Missed the beach this year? Yes!

This summer has just zoomed by, zzzz...   Of course I am lucky I had the pool and I was able to swim a lot. But the ocean is different! Finally last week we made it to Jones Beach, after the Season it was,  a wonderful warm day on September 26. And even the water was still warm, no life guards to be seen, and there were some frolickers and swimmers. Yesterday just a week later it had turned seasonably colder and instead of going into NY we drove to Island Beach State Park,  located off the NJ coast, on a long sliver of an island (10 miles long). A spectacular place and in summer it is apparently drawing immense crowds of people  — a money maker for the State. 

Anyway when we went there yesterday  no people to seen, it was completely empty, and I walked on this never ending beach  along miles of sand dunes on this very rainy and stormy day. The waves were magnificent, the grayness beautiful and wherever you looked plants, thickets, bushes, flowers and and here and there an osprey colony's nest (empty now of course). This narrow barrier island stretches on and on and Henry Hudson sailed by on his Half Moon and first described the Jersey shore. I found also a large expanse of heather and grew very excited about it; but this heather blooms yellow in Spring for one week only (and is not of purple color blooming in August as it does in Northern Germany). The plants look a bit the same, but this is where the similarity ends except for their name. We call it Heide and the translation is Heather. 


I was able to pick a few milk weed pods with seeds which apparently entice Monarch butterflies to put there eggs on it. Will try to grow the milk weed on my terrace on the 21st floor in a pot and will find some Admiral larvae on the internet; and maybe, maybe i will have a colony of Monarch butterflies in the future. I thought they were all distinct since I never saw them anymore. Let's see. I hope I will not forget to do this all in Spring. Picked some Golden Rod plants with roots and will  grow these also in a pot outside. Learned that Monarchs like Golden Rods.  What a place. Will never forget it. 


Inched into the ocean, surprisingly not icy at all, but I was pitch wet up to my hips after a while, and it rained again. Driving back past rows and rows of boarded up summer houses we looked for an open restaurant, was not easy, and finally ended up at Crab's Law, recommended by a guy in a bar. What a memorable meal I had, Seafood Newburg perfectly cooked with Sherry, or whatever "spirit" belongs into it.  Was suddenly remembering that in Hamburg we would drink  a "Grog" on a cold day to warm you up and I asked them to make one for me (a shot of rum and hot water in a glass, skip the sugar) and it worked alright. My face is still burning today from all that wind and rain. 


The  pictures from the internet. My small camera broke and I did not dare take along the "real" camera. In reality, the beach was grayer and longer, more mysterious and one of a kind,  the sky was darker, wilder, more menacing. But still everything was endlessly beautiful.


These were great hours and I feel fully energized again. All it takes is an ocean.

A trip to Bard College and more

It is already over two weeks ago that we decided to buy tickets for a performance by Oedoen von Hovath's "Judgment Day" and the play does not leave my mind. So it's better to write it all quickly down. I was familiar with this author,  Jay was not, but I only knew him from my school education and most probably I saw also a play or two in the theaters in Hamburg. I also remember that I did not appreciate von Hovath a lot then and found him complicated and always hard to decipher. But anyway, I was willing to try it again and off we went. I chose a motel in Kingston, NY  — a town which I had bypassed many many times on our various Catkills adventures for hiking or skiings. This time though it was the middle of the summer and Kingston was a great surprise to me, an old town consisting of two parts. The older part is situated at the Hudson  and named Rondout. I fell in love with the old houses, the old marina, everything there had the slight misfortune of having been abandoned a good while ago. But there were tries again to lift the town of its depression — new lovely restaurants at the river have sprung up,  galleries, stores displaying sharp looking fashions, real old  houses with fresh paint, and a certain trendiness has suddenly appeared among the shabbiness.  How great it was to walk alongside the Hudson and we immediately scheduled a Hudson cruise for the  next day, a trip three hours long, peeking at many light houses, at all the old mansions and the splendor of the Catskills. The Vanderbilt mansion impressed me the most with its 79 rooms, only to be lived in for two weeks per year. Well! Kingston (the new part) was rather old also and had these lovely roofed sidewalks uptown with a wild menagerie of bookstores, galleries, pawn shops, and restaurants of course. A nice discovery of a town that I had by-passed so many times before and never paid any attention to.

Saturday night it was off to Bard College at Annandale-on-Hudson where the play JUDGEMENT DAY was staged at Gehrig's Fischer Hall, an incredible steel covered and spectacular modern building sitting in the middle of the lush and green scenery of the Catskill mountains. Seating in the theater was arranged around the movable stage and on account of this everybody had good seats and got fine close-ups of the actors. The stage setting was modern and simple. The story took place at a small town train station and the focus is on the unhappily married station master, Thomas, who is distracted for a moment by a young woman and seconds later 18 people are dead. The townspeople want to find the guilty party of course, there is lots of finger pointing  and everybody gets mixed up into the malicious situation. The perfect station master  cannot face the situation and falls apart; the woman he flirted with cannot silence her guilty feelings. And the pointed finger remains up in the air to the very end.  And this air is full of chill and not only because of the horrible disaster, but also of the time in the thirties; loud mouthed Nazi officers in their brown uniforms march around; the good town folks and the horrible disaster mix up the question where guilt starts and how it possibly can be all loaded on one single person.

Peace and Quiet in the Museum?

Sunday,  a brilliant, sweaty and hot Sunday. Decided to  go to NYC yesterday, actually against my will,  but nevertheless wanting to suck up some culture. Leaving the bus, it hits you: the oppressive heat, the crowds, the noise!  Pushing  against human flesh to make your way from point A to B. There happened to be a parade that day also, I forgot, the Puerto Rican Parade, a wild circus to be avoided under any circumstances, but impossible if you want to walk from 42nd Street Bus Terminal to 52nd Street and  the Moma. Disgusting, irritating, crazy.  Expect peace in this cultural institution, no!  A people flood and to top it off, an installation with microphones invites people to go up to it and shriek as loud as they could. and as long as they could, in intervals, and the sound to be magnified every few minutes over the whole museum. That is art? Freedom of expression but expressing what? Simply horrible, disgusting, annoying. We went to their cafe and had coffee + croissants,  I then saw one exhibition about  women as experimental film makers; and afterwards decided to just sit in the sculpture garden which compared to everything else was a relative calming experience; watching the old, the young and the very young, the lonely, and the show-offs, but nice. One way how not to spend your Sunday afternoon. But it all ended with a fine dinner and a glass of wine on 9th Avenue in one of the many eateries  — and then back home. Some you win, some you loose. 

A beautiful summer morning.

We have a heat wave alright and we got it for a couple of weeks already. It's blistering, it's humid, it's hot. But the mornings, especially after a rain storm or thunder, are fine and exquisite. I decided to do my morning run alongside the river and then had some yoghurt and fruit and tea on the terrace before I starting the tedious stuff. The Arts Festival keeps me more than busy, many ads to design, old accounts don't come in, enough to do. But I had decided to first attend to a big stack of unopened mail, speak bills, and pay them. I am always reluctant to do so and I am always procrastinating. Well, here I sit now at the computer,  looked at my e-mails, talked to Neda and the mail is still not yet opened! Sad. But it was a wonderful morning on the terrace. The view, the air, the lushness, my flowers, the peace! I started reading a Granta story, but I faithfully put my book down to attend to my work with a great sense of gratefulness about this particular morning! I want to remember this feeling in the middle of the winter. Is that possible?

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

This is a first book and it was written 2009, it is published in 35 countries and is on the bestseller list of the Times; in addition a film is in the works. Certainly a great success for the author who is only 22 years old. Normally I don't pick books like this but I am glad I did. My curiosity arose when I read that the story is set in the rural South of the 1960's in Mississippi describing African American maids working in white households when black women were expected to help raise white babies. The main characters are two maids who have the guts to tell their stories with a good sense of humor, covering the rough truths as part of life, and taking the race differences for granted. The third main character is a white young woman, Skeeter, who is finished with her education and who was also raised by another very similar maid. Skeeter has a very observant eye and wants to become a writer and so she decides to write about the times in Mississippi at that time. It sounds pretty unreal nowadays but the maids worked horrendous hours, got no time off, had to be available at all times, the reimbursement was extremely poor, they even could not use the same toilets as their employers! The "babies" loved their nannies, returned to them rather then to their mothers in times of problems — but once they grew up they became again like their own mothers — distant and removed and selfish.

The time was ripe for a change indeed, the women were suffocating within the lines that defined their town and their times. And it was time to cross these lines. I personally happened not to be in the country at this time, I did not grow up here,  and to be honest, once I arrived I also did not pay too much attention to this situation. Later on I had Elva in my house to help me "raise" Chrissy and Stefan in a very loving way while I was at work. We talked a lot, I tried to help her, she smuggled in her own daughter from Jamaica who lived with us for a while. I remember finding her a place in a Head Start school in Englewood. I would say that sort of a friendship existed between us. Maybe out of necessity, but things were fine then and I hope to have acted vastly different from these white ladies in Mississippi. It truly was a horrible exploitation while everybody looked on and took for granted that these maids were considered not really "human". Very very hard to believe now and shocking! It was good to read this story to reinforce the truth and just to not forget what had happened not so very long ago.

Sailing on the Hudson

One of the things I really love is to live where I live.  To have ended up here I consider this one of the better decisions in my life. The Hudson view from my window is always great: rain, shine, snow, storm, thunder. There is not a single morning that I will not roll out of bed and admire the view —  gray or green water, high or low tide, I love it. A secret dream of mine was when I grew up  to live close to the water; I have arrived. I walk out of the building, there is no street to cross and I take my morning run (or walk) alongside the shore, looking at the bridge in a different light every day.

This year it is a hot summer, really humid and hot and everybody hates it. It happened that an oyster boat anchored the other day at the Marina, an old old boat, with a wide berth and no luxuries whatsoever, huge coarse sails on two masts and fortunately also a motor. It was available for hire and so we went for a couple of hours at evening time for a sail, a little bit up the Hudson, a little bit down, past Manhattan's skyline surrounded by the greenish lush of the island and past all the new buildings and parks and the Palisades on the NJ side. Although I have studied this so many times, again it looked slightly different and more beautiful. Yes!

Family Court

Here comes a completely new experience, going to Family Court! Well yes, I had glanced at the court scenes on TV in the afternoon, listened with amusement to outraged voices blaming each other and a Judge trying to straighten out the mess. It happened that I got involved into a very unhappy situation of a dear friend of mine, who trusted me and related to me her mishap. She had happened to have made the mistake by inviting somebody to live with her for a while. This person had been evicted from his apartment and looked now for a new place of residence. So he moved in and did not wish to move out again! He did not want to participate in the rent and other common expenses for living and this and other things started a terrible home situation. I guess there were some good times also but most of the times things got worse especially when heavy drinking on his part was involved. Unfortunately he just could not be persuaded to leave again this cozy free spot.  I am sure there was lots of verbal abuse and matters got worse by the day until the first incident of physical abuse occurred. The desperate person confided in me and I told her to call me anytime when she thinks that she might need help with calling the police to force  him to move out. And sure enough this call came soon enough; she called the police and filed a report. He was incarcerated with a bail of $200. It was 2:30 pm when we finally left the precinct — a very busy place at night! A report needed to be filed about physical abuse, a judge needed to be called to grant a temporary restraining order, and a court date was set — oh boy, we were tired but relieved. All the while you sit there and cannot avoid listening to other ongoing family disputes. A few days later the boyfriend was was released and immediately showed up at her door again: he suddenly wanted to marry her, he pleaded  with her and begged her over and over. Not to my surprise when we went to court she withdrew the restraining order and this is what many other women do also. He proceeded then to Rehab until his money ran out, soon enough, and finally he came back and moved in again. The situation would have ended differently if he had money to continue Rehab, but he was thrown off in the middle of the program and left to his own vices.  Life goes on.

Not long after this, the old story repeated, but much worse this time with heavier abuse, more tears, more shouting, Women are in disadvantage here definitely!  She just had a laser operation and bingo his fist went into her eye. She was cornered, threatened with a chair, was terribly afraid for her life, a monitor was smashed, the face was punched in and no doubt the drinking had started again. She was not allowed to call the police, but somebody from the outside did so fortunately. Again, my "experienced" friend went to the precinct and wrote her report, her bleeding and swollen face was photographed this time, and she talked with the Judge to obtain a temporary Restraining Order again. It was granted. He went right to a cell and revolted and screamed, we were told. Fortunately this time there was more determination on my friend's part to finally extract him from her life. Same precinct procedure at the police precinct again, with reports and contacting the judge. A  date for Family Court was set to finalize the Restraining Order. Now my friend is hard and of hearing and was unable to understand the Judge at the court session a few days later. Hs definitely had a whispery voice and the trial was postponed to another day with equipment for hearing enhancement available.

It was a pretty frustrating time for her until the time of her  next court date. He bothered  her day in and day out with many phone calls, begged her to forgive, asked her over and over to patch things up, or he just showed up at her door steps — of course all of this violates the temporary Restraining Order completely. Anyway, finally the day had arrived for another court appearance. Before being allowed into the court room, the "victims" sit in the "Victim's Room". Ushered finally into the court room, you listen to various sad stories, oh boy, some sad stories! A 74 year old grandmother who raised her grandson and who assaulted her. The grandson was brought in handcuffed. A woman whose child has disappeared and she was threatened daily with  messages from relatives. Some people brought their lawyer which is definitely a smart thing to do. There even was a male "victim"! Many women decided to lift the Restraining Order and to take the "violator" back. This time my friend got a headset to enable her to understand the Judge better and "our" case went with relative ease.  She was sworn in, pleaded her case in her words, and the Judge asked him whether he had  any objection or counter arguments."No" he said and the final Restraining Order was granted. What a relief, no more phoning, no more messaging, no showing up at her steps and I was happy for her. She is able to breath more easily. He got fingerprinted (I don't know why), has to pay $200 and was told very specifically not to approach her ever again. Vow, did he mess up his life, and all this is due to alcohol. A very gifted person in certain ways but impossible and selfish and unhappy and addicted. There is empathy towards him on my side, but not enough to ever talk to him again, see him, or help him ever.

I have always worked with lawyers at the newspaper, and I found a deep general respect for a Judge — "Your Honor", "Judge", and a general kissing of the ground where he steps. But thank you no, to be a Judge for Family court and listen to these non-stop disputes day in, day out, t must be horrible and boring and there is very little to admire. No wonder this Judge only whispered!