Saturday November 30
Woke up late. Was restless all night, worrying about Willie. We played next chapter in our current adventure game, which is at least distracting.
While Willie went off to exercise at Dave's, I decided to call my old friend Martin Paul, with whom I haven't spoken for months. He was my business manager at Medscape. He was also my pal, a role that included drinking a lot after work, and--between marriages--occasional benefits. Both the drinking and the benefits stopped without animosity after I met Michael. Martin subsequently married Sally Masters, another friend, and the four of us hung out together. We went to their huge wedding in Maine, which included a dozen ushers and additional disgruntled friends who believed they should have been ushers. (Martin had more friends than anyone I knew. On business trips, he would run into them in the airport, on the street in other cities, everywhere he went.) After I quit, he was promoted to assistant to one and then the next president of Scientific American. He and Sally moved to Connecticut and had a son, and Michael and I went out to see them every couple of months. Unhappily, Martin's drinking increased. He was fired from Scientific American and then got a teaching degree. He taught high school for a bit but kept drinking and was fired again. He became addicted to opioids after a fall that broke his leg, and finally Sally left him. Martin isn't handsome. His hair started receding in his twenties and left him with a fringe. He has the English mottled pale skin, but he was confident, clever, funny, and brash, and women were always hanging around in the background. So I fixed him up with my sister Patty, which turned out badly. He was immediately drawn to Patty, but he was no longer funny and brash. Broken and insecure, he put her off and when he tried for a second date, she turned him down. He pumped me for reasons she didn’t want to go out with him, fishing for hope. I was uncomfortable with his persistence, which, in the face of her definitive rejection, had a delusional teenage resonance. He never admitted his addictions to me and didn't take responsibility for his broken marriage, at least not to me. So I stopped calling. I dumped him, not without guilt given my enthusiastic participation in our drunken nights after work. I was lucky. He wasn't. Then about three years ago, I heard he had a severe stroke and I got back in touch. We have talked every few months since, and because it was his birthday last week, I called today, His speech is now clear and he's driving and walking—although with a cane, he even laughed every once in awhile and it was a pretty good echo of his old snarky guffaw. He's off to England for the holidays, where he's visiting his mother (over 90) and sister (having just left her minister husband after 50 years). His family is English, and he still hangs on to his British citizenship although he's been here since he was four. He intends to drive up later in the winter. Hope so.
Got an email from Jill. Nice one with good advice for Willie and a description of a terrific dinner that she made. (I had never taught her to cook when she was growing up, and when she first got married she wasn't able to make anything. Now she produces amazing meals, and has a wonderful sense of flavors. Unfortunately, she described some worrisome abdominal symptoms, which could certainly be from the Atkin Stomach or perimenopause, but my faux medical training turned both my kids and me into hypochondriacs, when at the first worrisome symptom I would rush into the bedroom with my medical textbooks, close the door and look in the index for the most lethal diagnosis. I passed this behavior on to my daughter. These days we search Google for the same bad endings, in this case ovarian cancer, for which her history of endometriosis is a risk factor. She's having tests this week.
Will helped Michael hook up the snow blower to the tractor, so we are now ready for the big storm that is supposed to come tomorrow.
In the afternoon Willie and I had successful gaming but he’s still very sad. Went to Jill Wishon’s BBQ Smokehouse for take out. She looks incredibly happy and doesn't miss the Army at all. So glad. Willie is a major fan of BBQ and husband's smoked meats are really good.
Spent the rest of the night viewing Total Recall, an old turkey from the 90s starring the ever-stolid Arnold Schwarzenegger. Geoff had recommended it, but not sure why. it was so dated that we switched over to Online Cinema, Tim Heidegger’s ongoing comedic saga.
Sunday December 1
Willie and I went to mass. Father Barrett introduced Advent with a good homily on watching and waiting for God, which I identified with my mediation practice. I mentioned this to Willie afterward but he hadn't really been listening to it. I like mass better than he does. In any case he's too distracted by his misery.
We had brunch with Michael at Le Gamin, went home, and Samantha came shortly after to take Willie back to the city. As always she was charming and friendly, although I could see or imagined I could see strain behind all those laugh noises and smiley expressions.
When Willie got home he called, and, as he had feared, Samantha broke up with him. She gave him back books that they had been reading together and told him that she just couldn’t see herself with him.
I hate knowing how much pain he has to go through now. Rejection by someone you've loved for a long time is as bad as death. He has an excellent network of friends and family to help him get through, and he went through pain before when he stopped seeing her for months while he was deciding on the priesthood. Still, this is the fatal cut, and anyone who has gone it (and who hasn't) understands how difficult his immediate future is.
Monday December 2
A foot of snow fell last night and still coming. I feel my son's grief as if it were my own. Tonglen, a Buddhist practice, involves first breathing in any pain you're experiencing and then exhaling a sense of clarity and relief. Next, you breathe in that same pain for everyone who is also experiencing it and breathe out that same clarity and release, I was practicing this during my cancer treatments last year and it helped. Today I’m trying it with Willie‘s grief, inhaling pain, exhaling clarity, while processing leftovers and listening to my chronically sad music.
Will called weeping and we talked through it until he was ok. Then he broke down again as he described a story Haversoff told about saving up $2000 when he was sixteen to give his parents a couch. When it appeared, his father became angry, accusing him of making a power play. Will was filled with grief for his friend. Everything is sad for my son right now. It takes so long to get through deep loss, whether it's death or rejection, and it's important to endure the pain until it become boring. Unless you do this, it's hard to be vulnerable enough to love again.
Watched Dirty Dancing to cheer up. Most romantic movie ever! Maybe best ever. Made chicken potpie with mashed potatoes from Thanksgiving food. Tried watching Watchman on HBO but not drawn to it. Tiresome violence and no wit.
Tuesday December 3
Woke up to at least a foot of snow—probably more. Michael did two rounds of snow blowing yesterday, but four more inches plumped up the driveway and fields overnight. I headed out to the Army in the BMW, which has four-wheel drive, but the town snowplow had pushed a bank of snow in front of the driveway, and I lodged the car on top of it. Now Michael has to go dig it out. No Army today.
The day was brilliant and beautiful and I had no pain walking up the driveway to the house. I have always loved a sun-blinding day after a major snowfall, with the trees and bushes ragged with white. Great stuff. I will always miss—in fact for years had dreams of-- the rush and short flights off moguls during the downhill skiing of my youth. I gave this up because of the expense, my urban life, and with none of my three husbands interested in sharing the sport. The last time I did downhill skiing, I was ignorantly pregnant with Jill-over half a century ago. When Michael and I moved upstate, I bought cross-country skis, which for a few years provided a pleasure that whispered of the past. Today I had an urge to put on them on, a very brief thought since I knew from recent experiences, that any fall would set me down into the drifts from which I wouldn't be able to lever my generous ass. Still, I can’t imagine living in a climate without one of these days at least once a year. The downside is the ice, inevitable with winter temperature swings, which reminds that this is the third winter that our HVAC guy (also our neighbor) still hasn't hooked up the heat under the concrete slab along the side of the garage. Not a third world problem and sand is a reasonable alternative.
Willie sent me a link to a C.S. Lewis short lecture arguing for a rational basis for the incarnation. Clever argument, but he was still working backward from a pre-existing belief. Start out with nothing and it's difficult to get there. In any case it cheered Willie up, which cheered me up.
Spent rest of the morning and part of the afternoon making red and green chili sauces. Added processed roasted sweet pepper to them—yellow to green and red to red, which boosted their flavor and added sweetness without sugar. Must remember to do this again.
Michael continued to clear the driveway until a cotter pin attaching the blower to the tractor fell off and then so did the blower. Not a happy afternoon for him.
We met Ann, Liz, and Stuart at the local movie theater, where the management celebrates the holidays every year with two three-foot Styrofoam snowmen leaning on opposite sides of a saggy lobby couch. We watched Beautiful Liars, starring two well-honed actors-- Helen Mirren and Ian McKellen--who played old con artists tricking each other, but with consequences so increasingly grim that I left irritated with the whole thing. I like a good trickster plot but this involved Nazis and unnecessary violence. No wit. What a waste of a script for these Brits.
We then all went to Liz' house where Geoff greeted us in their winter friendly dining room with wine and a casserole comprising red beans, chorizo, and a sly blood sausage. Depending on our WASP proclivities, we either ate or picked the sausage out of the casserole, which was delicious in either case. As we ate, we interrupted each other in non-stop conversation until it was time to go home. Terrific way to spend a cold snowy midweek night.
Wednesday December 4
Wasted the morning sleeping late and half listening to Michael’s conference call with Medscape. Do I miss the work and the self-importance of participating in meetings? Miss the work, not the meetings.
Gene has resurrected his old Self. He wrote one of his rambling tirades without punctuation to the Hudson Democratic Committee demanding that they instruct the Hudson police chief to implement Gene's opioid plan. This is problematic because: A. Gene doesn't have an opioid plan; B. he has no credentials for creating one; and C. no one has asked him for one. (I pointed all of this out to him after reading the email, and he responded that he'd put one together as soon as the Chief promises to put it into action.) Gene ends the email by replaying his old Czajka attack song. So glad he's not running for any office again.
Went to Cascade for lunch. People watched: middle-aged woman in red work cap and pink leggings carrying a Chihuahua in a knapsack; heavy set older woman with cable knit sweater and gold boots; 2 working guys—one white and short, the other brown, tall, and handsome— on lunch break. The tall guy asked the price for a whole banana cake and reluctantly didn’t get it. Then, in came a guy who might or might not have been Steve Dunn. He had the same moth eaten face but it lacked Steve's crazy eyes that glower at you like a malicious owl’s.
.
Finally washed mittens and scarves in the afternoon. Better late.
Went to Greenport Town Board meeting where Kathy Eldridge was sworn in as Supervisor and Guy Apicella and Keith Mortefolio for Town Council. My friend Janice Brodowski and Clayton Clark, also on the Town Council, didn’t face an election this year. John Massouf was sworn in as Highway Superintendent, having been elected with the effective machinations of Jim Dolan, who was betrayed by Mark Gaylord, the former Highway Superintendent and our neighbor. Mark told Jim he would hire one his relatives and then didn't. So Jim made sure he'd lose the election. Don’t cross Jim.
John the water-guy gave a muted presentation (he’s always on mute) that described a big water break behind Walmart, with Greenport's manganese-iron riddled brown water piped around the northern part of town. Following other department reports (most of their heads were absent) came the public comments.
These featured, as usual, Joe Kenneally, a local round curmudgeon, who loudly (he’s always loud) complained about National Grid's failure over the years to replace the streetlights on the major routes 9, 23b, and 66. “I drove around and counted them. There are 30 out and they’ve been out for years. And we’re paying a lot of money for them.” Kathy looked sheepish and glanced to her left; “I’ve put Guy on this.”
A brief description of Guy Appicella: he's a gnomish very short fellow with puffy gray hair and blinking eyes that stare with uncertainty out into the world for approval. Recently retired from Columbia Greene Community College (job unknown), he teaches ballroom dancing as a sideline. He's never been married but he showed up one time at an event with a much taller, inexplicably attractive blonde. I worked with Guy on the Greenport Comprehensive Plan Committee a couple years ago. He and I were asked to develop part a section on Southern Greenport, where we both live. Because Guy then worked for our Community College, which is also in the southern part of our town, the Chair asked him to find any programs or grants (e.g., for courses on farming or other vocations) that might increase employment for our young people, and keep them from deserting the town in droves, as they do not. But Guy never looked into this and, in fact, never did anything for the Comp Plan except attend meetings and respond with enthusiasm to anything someone else suggested. I was not hopeful, then, about his assignment to solve the decades-long street light problem. In fact, when asked what he had done so far, he responded that he had tried to call National Grid several times and had left messages, but no one had called him back. Someone recommended that he get hold of the public service commissioner. "Good idea," replied Guy enthusiastically. Someone else thought the Board should contact a muckraking reporter, who exposes wrongdoing on a local TV station. Guy was enthusiastic.
We regularly refer to Guy as the weasel, because of his shape shifting tendencies. He was a Democrat when I met him in 2015 and recently elected to the Town Council. He shifted to non-affiliate during the 2017 campaign, when Kathy first ran for Supervisor and Janice and I ran for Town Council. Guy wasn't running then.
Here's a brief history of that election: Kathy was an Independent and wasn't the Democrat Committee's first choice for Supervisor. But no other Democrat came up to the plate, Gene liked her, and she wasn't a Republican, so we endorsed her. In the beginning no one thought she could win. . Her biggest downside, we believed, was her unorthodox past. Jim growled at her for wearing her cowboy boots when she went canvassing and harangued her into hiding the tattoo on our arm when she was photographed She was a torch singer in her younger years, when she also had two sons—one black and one white. She's been living unmarried for 20 years with a one-term ex-mayor of Hudson, who rides Harleys and drives a school bus and is not the father of either son. So we thought her chances of winning in conservative Greenport were very slim. Guy was so sure she'd lose to Ed Nabozny, the Republican incumbent that, to ensure his continuing board position as Deputy Supervisor after the election, he quit the Democrat party and became a non-affiliate. Bad idea. After knocking on doors with Kathy during the campaign, I became impressed by her energy and enthusiasm and was confident that her advantages would outweigh her wild youth (I mean, who doesn't have a wild youth). She's tall, attractive, with a low sonorous voice. She's also a devout Catholic, a registered nurse, and raised in Greenport, where her father had been a well-known popular figure. As we trudged the town knocking on doors, she would greet older people with, "Hi! I’m John Leck's daughter and I'm running for Supervisor." We knocked on nearly every door—not just our own party members but non-affiliates, Independents, Republicans. Even Dolan ended up an enthusiastic booster, lending his considerable political skills to scrounging every possible vote for her among old friendly voters, the newly registered, and the absentees. Between Jim, Kathy, and Janice, their collective knowledge of the specific histories and beliefs of nearly every life-long Greenportian was astounding. The critical factor in winning an election here is having deep local roots and generational connections. Janice had them also—one of eight siblings in an established Catholic family, she was a retired obstetrics nurse who delivered most of the babies in the county for three decades So, in the end, they both won their races and I didn't—no surprise and no grief.
Went to Wunderbar for Arctic char.
Will texted an update on John Bradley his former bagpipe teacher and one of my favorite humans, who has been undergoing a wretched divorce that appears to have broken him mentally. Willie is trying to help him find a lawyer. Only relatively good effect is to distract Willie from his own break-up. He texted, “Don’t know what happened but ever since I woke up Tuesday I’ve been OK. Could be denial or something or it could be that the relationship was making me unhappy and I was in denial about THAT.”
Thursday December 5
At Columbia Memorial Hospital getting blood work for my lipids. Checked in by very heavyset woman with a Hallmark angel entirely covering her large forearm, wearing a blouse blooming with roses against a black background. She was very friendly with a wide smile that showed a fence of gapped teeth. I liked her. Michael also visited his doctor for stuffed sinuses.
Made tacos for lunch using leftover brisket from Jill’s BBQ place simmered in chicken stock with cumin, green chili powder, and some of the green chili sauce I cooked up a couple days ago. Tasted pretty good.
Spent the afternoon editing the new diary blog and watched a Daziel and Pascoe. Dave dropped by in the early evening and had a glass of wine with us. Things will never be the same between us as they once were but I’m glad they’ve gotten easier. I miss the sibling bantering, though. So sorry it got mean. I told him I probably wasn’t going to do New Years. Don’t know what side effects the radiation is going to have. Janet has her MRI next Friday. It’s all stressful. Reheated my chicken potpie, which held up. Watched Undone after dinner to which Michael more or less slept.
Friday December 6
Went to Salvation Army today to fill in for Jessica, nice young woman who met her partner hiking the Appalachian Trail and who usually volunteers on Friday. Place is crazy right now. Darcy, the new director who took over from Jill, is experiencing her first bell-ringing season, with only Ria to help. She has to organize hundreds of volunteers, delivering the kettles and bells that they ring, shivering, at dozens of locations in Columbia County and Catskill across the river. (Did it till I got cancer. Actually pretty gratifying and fun.) She also has to hunt down major donors for large contribution needed to make the final revenue goals. And of course she has to maintain the food pantry, make sure there's food for lunch, and organize the annual toy drive. “Jill made it look so easy.” Darcy, although still persistently cheerful, looked exhausted. Jill, on the other hand looks happy and relaxed, running her new BBQ Smokehouse, across the river. Apparently starting and running a new busy restaurant is easier than running our Army Center. It does get easier after Christmas. The Army lunch was simple: beef ribs with jarred BBQ sauce, salad, and baked beans.
Richard Wallace came in and hung a bit with Faye and me before he and Charlie took the van out for food pick-up. He has been in the process of selling his house on Long Island to his tenants, who have been living there a couple years. They told Richard this weekend that the wife, who is pregnant, got laid off from the hotel where she worked in the spa, so the husband, who worked at the same place, quit. Now, they are moving down to Florida to live with parents. The sale of the house is dead, and Richard has to find someone to rent the house on a month-to-month basis at the beginning of winter before he can put it up for sale again in February or March. Not easy.
Snow kept many diners from coming in. A late delivery of about a dozen boxes of defrosted meat from Walmart arrived, which we had to get rid of or throw out. This drew in several people, who filled bags with chicken, steaks, salmon, pork roasts, sausage, and other meats, which otherwise were headed for the dumpster. I took chicken thighs, sausage, steak, and a steal trout. Faye also loaded up a bag. We set aside drumsticks for Monday lunch, which I’m cooking. Still, full boxes were left until, fortunately, a woman from another food pantry in Bliss Towers, our local project, rescued the rest. Charlie Proper slashed his hand on a nail but refused to put a Band-Aid on the cut. He resists any standard medical help, including first aid, drugs, and doctor and dentist visits. He grew up poor, with a single mother who wove baskets and lived with other Proper out at Lake Taconic until the state took it over. Jay was unusually boisterous, typically a sign he’s been drinking.
Edited in the afternoon. Was nervous about the fish and meat I brought home but they smelled ok. I wrapped the trout in foil, coated with melted butter and dotted with shallots and sliced lemons, Baked it along with roasted cauliflower and cherry tomatoes. Boiled potatoes and smashed them with melted butter. Everything tasted great.
Michael dealt with texts from Gene, now obsessed with Jeffrey Yeh’s Facebook traffic numbers, which are near 100,000. He thinks, given these numbers, that his fellow Czajka hater would make a "great reporter" once he was “rehabilitated” (i.e., once Yeh has been released from jail after serving time for his most recent felony, stealing his friends’ and family's credit cards.) Michael responded “I think the 100,000 is number of views over time. Each post gets a few thousand. For him to be useful as a reporter he would need to make more sense. Some posts are good, but the videos make no sense to me.”
Watched rest of Undone and started a new British series, Accident.
Woke up at one thirty with terrible leg spasms, and spent two hours in the tub working through them and meditating.
