Seasonal Affective Disorder
I really wanted to believe Staten Island Chuck. I wanted an early spring. It is, I suppose another sign that I’m getting older. I used to really enjoy the winter time. I liked snow. I liked the stillness and shimmering beauty a good blizzard brought. Of course, we don’t really have those in New York anymore. Winter is now a raw, rainy knife to the bone marrow. It’s slick and inconvenient and sickness-inducing and uncomfortable. A cheerless gray slog, especially once the holiday season is done. I had hoped to leave it behind this weekend as we went to the Union Square Greenmarket armed with spring recipes for pea dishes, ramp dishes and asparagus dishes.
Forget it.
None of that was in evidence at the lone produce purveyor that decided to show up on Saturday. It was still a depressing array of all root veg, all the time. The bison vendor was still selling hot broth (under salted but not terrible). Dogs were still bundled in winter coats.
It won’t go away.
Then again, it’s probably appropriate that winter is hanging on a bit longer. It seems to be a time of endings right now rather than a time of rebirth. Today is the final opening day of the only version of Yankee Stadium that I ever visited in person. Back in 1976, which was the first year the current model was open for business I went to my first ballgame and watched Nolan Ryan of the California Angels mow down the Yankees. Final score was 2-0 or 2-1 as I recall. Thurman Munson was ejected from the game and threw helmets, a bat and other stuff onto the field to make is unhappiness known and immediately became a favorite of mind. Munson is long dead, and in a year’s time perhaps the structure will be gone too.
Gordie Howe turns 80 today (or yesterday, I forget which). Normally this would be a cause for celebration, but the last time I saw him interviewed he seemed a bit addled. Subsequently I read that he spends much of his time caring for his wife of over 50 years who suffers from severe dementia. Beware the thief that is time, as the old cliché goes.
Last night, I watched one of the greatest entertainers of the last quarter-century take the stage for the last time. The Nature Boy, the By-God kiss stealing, wheeling dealing, Lear jet flying, limousine riding son of a gun worked his last match. At 59, he can’t do the 60 minute Broadways that he used to, but for 20 minutes he and Shawn Michaels made me care about a pro wrestling match for the first time in years. It wasn’t a perfect performance, but it told a story and had a respectful conclusion. It was enough. I hope Flair keeps performing as a manager or announcer, but I hold out little hope that his character will be presented in a way that older fans could appreciate. It’s a little too old fashioned for Vince McMahon’s “sports entertainment” world.
Now that I’ve written about all these endings, I realized I don’t have an ending for this post. So I guess all there is to see is here’s hoping all these endings are happy ones, or at least as easy as they can be for everyone involved. Good luck everybody.
Forget it.
None of that was in evidence at the lone produce purveyor that decided to show up on Saturday. It was still a depressing array of all root veg, all the time. The bison vendor was still selling hot broth (under salted but not terrible). Dogs were still bundled in winter coats.
It won’t go away.
Then again, it’s probably appropriate that winter is hanging on a bit longer. It seems to be a time of endings right now rather than a time of rebirth. Today is the final opening day of the only version of Yankee Stadium that I ever visited in person. Back in 1976, which was the first year the current model was open for business I went to my first ballgame and watched Nolan Ryan of the California Angels mow down the Yankees. Final score was 2-0 or 2-1 as I recall. Thurman Munson was ejected from the game and threw helmets, a bat and other stuff onto the field to make is unhappiness known and immediately became a favorite of mind. Munson is long dead, and in a year’s time perhaps the structure will be gone too.
Gordie Howe turns 80 today (or yesterday, I forget which). Normally this would be a cause for celebration, but the last time I saw him interviewed he seemed a bit addled. Subsequently I read that he spends much of his time caring for his wife of over 50 years who suffers from severe dementia. Beware the thief that is time, as the old cliché goes.
Last night, I watched one of the greatest entertainers of the last quarter-century take the stage for the last time. The Nature Boy, the By-God kiss stealing, wheeling dealing, Lear jet flying, limousine riding son of a gun worked his last match. At 59, he can’t do the 60 minute Broadways that he used to, but for 20 minutes he and Shawn Michaels made me care about a pro wrestling match for the first time in years. It wasn’t a perfect performance, but it told a story and had a respectful conclusion. It was enough. I hope Flair keeps performing as a manager or announcer, but I hold out little hope that his character will be presented in a way that older fans could appreciate. It’s a little too old fashioned for Vince McMahon’s “sports entertainment” world.
Now that I’ve written about all these endings, I realized I don’t have an ending for this post. So I guess all there is to see is here’s hoping all these endings are happy ones, or at least as easy as they can be for everyone involved. Good luck everybody.
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