November Chores and Pleasures

IT’S ALMOST HERE. Winter, I mean. The clocks set themselves back last night while we slept. Remember going around the house, taking clocks off walls and down from shelves and manually resetting them? Another thing to be nostalgic about. I woke up here in my Long Island cottage and the cable box, computer, and iPhone had all take care of themselves. All I had to do was reset the stove. It’s nice to be up early, with the golden light of morning creeping through the woods…even though it’s “really” not that early.

Yesterday I built a compost bin out of cinderblocks and I’m quite unreasonably proud of the thing. Had been Googling “mulch with whole oak leaves,” thinking I might just rake them off the paths and lawn and into the beds and woods and have done with it. I’m in the middle of what amounts to an oak forest, and there are a lot more leaves to come. Meanwhile, my garden helper hasn’t shown up in weeks, not even to collect the money I owe him. He must be busy raking other people’s lawns.

I’d started a leaf pile next to my kitchen-scraps pile, but it was growing unmanageably large and I wondered how I might contain it. Wire mesh and metal stakes? I looked in the cellar to see what I had: nothing. Then I remembered the pile of cement blocks stashed under a large evergreen at the back of the property. They were too heavy to throw away and I thought they might come in handy someday for building a retaining wall, a foundation, a …compost bin? OK, it’s not a thing of great beauty, but it does the job. I would have made it higher but I ran out of blocks. Anyway, I got great satisfaction re-purposing something that was there already.

I’m out in the country for a few weeks, all things being equal. Naturally, I have a long list of garden chores. Plant ‘minor’ (small) bulbs in the blank space under the magnolia. Wrap burlap around deer-vulnerable and winter-burn-prone shrubs (that’s a big job, to be delayed until I’m feeling particularly energetic). Keep watering and spraying (anti-deer). Spread compost in the perennial beds. Rake, rake, rake.

There’s a can of sunflower yellow Rust-o-leum paint at the ready for this Dada-esque tractor seat, found in the house when I bought it 2-1/2 years ago. Another long-postponed project, but just the thing for a quiet fall evening in the country, listening to Philip Glass or Jagjit Singh, pot of ridiculously nutritious soup bubbling away on the stove…

I’m trying to savor the things I have accomplished here in this garden, so easily forgotten once they’re under control. The wisteria that once had a choke-hold on everything has been vanquished. The agepodium several landscape contractors wanted to Round-Up into submission has largely disappeared, through patient hand-weeding. The backyard, once impenetrable, now an open expanse. And many more.

A dear longtime friend of mine is very ill, making me acutely aware of life’s little pleasures. I’ve been going to yoga at KamaDeva in East Hampton; yesterday’s class ended with this prayer, which I’m moved to share in this month of Thanksgiving. (Don’t read on if you’re not a fan of this sort of thing. I am.)

Love before me Love behind me Love at my left Love at my right Love above me Love below me Love unto me Love in my surroundings Love to all Love to the Universe

Peace before me Peace behind me Peace at my left Peace at my right Peace above me Peace below me Peace unto me Peace in my surroundings Peace to all Peace to the Universe

Light before me Light behind me Light at my left Light at my right Light above me Light below me Light unto me Light in my surroundings Light to all Light to the Universe

Nice to Meet You, Prospect Heights

I’M RE-ACQUAINTING MYSELF WITH BROOKLYN after an absence of a year-and-a-half, and discovering my new neighborhood, Prospect Heights. It’s hardly major culture shock, since I lived in Brooklyn most of my adult life, but still, there’s a learning curve. A person has to figure out where the nearest laundromat is, which delis carry soy yogurt, exactly what time you have to re-park your car after double-parking on alternate-side days in order to nab a spot, and so on.

Sure, I rented this apartment largely for its proximity to the Brooklyn Museum, the botanic garden, and the public library, but right now, the quotidian stuff is taking precedence.

Typical Prospect Heights limestone

This morning I joined the pre-Thanksgiving madness at the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket, though all I bought was a bunch of eucalyptus (I’m going upstate for the holiday and not doing major cooking). Then I went to a 12:30 class at Shambhala, a storefront yoga studio three rather long blocks away, where I was the oldest by far (I tend to be conscious of these things). This neighborhood is young, something I never felt in Springs, where gray-haired people like me go to retire.

I had lunch at my go-to café, Milk Bar (where I also raised the median age considerably), and popped into Met Food for staples. Everything I need is right around the corner, either on Vanderbilt or Flatbush Avenues – banks, drug stores, about seven dry cleaners, hardware, shoe repair – convenient as hell, yet neatly tucked out of sight of my handsome landmark block.

Then I went to Pintchik, the venerable paint store, for yet another paint sample. I’m homing in on a color for my bedroom. With the yellow living room, below, a great success (according to everyone who’s seen it), I feel I need something equally strong for the bedroom.

I started in the coral family, moved to pink, and now I’m thinking red/orange. Clearly it will be on the warm side of the color wheel, but nothing so far feels right. The Pintchik guys will get to know me well.

Of course, as I made my rounds, I checked out the row-house architecture on surrounding blocks and was fascinated by how the styles differ from older neighborhoods like Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill, and Boerum Hill, which are filled with Federal and Greek Revival brickfronts and classic brownstones. Here in Prospect Heights it’s more varied, stylistically, and closer to turn-of-the-20th-century, with lots of limestone.

Looking at the decorative detail on a short stretch of Prospect Place between Vanderbilt and Underhill, I saw several carved faces in the lintels above doorways, something I never noticed much before. It must have been a late 19th century thing; the one below even looks like a mad Teddy Roosevelt.

I’m back in Brooklyn, but in some ways it’s a whole new world.