There are were only two newsy personalities I follow(ed): the late Anthony Bourdain and Rachel Maddow. Maddow breaks down the political news of the day on cable TV’s MSNBC, an unabashedly progressive network.
Back in the day she used to mix cocktails once a week at the end of her show. She is funny and smart and presents the facts, however hard and complicated, in a way that makes them understandable. She connects the dots. Last week she broke down and cried when she tried to read the late-breaking report that the ICE opened prisons for babies and toddlers. That was too much even for Rachel. Continue reading Be The Media. Be There For The Kids→
Not the glass of drinking water that’s an arm’s length away. I need to wake up each day near the kind of water that undulates, has personality. For almost a decade I lived on Long Island’s south shore, not on the water but near enough to smell it from my house. A quick drive or bike ride took me to the canals. (I no longer remember what bay the canals fed from.) One exit on the highway led to the ocean beach. The energy there relaxed me and made me happy.
Art amazes me, mostly because I had no training in it or exposure to it when I was young. There was always music, and there were pretty photographs, but painting, sculpture and pottery remained mysterious.
Even now, to some extent.
I was mesmerized watching a watercolor demonstration at a recent Art in The Park event. There was beauty in the artist’s instruction and offhand banter, especially with his students as they visited. It was hot outside, even under the tent. We bought water and returned to watch more magic. My cultured friend learned technique while I just gaped.
I never saw the finished product; it will be a nice outdoor scene. Ironically, that’s not a painting I’d buy and display but it was fun watching how it happens.
Irony: All these vivid colors in mostly white paint tubes. Weird.
Reminiscing about the 2013 heat wave, when my daughter and I cooled off in the deep, cool water of a marina we probably were not supposed to be. We didn’t have to jump in, just dangled our feet off the pier.
The Northeast United States just had a blizzard which, thankfully, was just a bad snowstorm where I live. But we are contending with piles of icy grey snow. New York City plows the center of most streets but the sides, where we park our cars, are not cleared. Today my little car got stuck on a thick patch of ice, with snow packed underneath. No amount of salting and shoveling would make it budge. (I actually laid down in the snow to clear under the car.) Then two guys appeared and helped me chip away the worst of the ice to allow me to continue the park. As soon as I was safe one of them drove past; he never complained that I was blocking him!
All in all, not a bad way to end an afternoon. I’d still rather be someplace warm.
I froze through an otherwise delightful tour of some Long Island wineries yesterday. It seems that everybody else was comfortable in pretty sweaters and sweatshirts, but I, in a winter sweater, vest and leather jacket, could not stay warm.
But the wines, the company and the music were great fun.
Tucked away in a sleepy corner of Long Island is a municipal miracle.
When I was a girl, I remember a stinky stretch of highway on approach to the beach. That offending garbage landfill was capped. In 2000, it opened as Levy Park, a 115-foot high hill with guided paths to the top. Along the way are native vegetation, weed-eating goats, tick-eating Guinea fowl, exercise stations, views that remind you of just where you are.