Snowed

Well, it's easy to come with my #1 good thing today -- the patch on the roof held! Thank you Ludo, for such a great job, and for doing it so fast. I guess here's where I can make some lemonade, because if things were like they were even a year ago, Ludo would have been too busy to take an emergency, and probably would have charged a lot more, too. Oh, and thanks to Ed, of course, for putting me on to Ludo. So even though we've got snow up to my knees, my head is dry.

I'm not exaggerating about the knees, you know. We have wind out here, and the foot or so that the weatherman...I mean meteorologist....is reporting is blowing into banks. I opened the door and tried to walk down my front path and I felt like I was warming up on the Stairmaster. I had to lift my knees halfway to my chin, just to pull my foot out of a footprint. Maybe this is why Scandinavians have to be so tall; a million years ago, all the ones with short genes got stuck in snowdrifts and never made it out alive to reproduce.

#2 for today is The Internet. Seriously. Sometimes I think it saves my life. It's funny how if you just decide to stay inside, you're fine, but the minute you know you're really stuck in the house, you feel completely shut off from the world and want to start banging your head against the walls. When things are good, it's easy to complain about the internet being a time waster, or how it doesn't let you drop off the map. But when you have nothing else to do and you got pushed of the map, it's the best! One thing I always like about the internet is how it really does feel like a world, so even if you're sitting on your butt in a corner, you can feel like you're roaming all over. Today, I went on Google Maps and put in the address of a hotel in Paris where I always stay. Then I put it on the street view and pretended I was walking around. It's amazing how if you focus, it starts to feel like you're really there. I found my favorite branch of Zadig et Voltaire, then I went on their website to look at the spring line, and I pretended I was shopping. I made myself a cup of coffee put it in a cup instead of a mug, went back to the map, and I walked myself over to Deux Magots. It was kind of fun.

So I guess the #3 Good Thing for today is having an imagination. I don't care what my third grade teacher said; it's the best thing anyone can have.

A Good Start

Okay, here goes.

#1 – The bathroom wallpaper is peeling. Okay, at first that doesn’t sound like it would be good, but it is. I keep walking around this house and wondering what I could do that would make it feel more like home. Like I belong here. I have to, or I’ll lose my mind. Except for a few things I snuck out before they changed the locks, everything I have is whatever Uncle H was living with. Half of it he got from big box stores in the 80’s, and the rest is whatever the Prestons left behind, which looks like a set from Father Knows Best. If I wasn’t already depressed, this place would get me there fast. But where do I start? It’s not like I can send it all to the dump and wave a magic credit card to start from scratch.

It seemed too big to tackle. Then this morning I noticed about the wallpaper. It’s really horrible wallpaper, white with yellow stripes that are supposed to look like ropes, and red and blue sailboats and anchors stamped all over. Like the bathroom at an all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant. I was washing out the tub this morning, because I hate having to wash out the tub after a bath, when I’m all relaxed, and I noticed a big triangle flapping in the far corner. I couldn’t stop myself; I gave it a tug. Six or seven inches came off in my hand. And it was like a light bulb going off. This is where I could start. I can peel off all this paper and put on a fresh coat of paint and see what I can do to make it look calm and serene, like a spa. I’m sure I can find some things at Target or someplace, or figure some kind of craft project.

This is where the “good thing” part really starts to kick in, because just thinking about this reminded me of who I am. I wasn’t born on Park Avenue. I grew up learning how to be creative and make do. I just forgot. I can do this. It won’t be easy, and it may take forever, but I can. So hooray for the bathroom wallpaper and go me!!!

#2 - I sang. I put in a couple of hours on the walls. After a while, the quiet was getting on my nerves. I really needed music, but I had the bathroom pretty steamed up, to get the paper looser, and I didn’t know if it would hurt my ipod – and I have better uses for my money than having to buy a new one. I didn’t really think about it, but I started singing. Then I realized I was in an empty house, and I started singing loud! I can’t remember the last time I wailed like that. Man, it felt great! So I’m going to keep doing it. Hell, maybe some day I’ll even work up the nerve to sing in front of an audience again. Doesn’t matter if I do. But maybe it’s important that I’m singing, just for me.

#3 – I watched those Sunday morning political shows on TV. I’ve never been into politics. It seems so phony, and a lot of times I think its an excuse for doing nothing. But maybe if I’d been watching the news more, I would have seen what was happening with Gary. I’m not saying I could have changed anything with him, but maybe I would have gotten myself out in time. The way I see it, I’m a victim of current events. And isn’t there some saying about knowing your enemy.

Okay, that last one was hard to come up with, but I made it Jeff!

Three Good Things

Jeff came out today to give me a good talking to. I’ve been in such a funk these last couple weeks. It’s funny, but I felt worse than I did when it all first happened. Jeff says it’s not strange at all, that I was in shock or denial or both, and that it’s only now started to get real and that’s why I’ve been so mood indigo. So he got on the train and didn’t even tell me he was coming until he called from the Speonk station for me to pick him up. We spent the whole day talking. He helped me move some furniture and boxes, and we drove all the way out to Turtle Crossing to get some barbecue for dinner. He has to be at work tomorrow – something I didn’t understand about a load balancer – so he couldn’t stay over. After we ate, I put him on the train in East Hampton.

I felt so much better for having seen him, I didn’t even mind the drive home alone. Except for Ed dropping by once a week, checking in on me really, and he and Leonie having me to dinner a couple of times, I’ve been all on my own since I got here. It’s not good, I know. But it’s hard to get out there and try and join the community when the weather makes me feel like hiding under the blankets. And anyway, how am I supposed to do it? Join a gym? Can’t afford it. Find a book group? Give me a break. I could use a job, even a part time one, but everything here died out years before this November. I can walk the two miles to what used to be “town” (it’s free exercise, right?), but every other storefront has newspapered windows. The most happening place in town is the thrift store, which is in a double wide spot that used to be the dime store when I was a kid. Everyone brings in their stuff and the “antiques” buyers from the Hamptons and the city make regular trips in to mine it. Or at least that’s how it’s been. Leonie says the locals are finally starting to catch on to Craig’s List; they can make a lot more by selling their stuff direct. Yeah, things are hoppin’ big time out here in Arahmpett.

Still, Jeff’s right. It’s not doing me any good sitting in this house, drinking too much coffee and re-reading old books. And like he says, it’s easy to let days and days go by that way when there’s no one for me to answer to. So he’s made me promise that I’m going to post on this blog every single day.

What I’m supposed to do is put down three good things that happened that day. Jeff says no matter what, there have to be three. It’s not, as he said, like I’m living in a war zone or have to dumpster dive to eat. His thinking is, if I have to write down three things, not only will I appreciate what I do have, but I’ll be forced to make things happen. I’ll start looking at what I can control and setting goals I can accomplish. He made me promise. And he’s checking this blog first thing every morning, so he’ll know if I haven’t done it.

It sounds a little Oprah, I know, but you know, I don’t have any better ideas and it won’t cost me anything to try. So I’m starting now, while I’m still kind of high from having a good day.

My three good things for today are:

#1 - Having a friend like Jeff. You’re blushing, aren’t you? Well, come on. You’re the best friend I have in the world, and we both know I’m not exaggerating. I know you’d like to wave a magic wand and make everything okay. And you’re such a great person that it hurts you that you can’t. No one could make everything okay for me this time, Jeff. But you help me get back up and keep going. Thank you. For everything.

#2 – Turtle Crossing barbecue. If you’re within driving distance of East Hampton and you’ve never eaten at Turtle Crossing, you’re a fool. I’ve tried pretty much everything on the menu, and it’s all amazing. It’s the kind of food that can turn any day into a holiday. I had ribs tonight, because I haven’t had them in so long. And I brought home enough brisket and pulled pork for three more dinners. Cornbread, beans and cole slaw, too. They make the absolute best cole slaw.

#3 – The big old bathtub in the upstairs bathroom. I remember begging Uncle Harry to let me replace it with one of those easy-install fiberglass units. I had one picked out was a gunmetal grey, which I thought was so sophisticated. Fortunately, he wouldn’t hear of it. He liked being able to stretch out and soak after a hard day, and he was too big for the newer tubs. I didn’t really understand until the flat in Prague, which had a super large claw foot Victorian; now that was a tub! That was when I started to appreciate the value of having my own private hydrotherapy. I made Gary put big Jacuzzi tubs in all our houses….Sorry, this is supposed to be about what’s good, not what’s gone wrong. But I have to say that if I ever have money again, if there’s one thing I’m getting it’s a Jacuzzi. That and a toilet with a Toto washlet. For now, I’m grateful Uncle H never listened to me. And now I’m putting away my computer, pouring myself a snifter of cognac and taking myself a soak.

Heart

Last year, Gary took me to Per Se for Valentine’s Day. It was amazing, really amazing. It’s the only time I ever ate there, and I’ll probably never be able to afford to eat there again. After dinner, we had a car drive us out to the beach. We spent most of the weekend in bed, or sitting in front of the fire with a bottle of something fine. I wonder now, was it already too late for Gary? Was he fiddling while Rome burned, or did he really not know what deep shit he was in? He sure didn’t think he’d be dead before the year was out.

This was the first time in my life I’ve ever been alone on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t know what to do with it.

What Happened with Global Warming?

The last two days were really beautiful and I was just getting used to imagining spring. Then I wake up this morning, and it’s snowing. Again. And it kept up all freakin’ day, wet and slushy, but still snowing. And I thought we were having global warming and New York would be turning into LA. I must be missing something.

I found an old lawn chair in the garage that wasn’t too rusty to open, and I sat outside yesterday for a couple of hours with my coffee. There’s a patch out back where I’m thinking maybe I could make a garden. I never made one myself, but I love the one out at the house. It would be something to do. That’s what I was thinking yesterday. I was even thinking of driving out to the house and taking some pictures. I wish I could just dig up those rose bushes out back, those little old white ones that smelled so amazing. I don’t see why I can’t. They were left from the previous owners, so they belong to the land, not to Gary, right?

Jeff says I have to stop saying things like that in this blog. I don’t get it. I’m not saying anything I wouldn’t say right to the lawyers’ face. I’m an open book – no secrets, nothing to hide. Anyway, I’m a victim here. My husband’s dead and everything I thought was real for seven years, suddenly out of nowhere disappears. He’s hardly in the ground when I get visited by a team of lawyers telling me that he owed millions of dollars and everything’s either leased and the bills haven’t been paid in months, or it’s collateral for some loan that likewise hasn’t been paid. The whole life I had with Gary is in receivership.
I’m out on the street with nothing and I never even had a chance to save myself.

Damn it, I’ve got stuff owed to me, too! Where do I get on line to collect? For back salary or whatever we want to call it. I was a good wife. I made sure he had everything he wanted to make him happy, the right food and wine, hot sex even when I was totally bored, better suits than he knew how to pick for himself, everything. Wherever we went, I worked the smiles and small talk, and did the whole celebrity thing that I absolutely never do on my own, just to make him look good. And I put up with his two freakin’ spoiled asshole sons. Oh, that’s the bright spot in all this! Those two are finally going to have to get off their asses and work for a living.

Carmen, Gary’s assistant came to visit after the funeral. That’s how I heard about how Simon kept calling and demanding his seven grand every month. Thirty years old and never worked a day in his life, living on the beach with his rich Swiss girlfriend. The two of them
“in film.” Yeah, sure. She went to the same gym as Drew Barrymore, thot’s about how much “in film” they are. I tried to tell Gary it was bullshit, but when it came to those boys, he only ever saw what they wanted him to see. Simon the “filmmaker” and Taylor the “writer.” At least Simon was in the right place. Who goes to Paris to write in English? Since Hemmingway, I mean. It was those damned boys that drove him to that roof if you ask me. Carmen was in tears. They’ll call and drive him crazy for their checks. The checking account would be down to zero, and he could never tell them, he just couldn’t bring himself to say he couldn’t afford it, that there was nothing to give. He had to be a big man for those boys. He never stopped being the Saturday daddy, the divorced guy who goes overboard when he sees the kids, trying to buy them away from their mom and her new husband. It’s getting me sick to think about what those boys did to him. But I wish I could have been there when they found out the piggy bank was empty, that there would never be another check again.

I Can't Handle the Roof

I swear, I’m starting to take it personally. Thanks to Gary, I can never go up to the roof of anything ever again, not the Rainbow Room (if they manage to bring it back again, again), not the top of Notre Dame, well, you know what I mean. And now, I can’t even stand to think about being under one, because mine sprang a leak a couple of hours ago, right over my bedroom, and the only bucket I can find to put under it is the trash can Uncle H used to keep under his desk and it’s some kind of tin or something under the fake leather and the dinging is driving me crazy. I guess I’m going to have to sleep in Uncle H’s room, which I really should be moving into anyway except it weirds me out a little bit. Not that I believe in ghosts or anything, and even if I did, I like to think he’d be friendly and watching over me. But it was his room, and I never moved his stuff out of the house, except the clothes that I gave to the Heart Association thrift store when Leonie said they’d appreciate it a lot, and the accountant said was a good idea, too. I automatically went up to the room I lived in until I quit college and that Uncle H always kept for me to stay in when I came to visit. It may be a lot smaller and the closet’s a joke, but it’s my room – my own room, and right now that means more than ever.

I guess I’m being silly. The whole house is mine, and tomorrow I’m going to have to shift a bunch of stuff around and start making it feel that way. Tonight I’ll just change the bedding. I’m going to miss my room. It’s kind of frozen in time, and it’s comforting. You know, it still has the curtains I made from this Indian bedspread I bought the first time I took the train in on my own to spend a Saturday hanging around the Village. And there’s a poster from when the Raisin played one of our first gigs at Stony Brook. You know, Jenny O made that poster. She was dating Stu back then. I swear I never thought about this until just now, but I could probably sell that poster. Not now; when thinks settle down. But I’d better take it off the wall as soon as I finish writing this (I mean, there’s a leak in that room!)

Okay, good, so I’m making some lemonade. If I didn’t have a leak, I wouldn’t be looking at my room like something that was disappearing, and I wouldn’t have thought much about the poster. I bet there’s some other stuff here in the house that could be worth something. I know there are those painting’s of Malcolm’s that Uncle H never much liked but was afraid to get rid of. Damn, I hope there aren’t more leaks over the finished part of the attic! I have a lot to do tomorrow.

If you live anywhere on the East Coast, I don’t have to tell you that today was exhausting. We had a good amount of snow, which turned into freezing rain that made layers of ice over the snow all day long until maybe a couple of hours ago when it turned into regular rain. When I first saw it, I thought it was pretty. I was getting a kick out of seeing it on the trees and all, and staying so sparkly white, much nicer than city snow and somehow…I don’t know, is it right to say “quaint” to describe how it looks cuter and tamer than snow does in Aspen or Chiesa? Then the lights flickered a couple of times and I panicked. I have no idea what to do if the power goes down. I don’t even know if there are candles except for my Fresh Sugar ones that I already burned down a lot trying to get the funky closed-up smell out of the house. Well, I’m using my computer, so you know I have power now, but it was dicey there for a while. Even the range is electric in this house, which is one of like a thousand things I wish I’d thought about changing when I still had money. What’s that they say about 20/20 hindsight? Exactly. I was trying to figure out if it would be okay to build a fire and use my Le Creuset dutch oven in it when Ed showed up at my door. Thank goodness for good friends with four-wheel drive! He said he figured I wouldn’t know how to use the generator. Use it, hell, I didn’t even know I had one! He also brought me what he said was a “welcome wagon survival kit”, which was stuff like white church candles, kitchen matches, a big yellow camping flashlight and a gallon of water, but also a couple of bottles of Green Mountain merlot and a loaf of Leonie’s special raisin bread.

Ed knows everything about this house, because his dad and Uncle Henry were best buds forever and whatever one did, the other one did. I’m going to have to call him tomorrow at a civilized hour and ask who can fix the roof. And thank Leonie for the bread, which is seriously to die for. It’s a good thing I’m going to be going up and down a lot of stairs tomorrow.

I Guess I Freaked Out

I can’t believe it’s two months. It’s like I never have a minute to think with everything that has to get done, and when I do have time, my head feels like it’s going to explode and I take the meds that Dr. W_____ said I can only have for another month and then if I can’t get myself to chill it’s regular antidepressants which always make me puff up like Oprah in between diets. Anyway, I forgot all about this til Jeff asked me the other day “whatever happened to the blog?” I promised him as soon as I unpacked the computer, I’d try it again. Because he’s right, I need someone to talk to and there isn’t anyone out here to have coffee with and except for him, my other friends get all “oh you poor thing, sorry I have to run”-ish on the phone, that is if they even take my calls.

So now I’m sitting in the kitchen out here in Arahmpett, hard to believe I know, deciding whether or not to crack open one of the mini Fatwitch brownies I got the other day when Jeff took me to Chelsea Market for a kind of bon voyage stock up. That was so sweet of him, to do that. I know I’m only a couple of hours away from the city, and there are plenty of places out east of here where I always go when we’re in Bridgehampton….Strike that. Where I used to go when we used to be out at the beach. It’s hard to wrap my head around all that being gone. It’s not just the days of gourmet food shopping that are pretty much history. If I hadn’t gone out for the weekend, to recover from the shock of that phone call from the accountant, I wouldn’t have been able to even get my personal things over to this house the way I managed to do.

I have to keep telling myself how lucky I am to have this house. People didn’t understand when I bought it for Uncle Harry back in ’79. You were supposed to blow your first big money on parties and clothes and, well, blow. If you were buying a house, you should buy something cool on a beach or a loft or something. Andy lived with his mother of course, but that was Andy. Anyone else, if you wanted to help the relatives, well, you bought them cars or fur coats so they could show the neighbors. People who knew about it laughed when I bought a kind of crummy house out by the fishermen and potato farmers, but this was where Uncle Harry’d grown up and where he wanted to stay if only he didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, and I thought it was the least I could do for all he’d done for me growing up. When he died, he willed it back to me of course. That was when Erich and I were living in Prague. There was so much going on there back then, it was all I could do to make it back for the funeral. I couldn’t hang around to sell a house. Anyway, Arahmpett’s kind of a dead zone, so I knew it wasn’t going to be so easy to unload. My lawyer said I might as well hold onto it, so I could keep a U.S. residence. And when Gary’s team was drawing up the pre-nup and insisted on keeping the Tahoe and Bridgehampton properties in his name, it helped me keep some pride to having something I was going keep in my own name, so I didn’t sell it like some of my friends said to and get a facelift, which was about how much money it was worth. Now it turns out that was a good thing, because with the apartment being in both our names, this is the only place that’s not considered “an asset of the marriage” so it’s the only place they can’t take away from me.

Okay, before I get any more depressed – like that’s even possible – I think I’m going to have that Fatwich.