Ronald De Nota painting
"Riomar Cafe on Little West 12th Street, NYC, 1998" Monday, August 25, 2008, 6:45 am“George” Last evening it hit me I had never written about George. I didn’t see how that was possible, but it is. Of course I want to write about George. He was a friend of mine and he was a friend of my dogs.
I am sure anyone who lived in the East Village in the ‘60s or the ‘70s or the ‘80s or the ‘90s would know George. I don’t know when he moved there, and I don’t know how long he stayed. In my mind there is no beginning and no end to George. I assume he must have been there forever. Altho of course he was born in Germany (I think) and had thick accent, so I don’t know when he came over. If you say to George “how old are you? what country did you come from? where did you go to high school?” If you ask him anything personal, he will not answer.
I know George is Jewish because when we’d be walking down the street with my dog, George helping me do errands, the older men on First Avenue who worked in the stores, would try to pull George into that tiny little synagogue on Houston Street on Friday evenings so they could have a minyon. Apparently you can’t have your service at all unless there is a minyon. I had no idea what a minyon is, I am guessing 6 men with prayer shawls on standing around the rabbi and the cantor, if that synagogue had a cantor at all. Their eyes would light up when they saw George coming down the street with me and my dog, because it was so close to the time, and they needed that extra person to make a minyon. I have no idea if George acceded to their request or not. I mean when he finished helping me, did he go over to the synagogue? I do not know.
George’s claim to fame is that he had been at City Hall thru umpteen administrations. They all knew him at City Hall. When I told that to my fellow dog walkers in Tompkins Square Park, they scoffed! “He is a meshuginar,” they said to me. “He thinks he goes to City Hall every day and they all know him there,” they said to me. They said “it is like the meshuginar who was in the middle of First Avenue waving his arms last week, he thought he was a traffic cop directing traffic, and George thinks he goes to City Hall every day and he is known there.” This is what Mike said.
Mike is a horse-playing Jewish man, exactly the same age as my father. Mike was born in 1913, like my dad and like Bill’s dad, and is a horseplayer like Bill’s dad, goes to the track every day. In a competition of the most stubborn man on earth, is it Leon my dad, is it Bill’s dad, is it Mike the dog walker in Tompkins Square Park. They are all heavy-weight champions in the area of scoffing; stubborn-minded scoffers. But I guess I would give the award to Mike. There is nothing I could say or do, which would change Mike’s mind that George imagines he goes to City Hall every day, that George is a meshuginar with a vivid imagination.
If Mayor Abe Beame happened to be walking thru Tompkins Square Park (which he would never do!) and came up to George and said “Hi George, how are you doing” and if Mike were sitting next to George, Mike would still not change his mind.
And in fact a year or so before I left New York, George was at City Hall when Mayor Beame showed up for a luncheon. He had been mayor a few administrations before. “Hi George, you still here?” former Mayor Abe Beame said. And George said “yes, your honor.”
I know exactly how George got to be "included" at City Hall because he used the same technique on me and it worked like a charm. Yes it’s true the whole world sees George as a meshuginar, but that is before you get to know him. After you get to know him, I am not saying George is not a meshuginar, but who cares! He just gives you a more expansive view of what human nature is like. Like discovering a new planet in the solar system or new star in the galaxy. Your vision widens to include George. (Before you get to know George, he is not included in your vision, there is the solar system and there is George, and he is excluded.) It is a big difference. And in some ways now I feel myself privileged to be one of those who knows George. Altho of course everyone thru a zillion administrations knows George, plus half my neighborhood. I am not in small club. Half my neighborhood just knows George as meshuginar and excludes him. And half know him as I do, and everyone at City Hall, and the old men who try to pull him into their minyon.
The way George became my friend, and got to be included in City Hall, is by making himself indispensable. I used to always run away from George. But one day I was coming home with all those heavy shopping bags, plus I had my dog, and George offered to carry my shopping bags. It was help I desperately needed. And to my surprise my dog, it was my first dog then, Spes, was madly passionately totally in love with George. George not only carried all my shopping bags home for me, but carried them up the 3 flights of steps and put them by my door. It made my life so much easier, it was such a huge favor.
And after that he figured out my habits, that I went to the park every day with the fellow dog walkers, and then grocery shopped on First Avenue on the way home. And it seems just at the instant I was trying to navigate all those heavy bags, George would appear, carry them home and up all the steps. And of course my dog was overjoyed out of her mind to be with George, she loved George. And then somehow that became our routine. My dog Spes never liked going to the park with the fellow dog-walkers, so instead George and I would walk around the neighborhood with her as I stopped in stores to pick up this or that. Once the 3 of us walked to SoHo together to the discount paper store and I bought 10 heavy packages of top quality typing paper, and George carried it all home for me. When I got one of those huge Selectric typewriters because they cost nothing when computers came in, and it broke a few times, George carried that huge heavy thing downstairs. And we took taxi together to Chelsea to my typewriter store to have it fixed. And then George and I and dog walked home. Same thing when we picked it up. I do not know how I would have managed without George.
And this is exactly what happened at City Hall. I have no idea where in City Hall the big machers spent all day schmoozing. But it was very convenient for them, if someone wanted container of coffee to-go, with bagel and shmear, that George was always there, eager and willing to go. Whatever anyone had a taste for, there was George. They only had to give him the money for it and he would go across the street and get it. There were probably lots of errands they could send George for. To get their cigars, to get their cigarettes. If they bought their cigars in a different neighborhood, George would go get it! Anything! wherever it was! When Isaac Bashevis Singer was invited for tea, it was George who bought the napkins, who bought the cookies, and even poured out the coffee and tea. He told me later “Isaac Bashevis Singer had tea not coffee, just lemon no sugar, and didn’t eat any of the cookies.” That might have been where former Mayor Abe Beame showed up and said “I see you’re still here, George” and George said “nice to see you, your honor.”
Even if something was on another floor, they could send George to get it. With George around no one had to move a muscle, George would get it for you. They couldn’t run away from George like I did the first ten years, they were stuck with him from the beginning, so I bet they discovered very quickly how indispensable George is. It hit me once that Mayors come and go but George is always there. I tried to explain this to Mike. But you can get a good idea what my dad was like and Bill’s dad was like. All Mike did was to say again about the meshuginar on First Avenue, how he stood there waving his arms directing traffic, till the cops finally took him away. Mike refused to believe George ever stepped foot in City Hall.
The very few personal things I know about George are things he let drop, because as I say he wouldn’t answer any question. One very cold day in winter he mentioned, during the Depression in Germany he would go to the public library because it was the only warm place. But when I said “did you come from Germany, George?” He gave that odd look and either said “no” or refused to answer. Once he said his uncle is still mad at him, because he accuses George of stealing the bottle of whiskey at his daughter’s bas mitzvah, which of course George did. “I didn’t know you have family here?” I said. And George refused to answer. That is the only time George mentioned any family at all.
I have the impression George might have gone to high school here and had a terrible time, no one talked to him. But I may not be right about this, it may be some other early experience in America where things were awful for George.
When my dog Spes was ill, George was my savior. He arrived every day, and when she could no longer make the steps, he carried her down, he carried her up, and she would walk with us to the card tables by the precinct across the street, where she would lie under the table while George and I played cards. I did this because she wanted to be outside so much. So George and I would spend hours upon hours playing cards. I was absolutely completely devoted to my dog, I would do anything for her, and George was a saint and angel to do this for me. That’s really when George and I became close. He was the worst card player in the world. We played Gin Rummy, and at first I easily beat him every game, even tho I had not played cards since I was 9 years old. But when I saw how much George wanted to win, I managed to lose every game after that. George kept score with pencil and paper. Sometimes George, who was up every night and never slept, would fold his arms on the table, rest his head on it, and say “wake me up with a kiss.” I wish I could replicate George’s heavy accent “vake me up mit a kiss.” It was hard to understand George cause of his heavy accent.
After two months Spes did go to Heaven, early one Saturday morning. Bill and I spent the whole day at home together talking being close. At 4 pm the intercom bell rang, and I thought to myself “that is George! he is so faithful! he is here to help me walk Spes.” I wasn’t ready to say anything, I just buzzed George in and called down the stairs “thank you very much George, but I am already back home.” But that evening when I went out to buy something at the corner store, George passed me on First Avenue. I said “George, Spes went to Heaven this morning, Bill and I are upstairs sitting shiva for her right now.” And a smile crossed George’s lips when I said I was sitting shiva for Spes. And he said “I thought if she made it thru the weekend she would be OK.” How sweet of George to have had faith in my dog, that she could make it! I had too, till she went to Heaven. But I tell you, it took all the faith in the Universe for me to have believed that. No one will ever know the effort I put into having faith and hope my dog would make it.
Then Bill took me on camping trip in Adirondacks for 4 or 5 days so we could recuperate from Spes and the day we got back we got Clio. Adina had brought Clio over the day before we left, to ask if we wanted her. She couldn’t stand Clio and was giving Clio up. And she came up with Clio, and Bill said “fine we will take her!” But we were going on camping trip. We asked Adina to keep Clio for those few days. Adina clearly never wanted Clio back in her apartment but of course she said yes, she was so relieved she had found a home for Clio. And Bill had me call from Grand Central Station when we got off the train, to tell Adina we will take taxi home now and to bring Clio over right now.
Clio was 4 months old and a torture chamber, and she could not be walked off the leash the way I did with Spes. She had to be on the leash every second, because when she wasn’t she took off faster than lightning and danced in First Avenue in heavy traffic. That girl gave me so many traumas! But George and I took up where we left off. I had to hold Clio on the leash, so it would have been even harder to carry home all those shopping bags of groceries. But I didn’t need to, I had George. I was very close to George now and loved him beyond measure for what he had done for Spes, my beloved beloved beloved Spes. And it turned out what George wanted, I don’t know how we arrived at this, what George wanted was-- after I threw the ball for Clio at the school playground across from the precinct, the girl was a great athlete-- We would sit on the bench or at the card table, I would have Clio on the leash. George would bring pencil and paper, and he would dictate a letter.
It began off as one letter, he had something he really wanted to say to someone at City Hall about how things should be. I copied down his dictation in good English with punctuation, and then had George type it up, and I proofread it. It didn’t matter what I wrote down in perfect spelling and good English. By the time George typed it up, the spelling was a catastrophe and there was no punctuation. The first time I had him redo it, but after that I didn’t bother. I would read him back his letter after I first took it down, and then read it back to him after he brought me the typewritten copy. George was very satisfied, he liked hearing his letter. George never said “I” in the letter, he didn’t say “I think.” He always said “we.” “We think” “ We suggest” “What we think you should do..”
After the first few letters George discovered he loved this so much, that I would sit on the bench with him and take down 10 letters. Since George did not have very much to say, and would only try to think of something to say and to who he could possibly write to, the letters became very brief. “Perfect!” I would say after I took it down. “Perfect!” I would say, after he showed me the typewritten letters from the ones I had taken down day before. I thought “what does it matter all the typos and spelling mistakes,” some of the letters were so silly, George’s suggestion for the type of teabags they use at City Hall. All the letters were to City Hall.
I said to George “I am your secretary,” and he loved that. After that wherever we went, which was everywhere in our neighborhood, and whoever we met, and George knew everyone in the neighborhood, he introduced me as his secretary. “This is my secretary” he would say. And they would look at me (they didn’t believe George) “yes” I said, “I am his secretary.” George loved having a secretary. And somehow it is my destiny lol, to always be a secretary. In one way or another, my whole life I have been a secretary. I am one to this day
Clio was 4 months old when we adopted her, and 4 years old when we moved to Tucson, so this life must have continued till the day we left. He would help me with my shopping while I walked Clio, then we would sit on the bench, and I would be his secretary, and then he would keep me company while I threw the ball for Clio at the handball courts.
Clio loved George too, all dogs loved George.
I didn’t tell George I was leaving, I knew it would break his heart. But he found out after we left, and he handled it well. I wrote to all my neighbors and friends in the neighborhood “if you see George give him my address in Tucson, and tell him to write.” And sure enough I got a letter. He must have come to my building to find me and Catherine came down and gave him my address. And I got a letter from him saying “now he doesn’t have his secretary,” but it was still a nice letter -- if you could figure out what he was saying, every word was misspelt and it was one long sentence. (“dear secriterti” it began off.) He wouldn’t tell me his address, he kept everything about his life secret to the end. I never even know which block he lived on. He told me to write to him at the Democratic headquarters on 9th Street and gave me their address, which is a storefront on 9th Street.
And so George and I corresponded for about a year. And then I guess I forgot about George and he forgot about me. But he has a place in my heart which will always be there. And I bet George too has never forgotten, that one day he had a great secretary.
Post script, I remember now when George and I sat on the bench to be his secretary, first I had George get me a container of coffee to go, sweet and light, and a danish to go with it. And I bet I made him pay. I know George has no money, but he walked everywhere, he never took public transportation to City Hall or to anywhere. He walked. For dinner he had can of sardines. What did he spend money on, except a bottle of whiskey. He could afford to spring $1 for his secretary to have coffee and danish while he dictated his letters to her. LOL I bet George liked it. It made him feel like a real employer. “You are a great employer” I said happily to George when he handed me my coffee and danish.
The New York Street Painters
Ronnie DeNota with fellow painters
Gotham Drawing
Tucson painting by Felix Pasilis Sunday, 8/10/08, 6:43 am
In Tucson you can join a club or swim at Public PoolIt’s a beautiful morning. The birds are chirping and whistling. A sparrow is doing her “la toilette,” primping her feathers, on branch right out my window, making herself beautiful. Wow what a big job she is doing. She is cleaning each one of her feathers, under her wing, on her breast, her back, everywhere.
The sky is gentle blue. And the sunlight shining thru the green leaves of mesquite tree is starting to look August, the green has an August hue to it. It is a world of gentle blue sky, August-hued green leaves, and sparrows in my tree, hip hopping from branch to branch, except for Mrs Sparrow, her morning bath and preening is taking forever.
O now another sparrow on another branch is doing his morning preen and clean. Mrs Sparrow has finished hers it seems, she is looking around. O I spoke too soon, she was just taking a rest, she is back cleaning under her wing again.
Tomorrow schools in Tucson open again and the school year begins. The summer lifeguards who are all 16 years old, and spent all summer barefoot in bathing suits at the city swim pools, will be in shoes and socks and regular clothes, and taking history and English and chemistry and trigonometry. Instead of a day at the pool, it will be day in school. I asked one what he thought about school opening again and he said “it will be fun to see my friends who I haven’t seen all summer.” I am guessing this means the friends who were away during the summer. The desert is like NYC in that way, those who can get away from the heat in summer, do. Altho I am guessing his friends just looked for summer jobs outside of Tucson, they wanted to be away.
When my cousins were growing up in Tucson my aunt Ruth rented beach house in San Diego for the summer, and they spent their summers on the beach. San Diego is no longer affordable so now the teachers in Tucson take their families to the seaside in Mexico for the summer. They all have condos down there. I was friends with some of these teachers when I was at Racquet Club and they all said “when I retire I want to move there.” They love Mexico, they love their condo on the beach there. In the public pools I don’t run into this world. There are not so many lap swimmers and the ones I know are rooted in Tucson. But at Racquet Club it seemed almost everyone was going back and forth to Mexico all the time. The ones who didn’t own a condo there would go and rent for a week-end or a week.
It’s interesting what a different world Racquet Club was in summer compared to the public pools in summer. Public pools are so orderly. There are all the 16 year old lifeguards hired for the summer, gazillions of them because so many children are in the pools in the afternoons, the day camps come and bring all their kids. So it is the year round lifeguards, Samantha and the others who are always there; the summer lifeguards; and the morning lap swimmers, the same swimmers you see year round. In the afternoons there is the same father, he is a teacher, who brings his little daughter every day every summer. But he is not going back and forth to Mexico, he takes his daughter to pool every day, and when they are not at the pool he takes her to the movies. I begin to see why the public pools have the same vibe I do. For better or for worse, my life is like that too.
Not everyone at Racquet Club leads life of high adventure. After all Bill and I were there for 3 years, our friend Jim has been there forever, Layla is there, Maria is there too. But if you look closely, Maria does go to New York City a few times a year to be with her son and grandchildren, and does visit Poland where she grew up once a year. Layla too goes to NYC few times a year to see her son, and down to her farm in Mexico once a year for few weeks. Jim doesn’t go anywhere, but his heart is not in Tucson at all, he dreams night and day of having a yacht and living in Tahiti. And Sue always spends her summer back in Michigan.
The world I grew up in is the Racquet Club world. In fact my parents were tennis players, we had a summer cottage in the Adirondacks in the summer; my parents were always active, they did sport, and went to the theater, to concerts. Cultural life was a big part of their life. I was like the children of the parents at Racquet Club. For me being at Racquet Club was being back in the world I grew up in. And that is the life my aunt Ruth gave her kids when they were growing up in Tucson. It is incredible how cosmopolitan Racquet Club is. I was friends with Arlene there, both she and her husband are university professors. And they have been to every country in the world. And really when you think of it, so has Layla.
Well a little birdie is sitting on a high up branch just quietly looking around. O he saw something! O he straightened up, poised alert! O he took off! Hahaha you always think of a bird watcher as someone with binoculars around their neck, tramping thru the woods, but I guess in my own way I am bird watcher too, I like to watch the birds.
Yes Racquet Club is the world I grew up in. I guess it is no surprise that practically the first day there, I was sitting in jacuzzi next to older guy, and out of the blue in middle of conversation, he said about dating Ruth Wilensky when he was 16 years old. I fell over! Wilensky is my maiden name. I hadn’t realized that would have been my aunt’s name until she married George. Only in Racquet Club would you hear your own maiden name spoken to you, without any awareness that was the name you grew up with. “I dated Ruth Wilensky when I was 16, but she preferred George, he became her boyfriend” Seymour told me in the jacuzzi my first week at Racquet Club.
Seymour had grown up in the Bronx, by the Bronx Zoo, but obviously had come to Tucson fairly young if he had been dating my aunt. He became a doctor, was general practitioner his whole life. Sometimes his wife and grown up kids arrived, and they looked every inch New York City. They looked like a family my parents would have been friends with. And of course they have summer house in Rocky Mountains to get out of the heat. There are doctors at my public pool too, but they are not elegant cosmopolitan sophisticated like Seymour (Seymour is an intellectual.) The doctors at public pool work at the hospital close by, and are the klutzes to end all klutzes. You never want to swim in a lane next to them or anywhere near them. They are absolutely oblivious of the world around them. They are completely out of it. There are even two professors at the public pool but they are not one bit like Arlene and her husband Mike the physics professor, the two world travelers. Alfredo is in food science department, he doesn’t leave Tucson, he loves to grow his beautiful plants and swim at public pool every day. And Lyn the anthropology professor, also swims at public pool every day, never leaves Tucson, except I guess for anthropology conventions, and spends his evenings going dancing, he knows all the unusual exotic folk dances.
Of course I love everyone I met at Racquet Club, they are the nicest people in the world. And if you notice our good friends now are people we met at Racquet Club, Layla and Jim and Maria, and even Sue altho I never see her. And Kimberly altho I never see her either. And Gail and Ray altho they switched to public pools as we did. I guess you have to share interests for a friend to cross over from pool friend to friend in regular life. And all my friends in NYC are people you would meet at the Racquet Club.
But it is the public pools which suit me to a T. So few people in that big huge pool, high up by the mountains. Everything so simple, just a big deep swim pool, a bathhouse with no roof, showering under the blue sky and bird call, watching the birds take off and land while you swim. And talking to Patsy in the next lane about the poker game she was in last night. Her husband is top card player, and Patsy is learning.
This is the other world I grew up in, it wasn’t my parents’ world, but the world of the parents of the children I played with in my building. Where their mothers played Mahjong every evening, and we sat at the kitchen table and played poker when we got home from school, and tried to teach ourselves Mahjong. And Carol’s mother would get out her ash tray and cigarettes and join us for a hand, and talk about the 12 egg sponge cake she just made for Pesach.
I am not saying everyone at public pools is like Patsy and Mike. Kathleen teaches the oboe to children who are entering competitions and is a great potter. Eleanor did great pottery too. But swimming in quiet empty pool next to Patsy, hearing how she had a Straight, how could she not bet on it, is just my speed. And Mike is next to her saying proudly how well she did. And because it is a money game (Mike is always in big money games) Mike says he is her sugar daddy and when she was down $400 it was his money and he was very nervous, but she came back very well.... this is what I like. For me this is the kind of pool conversation which harmonizes with beautiful mountains to look at, blue sky above, birds always on their way somewhere, and 16 year old lifeguards up in the stands.
It is the simple life of Annie at 8 years old....
5:44 am, Saturday, August 9, 2008
After the pool yesterday we stopped at Sunflower Market on the way home. There were only two items we needed. We were out of tamari sauce, and we were out of half-and-half for coffee. But last time we stopped at Sunflower because I was out of 2 items, I walked out of the store with 4 huge shopping bags. I don’t know how it happens, because I do fully intend just to buy the two items I need. I hadn’t been to Sunflower in a while because Fry’s supermarket is right by Billie’s pool, so the past few Fridays (when we have been at Billie’s pool) we have been going to Fry’s. And one week I stopped at Discount Foods on the way home, the day after we had been at Fry’s. I was just out of half-and-half, I had forgotten to buy that-- and I don’t know what happened. I got back to the truck with 10 bags of food. So the result is we haven’t been to Sunflower in 3 weeks.
I was at the meat counter, they had spectacular sale on London Broil, when Andrew, one of the baggers there, found me. “Where have you been!” he asked. “I don’t know” I said. And then I said “I went to Discount Food,” and burst out laughing. It tickled my funny bone because Sunflower Market-- it’s not quite a gourmet supermarket, but everything is high quality. The produce is organic (half of it anyway). The meat is organic. The deli counter is all Boar’s Head brand, which is the same brand as the Italian sausage store on next block when I lived on Lower East Side. It is tremendously high quality brand for cold cuts. And they make home made Italian sausages at Sunflower too. When Sunflower opened I found things I had not found available in Tucson until Sunflower Market opened, I was really really happy.
Discount Foods is the reverse. It is a hillbilly supermarket, which is why Bill won’t step one foot in it, he hates it. But I like a hillbilly supermarket, I love Discount Foods. You never know what you will find there, because they buy from food producers who have over-supply and just want to get rid of it. Sell it cheap to Discount Foods, who sells it cheap to their customers. So there is hardly any fresh produce, it is mostly either canned or frozen.
And whole side of store isn’t food at all, it is stuff. I bought an electric fan the last time I was there, and a sheet set of espresso colored sheets and pillow cases, and 15 cans of Campbell soups, and two containers of salt, and two quarts of half-and-half.
That is why we went to Discount Food. I had forgotten to buy salt and half-and-half at Fry’s. I went in to buy just those two items and nearly forgot to buy them. I was so distracted by the sheet sets and electric fans. And Campbell’s soup for 40 cent a can. And in canned vegetables, they had all those things Bill likes, collard greens and things I don’t even know what they are, I guess Southern vegetables, Bill likes them. So I came out to the truck with electric fan, espresso colored sheet set, 20 cans of Campbell soup, 10 cans of collard greens or that other kind he likes. 2 containers of salt and 3 quarts of half-and-half. The third one was a mistake, I should have stuck with two, but it was half the price of the supermarket. So I made booboo.
After that, and we had just done huge shopping at Fry’s the day before, I knew I had to cool it with grocery shopping. I had enough cans of soup for a whole winter, for two whole winters. And ditto cans of collard greens. O that’s right-- they had canned cherries and canned pear halves on extra sale when I walked in, and for some reason my mouth watered for that. I did exercise some self control, I only bought two cans of each. I never before bought canned fruit in syrup because my mom served fruit cocktail for dessert every night as dessert for dinner, when what I really wanted for dessert was chocolate cake. The instant I grew up I bought chocolate cake for dessert and never once bought fruit cocktail, or any other canned fruit in syrup. I will never buy canned peaches either, which was the other thing she served. But very occasionally she served canned plums in syrup, and that sounds good to me now, I would get that.
I love everyone who works at Sunflower and they love me, and I used to be there twice a week like clockwork since they opened few years ago. So naturally when I didn’t show up there this whole past month, they missed me and I missed them. Andrew must have come back and reported to them that I wasn’t there because I was shopping at Discount Foods instead.
That is the only reason I can figure out why, when they were ringing up my groceries (of course I bought more than I intended to, but I did not totally disgrace myself like I have always done in the past) the check-out girl made a big point of telling me how much money I saved. “It was two London Broils for price of one,” she said, “so you saved ten dollars there. And you saved ten dollars on all your other groceries, so altogether you saved 20 dollars,” she said so proudly and happily and encouragingly to me.
O I remember the other thing I bought at Discount Foods. At Sunflower, a pound of freshly ground coffee is 6 dollars. And Discount Foods had a six pound bag of coffee beans, which you could ground there, for 8 dollars. Of course no one knew how to use the grinder and neither did I. It took a team effort to accomplish it.
I could happily shop at Discount Foods on a more regular basis. But Andrew doesn’t have to worry, Bill hates going there, so we only wind up there 4 times a year. And now that pool summer schedule is over, and we won’t be near Fry’s anymore on Fridays, Sunflower will go back to being my regular supermarket.
It is so close and so convenient and the food is so high quality, and I love them and they love me. And Bill doesn’t mind driving me there, because next door is Factory 2 U, and he always hopes there will be T shirt for one of the sports teams he likes....
Tucson painting by Felix Pasilis
August 8, 2008, Friday, 5:50 am
“We are thinking about adopting Harley”Well there is a very interesting sky to the west. When I went out to open windows on truck and saw it, it took my breath away. I loved the beauty. It is still so close to sunrise and the sky was dark, but not night dark, it was from the thick clouds. But the thick clouds were all colors of such deep blues, dark blues, and then I guess the tall southern pines set up against it. I feel like I have seen a sky like that in a painting, maybe in something called “Toledo” in Spain in the 16th century. There was a painter who favored painting skies like that, I saw them in the museum in New York.
It was very encouraging to see all that beauty and have it take my breath away, since it was a morning when I woke up, opened my eyes, realized it was a new day, and thought “NO! I don’t want it!” I was content to be snoozing happily, I have no idea why the idea of a new day was something I didn’t want. Right now, looking out my window, it is still a grey and cloudy early morning, cool and green, and drinking my coffee, I don’t know why I didn’t want the new day. What can possibly be wrong with sitting by my open window, looking out at all that green, and feeling the cool breezes come in and touch me.
It is a very pleasant cool green grey cloudy morning. O the sun must have risen, since the southern pines to the west are now radiant in golden light. And some of the dense clouds to west have parted to show some blue sky, and some of the clouds have turned fluffy white. Altho right above is still dense cloud cover. Fine! Desert summer is so hot, it’s nice having this moist umbrella cloud cover, with pearly light, and bird calls.
LOL one of Picasso’s wives wrote the story of their marriage. I read this book long time ago. He was already famous when she married him and she said “Pablo did not like to get out of bed and face the day.” So she would come in with his steamy coffee, his buttered croissant, and sit on the bed and tell him what a great painter he is, what great paintings he has painted and will paint, and how wonderful he is in every way. And then after that pep talk and delicious buttered croissant and cup of hot chocolate, he was willing to get out of bed and face his day.
I scoffed at him when I read this back at 26 years old, but now I see perfectly why one needs a little encouragement to face the day. It would sweeten the transition if someone brought me a tray with delicious pastry, delicious coffee already made with cream and sugar. I wouldn’t want to be told how great I was, but maybe a few sweet soft words, about the treats the day may hold for me. “A beautiful sky to see when you go out into front yard to open up the truck. A misty green morning to look out on, when you sit at your desk. There is cool morning air this morning, you will like feeling it on your shoulders. The birds are all in your tree waiting for you.”
If I thought I was going to get up to a morning as sweet and tender as the sleepy-land I had just been in, I wouldn’t have balked that way and said “a new day! I don’t want it!” Because who could not want this, watching the little birdies hop around the tree right out my window. It is sweeter than sleepy-land, it is more innocent and simpler.
Well day before yesterday the young lifeguard was chatting with me while I was in the water and he was up in the lifeguard stand. I don’t remember how the conversation began off, but I perked up my ears when he got to the point where he told me, his mom said to his dad “I want another kid,” and his dad said “can’t we just get another dog instead.” They have two dogs now, one of those tiny little ones that only weigh 6 pounds, and a big shepherd x (which sounds like my first dog, Spes) who is 87 pounds. But I found out later in the car going home with Bill that his family lives on ranch, they have 7 acres near Reddington Road. So when he told me “there is huge yard, there is room for 3rd dog,” he really does have it.
Apparently the whole family went to Humane Society two weeks ago to start looking for the next dog. He said his mom only wants girl dogs, she doesn’t want boy dogs. The summer lifeguards are all 16 years old and live at home. So every conversation I have with them about their life, you always hear their parents’ decisions. Last week Anthony told us “his dad said he can keep Montana, his dog, Montana will just be an indoor dog, and hang out with Anthony in his room.” Anthony was overjoyed with his dad’s decision since the week before Anthony had told us, “my dad says I have till Sunday to find new home for Montana or he goes to the pound.”
I don’t know the name of the young lifeguard I was chatting with two days ago, the one whose mom wants another kid but is willing to get another dog instead, and won’t have a boy dog, just likes girl dogs. But he told me “there are a lot of litters of puppies at the pound now.” So then my ears really perked up, as we are in the period of discussion of which dog would be good second dog for Beanie. And he said “there was a two-year-old basset hound there too.” “Billy!” I shrieked across the pool. “Come hear this!! There’s a basset hound at the pound right now!”
So Bill swam over, and I swam away to finish my swim and let the lifeguard tell Bill all about the puppies at the pound and the basset hound. I guess that’s when Bill found out he lives on 7 acre ranch by Reddington Road.
So we talked about the basset hound at the pound on the way home.
And yesterday morning when Bill woke up, that was the first topic he brought up, so I knew he was thinking seriously about it. “Call the pound” he said, “and find out if the basset is still there. We will be at Billie’s pool tomorrow, which is a hop skip and jump from Kelvin Street where the pound is, we can take a look at her.”
When I tried to call Humane Society, their answering machine said they don’t open till 9 am. But when I googled to find their phone number, and clicked on their site, there were pictures and descriptions of every dog they have up for adoption now.
None said “basset hound” but one said “hound.” It just said “it is a young hound named Harley.” And there was the photo. So I called Bill in.
Of course there was a spaniel which was so cute, the spaniel looked just like my Beanie. I notice whenever I go to pound for second dog, I always want one just like the one I have at home. I am always totally in love with the dog I have now at home, and want one just like her or him. So naturally this time I wanted one just like Beanie.
But Bill rightfully so, is very concerned about Beanie’s feelings. Partly because Beanie has mental problems, but also just for his feelings. “Beanie is a star” Bill said, “he won’t want another dog to outshine him.” It is why Bill was so attracted to Harley when he saw the photo. “He is a schlub” Bill said, “a big fat happy schlub, no way will he outshine Beanie, he is perfect for Beanie.”
I don’t know why I have to go get the biggest schlub in the pound, when there were some really cute ones up on that site. But of course Bill is right. The only dog Beanie might be willing to put with is a total schlub. Beanie is the sparkling star. His brother has to be the biggest schlub in the world, which clearly Harley is.
After 9 am I called the pound and talked to Jackie. She said Harley is the only basset they have, and he is 3 years old. We couldn’t tell from the photo that Harley was basset, it just said “hound,” and he didn’t look bassety at all in his photo.
But Jackie said he is basset hound mix, so I reported back to Bill. But then Jan called, and we haven’t chatted for a month, I wanted to talk to her on the phone. And when I got off it was time to leave for the pool. The clouds had massed, there could be lightning and storm at any time.
Bill said “I’ll put my thinking cap on, and think about Harley in the pool.”
So I swam and he chatted with Ray at end of lane, where they talked about everything under the sun.
He didn’t go to the movies in the afternoon, he sat in his chair in living room and read “Shogun.” Outside was full of thunder and little Beanie was so scared.
We were both so trepidatious about how Beanie would react to Harley. Beanie does have that problem, he starts up with every dog. When Bill had confided Beanie’s problem to the young lifeguard (Bill told him he took Beanie to the park last month and Beanie started 3 fights with the 3 dogs he saw) and lifeguard told Bill “you have to interrupt the eye contact, first they make eye contact then they fight, but if you do something which breaks the eye contact, then Beanie won’t pounce.”
Where Beanie get the chutzpah to jump at huge big ferocious dogs, I don’t know. He is a fice! It makes Bill’s life hell. Because Beanie pounces on little tiny dogs, which makes the owner want to murder Bill. And Beanie jumps at big huge ferocious dogs which scares Bill that Beanie will get himself hurt. “What we need is the dog whisperer” Bill said the other day, “to solve Beanie’s aggression problem.”
But the young lifeguard told Bill "if you break the eye contact, it won’t happen! move their head to side, anything where eye contact is broken! spritz them with water! anything!" So Bill is planning to have a little hose nearby when poor Harley arrives in the ogre’s den. Bill thinks if he sprays some water on Beanie while Beanie makes eye contact with Harley before he charges him, that that will save Harley.
The idea that we will save Harley from the pound and give him a beautiful home. And that Beanie will have the total joy of having a brother, someone to comfort him when thunder scares him, someone to keep him company when we go out and he is alone, and someone to play in the yard with and rush to the fence and bark with. The whole idea behind all of this is total joy for Beanie and total joy for Harley.
But the obstacle to this vision of joy, is what will happen when we bring Harley home. I’m not so worried about Harley having to put up with Beanie, the dictator and the tyrant. Because I saw how beautifully Lulu finessed it. She simply ignored nutcase Beanie. And got everything she wanted. And what she liked very much was lots and lots of delicious treats of every possible kind. Which of course she got. She could care less if Beanie gobbled up his food and then pushed her out of the way to gobble up her food. Because she knew, in that sublime way basset hounds have of knowing, that the whole universe is devoted to their happiness. She merely has to stand and wait, and plate of delicious food will be set before her, far more delicious and far more of it, than what Beanie just gobbled up. And it was true, that is always what happened. And when I served her her dainties (my Lulu had a sweet tooth, she liked cookies from the bakery, she liked candy) Beanie would rush in and push her out of the way. But when he saw what it was, he would leave, he doesn’t like sweets, so she would happily eat all her treats. She wound up with more of everything she loves when Beanie was here, not less, which is just what will happen with Harley.
I just hope that Harley doesn’t mind being totally bossed around by Beanie. Lulu didn’t mind it.
O well I guess the trick is to look at the big picture. Harley needs a home, and we want to give Harley a wonderful home. Beanie does need a brother. Cool weather will come eventually, we have a huge big great yard, the two lads can have a ball in it. It will be so nice for Beanie to have a playmate. He loves to play, and is banned from the dog runs for misbehavior.
O the little birdie is swinging on the slender branch. I didn’t know birds love to swing.
It’s amazing how much the sparrows enjoy the tree out my window. They love hopping from branch to branch, I guess it is like a monkey-bars for them. My whole yard is huge playground for the birds.
Love, Anne
