Matthew Gallaway

The Late September Report: Fading Light and Concerned Cats

Now that it's fall, the morning light arrives at a lower angle, which makes everything look a little better. As I do every year, I start to fantasize about moving to Stockholm or someplace similar for the winter, so that I can experience the lowest possible angles of light (while still enjoying the benefits of a metropolis). "Have fun in Stockholm or wherever." -- Elektra It's been a pretty tough summer for the trees on our block, unfortunately. There hasn't been much rain for the past few months, which in combination with high temps = a lot of brown or, in some cases, death. I've been pretty diligent about watering the pin oaks, however, which are doing reasonably well (fingers crossed). The Japanese maple, which we moved after the death of the Norway spruce (RIP) seems to have survived the transition. When the Norway spruce was dying, we had a professional arborist come look at the tree. He assured us that it would be fine until the spring, after which we/he could treat it for whatever fungus it had acquired. He said that one treatment would "take care of it," although he tried to sell us on a "subscription" program where the tree service would come three times every year to trim and fertilize, for the low price of $250 per visit. We told him that we could handle trimming and fertilizing but that he should send us an estimate for the single spruce treatment. A few days later we received the estimate, which was for three visits at $250 each, which was annoying. We might have done it, except the tree had mercifully shed most of its needles by that point, so we felt comfortable refusing the offer. Am I getting older or do we live in an era when every single company wants to pretend that they're Time Warner and can charge you a monopoly price for terrible service? Have we always been a country that embraces such extremes?"My name's Carly Fiona and Iike every other Fortune 100 CEO, I've worked very hard over the years to ruin thousands of lives and have made millions of dollars doing it. Vote for me for president." Meanwhile the pope came to New York City, which was exciting because it was pretty neat to look at the car-free West Side Highway. It made me wish that Mayor Bloomberg had succeeded in implementing his congestion pricing traffic plan for Manhattan a few years ago. Other initiatives I would support: higher gas taxes to fund mass transportation, a special SUV tax to fund mass transportation, higher tolls to fund mass transportation, the implementation of tolls on "freeways" to fund mass transportation, and a special screening device that would prevent crazy alcoholics from stumbling into the A-train and screaming "who's gonna give me a seat?" and then ending up right behind me before saying to nobody in particular "what are you laughing at faggot?" and then projectile vomiting, leading to a crush of people against the closed doors. With adequate funding from the above measures, such people can have their own designated cars to hurl homophobic insults and also to hurl, which would make for a more pleasant commute. I feel like the pope's visit to the city could have been a lot more authentic, for the most part.
Now that it's cooling down, some of the annuals are starting to bloom again. The azalea is getting more light now that the spruce is gone. Soon we can expect some fall color, and then it will be winter. Ugh. Can I say that I'm hoping for a mild winter even though I support carbon taxes and whatever else we can do to reduce the impact of global warming? The last two winters have been brutally cold and snowy, of course. In other news, Clio had a surgical procedure this week, which means that she will no longer be able to have kittens. She's home and recovering nicely, catching up on some early seasons of The Walking Dead that she missed on account of not being born yet. "One litter was enough," said Clio. "And is that a zombie I hear?" Dante and Zephyr secretly missed Clio, which we know because they told us in confidence. Just like the garden misses the summer, which we know because we secretly miss it, too.

The Late Summer Report: As Always, Summer Was a Waste

Recently, while running along the path on the West Side Highway, I was passed by a biker who yelled at me in a very snotty, exasperated tone: "You're in the bike laaaane." Admittedly, this was true, but it was during the middle of the day around Houston Street, where there was no other bike traffic and I was keeping very far to the right, pretty much hugging the part of the path that is inhospitable to bikes. She had plenty of room to pass and was just making a point because I guess it makes her angry in principle and she doesn't have enough to worry about. Moreover, I was hardly the only runner; more 'serious' runners (like me, ahem) tend to do this in order to avoid having to weave through the crowds that congregate closer to the river and navigate the uneven terrain of the parking lots in front of the piers. Not that I was able to explain any of this to the biker; nor could I explain how idiotic and really kind of 'gated community' it was to be complaining about bike-lane etiquette in a part of the city that, until maybe fifteen years ago, was known for sex and drugs and probably some bad things too. I should mention here that I've never been very good at 'comebacks'; my usual reaction is not to say anything until the moment passes, after which I'll obsess about it for a few days. Like in June when I was running past a different group of frat boys who were fratboyishly clogging up the entire path and a different biker -- an older man riding a bike with a flower basket -- passed them and said that they were in the way, after which they yelled "nice basket, faggot" and I wanted to rip their heads off, because anyone who uses that kind of language deserves to have their heads ripped off, especially in the West Village. But I didn't say anything, because I've learned that it's best not to get involved. Except this time, regarding this second biker who chided me, without a second thought I just yelled back at her: "So are youuuuuu," which even in retrospect seems like the perfect response because it wasn't mean or vicious but made her look a little ridiculous and devoid of bike-path/serious-runner empathy, and moreover -- because there's always an audience in New York -- made a group of people nearby laugh, which made me feel like a real standup comedian for the first (and probably last) time in my life. Plus I knew she heard me because she held up her leather-covered fist on her way to presumably yelling at her next runner.

It was a small but perfect moment, in other words, that made me think that it was probably time to leave New York, because I had finally achieved what I had come here to do, at least artistically. And also unconsciously, because at no point until last week did I ever say to myself, "you will go to the city and live there until, after many decades, you manage to effectively 'win' (but not really) one meaningless encounter in the street." 
Not that I have any plans to leave any time soon, and you can see how I obsess about stupid things way after the fact. I mean, I wonder if she's blogging about me right now in the same way I'm blogging about her. What's certain is that she'll now appear as a potential contact/'connection' on LinkedIn, which is secretly the saddest of all social media, because it makes you think about large swaths of your past that you would rather forget and will never have any relevance to your present. 
Meanwhile, the streets of Tribeca remained stoic and expensive. In gardening news, the toad lily bloomed, even after we moved it. In cat news, Clio stopped wanting it 24/7, which was a relief to everyone. We also installed new pheromone dispensers that make everyone totally high calm people down.  "omg yugys i'm ss0ooo0 WasTed' -- Zephyr The clematis smelled faintly of vanilla. (Not really, but supposedly.) Here's a picture of me sitting at the table with Stephen.  "Ho ho ho." -- Dante Somehow the variegated leaves (intensely fragile) survived the heat. While others demanded A.C. With an infinite number of prayers, only some can be answered.

The Cat and Garden Report: Early September

This week Clio turned her attention back to getting pregnant, which meant a LOT of crying and howling. She wanted it badly and wasn't afraid to let everyone know. "Umm, that's the understatement of the year." -- Dante We had scheduled a surgical procedure designed to alleviate such reproductive longings, but it had to be postponed while Clio was in heat, which can last as long as two weeks. (Seriously.) We took refuge in the garden, where the autumn clematis was flowering for the first time.  "I'm sorry to state the obvious, but every second Clio spends in heat is a second she's not fighting flying snakes." -- Elektra The weather was also in heat, but the garden didn't seem to mind. Sedum gathered on the rocks and ivy crawled up the walls. Sweet autumn clematis can be very invasive, but we have ours contained in a trough (the same one that previously held our running bamboo RIP). "We are impatient for this hot weather to end." -- the impatiens (not realizing -- or perhaps totally realizing -- that winter will bring the end of their lives) Dante sat on a carpet of green. Zephyr tried to sleep. Clio couldn't figure out why she felt compelled to cry all the time. "It's exhausting, to be honest, but I can't stop." Soon there will be peace, said the statue, and we all believed.

The Labor Day Cat and Garden Report

Like everyone in the city, we prayed for the heat to subside. "The sun is as merciless and unrelenting as a flying snake." -- Elektra "Or as merciless and unrelenting as that new cat you brought into the house," said Dante, who is still somewhat dismayed at finding himself living with a teenager. More than ever, he treasures his "alone time" in the garden. Speaking of the garden, most of the plants are holding up pretty well in the heat. Even the coral bells (heuchera) are doing okay, despite being moved to a new spot not long ago. "Please don't move us." -- every plant ever. "Sorry." --- me. We also moved the Japanese maple when we took out the spruce, but it was a quick move, so I keep telling the maple that it was just a bad dream. Water helps, of course. This flower smells very minty (unlike the poop from the stray cats). The purslane also enjoys the heat, and supposedly is edible. "Please don't." -- the purslane. Some people deal with hot weather by staying in bed and turning the air-conditioning on high. While others just seem to want to play all the time. It's hard to believe that Clio had six kittens over the summer. Of anyone, it seems like she deserves a day of rest. Fortunately, Labor Day arrived just in time to give it to her.