Patricia, Jan 23, 1954 - June 28, 2014

Patricia and Marty during their time in Costa Rica

This is the final entry in Word in the Woods. But that doesn't mean it's the last word. Patricia Jempty, the author who always signed her posts PJ, passed away -- peacefully, in her sleep, in hospice -- in the early hours of June 28 in Brooklyn. In the days before, she had been embraced by her friends and her family -- her husband Marty; her children Mariel, Mark and Harry.

As a reader of Word in the Woods, you know them, and how much she loved them. (And she could kid because she loved; as she once wrote on this blog, "My son Harry went to Bonnaroo, a music festival in Tennessee, and hasn't been heard from in more than a week. I'm sure his phone is dead. Should I assume he'll be home for dinner tonight?")

Her friend Ronni Gordon wrote a lovely tribute to Patricia on her own blog: "She was feisty, funny, smart and compassionate." (You can read it in its entirety here: http://runnerwrites.blogspot.com/2014/06/on-losing-friend-to-leukemia.html.)

Patricia had a thing for the color orange long before Netflix decreed it cool; she also liked shoes, earrings that matched her clothes and a good cocktail. But it is her love for Marty, Mariel, Mark and Harry that runs through every post on this blog.

That love lives on, through her family and her many friends, and through her writing; and because of it, so does she. 

Passover Country

Brie, Mark, Esther, Lenny, Frances, Marty, Patty

I was trapped in a  Passover factory in Pennsylvania. We arrived Saturday afternoon to a scene of intense preparation for a feast not arriving until Monday night. You can't be too careful.  They're rules on top of pseudo rules that make for debilitating doubt. Fortunately my sister-and-mother-in law managed the whole affair.

On Sunday, we went to see friends in North Wilmington. We had a nice brunch and talked about an upcoming wedding we were planning to attend in May. For me, it was all about the wardrobe. No dress fit me, and this was a black tie affair. I had already checked out my local consignment shop only to find over-the-top gowns, stuff that looked cheap, or didn't fit.

We hit the jackpot in a nearby Marshalls. I chose five dresses to try on, and Marty was allowed to come in and help do me up. The first looked a little trashy like I'd need Farrah Fawcett hair to pull it off. There was an all-black number that had to much froo-froo in front. The third was the winner. Tapered black at sides and back and brocade-like front panel that is either white or gray. One dress I can't recall trying on. The last was for Harry's graduation and a less formal wedding in July. The dress is multi-colored print (peach, green, brown, scarlet) on an ivory background. It has a crossover bodice and it is waisted and flowing, on the short side. It has a scarlet lining. I even managed to get low patent leather shoes!

The Seder went off without a hitch except the potatoes weren't boiled so there was a small delay. Other than that, the 7 of us had a wonderfully traditional Seder except we neglected to read the second half, which we always avoid.The following night we read the last half first, an innovation I strongly recommend.

Tradition!

Long, Cold Winter Makes Great Excuse to Read

You all know I don't need a reason to read. I always find time.

I just punched my way through The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. I'm not going to give a summary of the novel here, just a few comments about style et cetera.

Some parts of the book are riveting, but about 200 pages should have been trimmed. There's a lot of repetition.I grew tired of Theo and Boris's antics in Las Vegas. Boris himself was a character I grew to despise. So he loves Theo and will do anything for him. He does bad things to his friend, including something I won't write about because it's near the end of  the book.

If you like to muse about the meaning of life, Tarrt gives you passage after passage through Theo's young-adult eyes. It seems a stretch that even though you've lived through a truly rotten teenagehood you would ponder these issues, even if you could.

I enjoyed the art history lessons, and Theo's travels through Amsterdam. I felt beaten over the head with the wetness metaphor, a thread throughout, and that it was always Christmas or Thanksgiving or a stormy night. This wasn't subtle enough for my tastes.

Since it's probably the most-read novel at the moment, even if it's not coming soon to your local book club, you might want to read it for water-cooler discussions. Or if you want important snippets about plot and character development, you can go to Cliff Notes. It's on-line for all I know, or at least a modern version of an English class's best friend.

John Kennedy Toole

Have you ever heard of John Henry Toole? You probably know of or have read his only book, A Confedracy of Dunces published 10 years after his death by suicide. A biography of Toole, Butterfly in Typrewiter  by Cory MacLaughlin, was sent to me for my birthday by my brother George who knew I would like to read the life story of the quirky misfit author who wrote a book whose main character is insane and who provokes some of the most hysterical events imaginable. The book is a also a portrait of New Orleans and its unusual characters.

Do you like hot dogs? This is just one of the awful jobs Ignatius Reilly does to try to earn money as his mother demands. Mostly, he eats all the hot dogs, but he also gets involved in a porn caper, and is charged with a $500,000 lawsuit from an office job he was fired from.

Now, what should you read first, Confederacy or MacLaughlin's bio (if you were so inclined)? I read the novel some 30 years ago, then read the bio, then re-read the novel. The book wasn't as funny as I'd remembered it but that could have been from all the details in MacLaughlin's book. They were interesting but I think diminished the character. Or maybe after 30 years I'm a different person with a different sense of humor. Toole's mother, who worked tirelessly to have her son's book published is a real character worth reading about, though. 

March Mango Madness

I don't like college basketball but I sure love mangoes. Mango season is in full swing. I remember it lasted for about five months when we lived in Costa Rica. We ate them, Marty brought them to work, we gave them to friends, our employees, teachers and even people on the street who politely asked for one.

Mangoes come in different varieties. We had the large green/red ones, but I prefer the small yellow ones. I just made a fruit smoothie with mangoes and other fruits. That's when I remembered about all things mango. We also had all things banana four or five times a year, but that's another story.

Speaking of stories, I wrote one called "The Mango Lady." My friend's kids always referred to me as such. I also wrote a poem called "The Mango Wars." Mangoes were an obsession, a delicious one.

Never be shy about cutting up a mango, which is very hard to do, and just eating it over the sink with the juicy pulp running down your chin. Here's an excerpt from my"Mango" poem.

There's glory for all

here among the fleshy perfumed orbs,

unless you're shelled while snoozing in the hammock.

If you survive, you have this story to tell:

I watched the mangoes rain down.

It was hell, and I lived.

Oh yes, I lived.

March Holidays

Mid-March is a busy time. We celebrated St. Patrick's Day with corned beef, cabbage and potatoes washed down with Guinness. The Jewish celebration of Purim began last night, so I made hamentashen for dessert. These are little pastries shaped like a hat that the evil Jewish-hater Hamen wore.

I've already noted March 4th. Friday, 3/14 was Pi day, so I hope you all celebrated with pie.

And yesterday was the ides of March, which I hope you all navigated without mishap.

March Madness has kicked off in College Basketball.

An otherwise dull, between seasons month has its fair share of holidays. Enjoy!

Sitting in the Past, With Popcorn

There's an old (1930) movie theater 20 minutes away from where we live. It shows a new film each week and they are usually the best (in my opinion) the movie world has to offer. Two weeks ago we saw 12 Years a Slave which is a remarkable (and true) story of a free black man who is snatched from his comfortable life, sold, and spends 12 years picking cotton, cutting sugar cane and doing carpentry work. Abused, beaten with a whip and treated as an animal, he never loses his personal integrity and dignity.

Yesterday, we took Harry with us to see Her. I felt the movie was a tad too long, but the acting was terrific and the story intriguing, mainly because although it's set in the future, it feels like it could happen sometime soon. What does it mean to be human? Can our faults and anxieties be ameliorated by another person (or in this case by a personal operating system you tote around like an i-phone)? Can love change us for the better? In Her the answer is yes. Harry approved of the music by "Arcade Fire." It's always nice to learn things from your children.

This mono-plex theater is a gem, open only Friday through Monday. The seats are comfortable and it's kept as neat as a pin, whatever that means. Matinees cost $7 and I take the opportunity to make my lunch a huge bucket of popcorn with real butter. Yum.

What a great way to spend a dreary winter afternoon or evening, when the tickets rocket to $9.

Command Day Greetings

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, Command Day is celebrated once a year on March Fourth. Based on a word-play that our friend Doug shared with us, it is little known and rarely celebrated except by us. When my husband wished a co-worker a happy Command Day, and told her the punch line (March Forth!), she giggled and then googled. What did she find? A lone reference to an obscure scribbling called Word In the Woods.

You read it right--right here in this blog 5 years ago.

Gil's Centennial

Here was a man I barely knew, yet I quote him and tell stories about him all the time.

Gil was our neighbor when we lived in Fort Greene, NY, back in the days when there were actual neighborhoods with not just racial diversity, but age diversity, too. Try to find an elderly person in Fort Greene now who owns their own home and knows their neighbors. When I lived there, I was in my 30's and 40's. Unless you're very wealthy, you can't afford my former home. It would set you back $1.25 million.

I'm glad I got that off my chest. Gil lived four houses down the block from us. He used to stand out front in his garden as the summer day cooled off a bit, saying "hi, how you be?" to all who passed. I immediately stopped and introduced myself, and he, himself. He was originally from the South but moved to New York City to work and raise his family. He settled in Fort Greene and was now retired. I remember he drove this huge old car from the 70's, a living room on wheels. It was two-tone, one color being a burnt orange. Man, he was a dude.

His wife "passed" a year or so after we'd moved in. She'd been a shut-in and I'd never met her. He told me,  she'd had a good long life. Then he did what he always did, cut some roses from his front bushes and presented them to me. "A beautiful woman must always have roses." What a gentleman!

Some nights, when Gil glimpsed me out back (townhouses all have side-by-side yards), he would say "hey young lady, come out front." There would be Gil, with a huge bouquet of roses from his "real" garden. "A beautiful woman must always have roses." What a gentleman.

One day, after his wife died and after he could no-longer drive due to cataracts and glaucoma, I told him it was my birthday. I was born in January or else he'd have cut one rose from every bush in his garden. "Well young lady, you are twice my age!"

As he grew older, he would would still sometimes be standing and leaning on his front fence in the evenings, but usually sat in a chair.

When I saw him and approached he'd immediately stand up.

"How you be, young lady?"
"Fine and how are you?"
Aw, what's the sense of kickin'?"

He was declining in health but he'd never complain. He was like my grandfather in that regard.


I'm not sure when he left his rose gardens behind for good, because we moved a few years later. What a loss to my neighborhood, and my life.

"This Is My Life!"

My daughter is working in Brasilito, Costa Rica teaching English to kids in grades k-8. I know she's happy because she shares her adventures with me.

She went to a bullfight last week. In Costa Rica, bullfights are big events. The whole family goes, because the animals are never killed, although the frenzy of the bull is still there. Men go into the ring and try not to get gored, but it's risky business. Mariel sat on the make-shift fence at the edge of the action, feet dangling into the ring. She had more than one adrenaline rush as bulls came near.

My daughter isn't much of a swimmer, but most nights, she and her friends swim out to an island off the beach and watch the sunset.

This how she puts it:  I feel like every day I have these moments where I just pause and think to myself, "this is my life. Can't believe it sometimes."

The Uninterestings

I finally finished Meg Wolitzer's The Interestings. While I could relate to some of the themes (aging, feminism, accepting that there's more to life than genius, talent and money, the AIDs crisis in it infancy), but found the characters to be flat, even though the main characters grew up more or less like me. She was ashamed of the LI town she grew up in. She's three years younger than I am, and she attended undergraduate school at SUNY Buffalo. I even have wealthy friends who lend me money.  Guess the book is just not my taste.

In other news, we had a bust of a snowstorm but they're promising another six inches overnight. It means I was able to  keep my appointment to have a tooth extracted. All went well--very little bleeding or swelling and only minor pain. That's what drugs are for!

Country Life, Hard and Beautiful

Finally, after many years of being practically snowless, we were hit with a storm that added a foot of snow on top of the 4-6 inches we already had. I went out yesterday to shovel a path for my dog and the UPS man who was supposed to be delivering a package. He never made it, but Buck and I managed a walk. Buck is a big dog, but even he has trouble standing in deep snow to do his business.

Today, I  tried to tackle getting my car out. I have no driveway, merely a pull-in parking spot in front of my garage, which can't fit a car in it and would have made the snow removal worse. The village does a great job plowing but there's no place for the snow to go except to the side of the road. I took one look at the 2-foot wall of ice imprisoning my car and wanted to cry. There I was, at the foot of a mountain I planned on moving with an ice pick and spoon.

My neighbor Jim who's always there, just like State Farm, has a nifty red pint-sized snow plow. He was just coming home, so I flagged him down and asked for help. He seemed so happy to move the snow around. He even drove my car out and dug a wide parking spot for my convenience when I returned.

The scenery right now is picture-postcard spectacular. If you don't look down in the roadway and see all the muck, that is.

More Reads

I'll just mention some books I've been reading.

On Such Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee is a must-read. He's one of my favorite authors and this book will lull you with it's calm prose and frighten you by the implications of of the story's dark soul.

The Story of a Happy Marriage by Anne Patchett is a series of short stories she's published elsewhere. Patchett's Bel Canto is to me her finest novel. State of Wonder was published last year You feel the sweat, hear the birds and the crunch of the jungle, along with it's earthy smell. You're there.

Join Me for a Swim in the Gene Pool

I know that what ails me is more than cabin fever, even though my temp was 99.9 briefly. Now it's normal even though I'm not. I am warm though, and my mind keeps drifting to the past, wherever that is.

Last week I drove to NYC for my birthday weekend. I'm notorious for week-long celebrations. Ask my friends. I had a martini at the 21 Club and another at the restaurant. It was a small gathering, people I'ved shared my birthday with many times.

The next day, I had a birthday lunch with my good pal Jeffrey, aka Luvy. For some reason, I usually get a burger when I lunch with him. It's comfort food and Jeff's always a comfort to me. Living in the boondocks though is evident when I try to act like a city girl, walking for miles, climbing subway stairs. New Yorkers don't have to diet as long as they stay away from taxis.

Back at my friends' house (4 flights up), I decided to take a  nap. As I was drifting off to sleep there was a knock at the door. Ma? It was my son Mark surprising me for my birthday. I thought I was dreaming, turned over and went back to sleep.

He'd flown in from Texas for the weekend. His brother Harry also surprised me. These young men are gems. I attribute that mostly to their father, and that we lived in Costa Rica for six years. My daughter is working in Costa Rica at the moment and couldn't be part of the surprise. She's trying to save the world one child at a time. Admirable.

Dinner at a restaurant in our old neighborhood was nonpareil. Breakfast at Juniors the next morning was a classic exercise in consuming vasts quantities of delicious greasy foods. I love that place.

Mark returned with us to the woods and cooked dinner. He ran and consumed enough food to feed me for a week. He does crosswords in ink, just as my grandfather did.

Two New Novels That Disappointed

I'm a big Dave Eggers fan. I've read most of his oeuvre, as has my family. It was with a certain amount of excitement and expectation that I started reading The Circle. It's basically a tale of right-around-the-corner  technological totalitarianism. The company seems a thinly-disguised Google. Think about all the ways this company affects your on-line life. Think about how it could control even your off-line life. That's the premise of the book. The main character, Mae, is an enthusiastic new hire at the Circle, a massive California Company that hires the best and the brightest to do its work, not just to make money but to take control of everyone's life, from healthcare to banking to shopping to everything conceivable, all done in the "noble" belief that humans would be happier. Mae becomes a vehicle of this nightmarish scenario.

I found that Mae was a bit of a dolt, which is why she's chosen to implement the plan to close the Circle. The book is so obvious in its plot that instead of being a chilling warning a la Orwell's 1984 minus the the worldwide war, it merely focuses on what we already know: that technology can rule our lives, if we let it.  The Circle was nominated for the National Book Award in Fiction, but didn't win it.

The Good Lord Bird by James McBride won the prize. McBride is the author of The Color of Water, a memoir about growing up in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. His father, who lived around the corner from me for a while, was an African-American and his mother was a white Orthodox Jew. This cultural combination seems to produce great writers. I think of Walter Mosely.

Lets get back to The Good Lord Bird. The story is told by a black boy who masquerades as a girl named Onion by the mythic abolitionist John Brown. Onion, who is a 10-year old slave, depicts Brown from a very complicated man. He's the onion, not young slave he frees and takes along on his many forays through pro-slave territory. The major problem I had with the book is that aside from the fact Onion is literate, she uses words and phrases I find hard to believe she knew. She writes in Black/Southern dialect, but using the word "pixi-lated for drunk (It actually is a slang expression, but its first known usage in1848, is only ten or so years prior), and incog-Negro (which is a contemporary phrase) which didn't't ring true, and served to snap me out of the narrative. I recommend you read this book, along with Cloudsplitter by Russell Banks. In my opinion, Bank's is the better historical novel about an incredible man

I love comparative literature. What do you expect of an English major?

The Long, Winding, Icy and Hilly Road to My Door

When I left my house Thursday, it had only snowed an inch or so and had stopped. I was driving my trusty old minivan, Vanna, which doesn't have 4-wheel drive. Three hours later, snow was falling and the roads were icy and untreated. My first challenge was to turn left out of the parking lot and go up a steep hill. There was minor slip sliding away, but I made it. It was a white-knuckle ride, snow whirling, darkness falling. I could barely see. Breathe, I told myself. Relax those shoulders. Unclench your fists.

I was brave enough to pull into the local supermarket parking lot. The store was closing early--in 10 minutes--but I only needed a few things.

Arriving at my house unscathed was a relief. My daughter arrived 40 minutes later. She'd driven from Providence, RI, encountering snow in the last hour of her trip. She had the 4WD vehicle for safety. I look forward to not driving for a couple more days.