Like These On the Ground

Rainy morning.  A family of deer out on the front lawn scattered when I went to the mudroom to get my shoes.  I thought I’d walk my daughter to the top of the hill but she went out, felt the drizzle and insisted we drive.  At the top of the driveway I turned the car around and we waited for the bus and talked about how waiting outside for a bus in the rain, was no fun. 

This was only drizzle though.  And with my hoodie pulled up over my neck and a sense of optimism that it wouldn’t get any wore, I headed off for the trail.  Yesterday, I’d gone let to Gardiner.  Today, I went up and through New Paltz towards the old bridge that spans the Walkill a few miles out of town.  This way takes about twenty-five minutes and is usually pretty quiet. 

Rain beneath the canopy.  Beautiful wet leaves blanketing the path and the forest.  Something from the five-year-old me or the seven-year-old me, made itself accessible. Beijing is never wet.  There are never leaves like this on the ground and I lived these leaves before, when I young, when I was on a walk somewhere, maybe I didn’t want to be there but I had to look at wet leaves like these on the ground.  That adolescent is closer today than usual. And what are the Hong Kong and Beijing memories lodged that my girls have, similarly waiting to call firmly, with some change in the weather.

I pedaled along all the way to bridge.  By now it was a steady rain.  Out beyond the protection of the canopy the rain began to penetrate my clothing.  Off in the distance was a large white house.  The windows seemed blackened and I wondered if it was abandoned or if it had been damaged in a fire.  It otherwise had so much character.  Riding back "Olive Refractions" by Johnny Griffin came on which wounded lovely.  The headphones conked out for some reason and I decided to just put the phone playing aloud in the pouch of my hoodie.  So then, Johnny Griffin’s “Ruby My Dear” with my adolescent atmospherics and becoming wetter and wetter, hands numb.

Thursday 10/03/19

Infinitely Complicated Persian Rug

Warm day.  October 3 and it was 85 degrees.  I walked my daughter up the hill to where her school bus picked her up and bid her farewell.  On the way down the drive I marveled at all the fallen leaves and fallen pine needles that formed such remarkable patterns on the ground.  The maple, behind the house has started to turn.  The poison ivy vines that pull at some of these cypress trees are now yellow and red.  But most of the trees have yet to turn though there are many now here on the ground. 

Listened to some Caetano Veloso and savored his rich vowels, imagining I could understand all that he was saying.  I spend the mountain bike down the hill and remembered to put into a low gear, before breaking and lifting the front wheel and then the rear, over the fallen tree, there in the yard, so that I can pedal up the trail after I’ve crossed.  Soon I’ve wound through the deer trail and have plopped down onto the rail trail. 

Leaves, again, the theme.  I head south towards the town on Gardiner.  Someone from South Korea is going to call in forty-five minutes so I can’t go too far.  The path is generally grey gravel.  But today, most of the path is completely blanketed in yellow leaves and the patterns are extraordinary, like some infinitely complicated Persian rug that continues to dazzle with each pass through a new canopy dropping. 

Later that night I visit the Tops grocery with my niece.  I have it in my mind to make pizza for everyone tonight.  There’s no such prepackaged dough available to do that with in Beijing, and at the new place, no oven.  I buy peppers and eggplant, and decide they need to be cooked before they go on the pizza.  But they become moist.  And the dough has been stretched too thin.  I take them out early and the crust isn’t done yet.  Later, it is clear that the toppings are too moist, too heavy for the crust and it turns into more of stew than anything you can lift and eat as a slice.  My last pies had been perfect, but these are pies I publicly apologize for.

Wednesday 10/02/19

Two Cities Today, Certainly

A tale of two cities today, certainly.  I dutifully searched for a live feed of the National Parade this morning.  No it wasn’t clear out.  But it was clear enough.  I remember watching Hu Jintao and Jiang Zemin before him yelling out “Xinkule” the way Deng Xiaoping had done when he had his head popped out from the black HongQi sedan.  I found a live stream in English that Xinhua was broadcasting.  My stepson and his wife had the main CCTV one on in the other room.  I was packing.  I preferred to full comprehension on what the Chairman had to tell the nation. 

The message of poverty alleviation highlighted in particular, and certainly worth celebrating.  Bragging rights, justified for lifting 850M people out of poverty.  I usually quote the figure of 650M middle class people, but that is probably already well-dated.  I wrote 国庆节快乐! to lots of folks I knew and I meant every character of it.  And sure, I got tired of watching the army, the navy, the armed research division, (not kidding) and all the ICBMs that were designed to be able to destroy New York.  But I managed my snark and allowed myself to feel happy for my adopted civilization. 

And meanwhile, across from Dickens’ London, there is the Jacobin-like chaos of the Hong Kong SAR.  One didn’t need a crystal ball to know that it was going to get worse, before it got better and that it was going to get a lot worse on this day, of all days.  Reading the SCMP live news feed as I did two days back it was so sad to see, familiar neighborhood after neighborhood descend into confrontation, conflagration. I didn’t have an internet connection after we lifted off from the tarmac till a few hours later, somewhere over the North Pole before I could learn that a young kid, eighteen years old had been shot in the chest.  Apparently, it looks like he’s going to make it.  Which is sure good to hear.  No deaths then, we hope, before we reach a cooling point and reflect on how best to secure what they want. 

A third city, New York, I’ll land in, in about six and a half hours.  Impeachment news to replace celebration news and riot news.  Beyond the endless news feeds, I took time on this flight to read Aristotle’s “Nicomachen Ethics” which was a bit of a timeless tonic, to make one think about pre-Christian temperance and tolerance and why, even without any 'fear of God', one chooses to do what’s right.  It’s bed time now, back in the city I just departed from.  Perhaps I’ll get some rest now and wish the world a peaceful few hours, as I do. 

Tuesday 10/01/19