Category: Happy

[This post of a letter in today’s NYTimes is for Otto, wherever you are.]
To the Editor:
In “Forget Ideas, Mr. Author. What Kind of Pen Do You Use?” (Writers on Writing, July 29), Stephen Fry said he did not know of any writers who used dictation. Barbara Cartland once told me that she dictated all of her books into a machine while lying on a couch. And then a “nice young man” came over and straightened out the English.
FRANCIS MURRAY
New York, July 30, 2002

Even I don’t have these problems with “country!” I mean, I have done some camping in my time, and I would never think I could “get away” from New York “an hour north of the city.” Obviously that was the writer’s first mistake. She should have known that you have to go at least two hours away before you begin to leave the pull and culture of New York, and then it’s still only a rather conditional remove.

We knew that the air rising from dirt and pine needles outside the five boroughs just had to be cooler, and we wanted our daughter to get used to seeing whole constellations from beneath tall trees. And I’ll admit that, in the back of my mind, I may have calculated that skipping town on weekends meant we were living in a terrorist target only five days a week, instead of seven.
[Here follows her account of her somewhat harrowing overnight camping experience.]
Soon after, we were glad to give back the car and relax in the safety of the city, where there were hot showers, local police, and people who could, if necessary, hear us scream. And, for better or worse, lots of eyes watching our backs, and watching the people who were watching us.

The picture of the shadblow in the roof garden, taken yesterday, is already dated, since today I planted the entire “field” within the whiskey barrel, filling it with two kinds of ferns, epimedium, spearmint and bleeding heart. A cool woodland scene, visible from our breakfast room and kitchen, Barry’s office, the north bedroom and both baths.

I came across this amazing site yesterday, but I doubt that we will have much call for the products it offers.

No matter what critter is eating up your garden or invading your yard, we have the proven, all-natural solution: 100% Predator Urines!

Even though both deer and coyotes have been found in Manhattan in recent years, I really doubt that either will be likely to get into our little roof garden, and the neighbors would in any event certainly not be happy with such a defense system.

Our tree arrives wednesday, and I feel like an expectant father! I’m sure what follows then will be like a new career. I’ve been without a garden since leaving the little 1760 house in Providence. While New York certainly has its compensations elsewise, if it’s not generally imcomparable, I’ve still missed the garden in Rhode Island, perhaps most of all.
Well, it would be pretty cool if now I could reproduce at least one of the four working fireplaces I had on Transit Street, but that really would be quite a project, what with four apartments stacked above us here, and even then we wouldn’t know where to store two cords of wood!

Ok, what’s this one spunky cicada doing outside our windows on 23rd Street at one o’clock in the morning? We’re astonished we can hear him well above the ambient sounds of all kind of traffic late on a saturday night, but we can’t imagine what he’s doing there in the first place. I mean, even though the block may be an interesting location for certain male bipeds to hang out socially on a hot night, what’s this little guy expect to find?
Yo papi!

With the elimination of the phrase, “under God,” from the Pledge of Allegiance, and the brand recognition that went with it, does the country risk losing its marketing powers?

The U.S. Justice Department, assigned the difficult task of finding a replacement, said it has already been in contact with several entities (“One nation, but 24,000 Starbucks”) interested in having their brands associated with America. Until an agreement is reached, however, the U.S. will advertise the position by replacing the phrase “One nation, under God,” with “One nation, (sponsorship opportunities available).”
….
Europeans, meanwhile, seemed to be confused by the entire episode. “I don’t understand. I always thought it was ‘One nation, we are God,'” said British Prime Minister Tony Blair. “Oh my, I’ve been worshipping them for nothing.”

(at least for a few million years) Researchers have announced the discovery of an entirely new genus and species in the Ramble in Central Park.

“We didn’t know what was out there,” Ms. Johnson said. “We wanted to see who’s out there in the spring, who’s out there in the fall and the summer.”

[sounds like so many guys I know, and they’re all naturalists themselves in their own special way] Actually the new genus is a centipede, certainly a disappoinment to most readers, but oddly exciting for those who read further.

“I was astonished,” Dr. Hoffman said. The odds against it surviving in a densely populated city — and, in particular, the constant trampling of millions of Central Park visitors — were astronomical, he said.
….
“Nobody in Manhattan is native. Exotics have displaced native North American species, just like we did the Indians.”
….
Ms. Johnson said the discovery of Nannarrup hoffmani gives new reason to appreciate the virtues of natural mess in parks.
“If they rake all the leaves, remove all the fallen twigs and branches, new species — and the regular guys — will not survive,” she said. “The whole system will cease to function. We need to appreciate unmanicured nature.”

Could we just as easily be talking about people after all?

Pete Hamill’s account of saturday’s town meeting (see the log below) ends with a New York story worthy of standing alone.

Then came news of the Con Ed power failure. My subway lines were closed, and I jumped into a taxi. The driver said he was from Peshawar. He didn’t want to talk about Pakistan. His shrug told me the heat and traffic were bad enough.
Below 14th St., every traffic light was dead. And then at Seventh Ave. and Bleecker St., standing in the middle of the avenue, I saw the first citizen directing traffic. A white dude with gray beard and baseball cap. “Stop right there, man,” he ordered one pickup truck, and the truck stopped. At Houston St., a thin black man in his 40s was doing the same, using hand signals as if he’d worked at this job all his life. The traffic moved, and not a cop or politician was in sight.
Then at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, a packed steel-glass-and-rubber line of westbound cars refused anyone a chance to pass toward downtown.
“Goddamn Jersey drivers,” the man from Peshawar said.
We the people, baby.

[I admit that I missed it because I had assumed it was just window dressing, a set-up, designed by the money and power people. At best, I believed that the crowds would mean it would be an exercise in frustration, and I hate being part of the forced passivity of political audiences. Wrong here. Pete Hamill shows us how wrong.]

…5,000 men and women, including people from the suburbs, New Jersey and Connecticut, were broken down into groups of 10, seated at tables equipped with a computer.
….
Their opinions – essentially votes – would be fed all day to a central computer base. Called to assembly by the Civic Alliance to Rebuild Downtown New York, there were representatives among them of every race, religion or ethnic group.
….
From 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., they were presented with basic issues about the rebuilding of those 16 gutted acres in lower Manhattan. At each table, they debated in a sober, thoughtful, civil way. They voted, offered comments, and moved on to the next item on the agenda.
We have a word for what they were doing.
The word is democracy.
And because the process was an exercise in democracy, not demagoguery, no bellowing idiots grabbed microphones to perform for the TV cameras.
All around the vast room, you heard citizens saying politely to others, “What do you think?” And then listening – actually listening – to the replies. In this room, “I” had given way to “we.” Yes, the assembly was boring to look at, too serious, too grave, too well-mannered for standard TV presentation. And it was absolutely thrilling.
At this forum, no uniformed killers in sunglasses stood along the perimeter of the room, ordering votes with a nod of the head. No religious frauds directed votes as if they were demanded by God, or justified by some vague line in an ancient book. There were no party votes, or even party lines. These were Americans having their say about the future.
….
Later, wandering into the hot afternoon, this visitor was exhilarated. Our modern Committees of Correspondence were sending their messages. Only fools or knaves would ignore them.