Looking back on the vestiges of our small garden in Woodside I'm glad to say the season was a success. We had Lemon cucumbers and San Marino tomatoes as new crops and I would recommend them both if you have a trellis and sturdy stakes. They produced more than ample amounts and I am still ripening green tomatoes on my office window sill. Though first I put the green tomatoes in a paper bag with a banana for a few days. Not sure of the chemistry but something about a ripening banana helps a green tomato to turn red. Another lesson learned in 2019.
We we moved to Ridgewood in 1961 our backyard bordered on Willard school. There was an overgrown lot between us belonging to the school which had apple trees whose apples we used to throw at each other, and wild berries we picked to make jam. All gone now in the name of children's sports and a "play safe" playground. By this I mean no slides, seesaws, or swing sets. These are all considered too dangerous and an insurance liability.
"They're safe. Everything's safe in America, for fear someone will get offended." -Bob Lefsetz
To tell you the truth I never heard of any major accidents with the wilderness next to the schoolyard, or any catastrophic injuries from playing on seesaws, sliding down a metal slide, or swinging on the swing set. They were all just good fun. We were kids and when we fell down the bruises and cuts never lasted very long. I'm sure one can find examples of calamities all over the world, but does that mean we have to make our playgrounds so boring and dull that no kid wants to utilize them? I think not. The rise in childhood obesity in the US might even support my claim.
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
Friday, October 25, 2019
Patience and Sympathy
Czech playwright turned dissident (turned, some years later, president) Václav Havel (October 5, 1936–December 18, 2011):
"People who are used to seeing society only “from above” tend to be impatient. They want to see immediate results. Anything that does not produce immediate results seems foolish. They don’t have a lot of sympathy for acts which can only be evaluated years after they take place, which are motivated by moral factors, and which therefore run the risk of never accomplishing anything."
The act of writing a blog is one of those acts which can only be evaluated years after the fact to determine whether it has accomplished anything. To date, I'd say it has caused more than a few people to ponder times long gone. Maybe not with the same intensity which F. Scott Fitzgerald uses to describe Nick as he contemplates the historic geography of Long Island. There are few among us who can summon up the profundity of Fitzgerald. More to the point is that little about the time which I summarize in this blog compares with that "enchanted moment when men held their breath in the presence of this continent."
Nothing we encountered was as raw or unrefined as what those Dutch sailors must have seen. In contrast, our world functioned with a well known and distinct set of characteristics which we knew unconsciously how deal with.
As you might recall, The Great Gatsby concludes with a sad Nick contemplating the historic geography of Long Island:
"Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." (9.151-154)
"People who are used to seeing society only “from above” tend to be impatient. They want to see immediate results. Anything that does not produce immediate results seems foolish. They don’t have a lot of sympathy for acts which can only be evaluated years after they take place, which are motivated by moral factors, and which therefore run the risk of never accomplishing anything."
The act of writing a blog is one of those acts which can only be evaluated years after the fact to determine whether it has accomplished anything. To date, I'd say it has caused more than a few people to ponder times long gone. Maybe not with the same intensity which F. Scott Fitzgerald uses to describe Nick as he contemplates the historic geography of Long Island. There are few among us who can summon up the profundity of Fitzgerald. More to the point is that little about the time which I summarize in this blog compares with that "enchanted moment when men held their breath in the presence of this continent."
Nothing we encountered was as raw or unrefined as what those Dutch sailors must have seen. In contrast, our world functioned with a well known and distinct set of characteristics which we knew unconsciously how deal with.
As you might recall, The Great Gatsby concludes with a sad Nick contemplating the historic geography of Long Island:
"Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." (9.151-154)
The Courage to Grow Up
Autumn, even in my childhood, has always been my favorite season. No doubt the colors of the foliage on the trees, plus the remembrance of apple cider and doughnuts eaten after bike trips to VanRiper's and Tice farms in Woodcliff Lake. It's been over twenty years since I've tasted those autumn delights, and I drove my old Ford F-150 pickup instead of the ten-speed bike I once traveled by.
"Van Riper’s was sold in 1994 to a supermarket developer. Three years later, Tice Farms also called it a day, making way for the upscale Tice’s Corner Marketplace, home to more than 20 stores including a William Sonoma, J. Crew, Victoria’s Secret, and Apple."
Reminds me of what e.e. cummings once wrote:
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
I wouldn't be the person I am today without those carefree bike rides on roads less frequented than they are today. I couldn't imagine getting on a bicycle and pedaling around Bergen County today. The roads were narrow when I was young and no acts of civic inspiration have widened them. In fact, they are more dangerous than ever, but what did we know of danger as kids? Does anybody in their early teens give much consideration to mortality, probably not.
Sunday, October 06, 2019
Camera Sales Going Down, Down, Down
The camera has come a long way in my lifetime. It was once an expensive and time consuming endeavor. The film being something to purchase, then the development of the photos which took time to be completed.
When they added the camera to our Smartphones I wondeered if they would be used at all. My bias said no but I have wrong before and probably never so wrong as in this assessment.
When they added the camera to our Smartphones I wondeered if they would be used at all. My bias said no but I have wrong before and probably never so wrong as in this assessment.
I recall having a camera like this instamatic from Kodak. Anyone could buy one and shoot away until they reached the dreaded end of the film roll. The choice of using a flash or not was a question most often answered after the film had been developed. Who knew? the technology was new and there was no detailed manual or Internet to consult. You either consulted an expert who would hint that you ought to use a better camera, or you lost interest in the entire process.
Optimism
OPTIMISM
by Jane Hirshfield
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam
returns over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous
tenacity of a tree: finding the light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another. A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs — all this resinous, unretractable earth.
Tuesday, October 01, 2019
Harboring Seeds of Goodness
I have alway enjoyed reading E.B White, stepfather to Roger Angell, and steward of "the little book" The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. He famously wrote Charlotte's Web and made us all believe that spiders could talk.
He penned the following letter to a man who had written to him saying he had lost faith in humanity. White was a firm believer that it is the duty of the writer to uplift people. The letter he composed answers an ominous feeling we all can identify with, and it's good to read a well thought out reply even on days when all is going well.
Dear Mr. Nadeau:
As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
He penned the following letter to a man who had written to him saying he had lost faith in humanity. White was a firm believer that it is the duty of the writer to uplift people. The letter he composed answers an ominous feeling we all can identify with, and it's good to read a well thought out reply even on days when all is going well.
Dear Mr. Nadeau:
As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
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