How Monet’s Garden Grows (in the Bronx)

Last weekend’s NYC weather was glorious and we celebrated by heading up to the Bronx for opening day of The New York Botanical Garden’s “Monet’s Garden” exhibit. Faithful readers will recall that we visited the Garden a few years back for their floral homage to Emily Dickinson.  The Monet exhibit is less ambitious and is mostly confined to the conservatory, but still worth the trip.

We arrived late in the morning and we were pleasantly surprised to see that there were no lines at the entry. After a quick lunch at the cafe, we proceeded to the Seasonal Walk, which is embroidered with blooms chosen by High Line genius Piet Oudolf and Jacqueline van der Kloet.

A Japanese Maple anchors a profusion of poppies along the Seasonal Walk

I love these but cannot remember what they’re called…

The CE outside the conservatory; Monet awaits inside

The conservatory is the Garden’s stunning centerpiece and was saved from demolition by Enid A. Haupt, a sister of Walter Annenberg. Called “the greatest patron American horticulture has ever known” by the Garden’s president. Haupt, who died in 2005 at the age of 99 (proof that gardening is good for the soul!) is a reminder of why it’s handy to keep the 1% around – it must cost buckets of money to keep that enormous Victorian greenhouse going.

Enid Haupt enjoying the conservatory in 1992 (NYT photo)

I remember being dragged to flower shows as a child and loathing every interminable minute of the adults ooh-ing and ah-ing over this bloom and that, but having long since passed through the looking glass to oldster-land, touring the exhibit inside the conservatory was a delight.

Digitalis and Delphinium abound

Achillea makes a bold statement

I fell in love with all the poppies on display. Do they grow in Southern California?

We were at Giverny last fall and saw sunflowers instead of spring blooms, but even so, this exhibit was more a nod in Monet’s direction than a deja vu. You have to give them an E for Effort, however: they added the obligatory water lilies and koi to the Conservatory pond.

Claude would approve

And, of course, la plus chose importante - the Japanese Bridge:

The exhibit will continue until October 21. A note of caution: if you go, know that you will have to arrange your return transportation in advance. For reasons that remain mysterious to us (and which we had plenty of time to ponder during our hour-and-a-half wait for a car to pick us up), taxis are no longer available at the Garden exit…and it’s a looonnnggg walk back to Manhattan from the Bronx!

We Stayed (just slightly) Too Long at the Fair.

It wasn’t all that long ago that I used to devise an alternate driving route so as to avoid going past the fairgrounds and keep those boys of mine from seeing the Ferris wheel  that signals the start of our annual local Fair.

Did you know that the Ferris wheel was invented as part of a competition for Chicago's 1893 World's Fair? (image from keyt.com)

They always somehow found out anyway, though,  and every year the CE or I found ourselves trudging the dusty midway, buying criminally over-priced corn dogs and cotton candy and getting sick just watching the kids go round and round on the Tilt-a-Whirl. The only day that the CE actually ever stayed home sick from work in 20+ years was when he relented and rode that Tilt-a-Whirl with Tina and Angie when they were young. He promptly went green around the gills, came home and went to bed for forty-eight hours.

The Tilt-a-Whirl: Step right up...and prepare to lose your lunch and the next twenty-four hours...
(image from thefloridaeveryoneforgot.blogspot.com)

There’s just something about the fair. Its bright lights hold a promise so deep and shallow at the same time – “Forget all your cares”, “Win a stuffed animal!” that we are somehow convinced to part with significant amounts of money and end up with empty pockets, residual nausea and a potent memory of the sharp-edged visages of the “Carnies” who beckon you closer from every booth.

By the way, if you've never watched HBO's oh-too-brief two seaons of "Carnivale", you need to do so right now! (image from grouchymuffin.com)

For all the times we’ve attended the fair, we somehow never made it past the rides and the funnel-cake booths to visit the paddocks where the livestock are kept. So as we drove by the other day (the CE unwisely not having devised that alternate route) I said “I want to go see the chickens!” As it turned out, so did he, so off we went to join the dusty throngs.

First stop, of course, was the poultry exhibit:

It wasn’t exactly a palace of poultry. There weren’t all that many birds on display, and of those that were, most would have had a hard time competing with our own little flock.

There was a fairly nice-looking Buff Orpington, but its feathers were a duller color than Hope's - maybe she gets a tan from all her free-ranging?

It was a lot of fun to see the roosters, whose plumage is always much showier than that of the hens:

I think this is a Black Copper Marans rooster, which would be the male counterpart to Tulip.

The body shape and pea comb suggest to me that this is an Aracauna rooster

I finally get to say it: Silly goose!

My favorite birds at the exhibit were these Porcelain d'Uccles; same breed as Pippa but different coloring.

Loved this handsome Porcelain d'Uccle rooster.

Gobble gobble: I don't think this little boy will ever feel quite the same about Thanksgiving.

Hygiene note: If you ever tour livestock pens at a fair you will notice that there are sinks set up outside the exit. These aren’t simply for the squeamish; if you have birds at home it is imperative that you thoroughly wash your hands after being around the poultry exhibit in order to make sure that you don’t carry any unwelcome microbes home with you. For the same reason it is also advisable to clean your shoes before re-entering your home coop area. There are certain communicable avian diseases that can wipe out an entire flock after even such a casual exposure. This is also why it’s important to quarantine any new flock additions.

After seeing the birds, we decided to poke around a few other exhibits:

Taylor, I tried to find llamas for you but these alpacas were the best I could do.

Three little pigs

The goats were very entertaining. These little guys were getting quite unruly:

See the head-butting on your left?

But someone tattled, and out came Mom to see what was going on:

"You kids are ba-a-a-a-d! Just wait until your father gets home!"

"Go to your room, now, all of you!"

Will someone please tell the CE that if he really loved me he would give me a pair of pygmy goats for my birthday?

It was a very fun visit to the fair, and we almost got away without committing any food crimes. But just as we were leaving, we walked by the Kettle Corn booth. Irresistible.

"Get your own. I'm not planning to share."

Chloe

A clamor has arisen: why does Soho get a birthday party but not Chloe?

What am I? Chopped liver? Oooh, I love chopped liver. That makes me happy!

And the answer I always give is that Chloe does not need a party because in her world, every day is a party.  Chloe is always, always happy. Even when she’s barking her “I think there is a heavily-armed, masked intruder about to break down the front door” bark (this usually just means that our postal carrier is dropping off the mail…) her demeanor tells you that she can hardly wait to greet that masked intruder and offer him milk and cookies.

It's all good, all the time. Can I lick your face with my enormous wet tongue?

I know that everyone thinks theirs is the best dog in the universe, but everyone (except maybe for Katherine) is just wrong. Sorry, but the Best Dog in the Universe trophy undisputedly must go to Chloe. No, she has not yet saved us from a burning building nor can she sing and play the piano at the same time. But she could if she wanted to, I am convinced of that.

Chloe, you might say, lives large. And she is a study in the power of positive reinforcement. She hears the words Good Girl! Beautiful Girl! thirty or forty times a day, which completely outweighs the occasional Bad Girl! she hears when she, say, steals a plate of cat food off of a counter top. Just think of how you might look at life if you were told how wonderful and gorgeous you were all day long every day!

Among her many talents: lifeguarding at the pool

She loves everyone:

What other dog would tolerate this?

Or this?

And Dizzy, who is the most discerning creature we know, has made it clear that his highest affections are reserved for Chloe. And if Dizzy says it’s so, it is so!

Dizzy is happiest when he's cuddled up next to Chloe.

She is always a good sport:

I'll wear whatever you want me to, and I'll keep smiling!

And as big as she is, you can always, 100% of the time count on Chloe to be gentle with children. Did I mention that she is a Good Girl!? Here she is, showing off her giant teeth to PJG and a much-younger Evie:

I love this photo. Evie and Viv with Chloe on Easter day.

For those inquiring minds that want to know, Chloe will turn six on the 16th of September. She will not have a party and she will not care. But she wouldn’t mind at all if you stopped by with a pizzle stick…

Wasn't she a cute puppy?

And don't forget her other talent: she can impersonate a vampire!

Which Came First: the Chicken, the Egg or the Antibiotics?

Lots of chicken news in the media this week.

The live birth of a baby chick to a hen in Sri Lanka made international news. Headlines instantly pinged around the globe proclaiming the answer to the age old “which came first” conundrum. What really happened is that the chick developed normally in an egg that was, sadly, retained in the mother hen’s body during the twenty-one day gestation period. The baby chick hatched from the egg and managed to be expelled live from the hen, who subsequently died from injuries sustained as a result of the anomalous birth. The chick, however, is alive, healthy and at least momentarily famous. Perhaps if we stay tuned, it will grow up and reveal to the world the truth about why the chicken crosses the road.

This may or may not be the famed Sri Lanka chick. It's the image that ran with the BBC story and is not attributed as a stock photo.

Closer to home, U.S. media has been reporting on a recent FDA announcement regarding the use of antibiotics in commercially-raised livestock. There is so much contradictory information swirling around this subject that it seems nearly impossible to get the straight story, but the topic has become a hot button as consumers become increasingly concerned that the antibiotic-laced animal products they eat are contributing to the rise of “superbugs” or antibiotic resistant strains of bacteria.

(image from myessentia.com)

The FDA has ruminated on this issue for a staggering thirty-five years and still, no substantive conclusion has been reached. According to a March 23, 2012 article in the New York Times “In 1977, the F.D.A. announced that it would begin banning some agricultural uses (for antibiotics) . But the House and Senate appropriations committees passed resolutions against the ban, and the agency retreated.”  When you’ve got a Clash of the Titans betwixt Big Government, Big Farm and Big Pharma, it’s hard to say who will win, but it seems unlikely that you or I will have much say in the matter.

Antibiotics are routinely administered to commercially-raised cattle, pork and poultry, not just to address disease but to guarantee a more resilient and robust product. A recent study by Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health and Arizona State University  found that a banned class of broad-spectrum antibiotics known as fluoroquinolones were found in feather meal, a byproduct of poultry processing which is commonly added to chicken, swine, cattle and fish feed.  (So yes, those commercially-raised chickens are unknowingly consuming the remains of their relatives, yuck!) Twelve samples from six U.S. states and China were studied and were found  to have 2 to 10 antibiotic residues. Also found in the samples were acetaminophen, the active ingredient of Tylenol, diphenhydramine (the antihistamine found in Benadryl), fluoxetine (the active antidepressant ingredient in Prozac), arsenic, and caffeine.

(image from fyeahpnaischicken.tumbler.com)

Caffeine is always an eye-opener, but to think that the chicken on your plate was consuming it (apparently it is used to keep the chickens awake longer so they will eat more and fatten up for slaughter) is a disturbing thought. There doesn’t seem to be any data available on the amounts of these substances found or as to what, if any, threat they pose to humans. As far as antibiotic use, however, I did find this quote from a recent CBS news story: “We think the science is very solid in showing that largely indiscriminate use of antibiotics contributes to resistance,” said FDA Deputy Commissioner MichaeI Taylor. “I don’t think there’s really any question about it.”

What exactly is in the chickens we eat? (image from money.cnn.com)

The upshot of last week’s FDA announcement is that they are voluntarily requesting that livestock producers gradually pull back on the use of antibiotics identified as significant in the treatment of human diseases and that they are asking drug manufacturers to voluntarily change package labels to reflect a recommendation that antibiotics be used to treat or prevent disease rather than to boost production. My fervent hope is that the IRS will follow the FDA’s polite lead and allow us all to voluntarily decide whether or not we would like to continue paying taxes…

(image from nickturse.tumbler.com)

Our girls, by the way, are antibiotic-free, but I’ve promised them a long life free of stew pots and meat cleavers, so you’ll have to look elsewhere for your unadulterated entrees. There are sources for purportedly pure poultry if you check around, including this one in southern California.

"Not coming to your plate anytime soon", says Lucy.

Allie Brosh, phone home!

I love the fact that when a few blog-less days go by, people start checking in to ask what’s up. And I do apologize for not slipping in a mid-week post this past week. In general, you can assume one of two things when the blog goes quiet: either Hugh Laurie has whisked me off to the Maldives for a frolic, or I am down for the count with a rotated lumbar spine. And, alas, this week it has been the latter, although I never completely give up hope that Hugh will knock on the door one of these days.

I haven't checked Webster's, but I think the two-word definition for dreamboat is Hugh Laurie (image from house.wikia.com)

When my hypermobile spine and sacrum go “out”, which literally happens at the drop of a hat if I’m so bold as to actually bend to pick one up, a cascade of bad things happens. There is the obvious biomechanical dysfunction and then the swiftly attendant muscle spasm as the nearby muscle groups rush to manage the situation.

Then there is the Central Nervous System screaming “Mayday!” “Mayday!” and sending torrents of not-so-helpful pain signals to (what’s left of) my brain. After twenty-some years of this torment, it’s not as if I really need all those reminders that something is wrong, but the CNS and its sidekick, the Parasympathetic Nervous System, have, so to speak, a mind of their own. Their long and tortuous road leads directly to the limbic system of the brain, where you get an interesting two-for-one. Since both emotions and pain are processed here, when you experience pain you’ll find your mood worsens and conversely, if your mood dips, you may experience physical symptoms. This is why for some people (unfortunately I am not one of them) taking antidepressants can actually alleviate pain.

The hippocampus and amygdala are part of the brain's limbic system which processes both pain and emotion.

Which brings us to Allie Brosh.

A few years back when I was in similarly dire straits, Polloplayer friend Katherine came across Allie’s brilliant blog, Hyperbole and a Half and forwarded me Allie’s mad funny take on the traditional 1-10 pain scale. If laughter were truly the best medicine I would have been instantly cured by her post and I promptly requested and received her permission to re-post it. And then I became one of the thousands of readers who faithfully followed Allie’s blog updates about things like her “simple dog and “helper” dog. In the world of blogging, she would be, say, Tolstoy, while I labor away like a kid writing for the school newspaper. Allie Brosh is crazy talented. There was even an announcement that she’d landed a book deal.

And then she just seemed to disappear.

Her last blog update was back in the fall of 2011 and if her book has been published, I didn’t get the memo. Hope (@hopecutechick) even follows her on Twitter but so far, no updates from @alliebrosh.  I did find this interview with her on YouTube, but it’s from way back in 2010.

So here’s the deal, Allie, wherever you are. I’m crazy miserable and in desperate need of a blast of your brilliance to counter all the yuckiness currently lodged in my hippocampus. And I know I am not the only fan who wants you to phone home to cyberspace with some witty splash of cleverness to remind us that the Patron Saintess of the blogging world still reigns supreme. You’re way too young to be interested in Hugh Laurie, so I know you haven’t stolen my place by his side in the Maldives.  Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I wish you and your dogs all the best.

image of Hyperbole and a Half header from blog.comiccritique.com)

UPDATE: As usual, Katherine is in the know and she directs us to this discussion on Reddit. Much of it is conjecture and hearsay but Allie’s own posts in the early part of the discussion provide some insight.

Allie, you are in our prayers.

Pasadena Weekend, Part One

Thirty-five years in southern California and I’d never been to Pasadena.  I’ve also never been to an international book fair.

We killed two birds (not chickens, of course!) with one stone and accomplished both last weekend.

We arrived late morning on Friday and pulled into a parking spot on Colorado Blvd. (of Rose Bowl fame) in Pasadena’s Old Town. The plan was to do a bit of window-shopping before lunch. Since we just happened to park in front of a hat shop, in we went, and a few minutes later we both emerged with new chapeaux.

Goorin Brothers has been selling hats since 1895

Thus nattily be-hatted, we drove a few blocks to our new favorite restaurant, the Parkway Grill. Don’t be fooled by the unassuming exterior – when you step inside, the place is warm and bustling and both the food and service are outstanding. Their Split Pea Soup is the best I’ve ever tasted. You know how pea soup is usually either baby-food textured or treacly gruel with hunks of ham tossed in to make it look like they cared? This was neither. The broth was stand-alone good and there were plenty of identifiable vegetables and split peas with just the right crunch to them. Yum!

Inside the Parkway Grill (image from opentable.com)

Sans hat, the CE enjoys a burger at the Parkway Grill

After lunch, we visited the delightful Huntington Library, although we were so enthralled with the gardens and the American Wing that we never actually made it into the Library building. Mid-winter is probably not the best time to go, as not much is in bloom, but it was still amazing. I’ll stop talking for a moment and share some pix:

They were having a camellia sale at the Huntington. We wanted them all!

Mad Hatter?

Lovely, but lethal. I've never seen such an extensive cactus garden.

How pretty is this?

The CE in his new hat

A guide at the gardens pointed out a noisy flock of parrots that have taken the area over as their playground. They flitted from tree to tree and it was hard to get a good look at them. I have a super zoom lens on my point-and-shoot camera so with a very steady hand and an obligingly still bird I was able to get this photo – I think it looks more like a parrotlet or a conyer than a parrot.

Pretty bird!

We decided to save the remainder of the Huntington’s treasures for a future visit, and headed over to check into our hotel. The Langham Huntington is a celebrated and stately Pasadena landmark, built in 1907 and painstakingly updated. I would hope to look that good at 105 years old.

The Langham Huntington Hotel (image from pasadena.langhamhotels.com)

I must confess, however, that the moment I set foot in an older hotel, my amygdala pulses Danger! Danger! signals to every synapse of my being and I can think of nothing but that image from The Shining. You know exactly what I mean, right?

Yes, this one! (image from vegancinegrub.blogspot.com)

It’s not as if I sleep at night anyway, so not a big deal that I lay awake in wait for the haunting to begin. Other than a few bumps in the night, all was well, of course. And really, the hotel is lovely. I’m just bringing the Ghostbusters team with me next time we visit.

Pay no attention to me. The rooms are beautiful. (image from pasadena.langhamhotels.com)

All this and I haven’t even gotten to the Book Fair. Looks like a two-post for today. More to come…

Separated at birth?

Congrats to Pekingese Malachy, the little “stump of a dog” who “wobbled” away with top honors at Westminster this year.

Someone compared him to an “alien footstool”, but I just see Cody the Shoo Bear when I look at him.

Malachy (image from B985.com)

Cody

Is it possible that the nation’s top dog is a dead ringer for a cat?

Good dog!

I try to stay away from YouTube, as vast portion’s of one’s day can disappear clickety-click there, but in the interest of all things poultry, I must share this with Polloplayer readers. All together now: Awwwwww!

Matzoh and Moussaka: a recipe for love

On the first day of my first job out of college, a co-worker approached me and said matter-of-factly, “You’re the only person here close to my age. Let’s go to lunch.” We did, and quickly became fast friends. You’d be surprised how much a small-town Midwestern girl and a Jewish Hofstra grad could actually have in common.

Rosanne and me

Rosanne was with me when I met the CE, and I introduced her to her future husband, Keevan. I went to her wedding in Chicago and she came to mine in California. She had children. I had children. And so we headed back to Chicago for another wedding this month: that of Rosanne’s and Keevan’s daughter, Jaina,and her long-time love, Costa.

Costa and Jaina

Since the bride’s family is Jewish and the groom’s family is Greek, the festivities were steeped in both traditions. The rehearsal dinner was held – where else – at a restaurant in Chicago’s Greektown, and after dinner tables were pushed aside for dancing. At the wedding ceremony, Greek crowns were held over the pair’s heads as they stood beneath the traditional Jewish wedding canopy. There was so much love in that room!

It's Greek to me, but they look like they know what they're doing.

The CE and Keevan

The bride's cousin, reminding us what it's all about.

Turns out there aren’t that many people you can really count on in this world, but Keevan and Rosanne are at the top of the list. I still owe Keevan for the pair of boots he bought me when in 1977 I showed up  in Chicago weeping, poverty-stricken and underclothed during a February blizzard. He picked me up at the train station, took me shopping, fed me, and then put up with my sniveling (as did my patient, long-suffering college roommate, Anne) for the next few months until the CE mercifully took me off their hands. THAT is friendship!

Keevan and two of his three gorgeous girls. Two more weddings to look forward to!

Rosanne is a gifted writer and one of the only people who can craft a holiday letter each year that everyone actually looks forward to receiving. She possesses an unwavering combination of kindness and brutal honesty wrapped up in a killer sense of humor, and you will actually enjoy it when she makes fun of you. In fact, I owe my marriage to her gift of gab. When we ducked into a Georgetown pub one night to escape a cloudburst on our way home from dinner, it was Rosanne who noticed the tall, handsome guy  standing next to her who had also taken refuge from the storm. She sized him up, noted that in a sea of Washington, D.C. three-piece-suiters he was wearing sneakers, and quipped “What part of California are you from?” And that is how I met the future Chicken Emperor and love of my life.

The wedding flowers were so beautiful!

Any time I spend with Rosanne and Keevan is treasured time, and whether it has been six months or six years between visits, we all pick up exactly where we left off.  And being with them at Jaina and Costa’s wedding was, well, icing on the cake. Such a special time with such very special people at a very special wedding. Mazel tov!

The cake!

Hope is the thing with feathers…

Stranger than fiction. A Utah family found this pair of conjoined baby robins:

Turns out it was not a genetic mutation. Somehow, a plastic thread lodged between the two nestlings after they hatched and as the skin and feathers of the two birds grew, they were literally woven together.

A veterinarian separated them – one is doing well, the other in critical condition. I hope both little ones can survive…

(image from Deseret News)

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul

And sings the tune – without the words

And never stops at all. 

- Emily Dickinson