A Favorite Connecticut neighbor

As I mentioned, this past weekend I decided that it might be a good idea to move to California.

When I think something is a good idea (go ahead, click on the link – it’s my very first blog entry), I don’t mull it over and have lengthy discussions with my family members and take the time to consider everything involved. No, in the nanosecond that the animated lightbulb first flickers above my thick head, I spring into action. The thought of moving to California occurred to me on Saturday morning and by Sunday I had picked out a house on the internet, researched the barns and riding facilities, informed the kids and husband, managed to whip the kids and husband  into an absolute frenzy of thrilled anticipation regarding the move, said my teary farewells to my closest friends and was starting to research horse transportation options.   That’s when I came across a story on the web about evacuating horses from the canyon – our canyon – during a crazy fire. One of those Santa Ana winds fires was racing through the hills and down the canyon, straight for the enclosure where a blogger’s horses were kept.  She needed to evacuate them, but there was some complication regarding her trailer. I don’t think I even finished reading, instead I ran up to my own barn to hug my mud-encrusted horses and try to restore my breathing. Then I remembered why we didn’t move to LA when Denis first started working in films.  It was because of the “earthquake kit.”

When the kids were very small, not even in preschool yet, we spent a winter in Los Angeles while Denis worked on a movie.  The studio put us up in a beautiful house in Santa Monica. At the time we were still living in a small apartment in New York that had two tiny bedrooms and the baby still had to share our room with us. Needless to say, our sprawling house in beautiful Santa Monica gave us a taste for the good life and we started talking about moving to LA.  Why didn’t we move?  Well, we couldn’t afford it, for one. It was hard leaving the fabulous loaner house and looking at shacks we could afford in central Los Angeles, but that wasn’t the determining factor. It was the “earthquake kit’ that made us yearn for the safe comfort of our roach-infested New York digs.

One day, the kids and I were at a little playground on the beach in Santa Monica.  I was still planning to move to LA –  the playgrounds are on the beach, you see, and they’re clean and don’t have rats eating from the garbage.  I asked another mom (all the moms in Santa Monica were beautiful and cool and their two-year-olds already knew how to surf) about the local preschools. She was very enthusiastic about her childrens’ school, but somewhere in the conversation the term “earthquake kit” came up.  When I asked cool LA mom about this kit she explained, “It’s just a little backpack you keep at the school. It has all the stuff the kid will need if there’s an earthquake and you can’t get to him right away.”

Stuff the 3-year-old will need if you can’t get to him.  

“What’s in the kit?” I asked, clutching my daughter to my breast.

“Just, you know, their favorite snack, clean underwear. Oh, and you’re supposed to include a photo of the family, so the child won’t miss you as much.

And that’s when we stopped looking at real-estate in Los Angeles.  How could I send a child to school with a kit like that?  ”Don’t worry, if Mommy and Daddy are trapped beneath rubble for 6 days, you’ll have clean undies for when you finally start using the toilet, and this photo of us, so you’ll be fine.”

How would you go about selecting the photo that would become your child’s substitute family?  Should Denis and I be smiling, so the kids would remember us looking happy?  Or frowning, so they’d know we were sad about being apart from them. Should the children be in the picture?  Would that scare them if we were dead?  Who would take care of them if we were dead? My kids didn’t even know our names, we were just “Mommy” and “Daddy.”  How would anyone know who they were?  So when the movie shooting was over, we fled to the safety of Manhattan and never looked back.  Until last weekend.

After the scary horse/fire story, I started googling information about the area.  I wanted a little history to make me warm up to the place, that’s all.  As it happens, the history of this lovely area is dominated by a legendary family and their ranch.  Yes, that would be the Manson family and the Spahn Ranch.

I spent a good two hours watching YouTube footage of Charlie and Tex and the gals and honestly, I’m thinking I’ll need something prescribed for my anxiety in order for me to even visit LA next week.  What had I been thinking?

Plus, Holly and I are just getting good at this:

Photo by Moses Pendleton

Look what our friend Moses saw in the snow!  Do you see it? The dog? It’s a dog, barking.

Hey! How are you guys?  I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without blogging.  I’ve received some frantic emails from readers and the other day, a very lovely Lynn, who has never commented here, introduced herself to me in our local market and asked my why I haven’t been blogging.  I get a little excited when I meet people who read my blog, so I chatted her up in the store, then chatted her up in the parking lot and then I actually made her come over to my car so she could meet Gomer and Holly (she was very polite, but I saw her glance at her watch a few times).  Well, it’s nice to be missed, and no, I am not ill, nor have I died, though I do suffer from bouts of this, but that’s nothing new.  I’ve just been working on some final (I hope they’re final) revisions of my novel, and I’ve been reading and exercising the horses and exercising the dogs.  Doing the radio show. That’s about it.

Oh, and we’re moving to California.

Okay, we might move to California. Some day.

Moving to California probably sounds like a rather sudden and impulsive idea, but in fact it’s something I’ve been thinking about since yesterday, so I’ve really had time to weigh all the pros and cons and have now logged about 28 consecutive hours looking at real estate online, and I think I’ve seen all I need to see. It’s GORGEOUS in California. Did you guys know this? Also, our son Jack is out there now, finishing his last semester of film school, so we started orienting ourselves west, the moment he left for the airport.  He moved there in January, and though we never saw him when he was in Boston, we felt then, that he was nearby.  I guess we’ve never been so far removed, geographically, from either of our children and one of us has had a hard time adapting. One of us flew out to LA with Jack and hung around the new apartment while he moved in, then kept inviting him for dinner. Then that same one of us kept scheduling meetings and writing sessions in LA and,in fact, that one of us is back in LA this week (dining with Jack tonight).  Yes, Denis has been stalking Jack.  Devin and I are joining them next weekend. Dev is also a film major and it occurred to me that she might end up in Los Angeles as well, so, just out of curiosity I decided to have a peek at some real-estate listings online.  And that’s where I’ve been for the past 28 hours.

I’ve decided, if we do live in LA, we will live in a canyon. Like Joni Mitchell.  And we’re going to grow herbs and take up yoga and instead of being an EMT, I’ll become one of those people who does energy work, because I have a lot of energy and why not put it to work?  I’ll heal people with my chakra (okay, I have no idea what chakra is but I think I have it, in spades). I just feel very good vibes about some of the places I have seen in this canyon.  Some of the homes are really earthy and stuck in a kind of 1970s time-warp. Just really groovy.  I was looking at this  funky, run-down ranch and reading about all the so-called rock & roll legends who had lived there or slept there or just mellowed out there and I actually could smell marijuana coming from my computer screen. I think I got a contact high.  So, you know, why not have a look at a few places when we’re out there next week?  What’s the harm?  I just want to see if they really do smell like pot or not. That’s all.

Does anybody have any idea what the title of this post means?  Does anybody know the words that follow? If you do, you’ll get why I have such a romantic idea about being a lady of the canyon.

Now, here’s Holly, to remind us that Spring is coming to New England.

Denis was in the city last night so not only was I not a witness to the bellowing. offerings of praise to the Lord, and tears of joy, but I was also completely unaware that the Bruins won the Stanley Cup last night until I read it on Twitter.  Very exciting. Go Bruins, etc.   I’m not a huge sports fan, but I love Boston dearly.

I was here in Connecticut trying to take photos of the full moon, which is very hard, due to moon illusion, which is a phenomenon that never ceases to fascinate me.  I took the above photo after the giant moon was just peeking above the trees on the horizon. Of course, it looked small in the photo, due to moon illusion.

Then, when it had risen above the treetops, I took another:

I thought if I messed around with the resolution, once I had downloaded it into iPhoto, you might be able to see the landscape better.  This is what happened, which pleased me, so I cropped it and here it is:

I don’t know why the red ring was suddenly visible around the moon, nor why a white ray slanted through it from the heavens down onto my hill. Maybe somebody smart like Alan will be able to give us a scientific explanation regarding gases and the atmosphere.  I prefer to think it was magic.

I also learned something interesting last night. If you take outdoor photos with your flash on, at night, the colors are incredible.  Here are some hostas at the foot of an old maple tree:

And a rosebush:

But keep your wits about you on the night of a full moon. I had no idea that the entire time I was taking photos, I was being followed by an enormous monster who was padding quietly at my heel:

And today I was delighted to receive an email from my friend Dermot McEvoy wishing me a happy Bloomsday.  So I’ll leave you with what I would argue is one of the most beautiful passages in literature.  I have learned this year, through Ancestry.Com, that though my mother’s maiden name is Sullivan, I am almost entirely German by heritage. Still, when reading Irish poems and literature, especially Joyce, I remind myself that my last name is Leary now, and when my husband asked me to take the name, I decided to be a little more Irish and yes I said yes I will yes.

“…I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusion girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. ”

 

 

 

The Apple Store in Soho has been doing a very cool series of “Meet the Author” events and tomorrow’s event with Susan Orlean is also part of Book Expo America which is taking place in Manhattan this week. It’s free, but seating is limited, so get there early.

On Wednesday I stopped in Bergdorf Goodman’s because I heard that they were having a sale.  It was lunchtime, and I realized I would need some fortification before braving the sales racks, so I went up to the restaurant, which is on one of the top floors.  The restaurant was packed, but I was able to find a seat at the bar.

If you’ve never been to the restaurants at Bergdorf’s or Barney’s, they are very busy at lunchtime and the tables have all been reserved, but it’s often possible to get a seat at the bar if you’re by yourself (which I always am).  The bar seats are pushed close together and the only interaction you usually have with those seated near you is to ask if they can please move their bag/phone/coat from the chair next to them, and then you sit and order and read something on your phone until your food comes.

On Wednesday, I had just sat and was drooling over the menu, when I happened to glance at a plate that was being served to an older gentleman seated to my left.  He saw me look and immediately told me that it was the Lobster Blahdeddah (don’t recall the exact name), and it’s delicious, he had had it before.  I said that it looked so good, maybe I would get it.  Then he said, “Would you like to try a little bit of mine?”

So, just to explain again, people NEVER talk to each other at these lunch counter/bars and certainly, I’ve never had anybody offer me their food before, though I once had an angry woman try to take my salad, insisting it was hers.  I managed to stammer, “That’s okay, but thanks,”  and was burying my scarlet face in my menu (I have no idea why I found this exchange so embarrassing, but I did), when the man introduced himself and the younger man seated next to him!  I said hello, and told them my name and now that I was looking at them, I was trying to sort them out.  The younger man, whose name was Lorenzo, was gorgeous.  The older man, not quite so much.  They were both very charming and when the older man explained that he doesn’t live in New York, I had to feign surprise and didn’t laugh.  Then they went on with their meal and while I checked the messages in my phone, I admit, I was eavesdropping a little.  Were they father and son?  Were they a couple?  They didn’t seem to know each other very well – the older man was telling the younger man about himself and I won’t tell you the presumptions I drew about their lunch date with my wretched little imagination, when suddenly, the older man said to me, “Did you watch (and I don’t remember if he said Dateline or Frontline) last night?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, we were involved with that. That’s why we’re in New York.”

“When you say involved …were you on it?”

“Yes, well, Lorenzo was.  It was about how Prince William isn’t the only royal who is available and eligible to date single women.”

Lorenzo was texting something on his phone, clearly bored.

“Why, is Lorenzo a prince?” I joked.

“Yes, he’s a member of the Italian royal family.”

“What? Lorenzo, is that true?” I cried, inching my barstool closer to them.

“Well, yes,” he said. He was embarrassed. He was adorable.

“Are you really looking to meet women, because I know a lot of younger women!”

“No, I have a girlfriend and she’s annoyed I did the show.  I just did it to promote my business.”

What business is he in in, dear blog?  The dog shampoo business, that’s what!

Lorenzo is the founder of the Royal Pet Club, which makes fancy pet care products, and as soon as we started talking dogs, his highness was very engaged and enthusiastic.  I whipped out my phone and showed Lorenzo the photo of Gomer, which is above.   This photo is the screensaver on my phone and I use it as a sort of calling card/ID and flash it at people, usually within seconds of meeting them. Just so they know I’m not single.

Lorenzo smiled at the photo and then said, “Is that a labradoodle in the background?”  I told him that yes, Daphne is a doodle, and he said, “Do you know Bocker?”

“No, is he a prince, too,” I gushed.  I was now leaning across the plate of the nice man who had introduced us.

“No, he’s a labradoodle,” Lorenzo said, and he urged me to go on YouTube to check out his stuff. Here he is on The View. He could be Daphne’s twin.  Then his highness and I  talked about Lorenzo’s petcare line and about how his products are great for dogs and horses, how the PH balance of their coats are the same, but quite different than ours, and it’s especially good for animals with skin allergies, and then it was time for me to tear myself away.  I said goodbye and his royal majesty, Prince Lorenzo Borghese (with an American accent) gave me his card!  And I told him I’d blog him up!

My horses are nice
They really are neat
Now their buckets are ice
Snow covers their feet.

I wish they would leave
For a nice winter stay
Perhaps in Belize
Or even Bombay.

Why must they have thirst,
Such endless desire?
The barn pipes have burst
The hay truck lacks tires.

I must haul the water
from house up to horse.
It sloshes and spills,
But there’s no other course.

Their meat is worth something,
I curse, as I stride,
The water has now splashed
All over my side.

And wouldn’t their hides
Fetch a very nice price?
This, as my ass meets
A large patch of ice.

But inside the barn
It’s warm from their heat
They nicker and yawn
Though outside there’s sleet.

So I feed them and brush them
I offer them water
I tell them, again, how
They’ve just escaped slaughter.

We know, they reply,
They give soft, thoughtful eyes.
But you need our warm necks
For your tears, when you cry.

And who would you turn to
As you often do us,
With questions about life,
Love, God – other stuff?

It’s true, they are needed
And a small price I pay
For three big wise shrinks,
Who just won’t go away.

Most winter mornings I wish I could stay in my warm bed instead of having to trudge up to the barn to feed the horses. But not today. We had the most beautiful snow yesterday. Unlike our last storm, where the wind blew the snow sideways and at times, it seemed, right back up into the sky, yesterday’s snow fell gently, as it should, down to the earth. The flakes were puffy and soft and gathered like multitudes of cotton balls on the dogs’ ears and on my mittens. This morning, everything was still and white and as we walked up to the barn there was no sound but the steady, muffled crunch of my footsteps and the excited huffing and whining of the dogs who were trying to sniff out rodents beneath the deep drifts.

The horses’ body heat keeps our barn nice and cozy on winter nights and this morning I enjoyed waiting for them to finish their breakfasts and listening to the munching of grain. They were gazing thoughtfully at the snow as they dined. Today is so different than yesterday.

Even Gomer was happy to come inside this morning. I take a lot of photos of this dog, he’s just so handsome. At some point, almost every day, Gomer will walk into a room and I am so overwhelmed at the sight of him that I cry out, “Good God you’re gorgeous!” which he accepts with a movie star grin and a sweep of that wolf’s tail. He likes to be photographed. I don’t know why, he can’t understand photography, but I think he just enjoys the admiration and praise that I sing to him from behind the camera.

“How about a little sad eyes? That’s it!”

“Now let’s have a little attitude! Gorgeous!”

“Now a profile shot! MARVELOUS!”

“Finally, something sexy. For the bitches!”

We  just got the “be prepared” email from Bernie, our EMS chief, so, though it’s nice and cozy inside, I have my coat, boots and radio at the ready.  But, guys, it’s really snowing out there, so if you live in my town, please be careful and don’t fall on the ice and break all your teeth and crack your head open.   You would also be well-advised to not handle any cutlery that might fly from your hand and straight into your eye – you don’t think that can happen?  I’ve got a little EMT textbook I could show you that is filled with photos that would make your stomach turn. Objects impaled in eyes? Happens all the time.   Also, why not stay at home tonight, the roads are very icy and you could easily spin out of control and land in a semi-frozen lake and then what?   You’d sink before we could even get there is what.  I’m not saying it would be a hassle to rescue you or anything, of course we’ll be happy to accommodate you anytime, but try to sit quietly until the roads are clear tomorrow.

Below, Holly demonstrates the “Blizzard Safety Position.”

I hope everybody had a wonderful holiday weekend.