Nitty Gritty Dirt Man

And So This Is Christmas

/ Kevin / 34 Comments

Santa 2

This is not the post I planned for today.  I originally wanted to write something funny about one of my favorite holiday films, Christmas In Connecticut, or poke fun at myself for crying over Christmas carols, like Darlene Love’s “Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home).”

Today, though, I have a need to write a long post (my apologies) about a very different Christmas in Connecticut, a very different Christmas in America — and the idea that I, and I think most of us, cannot stop crying — with or without Christmas carols.   For me, the overwhelming sadness is just below the skin.  It doesn’t take much — the news, a moment of silence, an overheard conversation — to unleash a flood of tears.

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My Miracle Before Christmas

/ Kevin / 30 Comments

Miracle

Miracle.  It’s one of those words that’s often tossed about, especially at this time of year.  Just Google the phrase “Christmas miracle” and see what comes up — miracles, it seems, are no longer just on 34th Street.  They are, in fact, everywhere — and on this particular day, they make up a large part of my life.

Today, is my 15th birthday.  Geez, it was only a few days ago I was 12 — or, rather, being an uncle and having to purchase a Christmas gift for my 12-year-old niece.

Never mind, though — today I am celebrating the miracle of being 15.

December 12, 1997, was like many of those Long Island winter days — not sure if it wanted to be cold enough to snow or warm enough to rain.  The result was a gray, damp, slushy mix that left a coating of black ice on the pavement — and this was my commute home.

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My Nightmare Before Christmas

/ Kevin / 56 Comments

IMG_2347

It’s official.  I’m old.

Although 50 is around the corner; although I wince each time I hear ‘80s music on an oldies-but-goodies radio station; and although the sunlight reflecting off of the grays and silvers in my hair causes a halo effect — I never considered myself old.

Until I went to the mall to shop for some Christmas gifts for my 12-year-old niece.

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The Road To Reinvention

/ Kevin / 37 Comments

Terracotta Sahrds

Lately, this is how I envision my brain: shards of broken terracotta strewn across the potting bench.  Where I once had a clear vision and firm ideas, I now feel a bit scattered and disorganized.  My struggle is to figure out why — why I can’t seem to focus; can’t seem to be motivated; can’t seem to get back to my two posts a week schedule.

My first thought is that I have stumbled into a very bad case of bloggers’ block.  Perhaps I’ve overextended myself — time needed for work and time dedicated to writing seem to be at odds with each other.  Perhaps the freshest ideas have all been used in the first year of this blog — after all, once you write a piece on the joys of raking, how many more autumns can you possibly write the same thing?

Then, just as I try to make sense of all these thoughts and worries, stacking them just so — one piece falls from the pile and I soon find myself once again in the throes of worry.

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That’s A Wrap!

/ Kevin / 40 Comments

I hope you don’t mind, but in honor of Thanksgiving, I’m offering some leftovers — in the form of a repost.  I’ve reworked it a bit to make it more palatable, but the gist is the same: a couple of crazy Long Islanders will do just about anything to give their yard a tropical look.  Besides, it’s way to cold and blustery today — too cold to hold the camera to redocument this process.

Enjoy — and fresh material is on its way.

I may be the gardener of the house, but Joe also has his landscape loves.  One of his greatest is palm trees.  His absolute fave is Cocos nucifera, the coconut palm.  If it were up to him, coconut palms would be growing everywhere.  We often joke that he would be to coconut palms what Johnny Appleseed was  to apples — only he would be called Joey Coconuts, which does sound a little — alright, a lot — like a character from “The Sopranos.”

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When Holidays Collide

/ Kevin / 113 Comments

Thanksgiving is around the corner, and that can only mean one thing.  My PHSD is about to kick in.

Post-Holiday Stress Disorder, or PHSD, is the only way I can describe what happens to me once turkey day is done — and in less than a week, it’s about to come on full force.

Just the other night, while Joe and I were shopping in a local home improvement box store, I heard tinny, computerized notes weaving their way through the store’s general noise.  The song sounded familiar, and as soon as I realized it was a Christmas carol, my head ached, my stomach knotted, and my chest tightened.  Goodbye November and December, and hello PHSD.

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The Community That Sandy Built

/ Kevin / 25 Comments

A community of leaves — perfectly tie-dyed.

Community.

It’s a word and a concept that’s been on my mind lately — which is pretty amusing, actually.  I often say the older I get, the more I like to stay in my yard and not deal with people — which is difficult to do, since I’m a school social worker.  In fact, I often joke that I’m an anti-social worker.

The truth, however, is that community is important to me.  I think it’s important to all of us.  As humans, we need to belong, to feel connected — even if only to commiserate about the crazy weather.  (As an aside, I would just like to say that in the past two weeks, my part of the world has endured a hurricane, a nor’easter, snow, and — today — Spring-like temperatures. My heart says, “Go out and start planting.”  My brain says, “Are you crazy?  It’s November!”)

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Bloomin’ Update 35: Uncle!

/ Kevin / 26 Comments

Dahlia leaves didn’t appreciate the post-Sandy freeze.

This was supposed to be a post about how I kept myself occupied after Sandy while waiting for my work to resume.  Schools have been closed since the storm.

Fortunately, Joe and I had power throughout the Sandy ordeal, but the gas shortage had me staying close to home — which gave me the perfect chance to clean the yard.

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After Sandy: Let Trees Be Our Teachers

/ Kevin / 21 Comments

We can learn a lot from trees.  I first realized this after visiting the Survivor Tree at Ground Zero — and now, in the wake of Sandy, trees continue to teach me.

Bradford Pear.

Take a look at this one.  It’s a Bradford Pear — or, rather, what’s left of a Bradford Pear.

It was planted years ago, along with two others, by a local business interested in prettying up a very busy street corner.   I remember when they were all planted.  I was thrilled — at last, a business was taking an interest in beautifying the community.

Besides, at the time, the Bradford Pear was the tree of the moment, planted by towns and homeowners because of its flowering beauty, graceful shape, and instant shade ability.  Their abundance in the landscape — both public and private — turned spring into a flowering tree extravaganza.

The trees planted by this business did what they were expected to do — especially on hot summer days when residents huddled under their cool shade while waiting for the public bus.

But one by one, the trees have disappeared.  One was badly damaged after being hit by a car.  A second came down in a storm.  Now, this is the sole survivor, and I know the story of each of its missing limbs — as if I am telling the tales of the scars on my own body.

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