Robert Guskind, founder of Gowanus Lounge, 1958-2009

Update 2010.01.03: Corrected all links to the old Gowanus Lounge domain to the new memorial domain.


Update 2009.03.20: A memorial is planned for April 4.
Update 2009.03.14: Finally wrote my memorial post.
Update 2009.03.11: The official, authorized, and epic obituary for Bob, written lovingly by his family and friends, was published online today. Please read In Memoriam, Robert Guskind on Gowanus Lounge.
Updates 2009.03.06:

  • It’s been all I can do just to keep up with the flood of online remembrances and other reports in response to Bob’s death. As of mid-day, there are over 60. Reading everyone’s posts brings back my own memories of Bob, which I hope to post over the weekend.
  • Changed the link for the Brooklyn Paper.

I just learned, from Windsor Terrace Alliance and Brownstoner, that Robert “Bob” Guskind, founder of Gowanus Lounge, was found dead in his home yesterday, March 4, 2009.

He was a colleague, and a friend. I’m stunned, and can’t write anything else right now. See Links below for others’ coverage of this terrible loss.

Robert Guskind, speaking at the second Brooklyn Blogfest in May 2007.
Robert Guskind, Gowanus Lounge


Robert Guskind speaking at the first Brooklyn Blogade, at Vox Pop in Flatbush, in June 2007.

Robert Guskind, Gowanus Lounge

Related content

My Flickr photos of Bob

Links

His work and words

His last video, 2009-03-01
Bob’s videos on YouTube
Bob’s Flickr photos
A Walk Around the Blog episode featuring Bob talking about development in Carroll Gardens
Bob on the Brian Lehrer show, WNYC, 2007-09-20
Reporter Roundtable and Brooklyn Review archival footage from Brooklyn Independent Television
Bob wrote 29 stories for Underground Voices Magazine

News reports

Brooklyn Paper, 2009-03-05 (The text of this article has been edited from its original content.)
Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 2009-03-05
New York Magazine (Warning: Intrusive advertising)
New York Post

Personal remembrances

One post per site. I’ve done my best to keep this list up-to-date. If I’ve overlooked your post, please let me know.

Bob and Miss Heather were good friends.
New York Sh*tty

In alphabetical order

  1. 1 Stop Over in Brooklyn
  2. 66 Square Feet
  3. The Albany Project
  4. Art in Brooklyn
  5. Atlantic Yards Report
  6. Bad Advice
  7. Bay Ridge Journal
  8. Bed-Stuy Banana
  9. Bed-Stuy Blog
  10. Best View in Brooklyn
  11. The Bowery Boys: New York City History
  12. BRIC Community Media
  13. Brooklyn 11211
  14. Brooklyn Born
  15. Brooklyn Heights Blog
  16. Brooklyn Junction
  17. Brooklyn Optimist
  18. Brooklyn Paper
  19. Brooklyn Ron
  20. Brooklyn Streets, Carroll Gardens
  21. Brooklynometry
  22. Brownstoner
  23. Bumpershine
  24. California Greening
  25. Carroll Gardens petition (scroll down past the petition itself)
  26. Clinton Hill Blog
  27. Cobble Hill Blog
  28. Crazy Stable
  29. Curbed (Bob worked at Curbed until this past January)
  30. Dalton Rooney (last paragraph)
  31. Deep in the Heart of Brooklyn
  32. Deluxa
  33. Destination Red Hook
  34. Develop Don’t Destroy Brooklyn
  35. Dope on the Slope
  36. Dumbo NYC
  37. Eat It (opening paragraph to a restaurant review)
  38. Englishman in New York
  39. Flatbush Gardener
  40. Flatbush Vegan
  41. Free Williamsburg
  42. Fort Greene-Clinton Hill, The Local, New York Times
  43. Glamorous Life of the Theatre
  44. Gothamist
  45. Green Brooklyn
  46. Gorilla Face
  47. Huffington Post
  48. I Love Franklin Ave.
  49. I’m not saying, I’m just sayin
  50. IMBY
  51. Keep Left NYC
  52. Kinetic Carnival
  53. Liberty on 10th Street
  54. Living the American Green
  55. lornagrl
  56. Lost City
  57. Lost in the Ozone
  58. McBrooklyn
  59. Make No Assumptions …
  60. mrjabba
  61. Nathan Kensinger Photography
  62. Neighborhood Threat
  63. Neighbors Allied for Good Growth (NAG)
  64. No Land Grab
  65. Not Another F*cking Blog
  66. The “Not-So-Rough” Guide
  67. Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn
  68. Pardon Me For Asking
  69. Pistols and Popcorn
  70. Plasticblog
  71. Pretty in the City
  72. Queens Cr*p
  73. Reclaimed Home
  74. Self-Absorbed Boomer
  75. Space at my moving pace
  76. Street Level
  77. Sunset-Park.com
  78. Triada Samaras Art
  79. Vanishing New York
  80. Washington Square Park

[goo.gl]

Growing 387 trees for the National 9/11 Memorial

A video interview with two of the people who are charged with growing nearly 400 trees that will populate the plaza of the National September 11 Memorial at Ground Zero in downtown Manhattan. The Gardeners for Recovery Cobblestone will reside on the street-level plaza somewhere among these trees.

Speaking are Ronald Vega, Project Manager, National September 11 Memorial Park, and Paul Cowie, Consulting Arborist, Paul Cowie & Assoicates, Montville, New Jersey. The “gothic arches” Vega mentions are also reminiscent of the architectural details of the twin towers.

Related Content

Gardeners for Recovery Cobblestone Campaign
My other posts on 9/11

Links

Films, National September 11 Memorial & Museum at the World Trade Center

Grief and Baking: Peppermint Swirl Meringue Cookies

Updates 2014-12-13: Simplified the baking temperature and time, and added notes about portion sizing.


Yesterday it was hard for me to do anything. Although the weather was perfect – 60s and partly sunny – for planting the bulbs I have yet to get into the ground, I could not bring myself to go outside. It’s only been two weeks since my father died, and I was feeling his absence deeply and sharply yesterday. When I wrote that “there’s so much of him in me,” I didn’t appreciate how much I would feel a loss of my own self, a void left standing where “the library burned down.” It reminds me of the hole in the sky where the twin towers of the World Trade Center once stood. The absence is palpable.

By the end of the day, I was feeling a little better, and I thought that surrendering to my winter baking mode would help. I was prepared to make some basic chocolate chip cookies, but Blog Widow came home with a box of soft, store-bought ones. I experimented with something new, and here’s what I came up with:

Peppermint Swirl Meringue Cookies

I call these Peppermint Swirl Meringue Cookies, an elaboration of a basic meringue recipe from King Arthur Flour. KAF is my favorite source for all things baking. I was happy to find that the Flatbush Food Co-Op carries several varieties of King Arthur Flours in the well-stocked baking section of their new location.

I’ve made meringues many times before, but Blog Widow has never cared for them. He likens their texture to styrofoam, and I can’t disagree. The best way to eat them is not to bite into them. Instead, let them dissolve on the tongue, releasing a burst of the flavoring baked into them.

Part of last night’s experiment was to see if I could achieve a texture that would satisfy Blog Widow: crisp and crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. The KAF recipe suggested that I could accomplish this simply by baking them for an hour less than usual. This worked beautifully. Here’s a single, intact meringue cookie, the same one in the center foreground of the photo above:

Meringue Cookie, Intact

And here’s the same cookie broken open (shattered, really!) to show the chewy, slightly gooey, interior:
Meringue Cookie, Broken Open

Perfect. And baking these did help lighten my spirit.

Meringues are more confection than cookie. The basic ingredients are just egg whites and sweeteners: no fat and no cholesterol. Since there’s no flour, they’re also fine for folks avoiding gluten.

I use dried, powdered egg whites in recipes calling for them. It saves the hassle of separating them, and I don’t have to figure out what to do with the yolks. However, dried egg whites can have an off, eggy taste. You want to make sure that the flavoring is assertive enough, without being too aggressive, to balance the recipe.

The classic flavoring is vanilla, but anything can be used. I thought I would make some red and green meringues with different flavorings for each color, such as cinnamon for red, lime for green. But a tip in the KAF recipe suggested coloring just half the mixture and swirling them together. White plus red stripes just screams candy cane, so peppermint was the flavor I went with. (If I had spearmint flavoring, I would also try green and white stripes.)

Here’s how I made the cookies in these photos, presenting the basic KAF recipe with the slight adaptations I had to make along the way. The basic KAF recipe presents lots of possible variations, even adding nuts to the meringue, so check that out for other creative options.

Ingredients

  • Egg whites of 6 large eggs (7/8 cup, or 7-8 ounces), or 1/4 cup dried egg whites dissolved in 3/4 cups water, at room temperature (separate eggs when cold, but whip them at room temperature to get the best volume.)
  • 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar (a mild acid which helps stabilize the whites when beaten)
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt (for flavor only. You can omit this if you need to minimize sodium, although the egg whites naturally contain sodium of their own.)
  • 1 1/4 cups extra-fine sugar (also known as sanding or castor sugar. I used regular white, refined sugar and they came out fine. A finer grain of sugar dissolves easier in the whites for a smooth, non-gritty texture.)
  • 1 1/2 cups (6 1/4 ounces) confectioner’s sugar (powdered sugar)
  • 1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract
  • 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract (The vanilla mellows and warms the peppermint, which remains the dominant flavor.)
  • red food coloring (I used a gel type.)

Preparation

  1. Preheat the oven to 250F. (Be sure you have an accurate oven thermometer! Temperature is lower than usual for baking – too high, and you’ll burn, rather than bake, your meringues – and gets reduced further part-way into the baking time. I had a devil of a time baking in our horrible kitchen until I bought a thermometer and discovered that the oven dial was off by 100F!)
  2. Prepare the egg whites and set them aside to let them come to room temperature.
  3. Use the largest baking pans you have, line them with parchment paper, and set them aside. (I could only use two pans in my oven, and had to discard part of my batch because I had no more room for them.)
  4. Sift the sugars together and set them aside.

Mixing

I used a hand whisk for the slow whisking steps, and a mixer with a whisking attachment for the rest.

  1. Add the cream of tartar to the room-temperature egg whites, Whisk until the cream of tartar has completely dissolved and the whites are foamy.
  2. If using salt, add it now and whisk to dissolve that as well.
  3. Increase the whisking speed until the egg whites have doubled in volume.
  4. Add half the sugar and whisk until the whites are glossy and start to get stiff.
  5. Add the remaining sugar and whisk until the whites hold stiff peaks. (Since I didn’t have extra-fine sugar, I chickened out here a little and added the sugar a little early so it would dissolve completely. I also didn’t whisk completely to the hard peak stage. Just the tips of the peaks folded over, which you can see in the finished cookies.)
  6. Add the flavorings.
  7. Remove about 1/3 of the meringue into a separate bowl. Add the coloring and whisk it until it the desired color is evenly distributed.
  8. Add the colored meringue back into the other bowl on top of the white meringue. Using a spatula, gently fold the two meringues together until they are just striped. It only takes a few folds for this.

Baking

  1. Drop the striped meringue by the spoonful onto the parchment paper on your baking pans. The meringues will not spread while baking, so they can be placed as close as possible without touching each other.

    Use a tablespoon to get 3 dozen big cookies; at this size, though, I usually run out of baking sheet before I run out of batter. Use two teaspoons for more, smaller, cookies; the smaller size can be placed more closely together on the sheet, and uses up all of the batter. The smaller ones are bite-sized and easier to handle.

    You can also use a pastry bag, if you have one, for fancier cookies.

  2. Bake at 250F for 30 minutes.
  3. After 30 minutes, reduce the heat to 225F and bake for one more hour for chewy cookies, or 2 more hours for crisp-all-the-way-through cookies.
  4. Turn off the heat, crack open the oven door, and let them cool for 30 minutes.
  5. Remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Simplified baking option for chewy cookies: Instead of the two-stage, two-temperature method, bake at 250F for an hour.

Here’s another, close-up view of the finished product.

Peppermint Swirl Meringue Cookies

And oh yeah: Blog Widow labels this a successful experiment!

[http://bit.ly/5R9IxO]

Related Posts

Other recipes on this blog
The quotes in the opening paragraph come from the eulogy I wrote and read for my father’s memorial service on Thursday, December 4, 2008.

Links

Meringues, Recipes, King Arthur Flour

Eulogy

What follows is the text of the eulogy I read at my father’s memorial this afternoon. I started writing it months ago. The first paragraph is a rewrite from my response to my father’s first guest post on this blog.

“To Dad, From Your Loving Family” My mother wants the roses. At least one of them will be dried for a memento box. The rest will be removed and worked into new arrangements for a nursing home.
Floral Display


I am grateful that I was able to have a relationship with my father. It wasn’t always so. There were decades of silence, and strained relations. I’m grateful that we both lived long enough to heal and grow, independently and together, to allow us to enjoy each other’s company. I’m grateful for the friendship we shared, as two grown men with a unique bond and shared history. I am also proud of him. I’m grateful that I’m able to feel all this, and know it, and celebrate it. And him.

I want to honor the complexity of my father’s life. My father was not a perfect man. I’m not proud of him because he was perfect. I’m proud of him because of how he grappled, throughout his life, with his imperfections, to become the man he always wanted to be. I was not proud of his alcohol dependence; I’m proud of his recovery from it. I was not proud of his homophobia. I’m proud that he overcame it so, that he accepted my partner, John, as his own son.

There is so much of him in me. We shared the same dark sense of humor. I thank him for my full head of hair. There is also our love of nature, animals and babies; love of science, engineering and computers, and space; love of photography, theater and music; the desire to connect with and contribute to our communities; and endless curiosity about the world. There’s so much of him in me, that it will be a long time before I can accept that we will never have another conversation, share another bad joke, exchange another email or photograph, share another hug.

Laurie Anderson said, “When my father died, it was like a whole library had burned down.” My image for this comes from the end of the film, “The Name of the Rose,” when the monastery tower goes up in flames. I feel like the monk, portrayed by Sean Connery in the film, staggering out of the smoke and ash, clutching a few smoldering volumes to his chest.

Stories:

  • Checkers
  • Bullfrog
  • Deer throat
  • Gliders and flaming hot-air balloons
  • Coin collecting
  • Rocket launches
  • Stingray on the St. John’s
  • Vibrating beds
  • My first camera
  • Community theater
  • CB radio

Related Posts

Gerard Kreussling, 1931-2008, 2008-12-01
How Old Will I Be?, 2008-12-04

Gerard Kreussling, 1931-2008

Update 2008-12-04 11:26PM:It’s the end of a long day of a long week. We fly back home tomorrow. I am both anxious to be home, and dreading leaving, as it will be one more reminder of the finality of death.

The memorial service was today. I published my reading of my father’s writing, How Old Will I Be?, and my eulogy, as their own posts.

Update 2008-12-03 10:50AM: His obituary appears in today’s Asheville Citizen-Times and Hendersonvile Times-News, the text of which I’ve added below. The memorial service will be held tomorrow at 1pm at Thomas Shepherd and Sons; they’re hosting an online register on their Web site.


Holding the hand of my father on his deathbed at Mission Hospital in Asheville, North Carolina on Saturday, November 29, 2008. He was on palliative care, only oxygen and pain medication to keep him comfortable. Except for a brief moment of recognition later that Saturday, he was already gone. His heart stopped at 5:15am this morning, December 1, 2008, after prolonged illness.
Goodbye
This image was used to illustrate the online article, From Pain to Palliative Care in the WBUR radio documentary “Quality of Death, End of Life Care in America”.

He went into the hospital for the last time on Friday. He was never alone. My sister and I flew down first thing Saturday morning. Blog Widow John joined us last night.

I’ll be staying in North Carolina through the week. We’ll be making arrangements this afternoon for a local memorial service later this week.


Here’s my Mom and Dad on the porch at Woodfield Inn in October 2006. We celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary there in the Winter of 2007. This is how I prefer to remember him, one of the last few times he was relatively free of pain and discomfort.
Parents, Front Porch, Woodfield Inn

No more pain, Dad. No more pain.
No More Pain


Update: 10:51pm, December 1, 2008

Some closing thoughts at the end of a long day. My eyes ache.

In his will, my father directed us that his body should be “cremated without ceremony and dispersed into any river in the United States at some date agreeable to living relatives. A memorial ceremony of a non-religious nature may be held at any time.” We arranged the details of that memorial this afternoon when we met with the funeral home.

Earlier this afternoon, I helped my mother compose this email, which she sent out to “all our friends and family” for whom we had email addresses at the ready.

Needed to communicate this way because of all we knew and loved. Sad news. Jerry passed away this morning at 5:15AM at Mission Hospital in Asheville, North Carolina; our children are here and helping me with everything.

He had many illnesses this year but the most important one was that his kidneys were failing and he couldn’t take dialysis because of his low blood pressure. He was in Mission from Friday til this AM with palliative care giving him pain medication; his legs were very bad and his pain was intolerable. [He was never alone. One of us was always with him. My mother stayed with him Friday night. I stayed with him Saturday night. My sister stayed with him last night.] Karen [my sister] was with him at the last minute and we had gone to a “McDonald” type house to rest nearby. [The Lewis Rathbun Center, a wonderful place. Our stay there was thankfully short.] She called and we got there about 2 minutes too late. He had a lucid moment on Saturday and recognized both Karen and Chris and even called them by name. [The “brief moment of recognition” I mentioned at the top of this post. He did look at me directly and call out my name. My mother and sister had stepped out; we called them back. It seemed to me that he also recognized my sister, but quickly fell away from us again.] He is at rest now and no more aches and pains.

We will have a memorial service this Thursday, December 4 at 1:00 pm at the Thomas Shepherd Funeral Home, 125 South Church Street, between 1st Avenue and Allen Street in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Per Jerry’s wishes, there will be no viewing; he will be cremated and his ashes will be scattered at a future date. There will be a notice and obituary in the Asheville Citizen-Times and the Hendersonville Times-News tomorrow and Wednesday.

In lieu of flowers, you may make a donation to the Mineral and Lapidary Museum of Henderson County, 400 North Main Street, Hendersonville, NC 28792. Their phone number is 828-698-1977. [My father was a founding member of the museum. Some of his contributions are in their display cases. He remained active to the end, as his health permitted.]


Update 2008-12-03: Obituary

Hendersonville – Gerard “Jerry” Kreussling, 77, of Hendersonville, died Monday, December 1, 2008 at Mission Hospitals after a prolonged illness.

A native of Brooklyn, NY, he was a prior resident of Florida and New York where he was very active in community theaters before moving to Hendersonville 16 years ago; the place he chose to live. He is preceded in death by his sister, Patricia Rubak and his loving uncle, Emil Kreusling.

He served in the US Army from 1952 to 1954 and was employed with Grumman Aerospace for 37 years.

He was a founding member and volunteer for the Mineral and Lapidary Museum of Henderson County. He also was a member of the Henderson County Gem and Mineral Society, local photography clubs, and volunteered with the Henderson County Sherriff’s Department.

He was a loving, generous, humorous, and gregarious person and will be dearly missed.

He is survived by his loving wife of 52 years, Mary Kreussling; a son, Chris Kreussling and his partner, John Magisano of Brooklyn, NY; a daughter, Karen Provinzano and her husband, Mike of Brick, NJ; two granddaughters, Michaela and Cassandra Provinzano along with several nieces and nephews.

A memorial service will be held at 1 p.m. on Thursday at Shepherd’s Church Street Chapel with the Rev. John Magisano officiating.The family will receive friends immediately following the service at the funeral home.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be sent to:

The Mineral and Lapidary Museum of Henderson County, 400 N. Main St., Hendersonville, NC 28792.

Thos. Shepherd & Son Funeral Directors and Cremation Memorial Center is in charge of arrangement. An online register book is available at www.thosshepherd.com.


Related Content

My father wrote two, and so far the only, guest posts for this blog. The third, “How Old Will I Be?”, was published posthumously the day of his memorial service.
How Old Will I Be?, December 4, 2008
Guest Post: The Man From B.R.O.O.K.L.Y.N., May 17, 2007
Guest Blogger, Parental Unit Y: Blogs and Bloggers, Golden Age, and Generational Differences, October 21, 2006

Eulogy, December 4, 2008
Give Thanks, Thanksgiving Day, November 22, 2007
Woodfield Inn, Flat Rock, North Carolina, January 22, 2007

Some of my photos of my father [Flickr set]

Links

Mineral and Lapidary Museum of Henderson County
Lewis Rathbun Center
Obituary and online Guest Book, Thomas Shepherd & Son Funeral Directors
Obituary, Asheville Citizen-Times, 2008-12-03
Obituary, Hendersonville Times-News, 2008-12-03

‘Fantasticks’: Charm Major Asset, Theatre Review, p. 7, SUNY Stony Brook Statesman, V.17 n. 88, July 11, 1974 [PDF], a review of the Theatre North performance at the Setauket Holiday Inn. My father played one of the fathers in the play.

Seven years

Signing

This morning I went to Battery Park to sign my name on a beam which will be used in the construction of the National September 11 Memorial at Ground Zero. This beam-signing opportunity runs through 6pm today, and again tomorrow, September 11, from 10am to 6pm.

I went alone. The collective spirit of those assembled felt strange to me. People waiting to enter were talking with each other, laughing, catching up. For many of these people, it seemed to be a reunion, or even more causal, like a ride in the elevator.

Strength and Honor

Those of us who arrived before 10am had to wait nearly two hours to sign. Everything had to wait for the arrival – and departure – of Mayor Bloomberg. He played the role of the bad dinner guest, who arrives late, so everyone else’s food is cold, and lingers far too long, straining the patience of even the most gracious hosts.

Waiting

Beam-signing

While I was waiting, reporters trolled through the crowd. Shortly after I arrived, I was interviewed briefly by 1010WINS, a local radio station. They asked my name, asked me to spell it out, asked me where I worked. Then they asked me, something like: When you think about that day, what comes to mind? I looked up at the sky, as blue this morning as it was that morning. My eyes filled with tears. I choked out a response: It’s an atrocity. For anyone to do that in the name of their god is an atrocity.

Ground Zero, September 27, 2001
Ground Zero, September 27, 2001

They also asked what I was going to write. I told them I was going to write the name of the Memorial Cobblestone Campaign I started: Gardeners for Recovery.

Eventually we got to actually wait in line, instead of muddling about in the cattle pen on the sidewalk. Some of this drudgery was relieved by the company of a bulldog. His name was 6, the number. With his underbite and watery eyes, he reminded me of a deep-sea anglerfish. He was very sweet and affectionate. His person said he hated to get his picture taken, but we seemed to have developed a rapport. Perhaps it was the butt-rubbing and ear-fluffing that won him over.

Bulldog 6

Each of us was given a commemorative marker with which to sign. A magnetic template on the beam constrained the area in which we could write. I had hoped to write the statement of the cobblestone campaign I started:

Gardeners for Recovery recognize the importance of gardens and gardening for individual, community, and global healing and recovery.

Reflections card

There wasn’t enough room for that, so I simply signed it with my name and that of the campaign.

My signature

At that point, I had waited so long, I didn’t know what to do next. I was actually shaking a little, so I sat down on a park bench just outside the signing area. I half-collapsed when I sat down. Each beam weighs 4 tons. I was feeling the symbolic weight of what we were all doing there this morning, why each of us felt, in our own way, we wanted to do this.

Beam Signing

When I left the beam-signing area, I walked over to The Sphere. Battered and bent, it was relocated from the plaza of the World Trade Center to Battery Park. It will eventually be returned to the site when construction is completed.

The Sphere, Battery Park, September 2003
The Sphere, Battery Park, September 2003

The radio guys had asked me if signing the beam would make a difference. I don’t really believe it does, certainly not one signature. I told them, “it’s a gesture,” an expression of the hope for recovery. Maybe the collective weight of all those signatures can have an impact, can make a difference on someone. Maybe we can reflect on our own collective responsibilities as a people, as a nation.

The Sphere, yesterday
The Sphere

Flags, flags, flags … flags waving everywhere. I understand the impulse, yet I don’t feel it as a defiant gesture. It feels like a concession to me. That we have no greater symbol than our nation’s flag makes me sad. What evil has been committed in the name of that flag? How is it any different from the evil committed against us seven years ago?

Anti-war graffiti on the base of a statue of George Washington in Union Square Park, September 24, 2001
Anti-war graffiti on base of statue, Union Square Park, September 24, 2001

It has taken far too long to reclaim that void. It will be several more years, and billions of dollars, before we can really reclaim it. I am comforted that the vision for the memorial is essentially a garden: a plaza filled with oak trees, waterfalls plunging into the earth where the towers stood, stairs to lead us down into the earth, where we can be surrounded by emptiness and the white noise of the leaves of the trees and the rushing waters, where we can be alone together, and reflect.

[bit.ly]

Related Posts

Gardeners for Recovery
9/11

Links

National September 11 Memorial
The Sphere

The Daffodil Project is in bloom on Cortelyou Road

Cortelyou Daffodil
Cortelyou Daffodils

This evening I came home via the Cortelyou Road stop on the Q train. I wanted to stop by John’s Bakery to pick up some munchies. I had to cross the street: the Daffodils are just starting to bloom.

They’ve started on the north side of the street, as I expected. The south side has been shaded by the stores and apartment buildings until recently. The soil in the tree pits there has not been warmed by the sun which the north, unshaded side of the street has been getting.

Cortelyou Daffodils

Last fall, two dozen volunteers planted 1,000 Daffodil bulbs and 400 Crocus corms over two weekends. The Crocus are all but spent now; just a few raggedy blooms hanging on here and there. The Daffodils are just getting started.

Cortelyou Daffodils

As in past years, there’s no way to know what you’re going to get when you plant the bulbs in the Fall. I saw at least four different kinds in bloom today.

Cortelyou Daffodils

It seems a far remove from 9/11, the inspiration for the Daffodil Project. But it was very much in the consciousness of at least some of us who planted these bulbs. And certainly in the minds and hearts of my neighbors who took the initiative to request these bulbs to be planted in their neighborhood.

Related Posts

My Flickr photo set of this project
Cortelyou Crocuses!, March 6, 2008
Cortelyou Road Crocus Watch, February 4, 2008
Tree Pits are not Dumpsters, November 18, 2007
The Daffodil Project Plantings on Cortelyou Road, November 4, 2007
1,000 Daffodils for Cortelyou Road, October 27, 2007
The Daffodil Project: Grief & Gardening #5, November 26, 2006

Links

The Daffodil Project

Coda, Spot: Our Lady of Abundance

Label, “Our Lady of Abundance,” inside the lid of a reliquary box by Grace Gunning.
Detail, label, "Our Lady of Abundance," inside lid

Coda
1) An endnote, or final word, in which the author elucidates what has come before.
2) A few measures or a section added to the end of a piece of music to make a more effective ending.

This afternoon we picked up Spot’s ashes and brought them home.

She died three weeks ago. By the time we got her to the veterinary emergency room, she was already gone. In that emotional haze, we had to make a decision about what to do. We chose individual cremation. Three days ago, we got the call that her ashes were ready to be picked up.

John and I had discussed what container we might use for her ashes. We thought of a small, bronze triangular nested box inscribed with Celtic designs which we bought a couple of years ago. But we didn’t know how much … material the box would need to hold. I didn’t think it could be very much. Then I remembered we had the reliquary box. I bought it for John. He’d kept it first in his apartment, then we had it in our first apartment. We hadn’t found a place for it since we moved into our house three years ago, but I remembered seeing it recently inside one of the opened, still unpacked, moving boxes.

Reliquary box, "Our Lady of Abundance," Grace Gunning, 2000

Over the past three weeks, John and I have gone through the familiar phases and states of grieving. I told John last night that, over the past three days, the main feeling for me has been, “I want to bring her home.” I know that “she” is gone. There are layers to the emotional acceptance of that loss.

When I re-read my first diary entries about her, what’s remarkable is that her personality was so present in them. She was always affectionate. When I came home, she demanded my attention. But however hungry she was, she insisted that I first pick her up and “schmoosh” her. She would purr, deeply and resonantly. Then I could set her down and she could eat. That I was able to give a flea bath to a strange cat without her fighting me was all about her gentle, compliant, trusting nature. Even the vet would always remark how calm and cooperative she was.

The most difficult moments have not been the physical reminders of her: her toys, her brushes, her scratching post, her bowls, her litter box. Gradually, we’ve packed these up and put them away. The absences have been the hardest. When I leave the house, she doesn’t follow me downstairs, trying to sneak outside. When I come home, she doesn’t greet me at the top of the stairs. When I go to bed, she’s not there to “tuck me in.” She’s not there to paw my face in the morning and wake me up.

I peeled back some of the final layers of acceptance today. I called ahead before we drove over: “We’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to expect. Is there a bag? A box?” The woman I spoke with said there’s a bag inside a metal box. It was more thoughtfully elaborate than that.

There was a paper bag tied with a ribbon. Inside the bag was a condolence card and some promotional literature (not so thoughtful) from the pet cemetery where the cremation was done. Also inside, green tissue paper wrapped a small metal tin, something like what you might keep loose tea in. We had brought the reliquary box with us, but the tin’s size and shape wouldn’t fit inside. That’s as far as we explored it at the E.R.

Gardener’s corner in the backyard
Gardener's Corner

When we got home, I went and sat in the backyard. It was a sunny day, and it was still early enough in the afternoon that the house wasn’t yet shading the gardener’s corner. After parking the car, John came and sat beside me. Here I carefully opened the metal canister. Inside this, more green tissue paper wrapped the bag containing her ashes. John opened the lid of the box, and we placed the small, green package in its center. I remarked, “She always liked the sun.” We cried and held hands for a few minutes.

The reliquary lid didn’t quite fit over the little green package. When we got back inside, I took it out of the reliquary and started unwrapping the tissue paper. I wanted to reshape the bag to better fit inside the reliquary. I was also curious, and knew I needed, to see the ashes themselves. When I got to the last wrap, I got a glimpse, covered it back up, and held the package in both hands, tears running from my eyes. John asked, “What is it?” I said, “I don’t know what I was expecting.” Consciously, I was expecting my mental image of “ash”: gray and dusty, powdery. Instead, it was white, chalky, gritty with tiny fragments of bone. I wasn’t ready for that. Another time, I’ll be ready to unwrap that final layer. I wrapped it with some ivory cloth as a shroud and returned it to the box.

I appreciate all the comments, cards, and phone messages we’ve received. What I write now is not to diminish anyone else’s beliefs, nor the sentiments they’ve expressed. I don’t believe in anything. If there were a heaven, animals would be there. If there were angels, they would be animals. But I don’t believe in heaven, or angels, or gods, or any life other than the one I’m living.

Death is final. I knew that as Spot was dying in my arms. I knew that her limp tail – which had been so expressive of her presence and personality – meant she was already gone from us. I don’t know how much she was aware of at the very end, when we were driving her to the E.R., and I cradled her in my arms, and she cried out for the last time, and I lifted her up and turned her face to mine because she couldn’t do it herself. I hope my face was the last thing she saw, but I’ll never know. I know she was gone from us as the last breath left her body and her heart stopped beating beneath my fingers.

Despite my skepticism and disbelief, I have come to accept that spirituality and ritual are important to me. The box itself holds layers of memory and meaning which make it an appropriate resting place for Spot’s remains. I bought it six-and-a-half years ago, when John and I had not yet moved into our first apartment together. I was still living in my garden apartment on 5th Street in Park Slope, where Spot had found me. John and I were well underway in our adventure of exploring relationship with each other. Spot was there to nurture us on that journey.

John and Spot on the couch in the 5th Street apartment
John and Spot

On September 10, 2001, John and I went on vacation upstate. The next morning, from a distance, we watched our world change. For that week, we were ambassadors, representatives of New York City and all that had happened there. When we met people upstate and they learned where we were from, their faces and postures changed. Some were brought to tears. Like it or not, we carried a responsibility everywhere we went.

I think it was in Kingston where I found the box in a gift store. They had a couple of these reliquary boxes, and I wanted to buy John one. I bought some chimes there with him, then he went outside. When I saw that this one was titled “Our Lady of Abundance,” I knew this was the one. “Abundance” was a word we used deliberately and frequently at that time to try to describe the richness we felt in our lives, as well as the challenges we faced in accepting it.

The title of the box is stamped into the inside of the lid. It’s signed with a power tool on the underside.

Inside of upper lid

Today this box became a true reliquary, holding the relic of Spot, that time when we were learning to accept abundance into our life together, and the memories of that terrible week.

Related Posts

Spot, February 23
My Flickr photo sets of the box and Spot

Links

Grace Gunning, Copper Reliquary Boxes

15 Years Ago Today …

… the World Trade Center was bombed.

At 12:18 p.m., terrorists detonated 1,500 pounds of explosives in a rental van in the parking garage of the World Trade Center, blasting a crater five stories deep and half a football field wide. While the terrorists fled the area after lighting the bomb’s fuse, they left behind six victims, including a pregnant woman, and one thousand injured people.

The National September 11 Memorial and Museum at the World Trade Center will also memorialize those killed in the first attack in 1993. I invite you to join me in supporting the memorial through the the Gardeners for Recovery cobblestone campaign I started:

Gardeners for Recovery recognize the importance of gardens and gardening for individual, community, and global healing and recovery.

Check out the Gardeners for Recovery widget near the top of the sidebar on this blog. There you can get more information, track our progress, or contribute. We’ve already raised $300. I will match the first $500 contributed toward the $1,000 goal: every dollar you contribute is worth two.

Related Posts

Announcing the Gardeners for Recovery Cobblestone Campaign, September 2007
on 9/11
on Ground Zero
on Recovery

Links

The National September 11 Memorial & Museum at the World Trade Center

Spot

Update 2008.03.15: Added follow-up post: Coda, Spot.
Update 2008.02.25: Added a rare photo of me and Spot together.


My partner, John, with our cat, Spot, taken two nights ago in an examination room at the vet’s. She died in my arms earlier this evening around 6:30pm.
John & Spot (Black and White)

Spot found me in the garden, in the backyard of my apartment on 5th Street in Park Slope:

A beautiful young black cat found me at the end of my day in the garden. He started going for the container I’d just planted. He was friendly, but when I realized he was licking up some organic fertilizer I’d spilled I realized he/she was starving. (It does smell good, like the original MilkBones [dog biscuits]). So I gave him a bowl of milk. He/She was purring so hard his tail was shaking. Only a white spot on his chest, otherwise black. I named him “Spot”. I’ll look for him tomorrow. If he’s around again, maybe I have a cat.
– Diary entry, November 11, 1993, Veteran’s Day, F Train en route to dinner

I didn’t realize it at the time, but she represented, or embodied, a peak of synchronicity in my life. I was three and a half years into my recovery, and less than eight months sober. In therapy the previous night, I had mentioned that I was thinking about getting a cat, or two. After this first encounter with Spot, I was off to see a dance performance that evening which explored the connections between veterans of war and survivors of sexual violence. The following Monday, I was starting my first session of a gay men’s therapy group.

Spot moved in with me on Saturday. I spoke to Jonathan [my landlord] Friday at work to ask him if it would be okay if I got a cat. Saw Julia [landlady] working in the garden Saturday morning. While we were inspecting and talking, I saw a black form moving behind the fence.

I called out: psss-psss-psss … Spot leapt to the top of the fence (or climbed) and walked along the top directly to me. I took her into my arms and she (female, confirmed) started purring. I left her with Julia while I went inside and prepared the can of food Renah [a work colleague at the time] gave me Friday at work.

Bought everything for her on Saturday. Saturday night discovered she had fleas, so wouldn’t let her sleep with me. Gave her a flea bath, changed bed-sheets and clothes, dusted the rug. She was not happy about the bath, but remarkably cooperative. I came away with no scratches or bites.

Remaining health concern: diarrhea, foul-smelling, and may be caused by her fondness for milk.

Long day today: first session of the group (first for me) is tonight. I won’t get home until after 9pm probably. Spot will freak?!

Need to make up “FOUND” posters for the area, just in case someone’s looking for her.
– Diary entry, November 15, 1993, Monday, Subway, en route to work

Later that evening, around 8:30pm, riding home on the F train:

Home to Spot. Incredible what an emotional anchor she is for me right now. Anchor is not the right word. Alternatives: focus, tether, center … ballast …

I’m not going to put up “Found Cat” signs tonight. I don’t want anyone to answer. I don’t want to give Spot up. She’s just a cat I’ve known for only four or five days. I just want to go home to her …

When John and I began exploring relationship together, Spot adopted him as well. She was a great comfort to him as he dealt with his mother’s terminal illness, and especially after her death. John called her a medicine cat, an apt description.

She found me in the garden, and Spot always wanted to go outside. She often accompanied me when I was out in the garden. Here she is in the backyard of my apartment on 5th Street in Park Slope. This was in May 2002, the last set of photos I took of the garden I was leaving to move with John to our new apartment.
Spot in the garden on 5th Street in Park Slope

Here she is on the deck of our apartment on 6th Street in Park Slope, where John and I first lived together.
Spot the Cat

Here she is in the backyard of our new home two years ago, acting like she owned the place, which, of course, she did. She was skeptical at first, but eventually allowed that she was pleased that we bought her a big, old cat house.
The Backyard

Outside yet again, on the front steps here. I have several shots in this series, trying to get her to look at me. This is the closest I got. Note the tail curl. She wasn’t having it.
Spot on the front steps

This is the earliest photo I have of Spot. This is from 2001, in the 5th Street apartment.
John and Spot

This is a typical posture for her. She spent a lot of time lying on John’s chest, close to his heart, while he was himself prone on the couch or bed.
Spot and JohnSpot and John

Here’s a rare photo of me and Spot together. (Only at John’s insistence.) Rare not only because I’m usually the one behind the camera, but because she wouldn’t often settle down on me. In this photo, she’s wedged into the the nook between me and the sofa cushion. We’re also playing one of our games here. If one of us stopped petting her before she was done, she would reach out with her paw, cup it around the edge of our hand, and pull it back toward her face. I would often respond by “squooshing” her paw, as I’m doing here, and telling her how evil she was. You can see from her face how that upset her.
Spot & Xris

I’ll close with this photo of her. She’s sitting on the floor of my tree house, the second floor back porch on the back of our house. Her tail was the most expressive part of her, and I recognize the little curl at the end of it visible in this photo.
Spot the Cat

You can see more photos of her in my Flickr set of Spot.

She followed me across 15 years of recovery, healing, and growth. She was so much a part of my life, and John’s, and of our life together. We will have other familiars, but none like her. The house is empty without her. I miss her terribly.

I’m open to comments. I especially invite anyone reading this who met or knew her to leave a comment with a memory or reminiscence about her. John and I both will welcome that as a way of memorializing her.