blooms already!

Took a walk over towards Kensington last weekend to visit the critters at the Hamilton Doghouse. We walked two dogs named Owen and Abe while my kids bickered over who would hold the leash. On the way back we walked the path that goes along the Expressway and found two trees spangled with a few small pink flowers, the still hunkered in buds, in their alternate/alternate arrangement, looking much like a rambling embroidery stitch my grandmother Mary K would know the name of.

My mother, visiting from out of town, admired the backs of the houses, she thought it must be nice to have so much sun coming through the windows. But on the other hand, there's the non-stop roar of the expressway.

by the lake

germ

Whatever these things are, the house sparrows I've seen along the park seem to find them delicious. Looks like jumbo wheat germ to me.

Applewood on 17th

It seems that the Lucky 13 Saloon is not the only source of wood these days. I came across this immaculately organized pile up in a tree pit on 17th the other day, went to take a picture but realized I'd left my CF card at work. DOH! The next day I was ready, but when I stopped to pull my camera out I found myself blocking someone from entering his yard. This turned out to be the handsome son of the man behind the wood arrangement, who told me his father had become obsessed with gardening and needed to remove this apple tree, which didn't bear fruit, to allow more sun for his garden beds.

He left a sign saying "Free Applewood, good for barbecues" on the largest stump of the group and weighed it down with another stick. So if you need any Applewood, look no further than 17th near the corner of 11th Ave. But hurry, because I hear the UPS man was going to take a bunch of it.

Back Wall Patchwork

In the oldest place, some pieces of schist emerge from the concrete, like cakes of granular mica. Hard on the teeth.

The two trees that make a triangle in the back were planted years ago by the former owners, the Rapas. They learned what they knew about espaliers, grapes, roses, and wine-making growing up in the Puglian countryside. We know none of these things. A few years ago the Peach tree fell over, but as the Apricot was tied to it for support, our tree man, the shaggy Wayne who has since moved out of the city, left much of the trunk. We need a new arborist.

Mugging on Prospect Avenue

When I was out today around noon people were everywhere, out shoveling their walks, and I felt safer than I had a few moments before when a friend told me there'd been a mugging around the corner from her house on Seeley Street. Yesterday at 3pm a woman was mugged on Prospect Avenue by Seeley St., which is near the tunnel usually strewn with debris that is hard to identify. Anyway, a woman had witnessed the mugging from her kitchen window and the mugger was chased off but escaped by automobile.

I was all set to let my 11-year old walk to her friend's house 4 blocks away when I heard about the frightening incident. It was one of those grievous moments when one has to choose between fear and freedom. Advice appreciated. I suppose the first thing to remind myself is that vulnerability is unavoidable.

Mommy Camp, Day 3

The Rapa family who owned this house prior to us left a box of those green dishes in a closet. They got them from Bishop Ford years ago when they worked there, where the fastidious and jocose Maria Rapa polished the gleaming floors in the Catholic school whose red glazed surfaces are part of a blend of 50's American architecture and chinoiserie. I found the reason for that here.

New Stop on F Line

Well now, that's more like it. I new stop on the F line. Sounds like a very fine neighborhood, full of prospects.

fire and water

Before I did anything else today, for some reason I reached for my volume of poetry by Hafiz which has been gathering dust there on the shelf by my bed for about a year. I might as well have reached for a bottle of 200 proof, I've been a bit tipsy since then. So forgive me if this post is a little heavy handed!

I found these flowers on Reeve St. before all the rain evaporated from their petals- I don't know what they're called, so I'm calling them Le Roi for now, or Leroy, if you prefer, because of all that solar power. Maybe you mystics out there will enjoy this poem by Hafiz I later came across, which keeps well with my Reeve St. friend.

No Other Kind of Light

Find that flame, that existence
That Wonderful Man
Who can burn beneath the water

No other kind of light
Will cook the food you need

From The Subject Tonight Is Love

basic breakfast

Yesterday I didn't get a chance to eat before heading to Jaya Yoga for a little limbering up, in hopes that it would subdue the ball of sciatic pain smoldering in my right glutial for the last 4 days. I attended the basic class without really thinking about it, but basic was surprisingly challenging in the way that slow movements require more strength than fast ones. I was wiped out halfway through, and barely paying attention to David, the teacher, whose pokes here and there kept reminding me to turn in the shoulder blades, to raise the sternum.

He was a great teacher, and I noticed I was the only one he was poking, a reflection of how out of it I was. I'm amazed he didn't kick me out for being such a space cadet. I was very busy daydreaming about Walt Whitman, wondering what he meant with the line, "I loafe and invite my soul."

I listened to David's directives as he drove us through the landscapes of our bodies. It turns out I have body parts I didn't realize were there. I found out, for instance, in a whole new way, that I have back ribs, good pals for protecting the heart and lungs and supporting the frame, making space within it for the vital organs' proper functioning.

On the way home I paused in front of 3 Rose of Sharon bushes on the corner of 17th and 10th. They were large and healthy, pink, white and violet. As I stood in front of the white one I wondered if I would ever try one of the flowers. I was about to walk away when one of the closed flowers dropped free of its mount and landed in front of me.

Yes, I ate it, it seemed too rude not to. The first bite reminded me of the tenderest endive with a slightly floral essence. Food for fairies, no doubt. The second bite was slightly more floral and mucilaginous as it contained part of the thick pistil (?) in the center of the flower. The second bite, the same, and a little harder to take. The last bite, less floral, and more toothsome, entirely pleasant.

If I wind up adding them to a salad while I get the chance, and the chance is fading fast, I won't dress them in anything more than olive oil, salt and pepper. I don't think they'd make good pickles.

What Wetters Was

The stained glass is back, cleaned and repaired. I bet that wasn't cheap. How aweseome that the owners of this business on Prospect Park West are taking the time to honor the beautiful workmanship of the old timers. Now we'll see if they really sell those things advertised in the glass. I don't care if they do, I love misleading signage. More of the metamorphosis here.

The Incomparable One

There's a small store in Windsor Terrace called The Krupa Grocery, and I always assumed that Krupa was a Polish or Russian family name, because that's what it sounded like to me, and wondered how the store happened to be run by a family that was clearly Indian, clearly Hindu. As usual, I had it all wrong. I found out from the owners that Krupa means bliss.

I wasn't planning on stopping in there when I went to visit the cel phone doctor, but after leaving stopping by Krupa to ask about Tulsi seemed like a tremendously good idea.

I coveted Tulsi, Hindu Sacred Basil, since I learned about it on ze veb last week. I asked an Indian person at work where I might get some, she had no idea. Isn't it just regular basil she asked. I felt presumptuous for asking.

I don't think it's ordinary basil. The incomparable one, as it is called, has been worshipped as a Goddess in India for 5,000 years, so it comes with many amazing stories. She was believed to have been a Gopi, one of 108 cow herd girls who devoted themselves to Krishna. I learned the following anecdotes from Wikipedia, naturally....

According to one story, Tulasi was a gopi who fell in love with Krishna and so had a curse laid on her by His consort Radha. She is very dear to Vishnu. Tulsi is also mentioned in the stories of Mira and Radha immortalised in Jayadeva's Gita Govinda. One story has it that when Krishna was weighed in gold, not even all the ornaments of His consort Satyabhama could outweigh Him. But a single tulsi leaf placed on one side by his consort Rukmini tilted the scale"

And then there's the medicinal component. The web is strewn with lists of its medicinal properties, to the extent that to summarize without using a bulleted list would be folly. So here's a list. And what a list it is. I'm just surprised the list doesn't end with "grants immortality."

•repels insects
•antibacterial
•antioxidant
•treats diabetes
•reduces cholesterol
•protects from radiation poisoning
•protects from cataracts
•adaptogen, reduces stress
•anti-inflammatory
•reduces fever
•reduces symptoms of viral hepatitis
•mobilizes mucus in bronchitis
•relieves cold and flu
•increases antibody production
•cures leprosy
•dissolves kidney stones
•reduces ear pain and nose problems
•treats eczema and ringworm
•increases potency in men
•protects from smallpox, malaria and dengue fever
•cures jaundice
•cures hemmoiroids
•cures stomachaches
•cures stomach worms
•cures acid stomachs
•relieves sore throats
•improves cardiac function
•treats ulcers of the mouth
•curative for insect bites and stings.
•improves dental health


All that being said, devout vaishnavites refuse to use it for its medicinal values in respect for Vishnu. They wouldn't harm a hair on it's little hairy stem.

I don't know if the Krupas are vaishnavites, but they have a tulsi plant growing in their store window. To think, I've been walking by it all summer never noticing.

Mr. Krupa, who is really called Raj, says the character of the plant transplanted to Brooklyn varies from the specimens you find in India. Growing here, the plant has diminished pungency. I don't suppose that would surprise anyone, where does pungency reside if not in India? As far as Brooklyn goes, it seems Coney Island might have greater pungency than other spots. Maybe tulsi would thrive there.

Mr. Krupa also says that like tulsi, he's changed since becoming a Brooklynian 24 years ago, when he and his wife arrived with 8 dollars in their pockets. He can't take as much sun as he used to, and when he goes home, he can't drink the water. But what fine water we have here. Ain't it the truth?

Triumph in a Trash Can

Bag Recycling at Key Food, etc.

This plastic bag receptacle reminiscent of a Claus Oldenberg soda can is the newest improvement at the Windsor Terrace Key Food. I'm so glad to have a place in the neighborhood to recycle my plastic bags, it's giving me an intense whiff of suburban convenience I'm not accustomed to getting here. Of course, I know I need to keep trying to avoid relying on the bags but I usually flake out and completely forget to bring cloth bags when I go shopping. Still. I still do that. Old dogs...

Not so many people sit out on their stoops so part of what appeals to me about shopping there is getting a sense of the people from the neighborhood. Not just the ones that have kids who I see at the park but all of them. The young adults getting their first jobs, the older people who live in the neighborhood. People who were born and raised around here who a transplant like me doesn't easily get to know.

And then there's all the odd encounters that I've witnessed there, including what happened tonight when my daughter noticed a guy on line behind us waiting to buy a roast chicken. She saw him and started pointing, saying over and over again in her loudest voice "That man looks like my daddy!" I was very embarrassed and the guy with the chicken, who did look like her daddy, gave me a bashful glance. What do you say in a situation like that?

Years ago I heard some people who work there insulting each other over the intercom, which was sort of entertaining. And then I easily recall the two times I managed to buy a pound bag of sugar that was open enough to leave a trail of sugar around the store. Watch those sugar bags!

No one ever got mad at me for that, even when I turned myself in. I'm glad for the calm, orderly, more reliable way it is now. Some of the people that work there I've been seeing for so long I had unconsciously given them names without realizing it. But I've finally learned that the one I thought was Maria is actually Gladys, the one who I thought was Betty is really Jane, the friendly manager bears the unforgettable name of Micheal Jordan, and the one who I thought was the Mona Lisa is really named Marcina.

Lonelyville For Sale

This coffee shop in Windsor Terrace called Lonelyville, just across from Prospect Park on Prospect Park South West, is for sale. It's a gem adored by the neighborhood for all of the features that make is especially especial: the beautiful garden in back, the coffee, cupcakes, sandwiches, beer, wine, and don't forget, unsalted popcorn for the ducks in Prospect Lake. They have adirondack chairs and a bowl of water for dogs in front. There's penny candy in antique jars and a collection of thermoses so commanding it has to be viewed as art.

After 2 years of business it's up, running, wonderful, and self-sustaining but the owners need to simplify their lives and hope someone will take it on. Kitty and Sara have done a fantastic j0b, so much about the place is smart and tasteful and well designed, it is truly amazing. If you haven't visited, go soon, if only to appreciate the thermos collection. I wonder if that will be included in the sale.