Fri. Aug. 11, 2023: Sorting Out My Brain
image courtesy of Elisa via pixabay.comFriday, August 11, 2023
Waning Moon
Pluto, Saturn, Neptune, Venus, Chiron Retrograde
Cloudy, humid, hazy
Time to catch up on adventures.
First, though, today’s serial episode is from ANGEL HUNT:
Episode 58: Library Intruder
A stranger breaches The Library’s safeguards to warn Lianna off.
And tomorrow’s serial episode is from DEADLY DRAMATICS:
Episode 8: New Demands on Nina
The company wants Nina’s time and energy beyond the office.
Now, we’re going to roll back all the way to Tuesday!
I was worried about incoming storms, so I left at 11, when we were teased with sun. I dropped off the book at the library, and mailed the bills, then headed to Williamstown and the Taconic Parkway. I trusted Murder Maps to get me on the Parkway, and hoped I could figure it out from there.
Murder Maps got me onto the parkway, and it was a pretty ride down. Not too much traffic, at least not until around Poughkeepsie. Once we hit Westchester County, it was the Taconic Parkway I remembered, full of absolutely terrible drivers. When I lived down that way, I avoided the Taconic whenever possible because of the horrific accidents.
Murder Maps piped up again, guiding me from the Taconic a short stretch down the Saw Mill, and then to the hotel.
Which is about 20 feet off the Interstate, and looked like it rented by the hour. And, honey, for what I’d paid IN ADVANCE for that room, it shouldn’t. If the room didn’t rent by the hour, the woman checking in ahead of me definitely did.
Which, hey, we all gotta make a living, but it was definitely NOT going to be the relaxing afternoon and evening in a hotel room that I envisioned.
I got a room on the 2nd floor, because no way in hell was I going to be on the ground floor there.
The room was tiny and dark and a weird shape, almost like a pizza slice but it was clean (no carpeting, first hotel I’ve ever been in without carpeting), had a big TV, and a microwave and a fridge. I couldn’t work at the desk in the room, because there were no outlets and no lights near the desk. Plus, when I sat in the chair, it was so low that the desk was up by my chin. I had to work sitting on the bed. The wi-fi pretty much sucked, too, and kept cutting out. The bathroom was tiny and an odd shape. The shower was an afterthought. There was no shelf in the shower to put the soap or the shampoo or anything else. It had to go on the floor outside the shower curtain. I was worried a black patch on the shower floor was mold, but it was just tile discoloration. The hair dryer did not work. Exposed sprinkler pipes ran across one wall of the bedroom. The air conditioner had to stay on all the time, because otherwise the room was stifling, and, due to a lack of screens, I couldn’t open the window. The air conditioner was positioned to blow over the bed, so I burrowed into the single coverlet all night, and hoped I wouldn’t get Legionnaire’s disease.
In other words, I was glad I’d packed as though I was going to be out in the wilderness for a month.
I didn’t feel comfortable leaving anything in the car OR leaving anything in my room if I went out. So I used Door Dash and ordered in Chinese, which was pretty good.
I did some reading, and I started drafting a new radio play for the Australian radio producer.
I tried watching TV (we don’t have cable at the house). It’s 3 minutes or news/program and 6 minutes of asinine commercials, either ads for drugs or ads by competing internet services. Hey, at least down there they HAVE competing services, unlike up here, where we only have a single option.
In other words, I’m not missing anything by skipping overinflated cable tv prices.
The only scripted shows on were Dick Wolf’s FBI trilogy. They fit the Wolf formula, and seem to have a larger cast of characters than usual, but, in all of the cases, the third act of the scripts were rushed (to fit commercials, no doubt), but then there were character buttons in the resolution that went on a few beats too long for the balance of the overall piece and came across as sloppy, rather than organic. I’ve worked on Wolf shows, and they run like well-oiled machines. I suspect these were draft scripts used because of the writers’ strike.
The reality show ads were all gross. And it was good to see ads saying that the pandemic might be over, but COVID is not, and urging boosters in the fall.
Had trouble getting to sleep, between the air conditioning and stuff in the room – TV, microwave, fridge. Finally went to sleep around midnight. Woke up at 4, then drifted into a doze until the alarm went off at 6.
This room should cost about a third of what they’re charging.
None of this is the staff’s fault. The staff is perfectly lovely.
Up, showered, went down to breakfast. Grabbed coffee, a bagel, and a bowl of cereal, and took it back to eat in the room. Packed the car, checked out, and headed to the Archives, which wasn’t far, but the construction and traffic made it seem far. Plus, Murder Maps kept scolding me because I didn’t drive through barriers set up for construction.
The archives are lovely, as are the librarians who helped me. They’d pulled a wealth of material. I got myself set up with the computer, digital camera, note pad, pencils, and the information I had.
I gave them the proven additional information I had on Dorothy Dwin, and they copied it, so they have it for their files.
I spread out my files, had their material spread out, too, had my notepad and pencils, and the computer set up so I could cross-check information, either from digitized files in the Archive, or from other sources.
I hit pay dirt early on, with an article naming four women who were artists at the beginning of the whole Playland thing. There are five women in my photos. I’m wondering if Dorothy Dwin did some extra work for them, or if the fifth woman is someone who came on staff later, and not Dorothy Dwin at all.
The payroll books had nothing, including the name of the lead designer/artist/assistant to Frank W. Darling, Grace Hutchins. There is a Grace Hutchins around this time who wrote a book on LABOR AND SILK, and was very involved in workers’ rights at that time, but I don’t think they are the same person. I have a lead on one of the other painters, who specialized in botanicals (there are lots of vines, leaves, and other botanical work in the original painting at the park). A woman by the same name was also a photographer and did an amazing project up in Alaska in the late 1940’s, but again, I haven’t yet proven they are the same person.
I need to find Frank Darling’s papers (the archives do not have them, but I found a lead on them), see when/if Grace is mentioned, and go on from there.
NONE of the women are in the payroll books (although women who were stenographers and bookkeepers and “temporary labor” were). I hoped maybe some of the “temporary labor” would match, but they don’t. That doesn’t mean some of them weren’t painters, too. It was a big park, after all, with lots of detail work. I jotted their names down, too, just in case.
I went through a lot of admin files and vendor contracts and the like, hoping maybe there was a contract with the painters, but no such luck.
During the WPA years, I believe that some of the women were paid through the WPA project, but I can’t find how they were paid early in Playland’s history. But I will send the names to the Rye Historical Society and see what the archivist there can tell me. I’ll check their digital archives first.
And I’ll go back to the various census materials, and see what I can discover.
For lunch, I drove a few miles to Ardsley, a town I haven’t been to in longer than I like to admit. My high school used to play Ardsley in football.
I had lunch in the Saw Mill Tavern, first time I’ve eaten inside since before the pandemic. Since I was the only person in the place except for the server, I wasn’t too worried. I ordered a tuna melt, something I don’t make at home because the broiler is sketchy here, and asked for a local beer – getting something from a Brooklyn brewery! That made me realize how spoiled we are up here with all our microbreweries. If I asked for “local” up here, I’d have five or six choices brewed within a ten-mile radius.
The tuna melt was very simplistic. Cold tuna salad on a toasted English muffin with a slice of Kraft cheddar on it. Not kissed by the broiler. But it was good, and so were the fries, and so was the beer. They had tiramisu on the menu, so I ordered that with coffee. I expected a small slice, but the piece they gave me was HUGE. And very good. But I definitely overate and waddled out of there.
Back to the archives (after putting gas in the car; gas is fourteen cents a gallon more expensive down there). I spent the afternoon in the files. I found a sketch of Playland for a county-wide employee outing that I’m pretty sure was done by one of the ladies. I photographed it, and will blow it up to search for any initials hidden in the intricate work. I got the name of the man who handled Playland’s publicity in the early days, and will do some research on him, and see if I can find anything about my painters that way.
Read through meeting minutes, seeing how Darling got permissions for this, that, and the other. Tried not to get distracted by the overall county parkway design. The Taconic was always intended to be beautiful, but I didn’t realize there was an overall design amongst the different engineers, coordinated by the County’s Chief Engineer on anything called a “parkway” and how they were meant to work together (rather than just roads that would connect every now and again). It’s fascinating, but not relevant to this project, other than adding overall color, and could well be its own project.
There was another woman researching in the archives about Croton Heights, which was a planned community in the mid to late 1920’s headed by publisher Halsey William Wilson (who created THE READERS GUIDE TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE). The small houses themselves were mostly purchased by women, many of whom were writers, editors, architects, librarians, and schoolteachers, and nicknamed “No Man’s Land” because it was almost all women. There’s an article about it here, and another one here. We all agreed it sounded like utopia.
There’s a potential story in there, too, a project for another time. The woman was a research assistant for someone who is writing a book about it. I believe it’s nonfiction, so I wouldn’t be stepping on any toes by writing fiction about it!
I didn’t find everything for which I hoped, but I found enough to keep going, and send me on other routes, and to other historical societies/archives. I will also actively seek out material on Frank W. Darling, hoping to find more information on Grace, and trace the painters from there.
My brain was spinning by the time I left, and I headed up to my friend’s place in Beacon. It was a pretty drive up the Hudson River, and one I hadn’t taken before. Down in NYC, we made so many jokes about how dirty the Hudson River is, one forgets how astonishing and majestic it is further up the county.
Murder Maps was bound and determined to kill me up around Bear Mountain, but I figured it out, and got back on track, making it to my friend’s place just before 5. Murder Maps swore it was only a 39-minute drive (I left the Archives when they closed at 3:30). I knew it would be more than that, even without avoiding attempted murder off Bear Mountain.
But I was tired and my brain was overheated. My friend left a key for me in a specific item because she was taking one of her cats to the vet and wouldn’t be there when I arrived. I had a different idea of what that item would look like, so, of course, I wandered around the yard, looking for it.
Finally, one of the neighborhood cats (who is sort of hers, but is insistent on remaining outdoors and visiting multiple houses for multiple meals), stalked out of the echinacea, gave me a look that clearly said, “you’re an idiot” and marched up to the porch to sit by the key’s hiding place.
I found the key, thanked him, he sneezed in disgust, and went back into the foliage.
I unloaded into the kitchen, and got reacquainted with the cats. A couple of them remembered me; a couple sort of did, but were still shy. One of them was downright terrified and levitated away.
I poured myself some herbal tea and settled into a chair to read and wait for my friend, and let the cats get used to me. Because I ignored them, they got curious.
My friend arrived only about twenty minutes after I got there, and the cat with her definitely remembered me, and got all the others sorted out.
We had a good catch up, and then I took her out to dinner at a local diner. I thought I was ordering a simple salad; it could have easily fed a family of four. But it was delicious.
Came home and yapped some more. I will put together some resources that I think would be helpful over the weekend for her. She works in television, so the strike’s hit her hard.
She’s taken on chickens now, and another friend of ours was up recently helping get the coop set up, and building what will be the main coop. I’m someone who prefers chicken in a pot rather than running around (too much? Sorry), but I admire her ambition. The chickens are very pretty, and some of them will lay eggs with colored shells. I hope the protections she’s put in place against hawks and foxes and raccoons and bears hold.
It’s a lot of work. Definitely more than I could take on at this point.
There were fireflies! I forgot how much I missed fireflies until I saw them.
Someone from FB tagged me to research and send information to a third party I’ve never met on something THEY COULD HAVE JUST GOOGLED and it annoys me. Do your own fucking work, and THEN ask questions. Don’t do this helpless shit without even trying, unless you’re paying me for the time.
One of the shy cats, a calico, came to make friends, get petted, and be cute. The tortie then wanted to make friends, too, but the calico batted her away. It was funny.
We chatted some more, but knew we had an early morning and then went to sleep. It was lovely to be in the guest room with the windows open and the mountain breeze coming in.
I fell asleep fast, and woke up around 2:30, when one of the cats said, “I am brave in the middle of the night and I want petting now.” So I petted him, and then one of the other cats said, “Well, if you’re petting, it’s MY turn” and it was. And then she pointed out there was a deficiency in cuisine she was sure I could do something about. I told her I couldn’t feed any of them, because she was headed back to the vet the next morning, so we’d taken up all the food before bedtime.
She then climbed on the shelf where I kept my phone, turned it on, and started pawing at it. “Honey, Door Dash is not gonna save you,” I said.
She huffed and stalked out of the room.
The young cat climbed to the top of a bookcase and planned a flying squirrel move (onto an inflatable mattress). I warned him it would not end well for any of us, and the other cat marched back into the room to chase him out.
I sort of dozed off again until the alarm went off at 5, but I had various curious visitors parading through.
Made sure everything was together and packed, and at 7, rode shotgun with my friend when she drove the cat down to New Jersey (NEW JERSEY!) for a vet drop off. I decided not to stress about time and traffic, and trust it would all work out, and it did,
We dropped off the cat (who was seriously grumpy by then), turned around and came back, picked up breakfast on the way, and ate out in the yard, which was lovely. I hope she can come up and see the Munch exhibit; I think she’d love it.
Played with the young cat who’d been so nervous around me. If I was there another day or so, he’d get used to me.
Was packed and on the road by 9:30, the time I’d planned. Murder Maps tried to send me off in a weird direction, but I’d memorized how to get to the Taconic when we’d headed in the other direction to Jersey earlier that morning, so I let Murder Maps have a nervous breakdown and got on the Taconic my way. I figured Murder Maps would be in a huff and not help me get off the Taconic and back to Williamstown, but it got over itself, and we were fine.
The drive up was pretty, in spite of a storm threat. I made it home just as it started to rain.
Unloaded the car, and got the laptop set up again first thing, in case Spectrum decided to be difficult, but it was all good.
Charlotte had waited in the window since the previous day. Tessa came marching up to tell me all the things that Hadn’t Been Done Correctly while I was gone, and Willa danced around to say hello.
Managed a piece of cake and a cup of tea before the first Nightwood Session via Zoom.
It’s going to be an amazing nine weeks. There are 15 of us, and we will be split into two groups, so that we can work more intensely. Everyone’s projects sound wonderful. I’m the one still waffling between projects, and I need to get my act together this weekend and figure out what to do.
I’m waffling between FROZEN AT THE PALACE THEATRE and a stage version of THE SUNDAY NICKEL (which I’m pretty sure should be a screenplay, not a stage play) and a draft of the short play inspired by Munch’s THREE WOMEN ON A BRIDGE. Or should I try a short play about my painters, using the photograph for inspiration, even if the reality of these women is different?
Part of it is I’m waffling between what I feel I SHOULD do within the timeframe/context of the Nightwood Creatryx unit, and following my gut. I must always follow my gut, but my gut isn’t sure, either.
I might write a few pages into each project, and see where it takes me. Whichever pulls strongest is the one I will bring in next week.
I collapsed onto the sofa after and took a nap, then heated up some dinner and went back to bed, where I slept like a log until the cats rousted me out of bed a little after 5 this morning. I am still a bit disoriented from it all, and my brain is fuzzy.
But my priority this weekend is the poem on book banning/gun violence that will be read on Wednesday, and then finishing this revision of FALL FOREVER, letting it sit a few days, and getting it out the door by mid-week next week. And, I need to rest. I don’t want to fall back into my usual pattern of doing lots of different, interesting things, and then getting sick.
Later this weekend and/or on Monday, I have some more work to do on the flyer and program for September’s reading,
Today, I need to sort out my brain, run some errands, write some thank you notes, and spend some time at the Clark. I was invited to an online talk about the psychology of Munch on Monday afternoon, which I will attend.
Have a great weekend, and I’ll catch you on the other side!
