I could tell you every single thing that happened to me on September 11, 2001. But that would be an awfully long post. What I remember most was not that I couldn’t believe it had happened, people are killing each other every day, what I wanted to know was how would I live my life in the aftermath. Would I change? Could I be better? On 9/11 I stood on 5th Avenue hugging a total stranger (Trudy) and we watched and cried as the first tower collapsed.
As the years have worn on I have been surprised at how little the world has changed. If nothing else it all seems to be a larger mess than it was on 9/11/01.
At the time the planes struck the Twin Towers I was sick and dying but didn’t know it. I had been reading texts on Zen around that time and started to play around with putting what I read into practice. In 2005 my illness took a sharp turn and it became clear that I was in very bad shape. I ended up having life-saving surgery. After that I started to play around more with what was possible with my consciousness.
In 2006, a full 5 years after the towers were toppled and 1 year after I had surgery I finally started to figure out where I wanted to take my life.
2006 served as Chair the Board of Directors of the Ali Forney Center
2007 completed a certificate course at the Institute of Integrative Nutrition, completely altered my eating
habits counseled clients in holistic health care. As I’m counseling people I realize that diet plays the
most significant role in a person’s well-being, start to wonder if I should farm. Resign from the
AFC Board of Directors
2008 decided it was time to head off the grid, saved money for some kind of new endeavor, volunteered
at the Liz Christie Garden
2009 quit my day job, spent the growing season operating an organic market garden in W. Massachusetts
and remained convinced that significant social change can be achieved through diet. In the autumn I
earned money picking apples in Leominster, MA. Spent the year living below the threshold of
poverty.
2010 returned to New York City, worked part-time, started to write part-time
* While I was farming I kept thinking about Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers. He makes the case that to be really good at something you have to have spent 10,000 hours practicing whatever that something is. I realized the only thing I’m any good at -- and have spent 10,000 hours doing -- is writing.
2010 switched to a vegetarian diet, continued to allow my consciousness to expand through meditation,
worked on forestry projects (invasive species removal and an improvement cutting on 52 acres)
2011 continue working part-time, writing part-time, forestry, and finally start long-distance running
September 11, 2011
This will be my day off for the week. I do my best to observe a Sabbath of sorts. Saturday I will have completed my first race, I will have written (I’m in the home stretch of completing the novel), and I’ll probably cook a nice dinner and have a couple of beers to commemorate those who were killed.
---
What I’ve decided is this: To be angry about what happened on 9/11/01 is to react. I have lived my life as a response. I want to die having attained the highest level of good that I can achieve. I want to die having done the best I could for myself and those around me. I want to die knowing that I did not settle.
I feel really bad for all the families who lost loved ones on 9/11 and I think we owe it to those innocent people who were killed to live full lives and to make the world a better place.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday mornings
The second to last thing I want to do in the morning is get out of bed. The last thing I want to do in the morning is get out of bed and go running.
This might sound odd but during the heat of July I could not feature running. My body wasn't in great shape and I didn't want to hazard the ills of urban running (pollution and heat exhaustion). There was no way I was going to get up early to avoid the heat and pollution. Unh unh.
When I was in the country I decided that mowing the lawn constituted a form of training. Sunday morning I'd hop out of bed bright and early, throw on clothes and sun block, and get to work!
Keep in mind that my lawn is over an acre in size. After wearing a pedometer I came to find that I was walking 4 miles while mowing the lawn. I decided to make this an athletic event by doing it really quickly. The fastest time I ever logged was two and a half hours. I'd return to the house drenched in sweat and in much need of water, a shower, and a nap.
Now that the weather has cooled I’ve started my Sunday mornings getting out of bed (early) and going for a run. For a few weekends I ran in the country and I had sort of made a pact with myself that I would never race. (Spirit colors? Unh unh.) Then as I started running and reading about running I realized that the only way to bring the sport into focus was to have a goal, otherwise it was nearly impossible for me to gauge if I was making progress.
I’ve decided to specialize in 5Ks -- mostly because there are so many of them I can run at least one per month. I’ll run a few 10ks, just for laughs, and I hope to g*d I never run a marathon but I suppose it is within the realm of possibility. (I swore I'd never play golf and let’s just say, now I play golf.)
My training had been haphazard until I realized that I was going to run a race. I went from building up to running a mile (to get into shape) one week, to running three miles (looking to finish a 5k) the next. I’m not terribly concerned with my time right now especially since I’m not taking the most sensible approach. I’ve decided on a goal for this weekend’s race: finish in one piece. I’m running 12-minute miles but that includes some walking. I want to get a couple of races under my belt before I decide where I want my time to be. And I’d like to cut out all the walking. (There’s a woman in my age group, and region, who is running 8 minute miles – she’s set the bar rather high but at least I know what to aim for.)
This morning I was reading an article on Runner’s World and there was mention of running negative splits as the race wears on. Yeah right.
There’s only one crimp in my training program over the next couple of months. Hunting season begins, which means I might have to run in the city. The thought of running in the city makes me want to give up running altogether.
It looks like I’ll be taking the car to Jerzee to measure a 5k distance and a 10k distance and start commuting in order to exercise. A couple of weeks ago I did some sprints on a high school track in NJ and I was beyond annoyed when I flew past a son and father who were seated on the bleachers and one of them said, “I think it’s a woman.” That comment brought me right back to my youth when I was given endless amounts of shit for nonconformity. In the near future I’m hoping to let my time speak for itself. I’ll drag my tranny ass across the finish line and let the clock do the talking.
It’s just amazing to me that I’m 45 years old and for the past, oh, 40 years I’ve had to listen to people speculate on my sex and gender. And most of the time other people are talking serious amounts of smack: judging me, trying to tell me who I should be, how I should dress, etc etc.
Over the past couple of years I was flying below the radar but I can’t feature that anymore. I’m not going to be one bit surprised when I get flack about my gender once I start racing. The big surprise will be when I don’t get any looks or comments. (I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.)
In the meantime, my spirits are not the least bit dampened. I plan to race and get good at it.
This might sound odd but during the heat of July I could not feature running. My body wasn't in great shape and I didn't want to hazard the ills of urban running (pollution and heat exhaustion). There was no way I was going to get up early to avoid the heat and pollution. Unh unh.
When I was in the country I decided that mowing the lawn constituted a form of training. Sunday morning I'd hop out of bed bright and early, throw on clothes and sun block, and get to work!
Keep in mind that my lawn is over an acre in size. After wearing a pedometer I came to find that I was walking 4 miles while mowing the lawn. I decided to make this an athletic event by doing it really quickly. The fastest time I ever logged was two and a half hours. I'd return to the house drenched in sweat and in much need of water, a shower, and a nap.
Now that the weather has cooled I’ve started my Sunday mornings getting out of bed (early) and going for a run. For a few weekends I ran in the country and I had sort of made a pact with myself that I would never race. (Spirit colors? Unh unh.) Then as I started running and reading about running I realized that the only way to bring the sport into focus was to have a goal, otherwise it was nearly impossible for me to gauge if I was making progress.
I’ve decided to specialize in 5Ks -- mostly because there are so many of them I can run at least one per month. I’ll run a few 10ks, just for laughs, and I hope to g*d I never run a marathon but I suppose it is within the realm of possibility. (I swore I'd never play golf and let’s just say, now I play golf.)
My training had been haphazard until I realized that I was going to run a race. I went from building up to running a mile (to get into shape) one week, to running three miles (looking to finish a 5k) the next. I’m not terribly concerned with my time right now especially since I’m not taking the most sensible approach. I’ve decided on a goal for this weekend’s race: finish in one piece. I’m running 12-minute miles but that includes some walking. I want to get a couple of races under my belt before I decide where I want my time to be. And I’d like to cut out all the walking. (There’s a woman in my age group, and region, who is running 8 minute miles – she’s set the bar rather high but at least I know what to aim for.)
This morning I was reading an article on Runner’s World and there was mention of running negative splits as the race wears on. Yeah right.
There’s only one crimp in my training program over the next couple of months. Hunting season begins, which means I might have to run in the city. The thought of running in the city makes me want to give up running altogether.
It looks like I’ll be taking the car to Jerzee to measure a 5k distance and a 10k distance and start commuting in order to exercise. A couple of weeks ago I did some sprints on a high school track in NJ and I was beyond annoyed when I flew past a son and father who were seated on the bleachers and one of them said, “I think it’s a woman.” That comment brought me right back to my youth when I was given endless amounts of shit for nonconformity. In the near future I’m hoping to let my time speak for itself. I’ll drag my tranny ass across the finish line and let the clock do the talking.
It’s just amazing to me that I’m 45 years old and for the past, oh, 40 years I’ve had to listen to people speculate on my sex and gender. And most of the time other people are talking serious amounts of smack: judging me, trying to tell me who I should be, how I should dress, etc etc.
Over the past couple of years I was flying below the radar but I can’t feature that anymore. I’m not going to be one bit surprised when I get flack about my gender once I start racing. The big surprise will be when I don’t get any looks or comments. (I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.)
In the meantime, my spirits are not the least bit dampened. I plan to race and get good at it.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Hurricane Irene Part III (the conclusion)
While I waited for Hurricane Irene to arrive I lost electricity at the house and decided to go on an extremely local adventure: I wanted to determine whether or not a weed in my back yard was edible, possibly yarrow. Turns out it isn’t yarrow, it’s Queen Anne’s Lace (or Wild Carrot). I used Edible Wild Plants by Lee Allen Peterson as my guide on this.
I’m going to cut to the chase here: don’t trouble yourself with trying to eat this root unless it is the last source of nutrition on the planet. The root smells like carrot, the stem is hairy, and there’s a tiny purple flower on the top of the cluster of flowers so you’ll know that you’re not about to bite into Poison Hemlock. As far as how Wild Carrot tastes, I don’t know and I may never know. I went to give it a chomp and could not penetrate the woody, fibrous root, which was a huge disappointment as I was hoping for some “wild calories” today. I thought that if I carefully removed the outer layer the yummy goodness would be made available. Unh unh. I thought if I boiled it in water that might soften it up a bit. Nope.
But this did make me think of an early form of man -- the hominid. These folks had primitive digestive systems and wandered around eating anything and everything they could get their hands on. Chances are hominids would’ve gladly accepted my offer of wild carrot. Of that I’ll never be sure.
I have, however, decided on a new naming convention. Wild edibles that aren’t worth the trouble shall henceforth be referred to as hominid snacks.
Another wild edible to be filed under hominid snack, Japanese Knotweed (or False Bamboo). I made a knotweed-rhubarb pie last year. It was disgusting. I’m a pretty good cook and I totally blame the knotweed for this pie as a failure.
However, Stinging Nettle Quiche (cooked by Lukas, a recipe of his own) is totally meant for Modern Man and Woman. Today I scoured the backyard hunting stinging nettles, while I harvested wild carrot, and none were to be found. Had I located that weed, I would have totally cooked, and snarfed that quiche once power had been restored.
Unable to let go of the need for wild calories I lucked onto a patch of mushrooms along the roadside when I went for a tiny drive to suss out the damage inflicted by Tropical Storm Irene. Lots of downed tree branches in my area, which is no doubt how we lost power.
A couple of days ago I was on a nature walk and came across tons of wild mushrooms. I was thinking with my head and not my stomach on that walk and I’m pretty sure I missed out on gathering a few chanterelle.
Today I saw the mushrooms and said, “You babies are coming home with me.”
After quite a bit of consultation in the field guide I reached the conclusion that I was looking at a variation of Voluminous Latex Milky. Gave the gills a slit and white latex sprang forth. Decided to cook ‘em and give ‘em a taste. Prayed to G*d that I wasn’t about to poison myself.
I cleaned the mushrooms, sliced ‘em thin, applied a little heat (medium), and slow cooked the flesh in butter until it was softened and delectable. I took a nibble. They were tasty, nothing acrid or “scary.” I waited half an hour -- which is my guess as to how long it would make for me to feel the ill-effects of a poisonous mushroom -- I felt ok and polished off the rest.
I don’t know if these are dinner-party worthy but I’ll be eating them again. Haven’t made up my mind if I’ll go back and collect the rest of the lot I stumbled onto today…
I’m going to cut to the chase here: don’t trouble yourself with trying to eat this root unless it is the last source of nutrition on the planet. The root smells like carrot, the stem is hairy, and there’s a tiny purple flower on the top of the cluster of flowers so you’ll know that you’re not about to bite into Poison Hemlock. As far as how Wild Carrot tastes, I don’t know and I may never know. I went to give it a chomp and could not penetrate the woody, fibrous root, which was a huge disappointment as I was hoping for some “wild calories” today. I thought that if I carefully removed the outer layer the yummy goodness would be made available. Unh unh. I thought if I boiled it in water that might soften it up a bit. Nope.
But this did make me think of an early form of man -- the hominid. These folks had primitive digestive systems and wandered around eating anything and everything they could get their hands on. Chances are hominids would’ve gladly accepted my offer of wild carrot. Of that I’ll never be sure.
I have, however, decided on a new naming convention. Wild edibles that aren’t worth the trouble shall henceforth be referred to as hominid snacks.
Another wild edible to be filed under hominid snack, Japanese Knotweed (or False Bamboo). I made a knotweed-rhubarb pie last year. It was disgusting. I’m a pretty good cook and I totally blame the knotweed for this pie as a failure.
However, Stinging Nettle Quiche (cooked by Lukas, a recipe of his own) is totally meant for Modern Man and Woman. Today I scoured the backyard hunting stinging nettles, while I harvested wild carrot, and none were to be found. Had I located that weed, I would have totally cooked, and snarfed that quiche once power had been restored.
Unable to let go of the need for wild calories I lucked onto a patch of mushrooms along the roadside when I went for a tiny drive to suss out the damage inflicted by Tropical Storm Irene. Lots of downed tree branches in my area, which is no doubt how we lost power.
A couple of days ago I was on a nature walk and came across tons of wild mushrooms. I was thinking with my head and not my stomach on that walk and I’m pretty sure I missed out on gathering a few chanterelle.
Today I saw the mushrooms and said, “You babies are coming home with me.”
After quite a bit of consultation in the field guide I reached the conclusion that I was looking at a variation of Voluminous Latex Milky. Gave the gills a slit and white latex sprang forth. Decided to cook ‘em and give ‘em a taste. Prayed to G*d that I wasn’t about to poison myself.
I cleaned the mushrooms, sliced ‘em thin, applied a little heat (medium), and slow cooked the flesh in butter until it was softened and delectable. I took a nibble. They were tasty, nothing acrid or “scary.” I waited half an hour -- which is my guess as to how long it would make for me to feel the ill-effects of a poisonous mushroom -- I felt ok and polished off the rest.
I don’t know if these are dinner-party worthy but I’ll be eating them again. Haven’t made up my mind if I’ll go back and collect the rest of the lot I stumbled onto today…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
