Nurturing

I kill plants. I do. It's a sad, sad thing to look at the ponytail palm in our living room, with its measly covering of green and mostly brown, drooping leaves. Outside plants fare somewhat better, although I haven't yet figured out how to get our wisteria to bloom (sulphate fertilizer, apparently, is the key?) and each time that shoots reappear in spring, I am surprised and inordinately pleased.

I am gearing up to a new goal for 2020: try to keep green things alive. A friend of mine, the Decider, has an apartment that is lush in its greenery and fills me with envy; she clearly is pained by our state of affairs, albeit gracious enough to generally keep her thoughts to herself. I, for one, conveniently blame my lack of care on the lack of light.

But no more! I have taken steps (all of which I shall post-fact put into my planner to make me feel accomplished) toward success. I have subscribed to a delightful newsletter, Houseplant Parenthood, and will try to take on board the benefits of the earned wisdom there (and on the corresponding IG account); the Decider has also shown me a delightful app that reminds you when and how your plants need watering and fertilizing and generally being taken care of; I have researched indoor plants that 1) do well in indirect light and 2) are non-toxic to cats (the Psychokitty doesn't need anything else to send her into a frenzy); and I may even download a gardening game or two to get me in the right mindset. All of this combined with my following of plant inspiration IG accounts and I'm sort of all set.

Clementine

Clementine. An insistent, persistent cat whose intense desire to have her head scratched was only matched by the loudness of her purring.

We got her when she was a few years old - I'm fuzzy on the details - and she lived with us in all the homes we've shared - Washington Heights, our first Brooklyn place, and now here. We soon discovered she was not a lap cat and hated being picked up, but loved being snuggled up next to us, scratching her head or cheeks. She developed a habit of tapping you repeatedly with her paw to get your attention so that you would bestow the head scratch.

She liked people far more than other cats or animals; her later years were marked by stoically attempting to ignore Lyra and our kid.


She was an idiosyncratic cat. She seemed to be happiest squished up in our paper recycling box, a suitcase, or in the shower, where she sat and drank running water. Her method of taking in liquid was strange, to say the least - she'd thrust her head under the tap, it would trickle down her face, and then she'd bat it into her mouth with her paw. We'd never seen anything like it. For a long time, while His Professorship was working in another city, she'd be my hot water bottle, snuggling under the covers with me for about 10 minutes until I was nicely toasty, and then surfacing to sit next to me.

We adored her, but we still probably under appreciated her because she was so solid and reliable. She definitely lost out in attention terms after we adopted a psychopathic (and I do not say that lightly) kitten and had a child. But she was such a reassuring presence. The house feels so much emptier without her. I'm glad we had the 12 years we did with her and grateful we had the time and means to say goodbye peacefully and with as little discomfort for her as possible. And we'll eat crab rangoon tonight in honor of the time she stole one from us and caused us to argue over who had nicked beyond their fair share. What a cat.

Heat

New York has been doing that thing that New York so frequently does at this time of year, and been absolutely glorious. It's been bakingly hot, but without the sting of the humidity that we get for so much of the summer. I've managed to be careless and have slightly reddened shoulders from wandering around the last couple of weekends.

Yesterday, the wandering took place at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, where there was a chile pepper festival. Neither of the adults was quite sure what this would entail or how long different types of hot sauce would hold our interest, but it turned out to be a delight to mooch around the Cherry Esplanade, sampling different mango or habañero or spicy brown sauces (yes, the latter a nod to our beloved HP. It was a tad vinegary for my taste).  We ended up purchasing some absolutely delicious blood orange cooking sauce, ate our way through chocolate orange cardamom spiced cookies, and purchased some spicy honey to hopefully recreate the incredible dish we had at Misi a few weeks ago - slow roasted tomatoes, coriander, fennel seeds, and spiked honey that was unlike anything I'd eaten before. Dragonflies and mayflies droned around in huge numbers, and the kid potted and took home his first plant - a chile pepper that maybe, just maybe, will survive more than a couple of weeks.

Regathering

A lot has happened since that last post.  A lot.

The thing that is inescapable and pervading, despite my attempts to block it out, is that my mum died. Suddenly, yes; yet, it seems that we had been dodging it for years - the blood poisoning after an emergency hysterectomy, the breast cancer, the triple bypass. It seems that it only just happened and forever ago, as if it always has been; sometimes it feels as if I cannot grasp the life I had with her, it was so lacking in reality, and that is one of the most terrifying parts of this.

Grief is so deeply personal, and so hard to fathom when you are not experiencing it, I do not plan to spend much time on it specifically. But it is everywhere, at all times, with me in differing intensities, and always with the capacity to wind me, suddenly, in its sharpness - the episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour on Yesterday, which I could not get through; the fiftieth reading of Where the Wild Things Are with the peanut which suddenly cut through me; the start of a football season without her.

I have a lot to work through, frankly. I do not want this to be the space for that, but it will seep in, inevitably. But what I do want to use this for is thinking about the good in my life, the things that I cannot share with her but want to, desperately.

I am not quite sure why I am doing this but putting it out in the world feels peaceful and calming. A way to somehow make solid everything that feels so shaky and insubstantial otherwise.

Birdlife

It's been bastard cold (a technical term, that) for the last few days. NYC schools had a snow day on Thursday, so we hunkered down for the day, and then the cold has kept us from doing much out and about; despite my beloved's general refusal to admit that maybe it is a little too cold to do things, even he has only had us out once or twice a day in the below freezing climes.

We bought a bird feeder when we first moved into this apartment, and the last few days it has proved its worth as entertainment, as well as provider of nourishment for the little things.  Sparrows we always get in abundance; one or two ringed doves appear, as well.  But the colder weather and scarcity of food have brought a female & male cardinal pair to us; even better, a pair of blue jays has graced us with its presence.  Their plumage, something between grey and blue, with that bright splash of a tail, always inspires wonder.