Every year, at exactly this time, I decide that I will become a gardener. Not somebody who sticks a few pansies in the ground once a year, but one of those serious Connecticut gardeners. The type of woman you see around here with the craggy, sun-weathered face, cracked, wrinkled, atrophied hands, a perpetual stoop and a backyard that would put Queen Elizabeth’s to shame.

Now that I’m reaching a certain age, I tell myself every spring, instead of trying to resurrect my fading youth with expensive skin products and beauty treatments, I should really just throw in the towel and start beautifying the land. I have all sorts of fantasies of opening my home to one of the many garden tours they have around here, and getting all sorts of accolades and awards. Then I spend one day digging and planting and I decide that beautifying my skin, my horse, my house, ANYTHING, is easier than beautifying the land.

This year, though, after spending an exceptionally glorious day outside, digging and planting, I think I might stick with it and really try to cultivate some color around here. We have a split-rail fence that is lined with very ugly mesh because it’s required by law. It’s technically a pool fence and is supposed to prevent roaming bands of unsupervised children from falling into our pool. A few years ago, I bought a small Clematis plant, stuck it in the ground near the fence, and promptly forgot its name (thank you to those who reminded me on a recent blog). It now covers a whole section of fence and looks like this:

Now I want to cover the rest of the fence with Morning Glories. I was inspired by a fence at Moses Pendleton’s botanical wonderland:

So I found some that had already been started at a local greenhouse and planted these today:

We bought our house because of the towering, centuries-old trees that surround it. They’re like a natural umbrella, sheltering our house and patio, and though everybody has told me that we will someday die from one of the trees falling through the roof in the middle of a storm and crushing us all in our beds, I think the eventual, inevitable doom is a small price to pay for this:

I planted some impatiens around one of the trees.

While I was digging, I came across a toad. Of course, the dogs were lounging around and they soon saw it, and started trying to paw at it and bite it.

The last time I picked up a toad it peed on me, so I transported it, via spade, to what I thought would be a safe haven.

Somebody was still keen on toad hunting.

And the next thing I knew, she was walking toward me, gagging and squinting pitifully with her mouth covered in foam.

I know, can you believe I took a photo? Well, it only took a second to snap a shot, then I looked for toad, which I found, hopping around, so I knew she hadn’t swallowed it. She must have had it in her mouth and it gave off some kind of toxin. So I ran inside to call my friend Jen, because she’s a vet, and a dog person, and our vet is closed on Sundays. I wanted to see if the dog was going to die. Jen wasn’t home, but I was assured by the internet that the toxin carried by toads in this part of the country is just irritating, but not usually lethally poisonous to dogs. The frothing went away, but poor Lulu, who virtually lives outdoors, could not be persuaded to leave the house for hours. Instead, she made VERY sad faces at me.

She’s fully recovered now.

Anyway, I know there are some gardeners who read this blog and I’d love to hear about your gardens. Also, I have two sad-looking rose bushes. I planted them a few years ago, and because they were supposed to be hardy, I’ve left them to fend for themselves. I was looking at them today and recalling that people always talk about pruning rose bushes. Is that something you do in the spring or in the fall? Does it matter?

His name is Oliver.

He’s two days old today.

He belongs to my friend Jen Carolan who breeds sport horses.

He’s a very friendly little fellow:

I’m afraid you’re going to be seeing a lot of him around here, I could watch this little guy all day:

It’s all I have to bring today
by Emily Dickinson

It’s all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

I just received these wonderful photos from the Momix show Botanica. I blogged the other day about the show but didn’t have nice photos to share. Now I do!



Photos by Max Pucciariello

Ahhhhh, thank you Moses, this blog needed some beauty.

Last night we went to see the play God Of Carnage, starring James Gandolfini, Hope Davis, Marcia Gay Harden and Jeff Daniels. It was so great. I laughed until I cried, seriously, but I’m one of those people who can’t really laugh without crying. If you’re in the NYC area and looking for a good show, go! We went backstage to visit with Mr. Gandolfini after the show. Such a sweet guy. I loved him in this show.

Then, we met our friends Alice Hoffman and her husband Tom Martin for dinner. Best selling author ( and one of my new favorite people) Alice has a new book coming out on June 2nd called The Story Sisters. It’s not in stores yet, but I’ve already got mine, thanks to Alice, and will be curling up with it tonight.

If you caught yesterday’s post you’ll know that I routinely embarrass myself in public and as promised, here’s another example.

First, I must explain that I often have a difficult time interacting with Denis’s fans. Denis spends a good deal of time in the city and meets and converses with his fans daily. I spend most of my time out here in our nice little town where people pretty much ignore us (well, they used to shoot holes in our mailbox with shotguns, but we got a PO Box and now they ignore us.) Anyway, when I’m out with Denis in the city, or when we’re traveling, I still get very excited when people recognize Denis. It’s just that we were together for years while he was trying to get work and become a successful actor/comic and now that he is, and people acknowledge that, it’s VERY exciting for me. And, like I said, I’m not around it as much as he is. I really just don’t know how to deal with the people we meet on the streets.

Typically, Denis and I will be walking along a sidewalk in Manhattan and another couple will pass. The man will say something like, “Hey! Denis Leary!”

Denis will nod and smile and keep walking along, talking to me about whatever, but I will turn and wave frantically and smile at the guy and his girlfriend, which will prompt one of them to say, “We love Rescue Me!”

I then interrupt Denis to say, “Oh my God, honey, those people love your show.” Denis turns and says,

“Thanks,” then he tries to continue on but I’m still shouting my own thanks to the people: “Wow, thanks guys!

That’s SO nice.”

We will now be half a block away from these strangers, but my obvious interest in maintaining a conversation with them will prompt one of them to shout, “MY SISTER-IN-LAW GREW UP IN WORCESTER!” which will make me tug on Denis’s sleeve and say, “Honey, honey, their sister-in-law grew up in Worcester.” Denis will then shoot me a look of extreme annoyance and holler back, “GREAT!” and then drag me off.

It’s weird. The people are speaking English, but I feel compelled to repeat everything they say, to Denis, like a translator, and then I often answer the people for Denis as if he is unable to speak.

So anyway, here’s one of many stories in which I disgraced myself while interacting with Denis’s fans. We were at the US OPEN women’s tennis finals a few years ago. Denis and I had just started playing tennis and we were obsessed. Somebody invited us to sit in their box and watch the match, and we brought the kids and had a great time. You have to take an elevator down from these boxes and when the match is over, everybody crowds around these elevators and shoves their way in.

We were riding down and Denis was staring up at the floor numbers that were ticking away and I was staring into the face of a woman whose toes were touching mine. She was with a guy who was grinning shyly at Denis.

The woman smiled and said, “We’re big fans,” and I did the whole, “Honey, these people are big fans of yours…” thing.

Then the woman said, “You guys must have people saying stuff like this to you all the time,” and I smiled warmly and said, looking her dead in the eye, “yes, we do,” and for some reason both the woman and her boyfriend suddenly frowned and looked away. This caused me to mentally rewind and play her words, and I realized that she had said “You guys must hate people saying stuff like this to you all the time,” AND I HAD SMILED (wickedly, it would seem) AND SAID “YES WE DO!”

The elevator doors opened and the people started to stomp off but I actually chased them through the crowd saying, “No, wait….excuse me …I thought you said…” but they were not interested in anything I had to say at that point.

When I returned to my family my kids were dying of embarrassment. Jack kept saying, “Why were you so mean to those nice people?” I was trying not to cry. Denis said, “Listen, I’ve said it before. I don’t want to have to say it again. Leave…the people…alone.”

Today was a gorgeous Memorial Day here in Northwestern Connecticut. For some reason I thought rain was in the forecast, so I had planned to work on my book. Instead, it was warm, bright and sunny and just a perfect day to go to Steep Rock. I actually groomed Snoopy and was all set to load him onto the trailer, when Mark’s sad, disbelieving gaze over the gate nearly broke my heart. So I groomed him up and off we went. I had originally planned to bring Snoopy because he’s a big black horse. I knew there’d be a lot of people in Steep Rock and the big black horse is so much cooler looking than the short, chubby grey horse with the idiosyncratic gait (and the manure stains on his forehead). But, as usual, I was glad I brought Mark. He was glad, too – nearly dragged me onto the trailer.

I had forgotten that there’s a Memorial Day parade in my town and when I got to the main road, it was closed, so I had to take a detour. I took a road that I used to drive all the time, but haven’t since my kids finished elementary school. I was so glad that I had been rerouted because it’s the more scenic drive. I took some photos from my window.

Ever since I got my new rig, I’ve enjoyed transporting my horses almost as much as riding them. I haven’t had a chance to figure out the radio settings, but it has satellite radio, and it has been preset to a station called “Classic Vinyl.” Now, “Classic Vinyl” is not a station I would choose when driving my car, but somehow, it’s the perfect music for driving a Ford diesel F-350 pick-up with a gooseneck trailer attached. About every ten minutes or so, they play something by the Rolling Stones. In between, today, they played the Kinks, Janice Joplin, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Eagles. I thought I heard “Tequila Sunrise” a hundred million times too many during the seventies, but bouncing along in your pick-up, on a winding country road, it’s sort of a perfect song. Fortunately, there were only cows on the roadside, so I didn’t disturb any humans with my caterwauling.

At Steep Rock, as I said there were many hikers and a few other riders. My friend Marina O’Malley went jogging past me and I said hello to her. She had to do a double take, as I was up on the horse with the helmet and everything. Then she said, “Hi Ann!” There were people jogging behind her, people behind me, people everywhere. Marina then pulled her earphones from one of her ears and (I thought) said, “It’s beautiful up there,” and I said, (thinking she meant up the hill ahead), “I know!”

Then, I realized that in fact she had said, “You look beautiful up there!”

AND I HAD SAID, “I KNOW!”

I jerked Mark to a halt and started screaming after her, “NO! NO! Marina, I thought you said ….” but she had stuck her earphones back in her ears and was running away, I’m sure, thinking that I’m just as vain as everybody has always said, so I actually turned to the woman walking her German Shephard behind me, and shouted, “I thought she said it looks beautiful up there …ahead, you know. ”

The woman scowled at me and then quickly looked away and I rode off, but Marina, if you happen to read this, I THOUGHT YOU SAID IT LOOKS BEAUTIFUL UP AHEAD!” I’m dying, still, over this. Marina, by the way, looks beautiful wherever she is.

Now I’m supposed to be making dinner but tomorrow I will tell you of another incident in which I misinterpreted what a person said and humiliated myself. Honestly, I could write volumes on this topic. I do it all the time. I just have some kind of social ADD where I get nervous/excited when talking to a person and I finish their sentences for them with my thoughts, and then I reply. Only afterwards do I realize what the person actually said. It’s a curse, I tell you.

I’ll leave you with these photos I took of some of the blooms around our house. I love flowers and plants but don’t know the names of any of them. So here are these guys:

And these creeping wonders:

Wisteria?

And these wonderfully mysterious irises. I know what an iris looks like, because they are one of my favorite flowers, but I always thought we couldn’t have them here because of all the deer. I’ve never planted them, but now, suddenly, we have irises blooming near a gate. We’ve lived here for 12 years and I’ve never seen them before.

This place is so haunted that way. Always with beauty.

Yesterday we went into the city. The West Side Highway was very slow with everybody gawking at all the military ships that were docked next to the USS Intrepid. It’s Fleet Week in New York.

There were sailors everywhere. This is how they look at the beginning of the night, all clean and pressed.

They like to take in the culture while in the city. I happen to know that many military men enjoy the art of dance, as I have seen them staggering out of exotic dancing clubs at dawn, looking completely dazzled (and slightly disoriented, God bless them, they’re just intoxicated by their love of dance.)

Speaking of dance, we finally got to see Botanica, the new show by Momix which is playing at the Joyce Theater in Manhattan. Moses Pendleton and Cynthia Quinn, the directors and choreographers of Momix live near us and we had seen some of the pieces while the company was rehearsing last fall, so it was great fun seeing the final production. It was just beautiful.

Well, I stole these images from a European newspaper and don’t know how to enlarge them. Maybe Moses will email me some better images to post here. Really, it was so great, Denis was sick with a head cold and still loved it. There was a standing ovation at the end. One of the pieces moved me to tears. Try to see the show if you’re in the New York area.

We went backstage after the show and met the dancers.

That’s Cynthia in the print dress and Moses in the black shirt. We had dinner with them afterward and, well, they’re great. We meet a lot of interest ing people, but Moses and Cynthia are REALLY interesting people. And fun. And funny.

Today we went to a great barbecue and came home when it started pouring to bring in the horses. It’s a summer thunderstorm, one of my favorite things, when I’m inside.

Our friend and resident poet/language professor Phil Holland has composed a poem for me!

The other day, I commented here, in response to his last poem, that I have a hard time remembering when to use “affect” and when to use “effect.” In what seemed like a matter of minutes, the brilliant Mr. Holland had whipped up a very clever poem to help me. He emailed it to me straight away, but I begged him to recite it, because everybody loves his voice so much. I must say I was blushing and grinning maniacally when I heard him utter my name on YouTube. I think it’s my YouTube debut. Please, don’t try to prove me wrong by finding some embarrassing footage of me on YouTube, this would have a very negative effect on my self esteem, forcing me to affect a haughty and dismissive attitude toward you all, my dear blog friends. Let’s hope I got that right.

Here it is. I’m just blushing away.

I know some of you can’t view the videos on your computers, so here’s the poem:

One for Ann (Ann, for One)
Okay, does anybody know a clever trick to help me figure out
when to use “affect” and when to use “effect”?
Posted by Ann Leary | May 19, 2009 10:22 AM

It’s like a curse, this lesson,
Though it’s what I should expect
For deciding that I’d teach
You how “affect” is not “effect.”
They’re cousins in confusion,
And they’re both two parts of speech,
Though with pronunciation
That is different for each.
Effect (the noun) is easy,
It means “result produced,”
“The effect on home run hitting
When a batter’s, you know, ‘juiced.’”
Effect can also be a verb,
“To produce, to bring about,”
“To effect the needed changes,”
With both parties or without.
Affect (the verb) means “influence”
“To affect how someone swings,”
“To affect a mood or outcome –
Or the taste of chicken wings.”
I probably should mention
A secondary sense,
“To feign, to make a show of” –
“To affect indifference.”
That gives us “affectation”,
As when you put on airs
So the maitre d’ will seat you
With the other millionaires.
Lastly, affect (noun, and note the stress)
Is rather seldom heard,
It means a show of feeling,
Though it’s quite a formal word.
Now then, have I affected you,
And will you now retain
The effect of all this rhyming?
Say yes, because the pain
Of making these cursed verses
Better not have been in vain!
– Phil Holland

I’m just not that into cooking. There, now I’ve said it. You can stop looking for my “Recipes” category. You won’t find one on this blog.

If you’re just starting a family, don’t make the mistake I did and prepare meals for everybody all the time, or they’ll come to expect them and if you don’t put the food out, they won’t know how to find it themselves. Like birds who have been fed out of a bird feeder for too long, they will become helpless and dependent. They will end up like Elsa, in Born Free, unable to live as they should … someplace else where they have to get their own damn dinner.

You don’t have to thank me. I offer this advice for free. Now what should I cook for dinner?

Regarding Sailor
by Ann Leary
Several have asked what happened to Sailor,
And here’s my answer to you.
Glue is an under-rated substance,
Without it what would we do?
It’s an epoxy with moxie,
A fixer, a binder,
It bonds with paper and wood,
WIthout it, books, toys, shoes and cards
Well, they just wouldn’t be any good.
Yes, horses are lovely, courageous and loyal,
Most of them are, it’s true.
But Sailor, our dear, troubled Sailor, well,
Let’s just remember the virtues of glue!

Oh I’m JUST KIDDING! I answered Sandy’s question about what happened to Sailor in one of the comments. I gave him to a trainer friend. Sailor is an athlete who needed to pursue a show career, and I really just like having my sweet trail horses now. But I’ll see if my friend will email me a photo, just to assure you that we didn’t send the poor beast off to the glue factory.