Makes Great The Life

Mactech-husband's family (maternal side) held a reunion this weekend. We gathered in an Elk's club on the shores of the Navesink River in Red Bank, NJ, the scene of the last family reunion (paternal side)
It was a warm and humid night by that pretty river where the rows of shrink-wrapped boats seemed prematurely hoisted out of the water. I brought my camera but both batteries were dead (a testament to the generally chaotic nature of my life during September) I'll have to wait for the shared family photos on this one.
The picture that appears here is of the invitation. "Strive, strive I urge..." which balloons from that serious gentleman's face paraphrases a Robert Browning quote that was a favorite mantra of Tim's grandfather.

"But try," you urge, "the trying shall suffice;
The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life."

"Grandpa" was born on the south side of Chicago near the stockyards before the turn of the century. he died in the late seventies. He was a self-made man who yearned to be a priest early in his life but was told by his parish pastor, a wise and practical sort, that his family needed him to help support them financially. He took it to heart.
He started by selling newspapers on the street (while his mother sold sanitary belts, a new invention, door to door). He eventually became the Secretary of Agriculture for the State of Illinois. He might have gone to Washington, but a Republican, Warren G. Harding, won the 1920 presidential election.
He moved his family east, to NJ, sometime around the stock market crash and while the story that's told has him going flat broke three times - he landed on his feet each time and the family prospered. He was a larger than life presence in the lives of his grandchildren and they told the stories, funny and poignant to prove it. One of my favorites is my sister-in-law's story about her first job after college in the early seventies. He was passionate about education, travel and career choices. She was afraid to tell him that she had landed a job as a sex-educator. When she finally sheepishly told him, he bellowed throwing his arms in the air, "Why I think that's wonderful! Your nana and I didn't know anything when we got married."

Three of Peter Emmet's six children are living. There are thirty-three grandchildren, forty-five great-grandchildren and six great-greats (one of which makes an appearance on this blog quite often.

It Was

It is cooler this morning but the sky is exactly the same as it was that day.
I had handed Tim a stack of late invitations to our daughter's wedding to be mailed from work(anyone who lives in my neighborhood knows it has the worst post office in the city) The Trade Center had its own zip code and a fairly high percentage of employees who read and spoke English. They processed a huge volume of mail daily and they did so fairly well. I had to rush off to school that morning because I needed to straighten out some problems with a big order of toner cartridges. A lack of toner can provoke life and death reactions early in September.
I distinctly remember registering the beauty of that morning and enjoying it because I knew it was not going to be an easy season. Tim had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer. In between after school appointments to taste potential wedding cakes and have wedding clothes altered, I would be meeting him at various doctor's offices throughout Manhattan to listen to the merits of radiation versus surgery, surgery versus radiation. This was the start of my 20th year at my school we had a new head for the first time. How would that go? (another story)
In my computer lab I was simultaneously on the phone with my toner vendor and checking e-mails when the school custodian came in to ask me if I had an antenna for the TV in the library. I remember feeling very annoyed with him. Couldn't he see I was busy? What the hell did he need to watch on TV anyway? It wasn't yet 9:00 AM. He didn't want to tell me but he did. He knew where my husband worked. A plane had hit the Trade Center.
The rest of the morning is a blur in my memory. A kind of static-y numb steeliness took over. I went directly home watching the huge plume of black smoke take over the sky. The housekeeper was there and I sent her home. I didn't want anyone around me except the one person who wasn't there. The phone eventually stopped working but until it did, it rang and rang, our daughter at work at 200 Park, crying uncontrollably. Our son, from the midwest where he was beginning law school, The brothers, sisters, relatives, friends. I had no information for them except what the television was showing us all – that the first plane had hit awfully close to the 88th floor where Tim's corner office had a most breathtaking view north and west.
I'm not sure what time it was. I heard his voice out on the sidewalk and ran to the door. Neighbors were out on the street crying and hugging. The invitations were still in his bag.

Crazed and Confused

A simpler time for me.

OK This is the worst work week of the year. I just have to remain civil and keep my head from exploding. Smile, smile, smile! Don't drool too much and for Pete's sake, don't wet your pants.
I started today at 3:45 AM on one cup of coffee - worked straight through until 4:00 grabbed some ready-made sushi, then worked til 7:00, ate a small steak and a tomato. Went back to work until...5 minutes ago. A twenty hour work day with very little to show for it but the prospect of another one just like it tomorrow.
Everyone at Burpie... is under pressure to ready the school for the new year. It hasn't helped me that the maintenance staff, while performing their much applauded renovations disconnected nearly every computer and network connection in three buildings or that my network manager has difficulty staying on task.
But when the kids actually arrive, next Thursday, it will be fine. It always is.

Favorite moment of the day:
When our fearless leader compared the new PO forms to a glassine bag of crack.

On The Beach

I took the "lunch at the beach club" option today. Reward was another celeb sighting – Uma and kids.

August Reading '06

My summer vacation routine is very predictable. I rise between 7:00 and 8:00, make some coffee and drink it, bike to the beach to check the water temperature and surf conditions and if both are to my specifications (neither too cold nor too rough) I take a dip and hang out there for a while reading. I come home for lunch then go back to the beach later in the afternoon where I read and plan dinner. Sometimes, instead, I walk a half-mile down the beach to mactech-in-law's beach club and eat lunch there and then stay for the afternoon. Not much reading gets done at the beach club as participation in local gossip or conversation about the articles in this month's Oprah magazine is expected.

Even so, I have been able to get through some books this month as well as study and recreate several recipes from the most recent Gourmets. Check me off, Unwellness, Here's my summer reading report.

Assassin's Gate George Packer has carefully fleshed out his New Yorker pieces into a detailed explanation of how America has gone about trying to change history in the Middle East. As complex and messy this situation is the book actually reads like a novel.

The Fall of Rome Martha Southgate's (my neighbor in Park Slope) morality tale of affirmative re-action is set in a fictionalized version of her own prep school.

Veronica Mary Gaitskill has written a novel-length poem on beauty, family, sickness and death. It's a quick and stunning read.

Everything Bad Is Good For You Steven Johnson, another Park Sloper (with three kids so we may see him at our doors in the future) does a fabulous job of arguing for the worthwhile-ness of pop culture – especially TV and video games. I love it.

Omnivore's Dilemma Michael Pollan's exposé on the secret life of corn. Our American love-hate relationship with food is examined in fascinating detail in this book. It contains this quote from a cranky organic farmer in Virginia who only sells to locals, "Why do we have to have a New York City, what good is it?" (this is a must read for Youthlarge)

Sail Away

It's been a spectacular week in the East End (of LI). The ocean has been the perfect temperature and color. Striped bass are running in schools so huge they appear as roiling dark shapes heading west in blue jello. The nights have been cool enough for quilts and the mornings hold enough of a chill that you need to seek a sunny spot to perch for your first cup of coffee.
Sister-in-Law-Mactech lives out here full time. She's a learning specialist in a public elementary school about a third the size of The Burpie Cow-Wow School. Her summers are non-stop fun and we get to tag along. Last week she suffered a slight set-back as the thwarted terrorist plot made necessary the cancellation of her plans to fly to London this week to see the musical, Billy Elliot with the other sisters-in law.
She didn't waste any time filling her dance card and so last night we got to participate in a dinner party on a 52 ft. boat in Peconic Bay. The boat belonged to a fellow-teacher and her husband. He grew up in a marina and understood how to deal with all that crap behind the door they called "below."
I loved the boat with its miniature bedrooms and heads. And I was astounded at how easy they made cooking and serving a dinner for 12 seem. Well, served to 10 of the 12 because two of our party spent the evening in the stern (is that right? The back?) silently staring straight ahead or leaning over the side doing some unanticipated chumming. Seasickness is pretty much identical to the nausea of pregnancy for those of you currently moving through that state. Everyone else was sympathetic as there wasn't one of us who hadn't been there - either seasick or pregnant. I remember a particularly bad ferry ride to Block Island. I wouldn't get back on the boat at the end of our stay. Mac-husband had to take me back by air in a puddle jumper and then we had to find a way back to our car at the ferry terminal in Point Judith.
The water on Peconic Bay was unusually choppy last night. The wind kicked up as a low-pressure front moved in. Today it is here in earnest and the skies have opened and poured out for the first time in about 10 days. So it's not a beach day. It's definitely a blog, listen to music, read and eat day.
I'm in my last two weeks of summer vacation. But I'm not going to feel bad about it ending. I'm having a good time now.

Summer of '73

The quality of this photo is poor but if you look closely you will pick up a certain heaviness. The chin needs support. The lips are pressed closed and the nose is crinkled – a miasmic protest against the normally bracing scent of the sea. I was probably about six weeks pregnant in this picture. It was my second pregnancy feeling lousy but not out of control awful. I was due in March and delivered a boy, the younger brother of Megan MacTech whose gestation brought me to my knees – in front of a porcelain bowl more tha once a day, and with nothing of substance in my stomach ( I actually grew afraid of eating food) only a bitter viscous egg-yolky blob would jet out.
This image of my face came to memory recently as I saw its exact replica on my daughter. She is due in February and she's just coming through the worst of this.
They say this aversion to so many foods and their smells is a protection – a preventitive against ingesting toxins that might be harmful to a developing fetus. That's pretty amazing when you think about it. As I told Unwellness, the pains of childbirth can be forgotten but this queasy sick fog that envelopes you for weeks (even months sometimes) is hard to forget. Long after the bundle of joy has been delivered you'll remember, like whenever a stomach flu grabs hold or the morning after a particularly celebratory night or even when you think about something you said or did that you wish had never happened. I wish I had morning sickness to steer me clear of those toxic moments.