quick story

Things that fly by

1. While walking outside with the dog one morning the other day, a large hawk caught my eye about 20 feet above me. It coasted straight toward me and passed right over my head. With at least a 6-foot wing-span, it threw quite the shadow as it swooped on by. Interesting twist--it clutched a large fish in its talons, and the light of the morning sun made that fish just sparkle up there in the sky. 

2. Also while walking the dog last week in the early morning light, I spotted a Bald Eagle floating waaay up against a blue blue sky. Even though the bird was far away, I could easily see that it was indeed a Bald Eagle, because every time it turned this way or that, the light from the rising sun caught the pristine white feathers of the head and tail just so, with a glinting wink right at me.

3. And after years of close observation, I have finally heard a Great Blue Heron. While running last week, I startled one from nearby on the riverbank and it flapped off with one or two massive pumps of those enormous wings. But as it went, it let out a loud pterodactyl squawk. Sorry big guy, did not mean to startle you.

4. So as the weeks fly by while I peck away at trying to find a new job in the middle of this hideous economy, I will try to stay focused and avoid a meltdown of an emotional nature. The natural beauty around here really does help.

Too bright

The new super-duper anti-home-invasion infra-red satellite-equipped security system that i had installed right *after* we got robbed woke me up last night with its incessant beeping. I slipped right into panic mode, as I couldn't recall what I was supposed to do in the event that the system was breached. I slunk like a mongoose down the hallway, hugging the walls all the way, and peered at the control panel in the pitch dark--why can't they illuminate this thing? How am I supposed to tell through which sector I'm being invaded? I stopped peering and stood stock-still and listened with all my might. Nothing. I looked around me, took in the darkness, and wondered who put out all the lights, including my new multi-colored lights that hang in a festive fashion in the stairwell, providing a colorful yet muted disco ambience for your walk to the kitchen in in the middle of the night. I retreated to my bedroom and looked out the windows--black as your hat in all the homes on the street. And so, by the Mighty Powers of Em Deduction, plus the growing presence of large fire trucks filing down the street, I determined that power cable had snapped again, and when I looked out the front window, Lo! there it was, dangling dangerously close to the metal fire hydrant, again.

I plopped back down in my bed and checked my watch--1:30. Within 5 minutes the firemen had the place cordoned off to prevent accidental electrocution. And 5 minutes after that they had the most intensely bright lights set up outside my house to shed some light on the work at hand. In fact, I think they dragged in a dwarf red star to brighten up the night.    

Note to PSE+G: It's time to run new wire for those power cables that carry the 40,000 volts up and down the streets. 

Totally crap runs

Sure, I could blame the lingering effects of the tunamush sandwich, but it's been happening for a long time now. And yesterday was no different.

It's a rare run that doesn't involve, well, the runs. I'm no doctor (altho I am a fiiinnne medical editor) but a person shouldn't be overcome by a mutiny of the bowel on a simple jog, especially when  the bowels have been purged just prior to the run. In response, I've developed ways of coping, including identifying public rest stops along the way that won't turn away a runner in distress, and I plan my routes around them. I hear that this is a somewhat common occurance amongst runners, but no one ever really discusses it, let alone offers solutions that can prevent this crap in the first place. Yes, I mentioned it to my doctor once, but he went flying off in the wrong direction and faster than rat-a-tat fart he had me undergo a sigmoidoscopy. Now there's an unpleasant experience.      

So I manage as best I can. And yesterday, I managed to wedge myself in a stall in the bathroom at the public school on Bellevue Ave--Sam's school. I like to meet Sam when school lets out. She only contorts ever-so-slightly with mortification when she sees my smiling Mom face and the rest of me dressed in multi-layers of running-gear and looking kind of like a hobo.

She's doing pretty good at the school, fitting in in her own way, although she did report a small mistep. The school administration placed her in Computer Basics, and she made no friends when she compulsively answered every one of the teacher's questions to the class--   
Teacher: "OK class, what is this called?" *holds up a keyboard*
Sam: *happily blurting* "A keyboard!!"
Teacher: "And what is this?" *points to the monitor*
Sam: "It's the monitor you dork. Oops, sorry."
Teacher: *shoots Sam a look* "Now who can tell me what this device is called?" *swings a mouse on its cord*
Sam: *lets forehead fall down on desk* a muffled "The mouse" escapes.
So Sam was removed from that class, but other than that, she's doing well!

But I was telling you how I got stuck in the school bathroom. I arrived at her school a bit early, as planned, and asked the security guard who let me in the locked door if it was OK for me to use the bathroom. I slipped quickly through the scarred wooden door with the frosted panes and into the ladies room and was taken aback by the size of the bathroom fixtures--but only for the briefest moment, because I had urgent school business to take care of. So I slid sideways into a stall that was only about a foot wide and lowered myself, and lowered myself, and lowered myself some more, carefully putting my arm on top of the toilet paper dispenser to avoid wedging my shoulders in the cramped stall, until I finally made contact with a tiiiinnny toilet that stood about half a foot off the floor.

Needless to say, I needed this to be fast. For one thing, I was afraid I was going to break that toy toilet and for another, I wanted to avoid an encounter with some poor unsuspecting student. I finished up and just as I was turned around backward to flush, there was a knock on the door. OK, I'm a grown-up people, and I had every right to be in that bathroom doing bathroomly duties, but can I just say I experienced an intense panic at the sound of that knock?

Me: *nervously blurting* "I'll be right out!"
Muffled male voice: "Wa wa-wa wa waa."
And in an instant, my leg was stuck between that teeny toilet and the stall wall, and with my leg stuck like that I couldn't open the stall door more than a few inches because the door opened inward, and I was in a goddamned Lilliputian bathroom, a 1:16 scale model of a real bathroom.   

Another knock followed shortly, and again I piped out in a shakey voice "I'll be right there!!" as I fought like hell with the door, my stuck leg, and the toilet until I was hit with the solution to this weird puzzle--with my free leg I stood up on the toilet seat and shook free the trapped leg, and once I was out of the way on top of the toilet, I could easily open the door. Just in time for the Vice Principal to walk in and see me standing on top of the school's toilet, head and shoulders above the stalls.

Hello! Did I mention I'm a grown-up? Mortification knows no boundaries.       

Candlelight dinner

My new neighbor knocked on my door yesterday afternoon to tell us happy Thanksgiving!! and also that the tree in front of my house was on fire.  A good 50 feet in the air, a large section of it smoldered and smoked, and when the winds gusted, the embers glowed red hot and blew on down the block. Good goddam thing I decided it wouldn't do to try to pretend I wasn't home and instead rousted my snoozing self from the recliner. 

The tree is massive. Planted in 1915 or so, it is now a mighty Ash that towers waaaay above my shrimpy 3-story home. So who flicked a cigarette butt 50 feet in the air and caught the tree on fire? Oh don't be silly. The power cable that ran across the tops of the utility poles out front had evidently been rubbing against the limb of the tree for some time and it became frayed and eventually snapped, firing up the tree and the ground below with 40,000 volts of electricity. And also causing an extended power outage to the southern half of the Island at the height of turkey-cooking time.   

What's Thanksgiving without a visit from my friends at the Trenton Fire Department and PSE+G? I love those guys. But now I need to form a close and personal relationship with the city's tree guys cuz I've got a 75-foot section of Ash leaning out over my house that has been weakend by the red-hot fire that burned halfway through it. 

em the player

Now that I'm bigger than Donald Trump, I thought it was time to step out and hobnob with the city's elite, so on Sat evening I attended the Stop the Wrecking Ball Ball at the Liederkranz Hall on South Clinton Ave.

Hosted by the Trenton Historical Society, the Stop the Wrecking Ball Ball raises money to preserve Trenton's diverse architectural legacy. Due to its current sad state, many interesting buildings in Trenton have been allowed to slowly rot prior to a speedy demolition by real estate developers who want to toss up more office space. Like we need more state office space downtown. Trenton is the state capitol; thus, there's a lot of state offices--80% of the buildings are state offices. The trouble is the state pays no local property tax, so no revenue comes in for services and schools and whatnot. And lord knows all those state worker bees don't want to actually *live* in Trenton. It's too scary. So woebegone Trenton remains woebegone.   

The Liederkranz Hall was a very cool venue. It was originally the clubhouse or whatever for a German singing society; next it became a furniture warehouse and then it was abondoned for some number of years before being resurrected by a public relations firm that's now slumming in Trenton. The cocktail party was on the unrenovated first floor, a large drafty room with rustic brick walls, a worn wood floor, and ceilings too high to see in the gloom. The caterers had set up several hors d'oeurves stations around the room--a shiskabob area, a root vegetable area, and a desserts area. The food was pretty good, but as always I was distracted by the open bar and a big bottle of top-shelf vodka. I topped off my drink about every 10 minutes, for free hee heeee! By the end of the night I was successfully tipsy and surrounded by olde fartes in gowns and tuxedos. The potential-for-serious-trouble quotient was high. And who did I spy among the gowned and cummerbunded? My ex-husband's ex-girlfriend, C, who was evidently working the crowd trying to drum up paying customers for her photography business. My old pal David, who made a very handsome date indeed, deftly steered me in another direction when I decided I needed to shove C down on the floor and liberate her camera. Party pooper.

Hands down best part of the night? The band--The Main Squeeze Orchestra. An all-girl accordian band, they rocked the house with covers of the Beatles, Joy Division, and a spot-on rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. I don't think the gowned and cummerbunded got it, but I refrained from pushing anyone down because they talked through the music.         

Groupie em

My neighbor B has some sort of turbo-charger on board. He's got 4 kids, works a challenging job, is president of the school district, and as a side thing, he coproduces concerts at the local cathedral, a Grand Venue if ever there was one. plus he and his partner S are stand-up stand-ins for me, because katie spends about as much time at their house with Naomi as she does at mine.

Anyhoo, point of the post. When he put out an emergency call the other night for overnight hosts for his latest performers, a traditional folk music group from Tsibili, Republic of Georgia, who are touring the states, I was more than happy to provide a few beds. They didn't roll in until midnight or so, but i regathered my slumbering hospitality energies and enjoyed a lovely Stolichnya with the band, Fodor, |gor, and Gregor. Lone foggy observation: when they talk together it all sounds like "ishka bishka dovbro kobrovka." I'm pretty sure they were saying, "ooo, lovely American lady. but where is her big American breasteses?"

Repairman Day!

em manor was crawling with repairmen last Wed. Guys in tight faded Levis and t-shirts, men in khaki trousers and button-down shirts stitched with the company logos, alpha males wearing leather utility belts all a-dangle with Tools of the Trade and smelling of No. 4711.

·    PSE+G man was on hand to fix the 5-month-old furnace;
·    Sears appliance repair guy came in to investigate the 8-month-old dishwasher that can’t manage to wash mayonnaise off a knife;
·    Comcast cable guy installed the new cable TV box and clicker with All-Access Everything;
·    Brinks dispatched 2 men to shore up the em perimeter with an ultra-high-security system of sirens, lasers, and motion detectors that are monitored by well-trained, capable security officers 24/7; and finally,
·    Electrician man followed up on the furnace when PSE+G man floundered. He poked one button and fired up the em furnace. One button. :-/

I almost felt like cooking a bunch of steaks for lunch.  Well, for a minute or 2.

Crash bang run

Squirrels and mutts and the occasional drug dealer I can handle. Measly annoyances. Gargantuan Lexus sedans? No.

Running, Saturday morning, as usual. I went up around the north end of the Island, stopped to have a word with the neighborhood beat cop who was parked on the side-street in the shade reading the newspaper--
"You catch the perp who burgled my house yet?"
"Nope."
"Argh. Well, nice day, eh?"
"Yes indeed."
Scurried across the highway to circle through Glen Afton, the rich-folk neighborhood, and stopped to have a word with one of the locals over there who used to own the house next door to me (yes, I will stop for anything). As I chugged up to him I noticed that he was sort of dragging his leg and holding his arm funny, like maybe he'd had a stroke or something--
"Say, they're selling your old house again."
"Yeah?"
"Yup."
"Well..."
But the screeching tires and sounds of car on car on roadside objects interrupted my runner's tranquility, and my finely-tuned runner's leg muscles took over and ran me up into his yard and around the back of the nearest tree.

OK, yes, it was 20 yards away, but I swear it sounded like a train wreck, coming right at me. I sheepishly looked out from behind my tree-barricade at the handicapped guy down by the highway, and we made our way over to the drivers. The weirdest damn things happen to me when I'm running.

animal lover

the Trenton cop and i chased that little white Schnoodle dog all the way down the hill at Hilvista blvd--i took the left flank and he took the right--and then up the other side of that steep hill where it turns into Sullivan Way. But the damn thing would squirt through our outstretched leg and arm barricades just when we got close and go scurrying off in another direction, in heavy traffic.

i was outfitted for the event, as i was on my Sat morning run and all warmed up to give chase, but the Trenton cop was in his cold-weather uniform and oxford shoes, and carrying 30 or 40 lb of hardware around his waist. i easily beat him to the dog (score!), but the dog was faster than both of us, and when it reversed direction and ran back up the hill on Hilvista Blvd, i offered to wing the animal in his leg with the gun, but the officer politely declined and got back in his cruiser to continue the chase with lights and sirens. stupid dog.

it was a big day for animal adventures. As i finished my run, i chugged along my street and, just as i was looking up at them, 2 squirrels fell out of a big pine tree along with a good-sized pine cone, which made for a surprisingly loud tha-thump when they all hit the pavement.  As Len Burman says, "Nobody was hurt!" The squirrels picked themselves up and ran off in separate directions. They knew they better run too, because they looked an awful lot like the squirrels who used the Christmas lights last year to swing over to the birdfeeder before i moved them. They had the last laugh that time--they chewed all my lights down--but who's laughing now, eh? stupid squirrels.

and just to provide a bookend to a weird day of animal encounters, Jah's little commando mutt rushed me yet again and bit me hard on the foot and then did that furious head-shake with my foot still in his jaws. stupid mutt.

 

Shut the barn door!

when you add up the direct costs, i didn't really lose all that much--$1000 cash money, one pair diamond earrings, one diamond engagement ring, one gold wedding band, and one white gold amethyst ring. The bad guy can keep it all. Wedding band? boo fucking hoo. Diamond engagement ring? Well, it was a symbol of sorts--a symbol of how deeply fucked my marriage was from day 1. I hated that ring. Diamond earrings? Diamond crumbs, maybe half a sneeze between the two.

The amethyst ring, however, was important. My Great Aunt Sarah and i share the same birth stone, amethyst. She gave me the ring when i graduated from high school, and she in turn had received it from her grandmother (i think it was grandmother--i need to check this, also want to see if it goes back again) when she graduated from high school.  At any rate this goes well back in the em family matriarchy.

Trenton police dept advised me to check all the local pawn shops, and i've made the rounds twice. Every time i see a purple stone my heart jumps, but no luck yet. plan on another swing through tomorrow. i want my ring back you bastards, and i won't rest till i get it. be forewarned.

i've jolted awake in the middle of the night only 19 time since the robbery
. . . "huh? wha . . . wha was tha?"
instantly listening with all my might, heart thumping away at late-night's amplification of things ambient. And i've moved with all em haste to shore up the security gaps in em manor. shortly, those guys in the armored trucks will arrive and install motion detectors and sirens and secure all the doors and windows. 

now would someone help me corral all those horses?