Central Park

Snotting Against the Wind

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2efTlU36Tw

It isn’t raining or gray and I’ve been so damned sedentary since I hurt my back that I needed to go for a walk this morning. Dropped Flower Child off at her art class, and headed into Central Park with my camera. A nice day for a walk–you’ll all be relieved to know I wore my sensible shoes, with support, without heels. Glad I had a hat and was wearing layers because it is windy out there. Just shy of cold when the sun goes behind a cloud. As expected, it was crowded with bikers, runners, kids, dogs, bird watchers and photographers. But one of the nice things about Central Park is how big it is, if you don’t go to the popular, touristy spots, you can still find some peace.

Except for the two runners who were stopped right where I wanted to take some photos of the newly seeded ball fields. One even treated me to the sight and sound of her blowing her nose onto the ground. You know, one finger laid across one nostril, lean forward and blow out the other one. I’m sure someone will tell me how it’s necessary, you don’t carry tissues to go running. You know what? It’s fucking gross. I’ll bet she had her cell phone tucked in somewhere, she could throw a few Kleenex into the case. By the way hon, if you’re reading, you might want to get checked for a sinus infection.

I would love to photograph the playgrounds, but they’re rarely empty, and it’s creepy to stand there and take photos of other people’s kids. I like to get shots of birds, but that rarely works out for me, I don’t have great photography skills. If you’re a longtime follower, you might know I’m obsessed with trees, especially the patterns of the root growths, and this time of year, just beginning to bud, when you can see the shapes and shadows made by the branches. Plus, I find trees to be cooperative subjects, they rarely blink or move at the moment I press the shutter. I also shoot a lot of the various bodies of water. They’re always moving, but that makes them interesting to me, even the blurs. I took a lot of pictures, I’ll probably break this up into two or three posts.

This guy stood long enough for me to take 4 shots.

One day I’d like to trace whose roots are whose.

Winter casualty

So serene, nature in the city

under a bridge

Whoops

Flowers are starting to poke up

These little white ones are so delicate.

Over the reservoir, you can see their feathers being blown by the wind.

Looking east across the reservoir.

Heads up, falling seed pods.

Back corner of the tennis courts, this tree wants a ball.

I love this. Because I’m weird, ok?!

If this trunk could talk…

I liked this effect, the one tree in soft green buds, the rest still gray/brown with the top of the light post showing.

One of many little ponds, on the west side.

When I was pregnant with Man Child, I used to dream he was born and jumped into the lake at Central Park, but I couldn’t help him because I was being given a ticket for letting him go swimming.

Looking northwest.

Quack.

Not so secret passage.

I was happy I was able to get shots of this little waterfall, despite the three kiddos climbing on the rocks.

Imagining homeless coming here to cool off on hot August nights.

Look, I can zoom!

No ducks taking this ride.

Love the algae covered rocks.

How cool are these? I *think* they’re buckled up tree roots, maybe they push up because of the water?

This is the tree I think they’re attached to.

Like tree joints. How many elbows and knees does one tree have, anyway?

All sharp angles on these branches.

What Big Stones You Have, Mrs Fringe

A rock, an island 😉

While getting ready to take Flower Child to art class this morning, I thought about the weather being nicer than it has been, I didn’t have to wear the megaboots, a couple of hours to myself…I’m a rebel, I have big ones– I’ll take the camera, and go into Central Park, take some pictures. I didn’t talk myself out of it, didn’t think about the fact that warmer doesn’t = warm, didn’t think about being tired, maybe I’d be better off just sitting on the couch and zoning out. I remembered to take the camera.

I didn’t remember to check if the camera battery was charged, and I didn’t think about a warmer day meaning the paths would be muddy and icky. So much like the rocks of Central Park, my stones aren’t quite as natural and rugged as they first appear.

Most of the rocks in Central Park were deliberately chosen and placed in the plans.

With my comfy old barely more than slippers squishing when they weren’t slipping and the red battery alert flashing, I figured I’d walk anyway, until the battery completely died.

Nope, doesn’t make me want to run.

The mainstay wildlife of the city, unimpressed by rising real estate prices or the polar vortex, they’re staying and they’re eating.

Sparrow?

These guys were finding plenty to eat.

The reservoir looked perfect, I wish had that damn back-up battery with me.

More than half frozen

Birds going wild.

This blue jay? made me think of my wanna be writing career. Out of season, he was loud, I stalked him from tree to tree, could see him way up high but every time I raised my camera he took off again. I squinted and got this one shot of his tail feathers way, way above me.

The last shot before the camera completely shut down.

Too Tired for Words

So I’ll post photos instead. A long day today, lots of running around starting to get ready for the holidays (yes, I’m behind–big surprise). Man Child came with me and we met Flower Child’s class at the annual trip to the ice skating rink, spent time checking out the fabulous artisan booths set up at Columbus Circle, and then waiting for Nerd Child’s bus to arrive. And waiting. Lots of standing and waiting.

A friend made a comment the other day, how pretty the city must be with snow. Mmmm, for about a minute. So, the first batch of photos are from this past weekend in New England, the second batch around the city today. Check ’em out, and post your thoughts on snow in the city.

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It’s now been 2 days since I worked on Astonishing, my back is crying, and I still haven’t bought a Christmas tree. But I’ve got all 3 of my chickadees home for the holidays, and Man Child is making dinner tonight. This is a fine moment.

Today

I went here

and my head exploded at seeing the ride on mower in the quiet zone.

and my head exploded at seeing the mower in the quiet zone.

And I wore this

Turtle.

And I brought these

Green for turtles, green for mitochondrial disorders.

And then I did this

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When I arrived, there was a homeless man playing guitar next to the Imagine mosaic. There’s always someone there singing and or playing. But usually, they’re singing Imagine. Today, as I walked past, he was playing and singing Let It Be, the song Nerd Child played and sang at my mother’s funeral.

I did this in honor of an exceptionally brave little warrior. Friends across the country released balloons or planted bulbs to show support, respect, love, and mourn with a friend when we couldn’t be with her in person.

While I was in Strawberry Fields releasing balloons; a friend, along with her husband and her daughter, was laying her six year old son to rest many miles away. Too soon, too short, too heartbreaking. Mitochondrial disease is something that most people have never heard of, but those who know it, know it all too well. It’s an umbrella term, the name covering many sub-disorders, but all affect multiple systems of the body. The mitochondria are the powerhouses of the cells, bringing oxygen, converting food to fuel and energy. Some forms of mito disease are more aggressive than others, and different people are affected to varying degrees. There is no cure, not much in the way of treatment, and understanding of mito diseases is really in its infancy.

I’ve never met this friend in person, never met her son, but I know her, knew him, wept for every setback and cheered for every discharge from the hospital. I’ve already blogged about online friendships, how very real many of them are. But some have a depth I have no words for. Medical needs moms, special needs moms, the communities and friendships developed are invaluable and indescribable.

Mito sucks, epilepsy sucks, cystic fibrosis sucks, cancer sucks, neuro-transmitter disorders suck, von willebrand’s disease sucks, CDKL 5 sucks, all the assorted disorders rare and otherwise that most-people-can’t-even-name-the-color-of-the-ribbon suck. But the friendships, the support? Beautiful, pure, sometimes gut wrenching and always filled with love.

Rest in peace, sweet boy.

Hidden Dangers

I’m pretty sure the overt dangers of life in NY have been well covered by the media. Overblown, even.

English: Heavily tagged subway car in NY in 1973. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The trains don’t even look like this anymore. As a New Yorker, I have and always have had a certain comfort level with the stuff that makes tourists clutch their purses. Yes, I rode the trains at all kinds of hours, even when they still looked like the above photo. Not only rode them, but I’d fall asleep–almost always waking up just as the doors opened at my stop.

Safety tips can be summarized quickly. Look like you know where you’re going, and do so at a reasonable pace. Don’t gawk. Don’t be stupid (flashing cash, jewelry, etc). Flashing boobage is questionable. It’s legal in NY, you can’t be arrested for it, but I think we’ve got a little way to go before it’s safe to be a topless female waiting for the 4 train. And oh yeah, watch out for subway grates when you’re walking down the sidewalk in stilettos.

In Central Park relax, enjoy, and don’t walk through by yourself after dark or before other joggers/bikers/dogwalkers are up and about. Don’t pet the squirrels (nasty and rabid) or feed the pigeons (gross). C’mon, it’s self explanatory. Same rules as NYers. Don’t stare ’em down, keep moving, leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Or be prepared to be the crazier one, but that’s another post.

Central Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Occasionally you can spot a raccoon in the park. Never heard of one that didn’t have rabies, don’t pet it, or send your dog after it. I saw something in a tree staring down at me last week, I swear it looked like a sloth. Tried to get a photo, but dusk in the park and my camera phone don’t seem to care for each other. Sometimes there are other bizarre animals to be found in there that don’t belong at all, generally because some bozo thought an exotic pet was a good idea when it was cute and little. Then it got big, angry, and tried to eat its owner, so Mr Macho decided to release it into the “wild” of Central Park. Thanks.

Yesterday I learned something new. There’s poison ivy in parts of the park. Not only did I not know that, it never occurred to me. For me, that’s under the category of “things to learn about if I go rural.”

This morning I was walking my beasts. Not even 7AM, just walking down the street, not in the park, and we were accosted by a sparrow. It has to be one of the most bizarre experiences I’ve ever had. This little twit hopped out from under the orange netting of a construction site and chirp chirp cheeped at Little Incredibly Dumb Dog. OK, I figure the thing must be confused, built a nest in the wrong place, I pulled my little fluffball away. Then the thing went after Big Senile Dog. Really?! I can’t tell you how uninterested BSD is in birds, squirrels, etc. I beg him to frighten the pigeons off of the terrace, but if they aren’t in his sunning spot, he just doesn’t give a shit. He kept walking, in search of the ideal poop spot. The sparrow chased after us, twittering and chirping and hopping while Little Incredibly Dumb Dog kept yapping, until the bird got Big Stupid Dog’s attention. He, of course, decides it must be a pre breakfast snack and opens his mouth. I hauled both dogs away as his teeth were about two centimeters from the little morsel, convinced we had come across a rabid sparrow.

I consulted with my good buddy Googles when I got home, it turns out, birds don’t get rabies. Guess it was plain old New Yorkitude.

English: House Sparrow Deutsch: Haussperling Svenska: Gråsparv (Passer domesticus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Happy Mother’s Day–to all the Fringelings

Flowers for all the Mommies

If you hadn’t noticed by now, I’m not generally a fan of the “Hallmark” holidays. But I have to admit, Mother’s Day can be kind of nice. Today is extra nice on several levels. One, after a spectacularly crappy week, it’s a better day. Friday showed a glimmer of light, yesterday showed promise, and today is a good day. I hope all of you are feeling the same.

Husband read the note I left on the chalkboard, and gave me a couple of much needed and much appreciated gifts. Both boys were in touch with me yesterday, to be sure they didn’t forget to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day.

Flower Child had a rough week, and so did I. There’s the obvious–if she isn’t doing well I’m nervous and holding my breath, my brain hurts with all the coulda-woulda-shouldas and general foot stomping unfairness of life. But she’s smiling and perky now, working on her art and a vision of love.

And then of course, there’s revision hell, which grew to include query writing hell. You know that little voice in your head that whispers, who the fuck are you kidding? You can’t pull off a traditional romance, that’s for woman who are sweetness and light and roses; not women who hope for sleep, a new alarm clock, and money to get their legs waxed. Not for women who were told their last romance was well written, good characters, but just a little too far off the beaten path.

The way I see it, I enjoy writing. Even with an eye towards success and publication, it’s important for me to enjoy it. Not every last aspect, but overall, it should be pleasurable, like Mama-ing. You should be able to weather the difficult or boring parts and stay strong throughout, knowing there will be release, relief, and an ability to hold onto the good days and moments of pure love, so you don’t actually run away or give up when the next hard part comes along. At the moment, no one is paying me for writing any more than I’m being paid for the Mom gig, so the motivation and reward has to come from the act of doing, and hope for eventual external validation. As a Mom, that external validation will (hopefully) include a positive, healthy relationship with adult kiddos. As a writer, the external validation will (hopefully) include a dollar and a contract.

Between internal angst, hammering out query thoughts at the writer’s forum, and pushing through, I’ve come to realize I need to shift the focus of my manuscript, a little. Basically, still the same story, but ultimately not a romance. I’ll keep the strong romantic elements, but focus on my heroine and her challenges and obstacles outside of the relationship. I still want it to be a fun read, this isn’t meant to be a navel gazing allegory on the ills of society (I’ve got my lit fic short stories for that, along with an unfinished manuscript that may or may not ever be completed), but this feels better.

I hope everyone is having a day of peace, or beauty, or whatever it is that lets you feel tomorrow might be okay.

Photos from time in Central Park last weekend with Flower Child.

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And one more, a super bonus surprise sent to me from Nerd Child, delivered yesterday afternoon.

I’m all gooshy inside, wouldn’t you be?

Starry Nights and Street Fairs

English: Pleiades Star Cluster (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Trite as it sounds, sometimes as a parent you have to make hard decisions. Husband and I had to make one of those last week. Flower Child’s school has an annual overnight camping trip. After much discussion, asking questions about the plans for trip, student teacher ratio, and watching how she’s been doing and feeling, we felt we had to say no. It was the right decision, but it sucked to come to it anyway. I got a phone call from one of her teachers after the decision was made, one I don’t speak with regularly. He asked if there was any information he could offer to help us to feel better about the trip, etc. I absolutely believe he was coming from a good place, but it sure made that voice in my head–the one that whispers about how unfair things can be–a whole lot louder.

Yesterday I planned to go to the craft store with Flower Child so she could pick out a small pad of sketch paper. Hopefully we’re going to get to the park today so she can find a tree she likes and sketch it. The pad she had at home is too large and heavy for her to carry or manipulate in the middle of the park. She has always loved art. She loves to draw, and has been doing a lot of it recently. Since getting the iPad for schoolwork, it seems like she has enough energy and strength left at the end of the day to put more into it and enjoy it. Watching her have fun and progress with this is a particular pleasure I can’t put into words.

When we left the apartment, we saw there was a nearby street fair, first of the season for us. No reason we were in a hurry, so we walked the fair for a bit. Most of the fairs run for about 10 blocks.

This is from a couple of years ago, they’re $5 a pop now.

Really, there’s only three blocks worth of booths. Two blocks of wares that keep repeating, and every so often something different thrown in. Still, on a nice day, and before you’ve had 5 straight weekends of traffic being messed up from them, it’s a nice thing to do. We went past a booth of inexpensive art prints, Flower Child spent some time looking at the Van Goghs (she loves his work). As I looked at the Starry Night print, I thought of how much Flower Child would enjoy being somewhere she could see the stars at night. Cuppa guilt, anyone? I splurged on a couple of arepas (delicious for about 45 seconds, after you’ve burned your mouth on the first few bits but before you’re eating cold sweet corn grease) and went on to the craft store after strolling for four blocks.

The craft store was having a sale on sketch books. Score! Got two small sketch pads and a pad of tan paper so she can figure out how to use her white pastels. Then we were just looking at the different art materials. They had Bob Ross kits. At this point, she isn’t into painting, but I was telling her about him when a man walked by and we ended up chatting about art. He turned out to be an art teacher, made a couple of recommendations for paper for Flower Child, I added a large pad of newsprint paper to our pile. Who needs groceries? I took his contact info. Nice guy, maybe we can figure out a way to get her lessons.

We were out for a little under two hours, and I was feeling great. A beautiful sunny day, relaxing, no pressure-no rush strolling, got Flower Child what she wanted plus some, a nice New York moment in the craft store. When we got to our corner, I told her we had to take the dogs out for a quick walk. “Right now? Can we rest for five minutes first?” Pop goes my bubble. She was out of energy, literally exhausted from the couple of hours out and walking around. Oh yeah, this was why the plan was to buy the sketch pad one day, and go to the park the next. And this was why saying no to the trip was the right call, much as we wish it was different.

4 “vine” charcoal sticks and 4 compressed charcoal sticks. Drawing materials. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s OK, My Dog is Friendly

English: "A Mad Dog in a Coffee-House&quo...

English: “A Mad Dog in a Coffee-House” by Rowlandson, showing a rabid dog terrorizing a coffee house in 18th century England (possibly Garrison’s or Jonathan’s, near the Exchange). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Um, no it isn’t ok. I’m glad your dog is friendly. That’s nice for you. My dogs aren’t friendly, therefore your dog charging up to my dog is a problem. You can consider your dog a member of your family (I do the same), you can call your dog your kid or your baby, but guess what? It’s a dog. Which means if your dog runs up to mine, and mine freak out, yours will too. Because they’re DOGS. I know you love your beasts, I love mine too.

Dogs in the city are generally pretty awesome. They tend to be well trained, and tolerant of sharing “their” space with others. Some are better than others. Mine fall into the “other” category when it comes to dealing with other dogs. They are not going to share the elevator nicely with your dogs, so when I see you on the elevator, I’m not getting on. I do this in the interests of everyone’s peace and safety. Trust me, they’re mine, I know them. So stop holding the fucking “open” button on the doors, trying to convince me to get on with them when you see them freaking out, and there’s an elderly woman cringing in the corner behind her shopping cart. It’s ok, they are my responsibility so I can wait for the next elevator.

Big Senile Dog won’t bark at another dog across the street or down the block, but he doesn’t want to pass right next to another. For the love of all that’s holy, you people with ultra friendly pups, when you see someone else walking a dog who is clearly bobbing and weaving to avoid run-ins with others, don’t wait for them, or follow them so the dogs can say hello and “make friends.” Sorry, my dog doesn’t want to make friends. He wants you and your dog to get the fuck away from him. I do my part, you do yours, please. Go to the dog run. Really. If Cesar Millan is with you, fine. Otherwise, let me move away.

Having a dog in the city is wonderful, but it’s tricky. You do have to make sure the dog gets enough exercise, and you have to be aware of the many dangers. Cars, bikes, poison, rats, the list goes on. I’m sure there are equivalent dangers in the suburbs and in rural areas. But somehow, we seem to have this privileged subset of dog owners who don’t think these dangers could ever, possibly apply to their beloved Rover.

Bucket-headed dog (Photo credit: Paul Kidd)

I’m always in awe of the sheer stupidity of some people. Truly, the vast majority of city dog owners are great, caring, and responsible. Their pets are well cared for, groomed, exercised, loved. But then you have the few who think all the dog needs to be happy and healthy is unconditional smooshies and freedom. There are leash laws for a reason. The reason is to PROTECT YOUR DOG as much if not more than anything else. You think your dog will always listen to you no matter what. Mmm hmm. These are the siblings of My-Kid-Would-Never, and their names are My-Dog-Would-Never. Yes, they will. Given the right/wrong circumstances, your dog will indeed get into a fight with another dog, scare a child, run into the street and become urban road kill. I have seen this more times than I can tell you, and it inevitably ends with the dog owner sobbing because they “don’t know what happened, Mitzi has never run into the street before.” I know what happened, Mitzi is a fucking dog and you treated her like a child old enough for higher order thinking! **I am excluding

professionally trained service dogs from this, because they truly are amazing**

Now here come the cousins to My-Dog-Would-Never-and-Doesn’t-Need-a-Leash, My-Dog-Would-Never-So-I-Let-Him-Have-All-25-feet-of-the-Retractable-Leash. Can I slap you now? The freakin dog might as well be off the damned lead! Large or small, if that dog runs into the street when a car is coming and the car doesn’t see him, that’s the end of the dog. If you’ve got a little dog who startles another, larger, unfriendly dog, your dog is getting his butt kicked before you can get him in your arms.

City Dogs Are Friends (Photo credit: ilovemypit)

If you’ve got a big dog at the end of that lead and they take off after a juicy rat, odds are excellent that you will either let go of the lead, get your wrist/arm broken trying to hold her back, or at the very least, you’ll end up on the ground. It’s science (physics?), a big dog with four on the floor with 15-25 feet of running lead has a lot more traction than you do. Hell, a 50 pound dog with four on the floor has more traction than many.

There are options for people with friendly, well trained dogs to be off leash and romp with other dogs. There are dog runs throughout the city, and dogs can be off-leash in Central Park from dawn until 9am, and from 9pm until park closing. By the way, just because you can let them off leash doesn’t mean you should. If your dog is not friendly or well trained, those ordinances won’t magically make your dog friendly and obedient.

This has been a public service announcement from Mrs Fringe.

Polski: trufla nosowa psa (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Wild Thing, or This, That, and the Other

Lion (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Walking down the street to meet Husband…I get in the car, and he’s laughing. “You look like un animal!” This is how Mrs Fringe knows it’s time for a haircut. For now, I stuck a clip in my hair. But I’m going to follow this thought for a bit.

I did take a few days off after finishing the first draft, and just read. One of the books I read was The Wolf Gift, by Anne Rice. She is one of those authors who provokes strong responses among her readers. You love her or hate her. I love her. I’ve heard for years about her not taking editorial suggestions anymore. Have I seen it in her books? Maybe, sometimes, but nothing enough to interrupt the suspension of disbelief. With Rice, I’ve fallen in love with angels, vampires, mummies, witches, castrati, New Orleans, the gens de couleur libres, and became fascinated by thoughts of the early life of Christ. Yes, her prose tends towards purple, but wow, can she tell a story. And sexy. Leaving her erotica books out of it, her writing, her characters, ooze sensuality. Not my writing style, but as a reader I adore her details and world building.

I have to say, I was disappointed in The Wolf Gift. The MC didn’t feel believable, even before he turned into a werewolf. And I couldn’t suspend disbelief for the whole were/woman secksy times. Even putting smell to the side (very hard for me to do), how in the world were they kissing when he had a snout? I watch True Blood, love it (no, don’t love the books it’s based on), but when Sookie and Alcide were smooching, he was in human form. Guess I’m just a prude–who needs a haircut, so Husband isn’t accused of kissing a mangy lion.

I’ve begun the process of reading my manuscript, cleaning up noticeable, small errors; making more notes for things I want to add or change, and writing an expanded outline based on what’s there. Playing with the idea of adding another character and subplot, I feel like the story is missing…something.

But I’m taking it slow, it’s too soon to rip it apart completely, I need some distance. I’m worn out, and I suppose this post reflects the way my brain has been unfocused over the past week. Flower Child has been focused on her art, drawing a lot of trees, so we’ve both been paying attention. The other day, I took some more bad NY wildlife photos. Obviously, I have to share them here.

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