1 oct 2024

today i unpacked the last box of books that we had rescued out from my father's hoarder apartment. it has been sitting in the garage for three years. my father wrote two books in his lifetime. three, if you count the last project he had before he died, but I try not to. he was not a very good writer, in truth. he kept some of his rejection letters, pressed between the leaves of the cover page of the manuscripts, typewritten letters stark against the yellowed paper.

the first manuscript was sent out at least once in 1971. "It was, he remembered, smooth." that is the first sentence. "Like a slow train coasting into a rural station sliding waiting for the signals to change." that is the last sentence. the editor who rejected it was named robert. the publishing house he worked for was absorbed by random house. he told my father, "But there are other editors and you'll write other books so don't be discouraged. Good luck."

the second manuscript was sent out at least once in 1975. "Jingerton looked back to the bottomlands of one hand." that is the first sentence. "but I don't think I can find the words." that is the last sentence. the editor who rejected it was named betty. the publishing house she worked for was absorbed by random house. she told my father, "It is all that you say it is, explosive, poetic and all in all a marvelous conception. … Thank you so much for letting us consider the novel. You are a fine writer and I wish you the best of luck with the novel."

both editors were very kind to him in their rejections. i think guiltily of his last project before he died, when he sent me the first chapter in email. i remember staging dramatic readings of it with my close friends in college, breaking down in fits of giggles. i remember drawing unfavorable comparisons with winners of the bad sex award, not because it had bad sex in it, but because of the caliber of writing. i remember wondering how i would lie to his face if he asked me what i thought of it. it didn't end up mattering - he never did, despite having plenty of opportunity to. maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. i don't know.

among the old book manuscripts in the box was other commercial books. one was 'the international book of trees' by hugh johnson, which, if you ask me, is the kind of name you give on prank calls. just within the front cover, pressed carefully between letterhead-stamped scrap paper, were leaves, all older than i am, and then some, carefully glued in place by the stems. the letterhead is for a company that doesn't exist any more.

the first, labelled in his neat hand - sometime before he started printing everything in block capitals - "Royal Paulownia - Central Park - 8/82". it is velvety on the underside and there is a small hole in it where some bug chewed through. it leaves a yellow ghosted stain on the paper underneath. the last is labelled "American Basswood - Central Park 8/82". the same leaf collecting session, probably. i imagine my father in 1982 taking a train to manhattan from queens. (did he still live in queens, in 1982?) i imagine him collecting leaves in the late august light, placing them in an envelope, bringing them home and pouring over the book by lamplight to identify them, labelling each on the letterhead-stamped scrap paper, carefully gluing each stem down. he would have been 32 years old.

22 sept 2024

there is a spider web over the license plate of my car. when the light hits just right i can see it shimmering in the rearview camera. he's like a little friend; i do my best not to disturb the web when i open the trunk and he drives around with me.

yesterday we went for a walk around the pond that bill's wife recommended - or tried to, we didn't get far. we got scared by the signs about parking at first even though she told me that they don't actually enforce that. she did say to go at low tide if possible. we did not. on the walk itself before we could get anywhere we ran into the aforementioned high tide - ankle-deep in spots - neither of us really willing to deal with that. on our way out we saw a juvenile osprey in its nest preening.

11 sept 2024

last weekend d----- and her brother and i went for a hike on labor day in the research forest. i hadn't been there before; she had; she kept saying that we should try to get lost in it and i kept saying that i didn't think it was possible, if you walk long enough in one direction you would inevitably reach road. she handed me a rice cooker before we took off and i felt the absurdity of stashing it in my car. i tried and failed not to think about ticks as we cut through thinly managed trails in woods pockmarked by ribbon marking some esoteric research project or another. despite her best efforts we did not, in fact, get lost, although it is apparently possible. we ran into marlo and grace and another smaller group of people wading in the creek near the parking lot and despite our lack of preparation we decided to wade as well. i stripped off my shoes and socks, tucked carefully near the riverbank, and rolled my sweatpants up as high as i could make them go. the riverbed was slick mossy rock in some spots and silky silt in others, your feet would sink in as you stepped and stumbled. marlo showed us where the crayfish were hiding and showed us how they catch them. i tried and failed a few times, their little tails propel them so fast and so far and they very decidedly do not want to be picked up.

the next weekend i was again on the water, this time with a kayak trip with my department, and i decided to take up the rear to make sure we didn't lose any people. a small group of us rapidly fell behind when someone capsized and lost their ziplocked phone (which had inexplicably been in an open top tote bag). danielle, dressed to swim, embarked, stripped, and began the search. it took probably at least twenty minutes of the ill-prepared among us aimlessly keeping our kayaks in the same area while danielle and trevor searched the silt, with seeming futility, until danielle let out a triumphant shout and emerged with the dripping ziplock. the phone even still worked. the water level was low, and we would frequently get caught between large rocks and on the creekbed. lauren said they make kayaks specifically for rivers and creeks with flat bottoms, which this company did not have, apparently. we had a second capsize - thankfully, no lost items that time - although ani had stolen my water and stashed it in that kayak as a joke and it floated down the riverbed and i had to do some maneuvering to retrieve it. we saw two green herons over the course of the trip, small with their silly little necks extending and retracting as they tiptoed through the shoreline. it took us three hours to reach the end of the trip, and i gave up on keeping my sneakers dry finally. we dragged the kayaks up and i spotted some crayfish, and, on a whim, snagged one before i even realized what i was doing. i suppose the knowledge just needed to marinate. he wiggled and squirmed between my index finger and thumb, pinched just in his little armpit zone. i let him go, obviously; he propelled himself away as fast as he could.

the air was cool and dry, the sun periodically streaming through the leaves in that green way only sunlight can, and the day passed. later that night danielle and i went to dillon's to ostensibly craft but just watched him play stray in a fugue state. i stole his stir fry recipe. it all felt so normal.

1 nov 2023

while driving home today i took a more circuitous route than normal. on the highway, just past the local airport, i saw the birds. my friend told me later that they were probably starlings. in that moment it was an undulation, a heartbeat, liquid mercury passing overhead in a pinpricked shadow. i thought about pulling over to watch them more but in that moment, all i could do was drive and watch and try not to crash. it was like breathing. like the ocean that i miss so desperately. like loops of plasma sunspots.

29 apr 2023

my dead father's watch will leave indents on the inside of my wrist, left long enough; battery casing imprinted on my pulsepoint, in reverse, entreating time to wind back.

8 apr 2023

ive been to synagogue more in the past year than i have been my whole life, practically. danielle is thinking of converting so ive been going with her most days she wants to go, so she doesn't feel out of place.

it's so much different than the temple i atrended growing up. as a child through my and my brother's bnei mitzvah, my mom brought us to a lubavitch center. it was closest, cheapest, and most convenient - so in true jewish mother fashion, that is where we went. i didn't dislike it but it didn't really mean anything to me either, those days, the long glass panel separating the genders during high holy days and the long services in hebrew. we only ever went to services on yom kippur and rosh hashanah anyways, so it didn't matter, though it stung a little when i wasn't permitted to read from the torah. i got over it pretty quickly, though - one less thing to study and memorize at 12.

the rabbi here is a younger man, new to the congregation, fourty maximum, and easy to talk to. the temple is very reform - he carries a guitar with him and plays along to traditional songs in tunes i have never heard. guiltily, i find it so, so corny. i knew in theory that the reform movement was inspired by protestantism but it's another thing entirely to experience a rabbi playing guitar to lecha dodi. i feel really bad for not loving it, maybe ill get used to it over time - it's not like i have many other options, out here - and the rabbi is very progressive, made a point to defend trans folks in a speech, and is overall just a wonderful guy - so ill make do. ill have to attend a conservative temple, when i get the chance, and see if i like the middle ground a little more.

id never met a convert before moving out here but now ive met many, all in different stages of the process - from the previous rabbi, a woman who had converted in the 80s, to a local hairdresser just beginning her intro classes. it's funny; growing up i took being surrounded by other jews for granted. the thought that people could choose to be jewish was known to me but not really considered often. i understand now what a beautiful thing it is, to choose.

danielle asked me "what if im considering conversion for the wrong reasons?" and i said "well, what's a wrong reason?" she was at the sink, i was on the couch, the evening light setting sun filtered through the blinds in wide ribbons, "because you introduced me to it and im searching for something fulfilling." "if that's wrong reasons, what's right ones?" she didn't know.