Mallory's Camera

Damn.

Well, yesterday started out well enough.

I pulled out the last six wheelbarrels of thistles, brambles, bee balm, & other assorted weeds from my New Paltz community garden plot.

Before:



After:



I deserved a treat!

So, I trotted over to Hudson Valley Chocolates, and found Stephanie hard at work:



Stephanie is the French-born choclatier who supplies bonbons for the Mohonk Mountain House and various other upscale venues around the Hudson Valley. She has a small shop here in town that keeps whimsical hours: It's open when she feels like being open.

Wallkill is a place where the men walk around in teeshirts that say, Unvacinated, Unmasked, Republican, Straight. In the spring, summer, & fall, Wallkill is an intensely beautiful place, but it is filled with the most horrible people, so there's no reason to go anywhere near it.

But if there was a reason to go near Wallkill, that reason would be to visit Stephanie's shop, Hudson Valley Chocolates:



Got home. Nibbled chocolate. Began Remunerating. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

Remunerating is dry stuff. I have to keep wiping my brain clean of excess jargon in between those weighty bouts of regression analysis. To do that, I surf the web—journal entries (and y'all do not write enough!), blogs, celebrity scandals, and when I'm really hard up, news.

Yesterday, the news was unrelentingly horrible.

From Ice Barbie's press conference at which a United States Senator—a Senator!—was handcuffed and brutalized to Israel's massive bombing of Iran.

This is all so fuckin' NUTS.

###

I can't remember the name of the podcast I sometimes listen to that once did a show about superpowers. Specifically: What superpower do people most wish they had?

I do remember that time travel was the most popular superpower—though not by a huge margin.

And if you drilled down into the sample of people who wanted to be able to time travel, they all wanted to be able to time travel for the same reason—so they could kill Hitler!

Well, now we all have the chance to kill Hitler.

That must be the silver lining in the current cloud, right?

The garden has been a bone of contention twixt me & Icky.

Six weeks or so ago, he informed me he did not want to share the garden in back of the house.

"I know myself," he told me. "I want to do things the way I want to do things—not that I couldn't learn from you," he added in a gratuitous attempt to sound gracious. (Gratuitous because nothing can make Icky sound gracious.)

He offered to put in a kind of annex garden where I could putter & grow.

I made inconclusive murmuring noises.

The whole thing was extremely weird, I thought: There's such a lot of work involved in planting and tending a garden, why wouldn't you want to share that with someone?

Then the Hyde Park Community Garden folk emailed me asking me to come back, & I thought, Providence has solved my dilemma!

###

A couple of weeks ago, he was gonna get one of the neighbors over to tractor the garden (much more efficient than rototilling) and asked me how much square footage I would like.

"That won't be necessary," I beamed. "I found another place to garden."

Weirdly, this seemed to upset him!

Where was this place, he wanted to know. He asked four times; I ignored him. But clearly, he was put out.

The day the neighbor was supposed to come over, it rained. And then she didn't come over on any of the subsequent days (Probably because you didn't pay her last year & made no noises about paying her this year either, I thought. I wouldn't think Icky is close enough with the neighbors to get friendship favors.) This put him in a glowery mood, too.

###

Then last night, I got a text from him: Go ahead and plant what you want on the side of the house or the garden fyi. I’m going to be coming up there a lot less I think.

Did something happen? I texted back.

I am not happy coming up there to sit around all week with Gus’ door closed on me. He won’t do anything around the house or with me. I don’t want to be up there under those conditions.

Little Susie Sunshine that I am, I texted back, It’s a difficult situation, yes. But I HAVE seen the two of you bond. I know it’s none of my business but even if he is pushing you away, if you LET yourself be pushed, it’s going to feel like abandonment to him.

I need to protect my mental health, he replied.

What mental health? I wondered.

Of course, I also knew that he was acting out, having the 63-year-old-man version of a temper tantrum, informing as many people as he can about his grievances. I'm 90% certain that he will be back up again next week on the usual date, and it will be as though this text conversation had never happened.

Still. The whole thing made me nervous.

Like am I gonna have to start thinking about filling the propane cannisters, mowing the acreage, making sure Black Chicken is fed & watered? That's a lot more work than I signed up for.

###

He does have a really dreadful relationship with the Spawn, but then I had a dreadful relationship with RTT when he was Gus's age, and today, we are besties, so go figure.

As a parent of teenage children, consistency is the most important thing—consistency & a commitment to far-sightedness, goals in the long term: Gus is incapable of seeing three years ahead because Gus is 15, and three years is one-fifth of his lifespan—figuratively the equivalent of 15 years to me. I can't see 15 years ahead!

Also, Icky has this ridiculous notion that being a parent is kinda like being a super-friend. If I didn't dislike him, I'd almost be touched by the way he begs the Spawn to let him play video games with him—video games? you think that's what fathers do? are you mad?

And then there are all those mornings when Gus refuses to budge from his bed, literally pulls the covers up over his head, while Icky screams, "This is ridiculous! Get the fuck up! You have to go to school!"

Only Gus doesn't get up.

One imagines him beneath his covers with a small, sly grin on his face. Punishing Daddy by punishing himself.

A toxic situation.

But honestly?

The Patrizia-torium (which I like quite well) is sheltered from the rest of the house, the kiskas are happy, and it's none of my business.

###

Anyway, I did get over to the Community Garden on Thursday and weeded happily for an hour before it began to pour. (Not in the forecast.) Got the strawberry patch weeded. Will go back tomorrow to do the rest of the weeding and put in lettuce & beans.

This year, I have the space to attempt germinating my own seedlings, so I have various heirloom tomato varieties percolating in tiny peat pots.

Today, I am running the bounce house at Vision of Wallkill's Duck Derby.

The fun part of the day, the actual race of the rubber duckies down the Wallkill River, has been canceled due to safety issues: The Wallkill River is at flood stage.

And I can't say I am looking forward to chaperoning a bunch of brutish Trumpie tadpoles—'cause that's what the citizenry of Wallkill hamlet are, brutish Trumpies.

But I committed to it and must follow through.

Sigh...

Protective mimicry, I remind myself.

Dreamed my friend Erin had fallen in love with Ben.

She was incredibly apolgetic about it and kept assuring me that she understood all the nuances, having been a Faithful Mallory's Camera reader lo, these many years. In fact, she was really glad she'd been reading my diary because otherwise it would have been impossible for her to imagine how somebody (for which read Ben) could simultaneously be so appealing and so awful.

Throughout our conversation, Ben himself was strewn across a sofa in a nearby room and being incredibly whiney, trying to get Erin all to himself.



Busy day yesterday.

In the morning, I sold Duck Derby tickets with Ellen at a folding table in front of the Wallkill hamlet post office.

The Duck Derby is one of innumerable civic activities my dinky little community group, Vision of Wallkill, sponsors. On May 10, we will float a bunch of rubber ducks in the Wallkill River. There is no appreciable current in the portion of the Wallkill River that runs through the hamlet, so the rubber ducks mostly just sit there. But eventually—entropy!—one of the rubber ducks breaks loose & is declared the winner.

The lucky duck's sponsor wins some kind of cash prize, which protocol demands they donate back to the hamlet, so you know: The whole thing is a rip-off.

Funds raised this project go to the Wallkill High School to provide a "safe space" for the Wallkill High School senior class to enjoy prom night.

The Wallkill High School senior class is mostly the spawn of bug-eyed, drooling, rabid Trump supporters, so personally, I'd like to see them all die in fiery car explosions or by chugging methyl-alcohol-infused keggers on prom night.

But you can't always get what you want, and anyway, it's important to maintain Protective Camouflage.

While we were sitting at our table, a fleet of buses drove by and turned down River Road.

"Sightseerers in Wallkill?" I asked Ellen.

"Oh, they're on their way to the Sherpa festival," Ellen told me.

A convoy of cars followed. Expensive cars.

"The Sherpas bought that big field on the other side of Merrie's property," Ellen explained. "They wanted to build a temple or something. But, of course, the town wouldn't let them."

Sherpas!

That must mean... Himalayans!

I resolved to check it out!



Maybe five thousand people? In a field! Right up the usually deserted road from the transfer station. Hundreds of cars parked in a makeshift parking lot.

I ditched my car by the side of the road & hiked in.



"How much are tickets?" I asked the people at the gate.

Tickets were a hundred bucks!

I prepared to hike out.

But then the ticket sellers looked at each other & one of them asked me, "You live here?"

"Yes, I do," I babbled. And next year, I can sell Lhapso Fest tickets along with Duck Derby tickets! I thought, beaming in what I hoped was an appealing fashion.

They let me in for free-eee-eeee!

There wasn't a lot to do. No cultural performances. I think it was mainly a networking meet-and-greet for the Himalayan community of New York State who are mostly Nepalese. I didn't see any other Caucasians.

Most of them were in native garb, and the native garb is stunning although, of course, it is very rude to stalk people for photos just because you like their clothes. I tried to be discreet.

A lot of the men were wearing what I can only describe as modified gaucho costumes. It's so interesting how men in high-country cultures always end up going for those wide-brimmed hats, serapes and ornamental boots. The universal herder swag!






A huge, multi-course feast was in progress that looked and smelled delicious, but I decided it would be rude to partake. So after wandering around for an hour, I left.

I know this culture a little bit because of all the English As a Second Language tutoring I did in Ithaca where I was not only the English Language Tutor of Choice among the surprisingly large Tibetan population there, but also the Tax Preparer of choice.

What surprised me most about the Tibetans in Ithaca was how very materialistic they are. They live for Black Friday! And yet they are very religious Buddhists. What I took away from that is that they understood impermanence without having to practice detachment.



After the Sherpa Fest, I scampered over to the monthly meeting of the Shawangunk Dems where I volunteered to take over their website. This will be good because not only will it help me become more proficient in Squarespace—a potential revenue-generating skill—but it will also help me tailor the Shawangunk Dems' message a little more subtly so as not to alienate potential supporters.

Remember, boys & girls: Imperfect allies are not the enemy.



I am contemplating scampering across the bridge this morning to begin prepping this year's garden, having accepted the Hyde Park Community Garden's invitation to garden with them again this year, since gardening is kind of intimate, thus not something I want to do with Icky.

The symbolism of Easter is not entirely lost on me.

After all, when all is said & done, Jesus is a harvest god.

Somehow, Ellen found out that my birthday is fast approaching, so the Girl Squad meetup last night turned into a birthday dinner.

The Parkview has decent cheeseburgers, so that's what I always order.

I like the Parkview. Maybe it's because I'm deep in my various Larry McMurtry reads, but it occurs to me that Wallkill is a lot like McMurtry's mythical West Texas Thalia—a lot of deeply weird individuals pretending to be walkin' that Law-and-Order highway. I would actually kinda like them if their xenophobia was not a strain of rabies. But as it is, they're dangerous.

###
Anyway, Ellen knows absolutely everyone in Wallkill, so absolutely everyone came up to our table—from Joe, the former Wallkill Town Board member who lives in a 19th-century boarding house still decorated with the original daguerreotypes to Steve, who runs the local transfer station (where I haul my weekly garbage since Icky is too cheap to spring for a garbage service) & who never charges me: Jest don't tell them people down at City Hall, 'kay darlin'?

###

Ellen and I have an unlikely friendship. She doesn't read & I'd say she doesn't actually hear about 50% of what comes out of my mouth, but then, I don't really care if people hear what I say since I'm mostly saying it for the benefit of an invisible audience that lives in my head.

She won my fealty & devotion 4-Evah by coming to dig my car out of the ice last winter and rolling down her car window on her way out to tell me, "I got your back."

Apparently, I did something similar for her—though I can't remember what it was. Maybe offering to go with her to the vet when she had to put her much-loved dog down?

Anyway, we are bonded.

And we both hate Trump—a rarity in Wallkill.

So, maybe that's part of it.

It was (GirlSquad - 1) + (1 non-GirlSquad): Becky was off in the Bronx recuperating from a Bad Domestic Situation & Ellen brought along her neighbor, Mary, who, despite being named after Jesus's mother, is of Ukrainian Jewish descent and was very high up in some NYC-based government financial organization before her retirement.

"I've met you several times before," Mary told me.

I didn't remember.

We had fun character-assassinating everyone we knew! In a tiny hamlet like Wallkill, mostly filled with stupid people—hey! they voted for Trump!—the same 30 people rotate through every civic organization: the Library Board, the Volunteer Fire Department Board, Vision of Wallkill, the Shawangunk Dems, the Wallkill Woman's Club—

"So what's up with this Woman's Club anyway?" I asked. "Do they host consciousness-raising meetings about taking down the patriarchy? Do they teach you how to find—& stimulate!—yr own G-spot?"

"No, silly," Ellen said. "They hold raffles! For quilts! And then they donate the money to civic causes—"

"What civic causes?"

"Who knows? Maybe keeping Wallkill safe from supermarkets."

"Well, hey! Wallkill has a liquor store! Who needs groceries?"

###

Other than that, I Remunerated all day & didn't accomplish nearly enough.

My To-Do list is five miles long.

Temps hit 40° F yesterday, so you know—fabulous.

I ran around outside for a couple of hours with my coat unbuttoned 'cause after 10 straight days where the temperatures never rose above 20°, 40° felt hot.

One warmish day was not enough to melt the white shroud of ice encasing the landscape, but by the end of the day, there were many more patches where the yellow grass poked through.

###

Mostly, though, I stayed inside and Remunerated because bills to pay, end of the month, etc, etc.

Adrienne sent me the PR materials she'd prepared for the Ulster County Democratic nominating committee. They included a truly horrifying photograph that made Adrienne look like the scariest old lady you've ever sat next to on a bus (American flag backdrop, though, so that was good.)

The PR materials also included what Adrienne thinks are the top political issues important to Wallkillians (Wallkillers?): (1) lack of medical care and transportation, (2) farm-to-table food, and (3) an art community.

And I am thinking, Say wh-h-hat????

The biggest political issue hereabouts is the current prison strike since prisons are practically the only industry in this part of Ulster County.

The Democratic Governor of New York State, Kathy Hochul, is very opposed to prison strikes and is helicoptering in National Guardsman to take the place of the prison guards walking the picket lines—which makes for kind of an interesting dilemma here in the heart of Trumplandia: Mouth-foaming Trump supporters are actually pro prison union here because their relatives, neighbors, & friends are the ones out on the picket lines.

If she wants to win, Adrienne is gonna have to be pro prison union, too, whatever the official Democratic party line is.

Also, Wallkill has no grocery stores or supermarkets. It is technically a food desert. That is an issue far more serious than access to urgent care clinics.

Adrienne spent most of her life in Queens, so she is conditioned to give knee-jerk, Big City answers to questions like, What are the most important local issues?

But honestly? I think Adrienne needs to spend some time in the reeducation camp.

###

And, of course, no sign from the person who used to sysop the Shawangunk Dems' website. Highly irresponsible, that, and a reminder that you must build redundancy in any time you're doing anything on the Internet.

Presumably, I can get Adrienne space on the Ulster County Democrats' server.

###

In the evening, I debated the True Function of Humor for an hour or so on the phone with Ichabod.

As noted, I am a Big Fan of humor and an especially Big Fan of inappropriate, politically incorrect humor.

I think the moment when you "get" a punchline is exactly equivalent to satori, that Zen Buddhism moment of profound insight when the true nature of reality suddenly becomes clear.

In my next incarnation, I'm gonna invent a religion entirely based on Holocaust jokes!

###

The conversation with Ichabod centered on two "jokes."

Louis CK: You should never rape anyone unless you have a reason like you want to fuck somebody and they won't let you.

Donald J. Trump: You can grab 'em by the pussy.

"The Louis CK quote is pretty funny," I said. "The Trump quote is not funny. But that's because it wasn't a joke."

"You don't think he was trying to get a laugh?" Ichabod asked.

"Oh, on one level, sure. The sheer absurdity of the situation. But honestly? He was telling the exact truth about his experiences as a mega-celebrity."

"How do you know?"

"Hey! I wasn't an entertainment journalist all those years for nothing!"

"But Louis CK was telling the exact truth about his experiences, too, and you thought it was funny!"

"That's true," I conceded. " I'm not entirely sure why it was funny. I'd have to think it through to analyze it.