Finding Things to Do

I'm not the only one who's been fairly astounded by how hard it is to do so little despite having so much time on one's hands. Early on, I ticked off numerous things from my to-do list - learn how to fold a fitted sheet (nailed it!); tidy the linen closet; clean out and sort my bags (which were a disaster zone and required a second organizing today); and so forth. The last couple of weeks, however, have been tougher.

One thing I have managed to do is the Tolstoy Together reading group led by Yiyun Li at A Public Space. I have never read War & Peace (nor really had the desire to do so), but this is such a good way to approach it - rather than seeing it as one big slog, taking the time to read fewer pages in each session and trying to fully absorb and appreciate it. A friend with boundless enthusiasm suggested it and I, being in a particularly susceptible mood, agreed and started reading after downloading the free version from the Gutenberg Project. 

Although I started late, I've only occasionally done two reading assignments per day, instead trying to honor the pacing Yiyun Li suggests - for good reason: "Dear Friends, Let’s go—slowly, without rushes, without impatience, without fatigue, without weakness. With some random thoughts from me and many more from you." As she said to those of us late to the party, "Friends who are worrying about catching up: Tolstoy was late, running behind schedule. We can be too, while reading War and Peace. As long as nobody is eaten by the bears, we shall prevail." I love this, and it was exactly what I needed to keep my pace a plodding and focused one, rather than skim reading to skip ahead.

In the portion I've just read, my least favourite character (Prince Andrei) experiences some intense emotional upheaval that he connects to nature, feeling himself reflected and justified by what he sees. Tolstoy's description of an unexpectedly hot, late spring day and his surroundings were perfect:

"It was now hot spring weather. The whole forest was already clothed in green. It was dusty and so hot that on passing near water one longed to bathe."

It transports me to Black Rock, where we've hiked and bathed and been surrounded by green; I can smell it and feel the ground beneath my bare feet as we flung ourselves into the water. Despite two small children rending stripping off and jumping into the pond infeasible, somewhere inside me I resolved to do so, and soon; as soon as this is over. One of many such nature- and travel- and experience-based resolutions everyone, everywhere, is no doubt making.

And this, in the next chapter, takes us back a couple of weeks later, remarking on the changes in just a short passage of time:

"In the forest the harness bells sounded yet more muffled than they had done six weeks before, for now all was thick, shady, and dense. . . ." 

This hit particularly hard as it's so clear to see the huge changes in nature when I only venture out once or twice a week at the moment. We have, once more, utterly failed to see the bluebells come out at the BBG, something we've missed each year we've lived in Brooklyn and been members, a decade or so now; I caught some of the cherry and magnolia blossom (swoon), but already the catkins are forming on trees and green is replacing the brilliant pinks, plums, and whites of the blossom.

Tolstoy got it, apparently, despite such a different time and place, which is no doubt why we're reading it; you can listen to Yiyun Li expound the project on the New Yorker hour - highly recommended. As is taking time to do things when all I want to do is get to the end of this period in our lives.

Bioregion: Birds

I bought the Field Guide to the Natural World of New York City by Leslie Day (foreword by Bloomberg completely ignored) just before the lockdown started; sadly, I've not been able to use it as I would like as a result. Not only have I not been going out as much, but far too many of my walks are with hunched shoulders to try to keep my scarf on or tense because I'm irritated at people who haven't understood what six foot or social distancing mean (obviously, in this scenario, I have convinced myself I know how to behave and therefore am in a fine place to pass judgment on others' perceived non-compliance). Accordingly, it's been hard to stop and observe the nature around me - a sudden stop doesn't help with keeping the requisite distance and feels self-indulgent (ignore the expression of this thought through blogging).

We have seen a lot of sparrow life in the last few weeks - sparrows fat, sparrows thin, sparrows large and small. So I looked them up. All the ones we see are house sparrows. Apparently, 100 were introduced to the US in 1850-51; there are now 150 million + here, and they are the most common bird in New York City.

The lockdown has coincided with the arrival of the first starlings I've seen in New York this year. I adore starlings - their glossy, shiny coat of that remarkable bluey-purpley-greeny-black, that oil puddle like sheen; the flecks; and their glorious flocking in those seething, chattering balls, the gloriously named murmurations. European starlings were introduced as a result of an attempt to introduce all bird species named in Shakespeare to the US. (Result: over 200 million starlings now reside in the US).

The presumptive imperialism here - the expansionism, lack of regard for native beings, and the whimsy of Shakespearean birds (who could possibly argue against it!) - is rather breathtaking; how many other things like this did we do that I'm never going to know about?

Nonetheless, for your viewing pleasure, here is a murmuration somewhere else that my people decided was theirs.