Thought-Provoking Graffiti

Some urban wisdom today, found written on the city. This graffiti writer (above) pens phrases all over West Hampstead and environs, including on our street. I think "Kill the Poor" is meant not literally but as a comment on how society treats poor people. Medication and incarceration are frequent topics, too.

I found an earth-friendly sticker on Finchley Road...

...and a mysterious message on Billy Fury Way. I'm not sure what this means -- unless it's a video game allusion, as in playing a new level. With every change comes an unexpected problem?

Yesterday was madness in the library. We had six classes of 9th Grade English students coming in to choose character-driven fiction for their October Break reading. I'm a bit vague myself on what that means. I take it to be a book in which a central character changes or evolves over the course of the work, where the person is the story rather than the events that occur: "The Catcher in the Rye," for example. It seems to me almost every book contains evolving characters, but some evolve more than others. Anyway, the head librarian had a solid sense of what the teachers wanted so we set out special displays and let the kids choose (or find their own books on the shelves).

It meant moving around dozens and dozens of books, but we got a lot checked out, which is a nice change -- high-schoolers are often so busy they don't have a lot of reading time so they can be a tough demographic to serve. I remember reading less in high school myself, outside of assigned reading for classes, though I pretty much always had a book going. I know I read several of those Dana Fuller Ross potboilers about westward expansion, with titles like "Utah!" and "Idaho!" (Cover blurb: "The towering saga of rugged men and tempestuous women carving out America's future from a savage and perilous land." There are several reasons that phrase would never pass muster now.) I think I was in high school then but it might have been college.

Last night Dave and I had my former boss Karen (who's working at the school as a substitute) and a former co-worker, Chris, over for drinks and idle gossip. We ordered Lebanese food and they stayed pretty late. It was a fun evening.

Today Dave, Olga and I are off on a little adventure for a few nights. I'll still be blogging, and hopefully I'll have a chance to catch up on other blogs and comments and all that. I know I'm woefully behind.

Mastodon

Here's a very autumnally-colored flower -- a big dahlia! I was lying when I said recently that the only things blooming in the garden are the sunflowers. We still have several blooming dahlias, as well as the Plectranthus, the Peruvian lilies and some other stuff. The plants are looking a bit tattered and their stalks are sagging, and when the first frost comes they'll all be over for the season.

It doesn't look like frost is imminent anytime soon, though. We're going to be in the mid-70s through the weekend and nighttime lows don't go any lower than 50º F through the 20th (which is as far as my forecast projects). It's practically balmy.

I was shocked to read in The New York Times last night that a guy I knew when I lived in New York had died. James was the boyfriend (now ex-) of a friend of mine there, and I'd been to several social events with him. In fact, when I lost my job at the Times in 2009, I went to dinner with James and Carl to get some advice about becoming a paralegal, which is what James did to make money to fuel his opera obsessions. I never followed through on that, obviously, and I hadn't been in touch with him since, but I was still sorry to read this shocking news. He was 12 years older than I am, but still, it felt like the reaper whispered in my ear!

Here's my October "Florida Memory" postcard -- a 1930 image of men recovering mastodon bones from Wakulla Springs near Tallahassee. "Included are G.M. Ponton; Mr. Christie, owner of the spring; Herman Gunter, geologist; and J. Clarence Simpson, member of diving team." Not to mention those bones and what looks like a large, curved tusk.

This postcard actually came about two weeks ago. For some reason my mystery mailer was overly prompt. Oh, and thanks a lot, Post Office, for the lovely postmark on the front!

Destination Unknown, but Caffeine is Available

Dave and I are trying to decide what to do on our break next February. We have some Delta airlines credits we need to use, and while I could go back to Florida and take care of some business, I feel like I've seen a lot of Florida during the last decade. Now that my mom is no longer with us, why not see some of the rest of the world?

Delta seems to fly mainly to the states, so it looks like we're still talking about the good ol' USA. But why not go to Los Angeles, or San Francisco, or New York? These are just ideas circulating in my head at the moment.

On the other hand, Dave's parents will be in Florida in February and it would be a perfect time to see them. And of course I still have family there too. And all of this assumes we can find someone to care for the increasingly persnickety and demanding senior-citizen Olga.

In other news, a few days ago I discovered we were running out of coffee. We'd stockpiled a brand called "Hot Lava Java" that I like, which we used to regularly order via our grocery delivery service. But for a while now it hasn't been available so I took to Amazon and ordered it directly from the manufacturers. I was shocked to find that it cost £52 for about 5.3 pounds (2400 grams). Doesn't that seem insane? That's basically £10 per pound, or a little more than $12 American.

Not only that, but the individual bags of coffee are now smaller -- they contain 200g of coffee rather than the 227g they used to contain.

What is going on out there? Donald Trump could become Speaker of the House, and coffee costs $12 a pound? What is this nightmare hellscape?

On a more pleasant note, I made this video while walking home yesterday. I've recorded these pigeons before, flying in slow, continuous circles from the rooftops over Finchley Road. I find it very relaxing to watch them. Apparently pigeons do this for a variety of reasons, including deterring predators, finding their bearings using the earth's magnetic fields and riding updrafts of warm air, according to the ever-reliable Internet.

When I made this video last night, putting two clips together and adding an audio track to mask the sounds of traffic and ambulance sirens, Dave could hear the music but not see my screen. "What are you doing?!" he asked. I told him I was making a video of pigeons. "Are they Native American pigeons?" he said.

The music does sound vaguely Native American, or maybe Southeast Asian (it's called "Jacaranda"), but the truth is I chose it because it's a copyright-free track from my Apple jingles and it was the right length. Practicality wins the day.

(Top photo: Dramatic shadows on our living room wall.)

A Good Heart

For some reason I've been thinking about an episode that occurred many years ago while I was a Zen Buddhism practitioner in New York.

I used to attend a Zendo where we would all sit in meditation, and every once in a while we'd consult with one of the teachers in a process called dokusan. Either the roshi, the Zendo's spiritual leader, or one of the junior teachers would be sitting in meditation in a closed room. You'd enter the room, bow to the teacher and seat yourself on a cushion facing them, and then have a talk about your practice. The subject of the talk could be anything, really, and although dokusan was formal, it wasn't stiff -- you could laugh or cry or reveal anything you felt pertinent to your practice.

One day, while we were on a weeklong summer retreat, I was asked to be the attendant for one of the teachers during dokusan. That meant I lined up the waiting students on a row of cushions outside the door, and I sat with them, signaling to each one in turn when they could go in -- normally when the teacher rang a little bell.

Now, dokusan is supposed to be confidential, between the student and teacher. But as the attendant, I was sitting right outside the door -- and on this particular day it was very quiet. There wasn't much ambient noise. The bell rang, and I signaled to the first waiting student -- a Zendo member who was senior to me -- to go in.

When he began speaking to the teacher, I realized I could hear them both. I tried not to listen, because that violates the spirit of dokusan, but try as I might I couldn't block out the conversation. And what I heard him say shocked me.

My dharma name -- the name I used in the Zendo, bestowed on me by the roshi -- was Junryu. The student in dokusan told the teacher, "I don't think Junryu has a good heart." He sounded emotional, perhaps even tearful, when he said it.

The teacher questioned him and I don't remember what else was said, if I even heard it. As I said I was trying not to listen and at the same time I was stunned. Why didn't I have a good heart?!

Now here's a piece of essential backstory: Part of my job as attendant was to announce dokusan to the rest of the Zendo, all sitting in meditation. At the very beginning I'd stand and say, "Dokusan with (teacher's name) is now available," and line up those who wanted to attend. On this particular day, when I did that, I apparently mispronounced the teacher's name. It was a mispronunciation so minor that to me it barely qualified -- as I recall, I said "tan" to rhyme with the color tan, when I should have said "tan" to rhyme with swan.

The student now sitting in dokusan had softly corrected me, and I'd rolled my eyes and smiled at him. I'd meant it in a friendly way. What does Bart Simpson always say? "Don't have a cow, man!"

Apparently he did not appreciate my response. Still, I was shocked that he would take it so seriously that he'd tell someone (a teacher, no less!) that I didn't have a good heart.

Now, this left me in a predicament. I wasn't supposed to be hearing what was going on in that room. How could I address this situation?

First, I got an electric fan and set it up outside the dokusan room, using its white noise to drown out any future conversations so they wouldn't be overheard by me or the other waiting students. And that night, I spoke to the student who'd made the comment about my heart -- I didn't come out and say I'd heard him in dokusan, though I'm sure he must have suspected it. But I said I was sorry for the eye-roll, that it was a defensive mechanism because I felt insecure being the dokusan attendant. (Which was probably true.)

The entire episode subsided after that, but I have never forgotten that remark -- that I don't have a good heart. Every time I get annoyed at anything or anyone -- like the mob of rambunctious 10th grade boys I'm constantly trying to corral in my current library job -- I think, "Oh my God, that guy was right! I really don't have a good heart!"

Anyway, please don't assure me I have a good heart. That's not what I'm looking for here. I just wanted to relate the story and the impact it had on me. If anything it's provided an opportunity for self-reflection over the years. For the record, I do think I have a good heart, to the extent that phrase means anything -- but I can accept that there are those who don't appreciate my occasionally flippant sense of humor.

(Photos: More images of our sunflowers, which are definitely the most interesting thing happening in the garden at the moment, and they're on their way out already. In the Zen spirit of transience, we'd better enjoy them while we can!)

Graffiti Advice and Floppy Disks

I have nothing much to write about today, so I think it's a good day for another random photo post. Here are some shots I've had hanging around a while and haven't had a chance to blog.

First, some advice from a nameless graffiti writer on Finchley Road. I don't grow food myself, but I figure I have enough gardening experience that if the apocalypse comes I'll be able to figure out how. (Once I get my hands on some seeds, which would be a whole 'nother challenge!)

I saw this very elaborate spider web built on the back of someone's Land Rover. I couldn't help but feel bad for the spider. It wasn't going to end well.

This poster has been put up all over our neighborhood. Have you ever seen such an expressive emoji? (I blocked out the phone numbers, since I'm sure this person didn't mean for them to be circulated internationally.)

This heap of trash has been sitting on the sidewalk around the corner for at least a week. I can't figure out what the pickup schedule is supposed to be for this building. (And clearly their residents can't, either.) Olga liked the smells.

Camden Council, our local government, is trialling a new system of sidewalk rubbish bins along our high street. Until now residents of flats above the shops have been expected to put their bagged rubbish on the sidewalk, unprotected. But the bags inevitably get torn open and become an unsightly mess. (Here's a local resident's rant about that.) Let's hope the bins go over well -- then maybe trash heaps like this won't exist, at least not for days and weeks at a time.

I didn't see this guy's "concert," so I'm not sure what that entailed -- perhaps he was just making himself available in case someone recognized him as the owner of the wallet? (Once again, I blocked out most of his phone number.)

This is a very hip barber shop on our high street. They will leave your man bun intact!

I laughed at how Olga and her blanket managed to take up our ENTIRE gigantic couch.

(We will soon need a new couch. This one, as you may remember, came with the flat, so it's about ten years old and it's pretty saggy and tatty. It's never been my favorite. But I don't want to replace it as long as Olga is with us, since she loves it so much and it's a good dog couch.)

Finally, I laughed at the cover of this old book in our library. It was published in 1989. Will kids even know what that device is on the desk? And what are those little square things next to it? "Floppy disks," you say? What the heck do those do?

Cabbages It Is

I woke yesterday with great ambitions to do a photowalk. But the sky was cloudy and gray, there were no shadows, and despite all my cleaning on Saturday I still had a ton of things to do around the house. So, photowalk on pause for one more week.

I went to Homebase in the morning, thinking I could pick up a chrysanthemum for the front patio. Our summer flowers were looking tired and we needed something fresh. Everything at Homebase except the plants is on sale because our local store is closing soon -- it will eventually be demolished along with the surrounding parking lot, an auto dealership and some other stuff to make room for 1,800 apartments in multiple buildings, as well as a park and commercial area. (A lot of people are against this scheme but I don't mind it. Homebase and that parking lot are ugly, and it does seem like an awful lot of underused land.)

On the way I passed a guy wearing a t-shirt that said "Ew, David." Made me laugh.

Anyway, Homebase was devoid of chrysanthemums, so I bought some ornamental cabbages instead, as well as a couple of trowels and some hedge-trimming shears. I stopped by Waitrose on the way home, thinking they might have chrysanthemums, and they did -- tiny, dead ones. Cabbages it is!

Home again, I continued my cleaning spree and watered all the houseplants. I discovered our aloe, which sits undisturbed on a windowsill in the living room, had a case of mealybugs. So I took it outside and hosed it off and washed those little monsters away, and cleaned the window and the sill.

I had no idea the aloe was so big until I had to carry it outside! It's the same one I mentioned finding in this post (although I called it "overwatered," I think I meant "under-watered," because as I recall it was very dry at the time). Anyway, it was much smaller then.

All houseplants can benefit from a good rinse, and this one was overdue. I think it's been years.

I spent the rest of the day reading. I'm enjoying "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow." It's been good all along but last night it got really good and even made me cry. I can't tell you the last time I cried over a book!

(Top photo: The back of some buildings on our high street.)

Beheaded

Here's another shot of the little sunflower, about a foot tall, blooming at the edge of the garden. When it came to producing that flower it was like the Little Engine that Could: "I think I can! I think I can!"

Before I talk about yesterday's fascinating activities, let me just add a couple of links in support of my skepticism over lending my phone to that guy on the bus. (See previous post.) Borrowed phones are in fact a vehicle for thievery, both in the UK and in the USA. From what I can tell this most usually happens via money transfer apps like Venmo or Zelle, neither of which I have on my phone, so maybe my risk wouldn't have been the same.

I was glad to see most of my commenters seemed to share my skepticism. And as Mitchell and others pointed out, even dialing the guy's wife and letting him talk to her would have revealed to them my number -- and here's quite a story about why that can be scary. I have belatedly realized the ideal solution to this dilemma: Block the phone, call the wife, put her on speaker but don't hand the phone over, and then disconnect and unblock.

However, the part of the story I failed to mention is that when the older guy first approached me, we were getting off the bus at the next stop. So there wouldn't have been time for all that anyway.

Now, having spent a ridiculous amount of time on The Old Man and the Phone, a la Hemingway, I'll fill you in on yesterday. Not that anything all that exciting happened.

I spent the morning cleaning like a fiend. I cleaned the bathrooms, I cleaned the windowsills, I washed the window behind the Hypericum bush that was demolished by the construction guy (as you can see in that post it was quite filthy), I did two loads of laundry. I also tended to all the houseplants around the back door, moving several of them outside for a wash and cleaning the floor around and under them.

Then I mowed the lawn, and...TRAGEDY! The mower caught the head of the Little Sunflower that Could and POPPED IT RIGHT OFF!

Well, at least now we can enjoy it in the kitchen.

We have one more stunted sunflower that also has a bud, so I don't think we'll be deprived of a miniature sunflower in the garden. But still, I couldn't believe that happened!