door knobs and kitty cats

my guy is such a guy and my cat is such a dog . . greg did a great job at attempting to fix our door knob and lock today, and pluto did a great job at keeping watch by the door. since he can't jump up on furniture and book shelves like most cats, he is always lying by the door (very much like a dog) and doesn't move as the door pushes into him when opening. we constantly worry that he'll get paws or his tail caught, which actually happened once when greg pushed too quickly. he's a kitty cat door stop. morgana suggested we make a sign for the outside of the door warning that a cat is on the other side and to open slowly . . maybe i can do so this weekend. (in the photo above since the apartment door is open, the little monster was forced to move to the outer door in the foyer that leads to the stairwell in order to be near a closed door . . or in order to guard the castle properly i suppose.)

at the cloisters with lucia and tsameret

 our friends have been visiting from ann arbor, michigan. they are on their way to athens for an isadora duncan dance workshop and fly out of jfk this evening. they arrived early tuesday morning (after traveling all night on the bus from ann arbor!) and have been enjoying visiting old haunts and old friends as they lived in the east village up until about six years ago. korrina, morgana and chanda have babysat for them at various times in the past . . when all the girls were younger . . and chanda, greg and i visited them in pittsburgh (before their move to michigan) when on our way to san francisco in 2017 (you can see that post here).

 we always like to bring our sandwiches and then have tea and pound cake . . however we had to settle on chocolate chip cookies today as they no longer stock pound cake . . i might have to begin bringing that too, now, and just get the tea.

 we had egg salad sandwiches on black bread and sprouted onion/dill bagels. the little sparrows were very busy begging for crumbs.

 a plant in the medieval herb garden . . 

 st. jerome in his study, crafted in brussels in 1520.

lucia really enjoyed this visit and i'm glad i made sure we got there.

saying good-bye to morgana . . their plane took off at 11 pm this evening. they have a long flight ahead of them, with a transfer in london.

a magical night: morgana's play

beth, or william shakespeare's macbeth, adapted and arranged by morgana, (who also goes by morgan and the pronoun "they" - i will be taking turns with both names and pronouns in all future blog posts) opened this evening on a very rainy day. the day was so grey and rainy that barbek (morgan's lead actor) suggested morgan pick up several umbrellas in case the skies opened up during the performance. the wet trees and damp air made for a perfectly wonderful and dismal setting for macbeth. (for this production morgan rearranged several scenes, included scenes that are often omitted, and omitted scenes that are always included, and also wrote a monologue for lady macbeth at the end.)

these are the only photos and movies i have of the production, and they are so poor that i'm not sure you can get a good sense of the cohesive energy and ensemble work of the actors. morgan did a wonderful job bringing everyone together, and i thought the casting choices were innovative and impeccable. i think the age range of the show went from eight years to forty five years. it was fun having our young friends in it.

i filmed this section at the very end, when the skies finally opened and a fine drizzle grew into a steady rain. everyone watching opened their umbrellas and the patter of the drops blended in with the gentle pounding of the drums and the last words of the actors. as our friend steven said, it was a magical night and the best performance of macbeth he had ever seen.

brava, morgan - director, scene designer, lighting designer, props master, writer, stage manager and . . actor! (on the last minute morgan had to step in as lady macduff).

 pics from wednesday's final rehearsal (waiting for the moms to pick up the younger actors) with (from left to right) lucia, hudson, anika, charlotte, morgan and jenny, morgan's girlfriend. it was so nice that jenny could be here for the rehearsals before returning to london. she was in the states for a maths conference in ann arbor, michigan, and visited with us for almost two weeks.

 i think they were discussing aspects of the rehearsal in the courtyard . . 

while having a little bit of ice cream i found in the freezer.

the assistant director and dance instructor/choreographer, amelia.

thirty three years together

arriving at river park on 29th street and fdr drive . .

for an anniversary meal hosted, cooked and plated by our dear korrina. we were so well taken care of  - everyone there made sure we didn't want for anything. it was a very special night.

braised carrot that korrina had picked from the garden just a little before we arrived, and graced by a sweet violet.

 octopus with blue cornflowers, heirloom beans, ramps and spring onions.

spring greens: heirloom radish, sugar snap peas and asparagus.

sweetbreads with artichoke, dandelion greens and cipollini.

roasted scallops with green chickpeas, rhubarb, radishes, sheep sorrel and yogurt.

dessert! three kinds: gelato (chocolate and peach) with biscotti, strawberry rhubarb cobbler with vanilla ice cream, and a chocolate volcano . . (did i get that right?)

what an amazing evening and delicious meal. thank you so much korrina. we're in awe of your accomplishments, and proud of all the hard work you've put in to create such delicious meals and to be the wonderful chef that you are.

poem for a sunday morning

by the sea

why does the sea moan evermore?

shut out from heaven it makes its moan,

it frets against the boundary shore;

all earth's full rivers cannot fill

the sea, that drinking thirsteth still.

sheer miracles of lovelinness

lie hid on its unlooked-on bed;

anemones, salt, passionless,

blow flower-like -- just enough alive

to blow and multiply and thrive.

shells quaint with curve or spot or spike

encrusted live things argus-eyed,

all fair alike yet all unlike,

are born without a pang, and die

without a pang, and so pass by.

christina rosetti (1830 - 1894)

poem for a sunday morning

what are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow,

what are brief? today and tomorrow,

what are frail? spring blossoms and youth,

what are deep? the ocean and truth.

christina rossetti, sing song, 1872

blogging again?

 or . . coming back from hiatus . . or . . finally finding a footing in the midst of intense transitions . . or . . i just miss my mom so much that it hurts to live my life without her on earth? i was fortunate to have her around for so long. her mother died when she was twenty one. she would talk about that often . . about how her mother suddenly had a stroke in her sleep while they were traveling in california and she had to fly back to new york with her body on the plane somewhere in the baggage compartment. i could always sense the pain in that repeated statement. i would love to have met her mother, my german grandmother. i would love to have asked her questions about growing up on a farm in northern germany, about wearing wooden shoes and living with the cows and eating out of a communal pot set in the middle of the dining table.  i knew my father's mother, my italian grandmother, but of course there are so many questions that i would have liked to have asked her now that i'm so grown and curious. i didn't think to ask them when i was fifteen, and so i don't think i really knew her at all. she didn't speak english, and i didn't speak sicilian, or italian . . and then she died. the time we have to understand our older loved ones is too short! we are so busy growing up, and then maybe having children or working very intense and important jobs, and then death comes, and we lose our chance to know the physical person. perhaps that's why we place such importance on life beyond earth. we hope for a second chance to love and truly know and appreciate the people we knew on earth. perhaps. however, we can't live our lives thinking we have second chances, because earth and the living beings presently on it are too important and precious. earth is paradisal, and the people are special. we have to love and take care of each other now. 

alright, so much for the philosophical musings. it's springtime in new york city, and everywhere there are daffodils, pansies, tulips, magnolia blossoms, snow drops and crocuses. i hear the mockingbird singing for a mate at night, and the white-throated sparrow singing to the sun in the morning. my audubon app helps me to identify the bird calls. it's so amazing! i never see the birds, i just hear them every day and it's wonderful to go on this app and search for the birds that others are identifying in the neighborhood, and then listen to the bird calls to match up with what i'm hearing. we have cardinals, blue jays, black capped chickadees, sparrows, starlings, white-throated sparrows, and mockingbirds. oh, of course we have pigeons! oh! and mourning doves. the doves are very sweet and sit and coo on the fire escape windowsill until madeline comes along and scares them away. of course, the blue jays are the most precocious and boisterous.

poem for a sunday morning and everything else

                                                                         the cat

                                                                                    the cat

                                                                                              licks its paw

                                                                           lies down in

                                                                                              the bookshelf nook
                                                                                                                           she
                                                                                       can lie in a
                                                                                                 sphinx position
                                                                  without moving for so
                                                                                                 many hours
                                                               and then turn her head
                                                                                         to me and
                                                                                                 rise and stretch
                                                                   and turn
                                                                               her back to me and
                                                                          lick her paw again as if
                                                                                              no real time had passed
                                                                             it hasn't
                                                                                         and she is the sphinx with
                                                                                    all of the time in the world
                                                                                               in the desert of her time
                                                                    the cat
                                                                        knows where flies die
                                                                                 sees ghosts in motes of air
                                                                                               and shadows in sunbeams
                                                                     she hears
                                                                                   the music of the spheres and
                                                                         the hum in the wires of houses
                                                                                    and the hum of the universe
                                                                           in interstellar spaces
                                                                                                           but
                                                                                prefers domestic places
                                                                                             and the hum of the heater

                                               by lawrence ferlinghetti, born in yonkers, new york, march 24, 1919

breakfast with greg, morgana and chanda this morning: german pancakes and bacon and english breakfast tea and espresso.

the little monster is growing, but he's still kitten enough to spark gut wrenching ohs and ahs and cuddles.

tea with sock knitting . . sweet sparrow knits yarn in colorway hedwig.

last tuesday i cleaned out all my drawers and started a new bag of salvation army give away clothes . .

and i enjoyed having this honey all week in my tea . . greg enjoyed it on his yogurt. it's all gone now.