathe. I feel like I am in this landscape that combines the fresh water marshes of my childhood in Wisconsin, and the salt beaches of my young adulthood in Florida. Perfect. The extra bonus was riding right out to Coast Guard Beach. Wow! I am going to include a post that more specifically describes all that we saw at this beach, but for now, let me just say waves, waves, waves, open sky and blue. Ah…

I was exhausted after 12 miles in one day, but we still had to get back to the car. Benjamin offered to bike back alone and let me sit on the beach until he came to pick me up. My hip was humming, but I really wanted to go back through those dunes again. I wanted to try. Then, I saw a snake, just as we were about to get on the trail, and of course, I took it as a sign. I would need to gather all the strength of the muscles in my legs to go, but I’d shed my skin, and I’d make it back. I did 14 miles that day. Take that arthritis!

I love my bike.

And I love how it feels to ride on a long, flat trail through the woods or swampland, next to a river, or along the ocean. This is why I am grateful for the all the Rails to Trails throughout the United States.

Benjamin and I have planned most of our vacations and much of our free time around biking. We’ve pedaled on trails in: Door County Wisconsin, on the border between Illinois and Kentucky, in Georgia, Florida, North Carolina, Maryland, Virginia, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, DC, Potsdam (Germany), New York, and now on the Cape Cod Rail to Trail (CCRT) in Massachusetts.

Wow! What a beautiful trail!

We began in the little village of Brewster, jumping on from Nickerson State Park. There were chipmunks, squirrels, blue jays, cardinals, mockingbirds, and bees! There was a frog on the trail trying to get the most of the autumn sun and a skunk letting us know he was there in his signature way before scurrying into the bushes. The maples were turning yellow, the sumac bursted with red, scrub oaks were tinted orange, and the pine trees smelled refreshing. I love the soft crunch of tires over pine needles, how the fall light flickers through the trees, how our jackets end up smelling like wind, and how it is quiet, quiet, quiet in the woods.

Each trail has its own highlights, and for the CCRT, it was the cranberry bogs and the breathtaking salt marshes.

I wasn’t exactly sure how cranberries were harvested, other than being scooped up out of water by hand. Apparently, there are a couple of different methods of getting these berries to table. There’s the wet method, where the fields are flooded the night before the harvest, then churned with a water reel, to loosen the berries from the vines, before finally being scooped up by hand. Also, there’s the dry method, where harvesters use what’s called a ‘walk-behind machine’ to shake them off the vines, and then they use a burlap bag to collect the fruit.

Years ago, when I first visited the Cape, my friend and I actually scooped some berries up from a wet bog, and we asked the B&B owner to put them in our muffins for breakfast. She did, and they were delicious! Technically, we were stealing, so I extend an apology to the farmer. I am truly sorry. This time, I rode my bike past the bogs and admired them from afar.

While the cranberry bogs were unique to view, it was the salt marshes on this trail that resonated with both of us. Before this trip, I was again complaining to Benjamin about how much I needed more horizon. In Wisconsin, I had open fields of wildflowers and fresh water marshes where red wing black birds had my heart beating evenly. In Florida, there were sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico that calmed me with flocks of pelicans zooming over the wave line. A long, flat, colorful horizon is a part of who I am. The Hudson River Valley is pretty, and I love being nestled here in the trees, but it is a valley, surrounded by the Palisades, near a big, congested city, and it’s left me feeling a bit boxed in. The loud people constantly talking and interrupting each other here were also beginning to get under my skin.

So when we biked to our first marsh along the trail, I stopped and took a deep breath.

Tall grass…small rocks…water running over a creek leading out to Wellfleet Bay and the Atlantic…open space and sky…lovely, lovely, beautiful! The trees that bordered part of the marsh were off in the distance and turning for Fall. The green reeds contrasted vibrant with the reds, oranges, and yellows of the trees. In places with four seasons, I feel like autumn colors are a chorus, and they sing loudly, right before they exit. It is a little sad to know they are “leaving” (oh so punny), but they do it with style.

This ride encouraged me to learn more about cranberries, and it taught me more about the importance of the salt marshes.

Biking is moving that doesn’t hurt my hip. I can get somewhere on my own. This is a powerful, independent feeling. I am grateful that long, flat trails exist in this country. I love you CCRT, and I love you, my Fuji Addy bike!

Benjamin and I are so lucky.

We have two dear friends, Miko and Yusuke, who inspire us, make us think, and make us laugh. Recently, we had a double dinner date with our good friends at a sushi restaurant in Ardsley called Sazan.

Wow! This was one of the best dining experiences we have had since our time in Europe!

Miko and Yusuke knew the chef at Sazan, Mr. Sato, and all three of them took care of everything. We were completely in their capable hands.

We sat at the sushi bar right up close to Mr. Sato as he treated us not only to excellent food, but also to the manner in which to eat each course. He served us one piece at a time, naming it, and letting us know when to use soy sauce and wasabi and when not to. Miko and Yusuke taught us how to use the pickled ginger like a paint brush and dab the soy sauce over the fish. The whole process was graceful, with a nice, even pace. We love eating this way, taking our time.

There’s no way I will be able to remember all of the deliciousness. Benjamin and I tried to count, and we think we had something like 12 courses! Doing my best, after a bit of time has passed, and taking into consideration that sake was part of this experience too, here’s what I recall:

We began with a pate of goose egg,

followed by an appetizer of octopus, squid, fatty tuna, and vegetables in a miso medley,

then red snapper,

fatty tuna rolls,

shrimp tails,

shrimp heads,

clam,

sea urchin,

mackerel,

salmon roe roll,

eel,

komochi combo which translates to ‘seaweed with a baby,’
(Chef Sato remembered that this was Yusuke’s favorite-so nice!)

and the meal concluded with a slightly sweet egg soufflé and some delicious, crunchy pickles!

Listening to Miko and Yusuke speak with Mr. Sato in Japanese was comforting for me. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, whenever I am surrounded by a language I don’t understand, my whole body relaxes. Language is music, and Japanese sounds like brushes on cymbals, fluttering and fluid.

We thanked our chef by learning the expression: Gochisousama deshita, which means, “It was a feast!”

We had such a great time, we felt so thankful to our friends, and we can’t wait to visit Sazan again!

George Kraus is a new poet friend of mine.

Admittedly, when I learned that he was going to be sharing his work at the last Open Mic at Muddy Water Cafe, I chose to read a poem specifically with him in mind. I admire George, and I wanted to read a strong piece, so I chose a poem that made allusions to other forms of literature, science, and one of my favorite paintings, The Penitent Magdalen. I chose the right poem, because after the reading, George shared that whenever he visits the Metropolitan Museum of Art, he also spends time with The Penitent Magdalen. I was so happy! We had an instant connection.

George has a PhD in Hispanic and Luso-Brazilian Literature and Languages. The man is brilliant. He’s warm and friendly, and there is a sophistication to his work that reflects not only how well-read he is but also how much passion he has for thoughtful, crafted poetry.

To demonstrate and share his passion, George hosts a monthly poetry series at the Jewish Community Center called Sundays at the J. Benjamin and I were fortunate to have performed there last March, and it was a lovely experience! What I like best about George’s format is how he always opens it up to a discussion afterwards. Audience members have an opportunity to comment and ask the readers questions, and a salon happens. A salon happens! I love this! I love attending readings where I am not only swept away, awash in words, but where I am also challenged to think.

I attended George’s September reading that featured poets, Alan Holder and Natalie Safir, and I felt exactly this—-swept up and encouraged to ponder.

Alan’s poems were funny, intelligent, accessible, filled with nature imagery, and allusions to literature and culture. He had us all laughing with a poem about observing bee sex, and his style was smooth and entertaining.

Natalie’s work was brilliantly composed, honest, inviting, also filled with nature imagery, and vulnerable. It takes courage for a poet to stand before an audience and struggle to get through a piece that is dedicated to a friend who has recently passed away. Natalie was brave to do this, and I commend her for it.

At the end of the reading, George said something beautiful. And I’ll bring this post to a close by trying to paraphrase…

He thanked the poets and the audience for taking the time on a gorgeous afternoon to come inside and listen to poetry. In doing so, he said we all chose to spend a moment looking for meaning, because poetry after all, seeks meaning.

Yes, it does, George. Yes, it does.

I recently attended a poetry reading and open mic at Muddy Water Cafe in Tarrytown.

It was hosted by my friend Loretta, and it began with two featured readers followed by the open mic. Rather then comment too much on the performers, I want to write about poets as a community, a weird and necessary community.

As I sat there listening to my colleagues, I thought about how my life has shifted. I thought about where I had come from in terms of my career…

I worked as an English teacher for twenty five years, gradually tapering off my hours from full-time to part-time, to finally bidding my lovely career adieu for life as a writer. It’s been about three years now in this very different, very quiet, not- making-money-but-hope-to-someday-soon kind of “job.”

When I was an English teacher, I liked and respected my colleagues. I have fond memories of happy hours together, lunches, and poker parties, but I socialized even more with my ESL colleagues. ESL teachers are a special type. Travel is central to their lives, and they also tend to have other creative or artistic outlets. They are well-rounded. Life experiences teach them, just as much as they teach a language inside of a classroom.

I write this out of love, like a good book I savor and keep in my collection. I loved being a teacher. I was damn proud of what I did and truly grateful to be among such generous, funny, smart people.

But there was always this thing inside of me that made me know I couldn’t stay a teacher. It was a wilder calling, a less social, more solitary thing.

So why do I need a poet’s community, and why do I go to poetry readings? Here are five reasons:

1. To be with other strange people
2. To share fears and ideas of how and when and with whom we should get our work out there
3. To be vulnerable, ridiculous, and inspired
4. To know that when I step up to the mic, someone might be listening
5. To be at a party where words are center stage

When I choose to attend a reading, I listen and attach to certain phrases. The teacher in me can find goodness in almost anyone’s work. If I am to be truly honest, however, this is the teacher, not the writer. Poetry is art, and we all have our preferences.

I like it when:

1. Poets create whole universes in their work, places where they go, and characters who appear and float within gorgeous imagery

2. Poets make it clear that they are in love with words…so clear they use vocabulary that challenges me

3. Poets are funny, playful, eloquent, haunting, honest, crass…basically the whole range of emotions

4. Poets try forms and do them well…I love sonnets, pantoums, villanelles, and “slam” style poems with surprising rhymes

5. Poets are audience-aware, polite, and respectful of one another, the host, the venue, and the people who came to listen…

Poetry is important. Or at least I like to think it is. It’s a way to communicate in a peaceful and intelligent manner. It’s a way to connect. Poetry makes us think. I could go on and on about it, but I’ll end here…grateful that poetry exists and that it continues to feed my brain.

My light blue gingham sundress with the peaches, butterflies, and grapes on it… My mom made this pretty thing for me. She was sewing clothes for me even as I stepped into my 30’s. I wore this dress to poetry performance rehearsals, to ride my bike through Lowry Park and Flatwoods, and simply to clean my house. I wore it with sandals, boots, and Chuck Taylor’s, depending on my mood. I wore my little dress barefoot.

It was sleeveless with a scoop neck, fitted in the bust with a tie around the back, and flared a bit at the hips. It hung just above my knees. I wore it showing off my tatoos. It was the perfect dress for hot, steamy Florida.

I packed it and took it to Chicago with me. I didn’t have many occasions to wear it there, in the near freaking Arctic, but on rare, hot-enough-for-me days, I did wear it. I danced around our apartment when Benjamin wasn’t there. I put on Cajun music and wore it while it was snowing. I imagined I was somewhere I could smell wet trees in summer every day.

I moved my little gingham back South when we headed for North Carolina. I could wear it again on my front porch with my petunias and my vodka lemonades. The fabric was starting to thin, but I didn’t care. My dress felt at home in Raleigh.

That dress traveled to DC, then across the big old pond to Germany. I wore it until it was almost falling off my body, until it had several tears in it. Now it’s finally given up its ghost. I’ve “buried” it as a dress, but I’ve kept it as fabric, fabric that I’ve already used to make collages for sweet friends.

Bon Voyage Little Gingham! You wore me well.

My friend Miko invited me to attend a flower show at Lyndhurst. One of her lovely employers, Gerald, had some arrangements in the show, and I was excited both to visit the historic mansion and to see his creations. I’ve never known anyone so in love with flowers like Miko, and Gerald was Miko’s flower mentor, so I was curious to meet the man who had inspired her.

I got there just as the show was opening, and I didn’t see my friend right away, so I wandered into the library. Lyndhurst has a nice collection of antiquated books, and it was peaceful in that room. I savored the quiet for a moment, and then I walked upstairs to the art gallery. Among paintings and triptychs, I felt just fine. The mansion’s art collection was impressive, and I know in the future I’ll spend more time up there.

Miko texted me, so I met her back downstairs. Gerald’s arrangements were displayed in the gorgeous Blue Room. This was originally the parlor where the ladies gathered. The Blue Room had a spectacular view of the grounds and the river. I imagined the women in there, holding their salons, talking about art.

Gerald’s arrangement added grace and color to this already beautiful room. The oranges of the fragrant lilies and the gloriosas complimented the blues of the decor, and the purple-blue delphiniums highlighted the stained glass windows. There was a modern element to Gerald’s flowers too with his choice of Gomphocarpus fruticosus, more commonly known as the balloon plant. This member of the milkweed family is especially attractive to monarch butterflies, and it’s beautiful in its transparency and texture.

I shook hands with Gerald and complimented him on his work. He and I easily fell into a conversation, first about flowers and then somehow to our mutual love for David Sedaris. We laughed together about key passages in Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day and Holidays on Ice. He and I shared a perfect parlor moment, and it was so good to finally meet him.

Sipping Prosceco through a straw, viewing the flowers, taking in the lovely interior, and conversing with Miko’s friends and co-workers, I really had a good time at my very first flower show and my first trip to Lyndhurst!

In our continued effort to explore local places, Benjamin and I ventured to the Greenburgh Nature Center in nearby Scarsdale.

We strolled through the butterfly and bird gardens and visited some of the birds of prey in the raptor exhibit. Then, we walked out toward the wildflower field to see the active beehives.

I love bees.

When I was little, I was afraid of them, and my feelings were justified beyond a ‘normal’ childhood fear. One afternoon, when my brothers, my Dad, and I were tossing a football around, my youngest brother backed into a beehive. I had never seen insects move so fast, and I had never seen my Dad move faster. He scooped Matthew into his arms and ran him into the house. As my poor brother screamed from the stings, my Dad swatted at the bees and tried to calm him down. Finally, my Dad and Mom applied calamine and wrapped Matthew in a towel. This moment is frozen in time for me. I remember thinking I’d hate bees forever.

I had another encounter with bees in one of my first apartments. I lived on the second floor of an historic building in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Tampa. There was a little room right off my kitchen that was perfect for writing. It overlooked a small orange grove, and every morning sparkled green and gorgeous.

One morning, I thought I heard humming in the wall. It was very strange. As someone who thinks the existence of ghosts is quite possible, I first thought, “Hmm. Maybe this place is haunted.” But the humming was consistent, too steady for a ghost I thought, and the wall vibrated too. In retrospect, I should not have told my landlord. I should have, pardon the pun, just let it ‘bee.’ But I did tell him about my strange wall, and after checking it out, he informed me that there was a floor-to-ceiling hive inside the walls, and he’d have to smoke them out.

I write that last sentence as a confession. I felt horrible that the bees would die. At that time, one of my closest friends was a woman named Melissa. Melissa was proud of the fact that her name meant “bee.” She was so proud in fact that she had a gorgeous tattoo of a bee on her back. That tattoo and my sweet friend were penance for me. I’d see her every day. I had to be reminded of what I had done. I’m not in the least kidding about this. I will be sorry forever. Melissa taught me just how incredible bees were. She knew the intricacies of their work. She loved them, and she taught me to love them too.

In 2006, when I learned about the diseases that were killing off pollinators, I woke up. My love of bees broadened to a love for all pollinators. Not only are pollinators absolutely vital to human food consumption, they help keep the balance of insect populations. And they are beautiful. The world needs the colorful wings of butterflies, the darting rhythms of hummingbirds, the wobble of bats flying with their little hands, and the soothing murmur of bees.

To learn more about pollinator contributions, their current status, and how to protect and preserve these lovely creatures, visit: www.pollinator.org.

In a few weeks, the Greenburgh Nature Center will host its Honey Harvest Party, and we humans will have the bees to thank for making us a delicious and nutritious treat. Thank you, bees. I’m sorry, and I love you.

My time here in the lower Hudson Valley would not be the same if it weren’t for three important people.

First, allow me to introduce Jim Garber.

Jim is a writer, musician, and maven. He was kind enough to approach me at the Hudson Valley Writers’ Center when I first ventured there for an Open Mic. I didn’t know anyone, and as I listened to his work, I wanted to get to know him. His poetry was witty and well-crafted. I could see his line breaks as he read, and I really liked his vocabulary. There was surrealism in his work too. He wasn’t experimental exactly, so much as exploratory. What I mean by this is that it sounded like he was trying a musical rhythm, really listening to what he heard in his head, and then putting it down. And his subjects were everything from the apocalypse to the beauty of milkweed. Eclectic and smart indeed!

Given all that, I was flattered when he said that he liked my work too. I can’t remember which one of us invited who first, but we decided to meet for coffee and share more. Since our first jam, I think we’ve been to three or four different coffee shops around the village towns (mostly near me… Thank you,  Jim, for all the driving, because you know it’s not my favorite thing), and I believe we have inspired each other with every conversation. I am deeply grateful for his friendship.

Through Jim, I met Ann.

Jim and I were featured readers at a local community center (thanks to our friend, Loretta, and I’ll be scribbling about her in a minute).  Because Jim had taken some of Ann’s workshops, he invited her to come listen to us.

Ann sat in the back, quiet and attentive. After the reading, she walked over to introduce herself. I have a pretty good intuition about people, and I remember thinking, ‘This woman is quiet, but there is something else about her too.’ Turns out, I was right. As Jim and I were leaving, she peeled out of the parking lot, waving to us and shouting something like, “Hey! Aren’t you those famous poets? Wahoo!” Yup. Under her soft spoken demeanor, there was a goofball. I loved it.

Ann and I exchanged emails and quickly agreed to meet. We hung out at Red Barn in Irvington and at my house a couple of times, sharing our work and giving each other feedback. Right away, Ann and I could be honest. We could recognize where a poem worked, where it needed less or more, and we revised to make those changes.

Ann also invited Benjamin and me to a multidisciplinary event where she and some fellow poets and musicians were performing. The show was held at a bike shop, which immediately peaked our interest, and the best part of the night was a duet that Ann and her friend Graham did.

The theme of the poem was miscommunication (or differing communication styles between men and women), and the rhythm of the piece involved Graham reading at a faster pace while Ann ‘punctuated’ his part with shorter phrases. Graham wrote both parts, and it was so funny and smart. It was good to see the village of Hastings dedicate an entire evening to poetry with different venues all over the village participating, and I was thankful that Ann had introduced me to this community.

I feel grateful to have her as a poet beside me.

Last, but certainly not least, I am lucky to know Loretta.

I had read in the local paper about Tarrytown’s newest coffee shop, and I was excited to check it out. The moment I walked in to Muddy Water Cafe, I felt like I could write there. Some places are instant havens, welcoming spaces for writers, and Muddy’s is this kind of place. The chairs are comfortable, the tables spacious, and the coffee delicious. The baristas play good music like Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, and they are friendly and witty.

I thought Muddy’s would be a great venue for poetry readings, salons, or workshops. I soon learned that Loretta, the cafe’s co-owner, already had that covered.

Loretta greeted me with sparkly eyes and a quick smile. We struck up a conversation easily, but because the cafe was so busy, we decided to arrange a more formal meeting to talk. When we sat down a week later, our conversation was inspiring! We brainstormed ideas excitedly, and I knew that before long I’d be performing or hosting in this lovely space. At the end of the conversation, Loretta invited me to come listen to her read at the Jewish Community Center.

I loved her voice! Her poems were narrative, clear, funny, and profound. Serendipitously, she read from her chapbook collection of poems where she used images and concepts from space as a theme. I couldn’t believe how connected we were! After the reading, she introduced me to the host, (she’s a maven too), and to my surprise and delight, George invited me to read. At that time, Loretta didn’t really know my work, so I was grateful for her leap of faith.

Jim and I read for George’s series, and Loretta came to support us. She complimented my poetry afterwards, and she really liked how part of what I did included some Dwindlers’ work with Benjamin on bass.

Things happened quickly after this.

I agreed to host for an Open Mic at Muddy’s. Loretta asked if I would open and close the show with Benjamin, and I asked if we could include V as well, since we were forming another project with her called Born in Snow. Thankfully, she said yes.

That night was fantastic! Jim and Ann read, and it was so good to hear their voices, to share a night with them. The audience seemed to really like Born in Snow, and Loretta asked us to come back for an entire set. We were blown away. At that point, we didn’t have a set, we’d only been working together for a few months, but all three of us looked at each other and smiled. We knew we had some practicing to do.

In June, we performed at Muddy’s, and again the audience liked us, with Loretta being our biggest fan. Thank goodness for poets and how they pay attention to words.

As a side note, my incredibly generous friend also agreed to have Miko and me teach a workshop at Muddy’s. This was also a success. Teaching art and poetry together inspired Miko and me to start our business. So yes, Muddy’s has magic.

Loretta and I continue to meet to share poetry and giggle about things in our personal lives. I am excited to read for another Open Mic this weekend, and I look forward to cooking up more fun with her!

With Jim, Ann, and Loretta, I have poets around me. I am lucky and grateful.

Throughout the years, I have tasted many Bloody Mary’s.

I have also heard some of the best comments about this breakfast beverage. Here are some of my favorites:

“A Bloody Mary should be like a salad in a glass. If it’s anything less, it’s not a Mary.”

“You gotta drink ‘em in small town, side-of-the-road bars in Wisconsin, with fried cheese curds.”

“I feel drunk but strangely nourished.”

“Garnish them with dill pickles. Forget the celery. It’s the pickle that makes them good, and you have to make them spicy, with about thirteen ingredients.”

I am happy to report that at St. George’s Bistro in Hastings, Benjamin and I sipped the prettiest, tastiest Mary’s. The nice bartender  garnished them with a jumbo shrimp and layered them with tons of spices. They were so thick that she recommended we stir them before the first sip. Delicious!

For our meal, we had lobster rolls with salads and chocolate mousse and coffee for dessert. Outstanding!

As a last note, the ambience in St. George’s was lovely. We sat at a table with a view of the Hudson and the Palisades, under pressed tin ceilings, and near the original bar, built in the 1930’s. For a moment, we felt like we were in Paris, and this made it a good Saturday brunch indeed.