Category: Life Is A Spell

My father has a miniature watercolor station next to his chair in the living room of his apartment, the tiny “travel” paint set, a couple of brushes, some water and a small black notebook where he has been painting barns and cityscapes. These small paintings (the one above is shown almost actual size) are looser and more sketch-like than the large watercolors he does in his studio in the next room. He used the one above for his Holiday card and called it “Evening Exercise Sketch.” The back of his card had one of my favorite quotes. “Music is your own experience, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don’t live it, it won’t come out your horn.” – Charlie Parker

Next year he can use, “Don’t play the saxophone. Let it play you.” – Charlie Parker

We met “Red” Cassorla late in life. He was already in his nineties. Earl and Spider, the famous fireworks aficionados, would bring their father to the Margaret Explosion gigs while they were home for the Jewish holy days. Red’s family was chased out of Spain and he loved speaking Spanish with Peggi. He had a wicked sense of humor.

Services were held for “Red” yesterday and we learned he grew up on Ormond Street where his family lived behind the grocery store that his father owned. Red got his start selling newspapers on the corner of State and Main and then opened his own business distributing groceries to the city’s small, mom & pop stores. He worked seven days a week and “knew everyone in the city” before giving up the business at 89. He never really retired but continued to help his sons run their fireworks store in Nevada.

Shelley picked our walking route and the Aboretum in Durand was the destination. The walk took a bit longer than usual because she kept stopping to inspect fallen leaves or in some cases pluck a carefully chosen leaf from a low branch. She was looking for still life models for the beautiful watercolors she does of leaf clusters. They are a hot item in the Adirondack galleries.

We finally got our killing frost. We got our Aloe plant indoors in the nick of time but the annuals out front took a hit. There are snowflakes in the air. I’m always doubtful that the seasons will really change but they always do.

We have so many trees on our property we hardly ever have to mow. And what little lawn we have is mostly in the shade of those trees. We wait for the leaves to get about five inches deep and then we blow off the roof, the sidewalk, driveway and street and then I break out the mower. The vent on the side of the mower, where grass normally shoots out, is closed and if I walk at just the right speed I chew up the leaves leaving a fine powder in my wake. I’ve done this three times this year and really enjoy it for some odd reason. Maybe it just the sensation of wearing my Home Depot earmuffs.

Very entertaining article in our paper this morning about what Americans think of the not-so-new pope. The hierarchy thinks he’s too liberal and a good chunk of the congregation thinks he’s too conservative. The archbishop of Philadelphia says the Catholic Church is “ship without a rudder.” No kidding. He says “Pope Francis has produced confusion,” adding “confusion is of the devil.”

I’m trying to imagine a black and white world without any god given confusion where everyone had the Midas Touch and there was no doubt?

My mom, back home after two days in the hospital, passed the baton to my father this morning. I was up so early I met the neighbor out near the mailbox. He’s too young to have any interest in newspapers but he does have to walk the dog each morning before he leaves for work. That’s an old school activity for you. I still haven’t met this dog because every time he/she sees me he barks and the neighbors pull the dog away to discipline it.

In the pitch black of the night, at the end of our street, I met another neighbor with her two little Jack Russels. They both were wearing red, flashing LED collars. I really should get up early more often. I think I am both a morning and night person but the night wins out.

The top and bottom chambers of my dad’s heart stopped co-ordinating with one another, a condition called heartblock, and he was scheduled for a relatively simple but incredibly sophisticated fix, insertion of a chip called a pacemaker.

It is possible to drive to Maine without getting on the highway but it’ll take you a little longer. We broke up the trip by stopping in New Hampshire and spending the night at Jeff’s brother’s place. His brother is an architect with clients in Concord and on the nearby lakes. Say someone wants to build 3500 square foot addition onto a 3000 square foot vacation house, he would get the call. His place, in the woods off a dirt road, is a wonder. His most recent project is a redesigned chicken coop in their backyard.

When we arrived at Alice and Julio’s on the coast of Maine we waisted no time in organizing a walk. Hopping from one rock to the next and stopping to study the infinite variety of rocks and minerals, the washed up lobster traps and buoys, the monstrous waves and swelling sea, the spectacular, ever changing views of the islands or engaging in divergent conversations on all matters we filled the the rest of the day in spectacular fashion.

Someday this dead tree, that stands so regally in the middle of the marsh, will be gone. I know this but it has nothing to do with my appreciation of it. Like Matisse or Guston or Van Gogh the tree at this late stage of its life is at the height of its powers.

The bald, parched colors of the wood contrast with the changing colors of the surrounding trees. Surely the tree drowned and yet its very predicament, this setting in a marsh is what makes it so beautiful. Of course the form of the tree, seductively designed to outwit gravity until the last minute, is its finest feature.

When we were growing up, my father dragged a dead tree home with him and he planted it in a berm in our backyard. The neighbors kidded him. It was quite beautiful.

When we passed by the Little Free Library next to the playground at Seneca and Sea Breeze Drive the door was swung open and three junior high aged girls were browsing the contents. I had had photographed those contents a few weeks ago. It was an odd mixture of Ann Rice, Dante’s Inferno and a small New Testament caught my eye. These little, big birdhouse-like structures are popping up all over town. I think there may even be one in front of our old city house. It’s a take one, leave one arrangement and it crossed my mind that fervent religious types might be swapping bible fare for the juicier stuff. I checked the organization’s website and found tis frequently asked question.

“What if someone places inappropriate books in my Library? Does someone monitor the Library to approve its contents?”
And their reasonable response:
“Everyone who uses the Library has the right of helping make sure the types of books in it are appropriate to neighbors of all ages and backgrounds. You are as capable as anyone else to remove a book…but we encourage you to be open-minded about it. For example, if the Library becomes a place for promoting controversial causes, it might lose a good number of customers. Censorship is not the answer, but a balanced collection can be. Don’t ban books, but instead of 5 or 10 copies of something, 1 copy might do. Instead of a messy collection of handouts and brochures promoting almost anything, try limiting pamphlets to recruitment for tutoring or reading programs.

I road my bike over to my parents’ apartment this morning while Peggi was at yoga. My mom was just getting in from her exercise class and my dad looked like he had just woken up. There was a big crowd near the new addition to their place. Today was the grand opening of the fitness center. I asked my parents if they wanted to check it out and we took the tour. My dad signed up to learn more about the resistance machines and my mom signed up for swimming.

The pool room was surrounded by glass and so warm it felt like we were on a tropical island. I asked the attendant what the temperature was in there and he said, “The water is 87 and the air in there is 88. We keep the air one degree warmer than the water so it doesn’t fog up in there.”

Back home we pealed the solar cover off the street pool. We’re “on duty” this week and we decided to take a dip before running the robot. The water temperature there was 64 and the air is 76 so there is no danger of fog. The swim was invigorating.

What do six deer in the woods near our house have to do with the tragic breaking news of a private plane going down in Jamaica? Developer, Larry Glazer, and his wife were on board. By some reports he was the biggest real estate developer in New York Sate and pioneered Rochester’s downtown re-development. He owns the formerly iconic Midtown Tower, Xerox corporate headquarters building. Bausch & Lomb headquarters along with large swath of downtown Rochester’s booming loft space.

Were headed downtown for First Friday tonight. The nearby woods and the downtown scene are all part of our local quality of life package. Forget about how Rochester lost it’s industrial mojo. Larry was bringing it back and I hope someone is on board to carry on as a tribute to his optimism.

At first I thought this was a new branch, popping out the side of a tree. I’ve rotated the photo above. Cicadas spend most of their life underground living off roots. They crawl out of the ground when they’re mature and emerge from their shells as adults. The Cicadas song is loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss in humans should it sing in your ear. I love the sound and I love coming across the exoskeletons but this is the first time we’ve witnessed the molting.

Margaret Explosion returns to the Little Theater Café tonight 7:30 – 9:30.

We worked our asses off on Labor Day. I found an email at around eight informing us that a large branch had fallen on the fence between two neighbor’s yards. We were welcome to wood if we helped clean-up. I hesitated for a half hour or so on this one. We burn wood to supplement our heat in the winter but we have a huge pile now. It only seemed neighborly to show up.

The branch was over two foot in diameter and it had fallen on a hillside. I cut it into sixteen inch lengths and we hauled it up the hillside in arms, heart attack style. We loaded up the back of our Element and dumped the wood near the our pile in order to split. We finished the job around three and spent the rest of the afternoon soaking in the pool.

Bobby Henrie and the Goners were playing on the beach at Marges so we headed down there after dinner. They cordoned off the area between the bar and the lake and it looked like the backyard in “Easy Money.” It was packed.

We spotted Frank DeBlase out in the lake in kayak so we hopped the ropes and hung out with him and Alanya from Record Archive at a nearby party. We had a great earshot of the band, two George Jones songs in the set, and a giant bonfire to watch watch as sunset came. Alanya’s husband had built a Burning Man figure out of driftwood and he was having a hard time getting it going. We got out of there when he asked how you throw gasoline on a fire that was already burning.

A long time ago I worked as a commercial artist for Hart Conway in the Triangle Building downtown on East Avenue. My boss smoked pot every morning and she was the most organized person I have ever met. We had some cash cow clients like RTS, the local bus service, and a bunch of car dealers who placed daily ad spreads in the paper and we had this organization that coordinated efforts to get local utilities approval before a backhoe digs in to a construction site and hits a water main or worse, an underground cable. The mascots for this campaign were two furry little animals that we had to draw in different poses for each ad, the two color pieces were always green and brown and the slogan was always the same, “Call Before You Dig.”

There are nine houses on our street and we pitch in on road repairs. One neighbor, though, can’t help but contribute more than others. Jared is our leader and a joy to work with. We’re preparing to put a drainage ditch in near our mailboxes because the mail lady (Jared thinks “she is as cute as a button”) drives in exactly the same spot every day and she has worn a ditch that fills up with water and freezes in the winter making getting the papers or mail a life threatening experience. He artfully outlined the drain (I’m not sure what the extension shown in the enlargement is all about) and then two of the utilities have signed off on it.