capitalism spills

On my commute yesterday (I freelanced this week for a pop "culture" magazine/ landfill fodder) I saw this revelatory and insightful graffiti: CAPITALISM SPILLS. It was painted on an oracular building which can be viewed in between EAGLE Clothing and KENTILE Floors where the F train rises above ground in a rollercoasteresque arc above Carroll Gardens.

I noticed on webular news venues, the oil spill disaster is being referred to as the "Louisiana Oil Spill"--why not say the truth and call it the "British Petroleum Oil Spill"? It's their fault, and the fault of all oil-driven economic policy which had come years ago, thanks to the great oil junkies, such as GW Bush, Tony Blair, et al. Language shapes public opinion, so place the blame where it belongs.

In any case, although studies show that the "me generation" is apathetic towards others (http://www.livescience.com/culture/empathy-college-students-generation-me-100528.html) it would appear that some youth do care about the environment, hence the graffiti. The economic, political and environmentally irresponsible quagmire we find ourselves in took generations of selfishness and lack of empathy to create, so I would argue that the current pathology has its roots in Reaganism.

This building is like an oracle, with social concerns posted by committed artists. I'm thankful for whoever is involved.

kids, yoga and light

Sadly, today was the final class of the season for those of us volunteering practicing yoga with autistic children. With all due respect to my colleagues and friends in the Buddhist sector, I have not seen a more genuine expression of pure love and compassion in action than in these classes. It was nothing short of amazing and inspiring to see the gentleness and enthusiasm the boys and girls brought to yoga!

At my first class I did not know what to expect. But I enjoy playing and being around children and how different could these kids be? What I found was there were varying ways in which some of the kids were able to communicate. It appeared as though it was painful for some to even look at the world and they preferred sitting quietly covering their faces. There were eruptions of joyful hand clapping or vocalizations--at least they appeared joyful. Some of the kids were quite willing to communicate and make jokes, others would repeat strings of phrases, one of my favorite kids would only make a variety of birdlike sounds--very accurate ones, actually.

It must be refreshing to be out of a classroom and in a room with smiling and encouraging ladies (and the occasional gentleman). All of us volunteers were eager to help and gently interact with the kids if they wanted help. I have to honestly say I felt love for each child, and judging by all the volunteers' faces, they loved them too! In the weeks that passed since my first day, the kids also progressed, all sat on mats and participated. Credit goes to Bridget, our teacher, and all the teachers and caretakers that created the space for the kids and volunteers to feel comfortable.

I peeked at one point when we had our eyes closed and saw blissful expressions all around. Since it was the last day, the kids brought Bridget cards they drew--such sweetness! At the beginning of class, we were asked to imagine ourselves filled with light, which was easy in the light which streamed in through the stained glass windows of the auditorium, some jewel-like colors reflected on our clothes, skin and hair and the polished wood floor. I think it was more than summery light that warmed the room, though, it was love.

a dog's day in Williamsburg

Here's another picture of Guinness and a failed attempt to hypnotize her to keep her from trolling for sidewalk treats when we walked. Also I forgot to take pictures of my volunteer day last week when I walked dogs for BARC shelter in Williamsburg. I was dazzled by the "hipster silk route" and other rumors I'd heard about the rampant gentrification. Parts of it didn't resemble NY at all, it was almost like part of Berkeley, CA, crashed into a toxic waste site on the still waterside of the East River. Also there were these megalithic condos keeping sentinel watch on the shore, their fronts facing the water and sunset, much like the Easter Island heads. There were still traces of the generations come before, little hints of poverty, old churches, Boricua College. And of course the animal shelter, where saintly (yet cheerful) people work tirelessly for very little pay to alleviate the suffering of the helpless dogs and cats which come their way. The first dog I walked was Champ, and he was so cool I took him on a long jaunt--his coat was the same coloring as Guinness, he was from similar stock but his head was the shape and size of a St. Bernard. They told me he would be adopted soon, shepherd mixes are in demand. My last dog was a young hyper mini Pinscher named Rocco, we sidled along the luxury condo overlooking the water, I was hoping the small manicured ovals of grass would inspire him to poop, when I saw the doorman get up. Uh oh, we'll be chased away--but no, a tall unassuming graceful figure was advancing and too late I realized it was a famous actor (I think). The doorman was going to get the door for him; celebrity smiled at the mini Pin. Maybe he'll adopt? Rocco has a wife, they will get adopted as a pair. Anyway Rocco and I went off to another more private area for his business, the sun was setting, a breeze cooled the air, all was well.

i was my own dog's bitch

this was unearthed from a few years back:

Something has gone terribly wrong. I am no longer the alpha female in my household. I'm not sure when it happened, but a shift in power has occurred.

When I found Guinness and decided to keep her, she was a shy, undernourished, tremulous creature. That has changed. Now my schedule revolves around her feedings, walkings and demands for attention.

It used to be she loved any food that appeared in her dish. Now she's picky and prefers cat food. Maybe it tastes like cats. She shows remarkable lack of discretion when she nears anything remotely edible on the sidewalk, however. But I get her the best dog food available from the pet store, and I even cook for her!

Work and time away from home to socialize have become logistical nightmares. Who will walk her? Feed her? Hang out with her? I now have a team of experts, a wonderful dogsitter plus neighborly dog owners who understand.

Her Shepherd side emerged when she decided to herd the cats. But soon this wasn't enough and she began bullying them.

She does yard work. She hates bulbs--digs them out to toss them aside. Who knew? She digs dog-sized holes in the garden to sit in them. Location is everything to her. She has several sitting holes distributed throughout reflecting her many moods, dicentra and hostas be damned.

One day, she turned her attentions to me. Apparently I don't leap from bed early enough to feed her. She's tall enough to reach my pillows, which she snatches from underneath my head to wake me up at 5:30 am. If that doesn't work, she'll bang on the door, then as a last resort she knocks over a cat litter box.

The day I realized that she was in charge was when I described to my vet that when I wanted to adopt another dog (to keep her company), Guinness shockingly and uncharacteristically attacked the dog when I brought her home. Luckily I was able to separate the dogs before either was seriously hurt. The vet bemusedly said, "So Guinness is in charge, huh?"

Still, she is the most adorable creature! Crazy, huh? Dogs have a way of burrowing into your heart. She is the goofiest loveliest being. Yup.

Gosh, I miss her!

prospect park up close

Today I volunteered with NYCares in a park-wide project to clean up Prospect Park. This is something I was so happy to do since I use the park almost daily, either biking or running in it for years. It was time to give back. NYCares is a great group to volunteer with, there is none of the "greener than thou" smugness one might think to encounter at events like this. Everyone just digs in and does the dirty work--and there was plenty of that. Despite the bucolic beauty of the much beloved park there is neglect on the part of park users. Our job was to clean the lake's edges, we were assigned "grabbers" and other tools. It was fun, like those claw games where you hunt a stuffed animal, except the prizes were filthy old beer bottles, cans, garments, drug paraphernalia, cooking utensils and lots of plastic bags. The most unusual things I found were a small animal skull, charred (raccoon?) and the jaws of a larger animal with sizable molars (dog?).

There were some lovely things too: wild roses along the banks, teams of yellow irises, a swan on her nest, turtles of various sizes basking on branches, a thickly feathered goose nest, a heron intent on its next fish catch.

garden gone wild

well, this is a few years back, but it seems clear that my "garden" really is more of a woodland home for creatures. It's unruly, unpredictable with spots of brilliant color that almost hurt to look at if the bright afternoon sun filters behind the leaves and reflects on their shiny surfaces. Places are dark where animals lurk, feral cats, raccoons and opossums. Guinness was in her element in the garden, where she would dig den-like holes sized for her body to relax into--surely a holdover from her wolf origins, no matter how many thousands of generations ago that would have been. Other parts of the garden invite relentless sun resulting in the best tomatoes on the block, I like to share them. All animals and insects ignore the tomatoes, the wild parrots of Brooklyn feast instead on the apples and cherries, I harvest none; maybe in autumn I'll find the odd rejected cherry which falls to the ground, wizened and dried. In late summer I'll know when a neighbor's figs are ripe, because the fig tree will shake and move seemingly of its own accord--it's the parrots dining al fresco.