At the old ball game

Dave called me one evening this week to ask what my plans were. Our friend Jeanna (pronounced "Gina" for some reason) who had moved to Virginia was in town, and our plans had been to meet her for dinner, so I reminded him of this. Our plans, apparently, had changed. "Want to go to a Mets game? Someone just gave me free tickets," he said. When I said I did, he told me to come to the bar right away and we'd head to the stadium together. Nothing like impulsivity. I threw on something in a shade of approximate Mets blue and headed out the door.

At the bar, Jeanna was waiting too. Dave handed me the tickets for safe keeping while he tied up a few loose ends, and I turned my attention to the tickets to see if I could figure out where we'd be sitting. It looked like we were only 16 rows back, so I was sure I was reading the ticket wrong until I saw "VIP" written under "Section" and "$185" written under "Price." Whoa.

Turns out, the tickets had been a gift to Dave's boss by a promo guy from a beer company. John couldn't use them, though, so he passed them on. I don't usually get excited about baseball, but the promise of seeing the game from the VIP section had me nearly giddy. citiField is right next to the starting line for the Queens Half, so I knew exactly where we were going.

Heading in to the stadium for the game

The stadium was beautiful. Our seats were fantastic and came with the privilege of buying overpriced beer within the comfort of a private club instead of from a vendor in the stands. The game itself was actually quite exciting, with some great fielding by the Mets (who won by 6 runs) and two home runs.

This photo makes the field look farther away than it felt. We had great seats!

A terrible picture of the clubhouse. The window looks right on to the field.

Good old New York. Stuff like this certainly hasn't happened to me in any other city.

Take it easy at the Queens Half-Marathon

To meet my goal of running a half-marathon in each of the five boroughs, I had to run this race in Queens. I did not want to. The weather, which I checked obsessively as the race date loomed closer and closer, was supposed to be HOT. Although the race started at 7:00 A.M., which meant slightly lower temperatures, the humidity was still supposed to be about a billion percent (my estimate, although I'm confident that the National Weather Service would back me on this one). Still, there was nothing to be done about that. I got an email about a week out with instructions for picking up my race materials (number, d-tag, free t-shirt) before the race and a warning about running in hot weather. Don't push too hard, the email encouraged. Know your limits. Listen to your body.

Usually, the New York Road Runners' (NYRR) office is buzzing on the day before an event. But when I went to pick up my stuff on Friday, there were about as many volunteers as there were runners. I collected the materials mentioned above, plus three samples of Power Bar energy gel and a pamphlet about running in the heat. Know the warning signs of dehydration, it encouraged. This is not a day to set a personal record. Cruise.

The starting line was in a part of Queens I'd never visited before. After a breakfast of half a bagel with peanut butter and some Gatorade I headed for the Subway and emerged at 6:20 A.M. at Mets-Willets Point. The Mets stadium greeted the stream of runners as we headed towards the park where we'd start this stupid race.

Heading to the starting line with the other lunatics who thought this would be a good way to spend a Saturday.

citiField, where the Mets play

I checked my bag (contents: hairbrush, flip flops, duct tape, Metro card, picture ID, health insurance card), waited 15 minutes for the opportunity to use an unpleasantly popular row of Port-a-Potties, then found my group in the starting corral. Runners are grouped by number. I was in the 3000's. The announcer told us some interesting facts about the area where we'd be running, encouraging us to look out for the Mets stadium (duh), the courts where the US Open is played (cool!) and the largest body of fresh water in New York (huh). He said there were 10,000 runners out, and that we should drink lots of water because it's hot out here, folks. The runners around me, many of whom were breaking a sweat just standing in the corral, didn't look to surprised to hear this. Then a representative from NYRR took over the mic. Don't be a hero, she told us. It's hot and humid. Take advantage of the hydration stations. This is not a day for a personal best. I wondered whether the officials thought we were going to forget that it was hot out unless we were constantly reminded.

The gun went off. Instead of the usual pre-race electricity that surges through a corral at this point, people either looked at each other resignedly before starting to plod forward, or else heaved heavy sighs and kept their eyes fixed on the ground. The upbeat music that blared through speakers aimed at us did little to help.

Generally, I hate the gridlock during the first mile or so of a race. I like running in packs, but there's something to be said for having the space to swing your arms freely, and for being able to weave easily in and out of the slower runners so that they're not in your way and don't impede your progress. I also tend to find the first six miles fairly easy; miles nine or ten are where I really start to feel tired. None of this was the case in Queens. I loved the gridlock because it was a great excuse to go slowly. And the first seven miles were painful. I felt unreasonable fatigued, which was frustrating, and I kept getting sweat in my eyes. I could feel myself turning the trademark Guadagni Red. Every mile or so there were rows of tables with cups of Gatorade and water, preceded by someone holding up a hose so that a shower of mist fell onto the runners who wanted to go beneath it. I did. I alternated between drinking just water, or Gatorade followed by water. Gatorade puts back some of the calories and, importantly on a day like this, salt one's body burns through during a race, but the sticky, too-sweet lemony taste it leaves is pretty gross so the water was a necessary chaser. I had an energy gel pack tucked into the waistband of my shorts, but it was so hot I couldn't bear the thought of using it.

Under normal circumstances, I do not believe in racing with an iPod. During my long workouts I bring one along and listen to podcasts or audiobooks, but in a race I like to be alert to everything around me and to use all of my mental energy to think about how I'm running. I correctly guessed that today would be a day to leave my morals by the wayside, however, and my iPod was a godsend. I listened to a mix I'd made of the most upbeat, cheerful songs I had.

Although it was brutally hot, things could have been a lot worse. Often there was a gentle breeze, patchy shade fell on most of the course, and the sun mostly bided its time behind a patchy cloud cover. I was reminded of how much more miserable things could be each time it peeked out for a few minutes. My black racing shorts drew its heat like a magnet, making me feel like I was standing next to a fire and giving "hot pants" a whole new meaning. Rather amazingly, I saw only one person down and receiving medical aid the whole time. There were lots more walkers than I'd ever seen in a race, and a few people who dropped off to the side to stretch, but only this guy seemed to be a victim of heat exhaustion, and he went down in the first half of the race.

By mile nine my body seemed to resign itself to the fact that my brain wasn't going to let it off the hook, and things started to get easier. I cruised through the next three miles easily. I could feel my form improving, and my pace, which stayed between 8:30 and 8:50 per mile once I was out of the pack, hovered near or below 8:30. When I passed the mile twelve marker and its hydration station, I opted to just keep going and get the damn thing done. I'm not sure whether this was the cause or my subsequent near-collapse or whether I was just wiped out, but either way, about a quarter of a mile later I hit a wall. The last mile is usually euphoric - I'm absolutely drained, but the rush of being almost done and the lure of a faster finish time usually shoot me forward. Not so in Queens. I felt like I was running along a road flooded with honey and that I had to pry each foot off the surface with every step. I saw a slight improvement in the last tenth of a mile and crossed the finish line with, if not pride, immense relief. This fled quickly, however. I was still just as unbearably hot as I had been on the other side of the finish line. The only difference was that I wasn't moving anymore.

Although the announcer said that there were 10,000 people out, I saw bib numbers that went only as high as 5,000. My final time is not posted on the website yet, but it will be much slower than the one I recorded. I stopped my watch each time I paused for water, and so my actual running time was 1:54:19. (I'm guessing my recorded time will be somewhere around 1:58.) This is ten minutes slower than my personal record, but under the circumstances it's far better than I had expected; I had hoped to break two hours, and so I beat my goal handily and was pleased.

Relieved the whole thing is over, and that I don't look as red as I feel.

I gulped down three cups of Gatorade and a cup of water, ate a banana, and collected a bagel for later. After resting and stretching for a while, I headed back to the blissfully air conditioned Subway, which was almost too chilly after I'd been on it a while. Other runners either chatted with what seemed forced cheer, or else gazed off into the distance like people who had just witnessed something traumatic. I guess, in a way, we had.

Blister prevention, consisting of band aids covered with duct tape. This combo ensures that the tape doesn't stick to sensitive areas and that the band aids don't come off because of sweat. My feet were fairly comfortable during the race. Strangely, my left foot has never shown even a hint of a blister.

The More the Merrier

Quite unexpectedly, I've added another student to my tutoring schedule. He's private - not through Kaplan - and his mom and I found each other through an outside aid agency. We'll call him Sebastian, and he's five years old. He'll begin first grade in the fall. His kindergarten teacher suggested that he get some help in reading over the summer, but his mom kind of has her hands tied because all she could afford was $30/hour. This is far below what just about any tutor worth his/her salt would accept, but it's more than I get from Kaplan (sigh), it's tax free, and he lives fairly close to one of my other kids so it's easy for me to swing by his apartment before I head home. It's too hot to run in the afternoon anyway, and there are only so many South Park reruns I can watch, so I decided to take him on.

Sebastian's mom is from Trinidad. His 17-year-old brother clearly spent a lot of time there too, as he has a thick accent. I'm not sure where Sebastian was born, but he doesn't speak with an accent so he's spent at least a few years here. He's huge for a five-year-old, but he acts his age. Sometimes I think adults expect more from bigger kids without taking their age into account, even when it's not appropriate. So I try to treat him like a young kid even though he could probably take me down in a wrestling match in five seconds. His mother is a riot; she has a great sense of humor and is very sweet. Instead of just giving me her address, she insisted on meeting me at the subway station to walk me to her house (after she had approved of my proposed train route in the first place). She buzzed around, asking again and again if I wanted anything before the session, and gave me half a liter of cold water to take with me on the way out since it's hot. She and I had a long talk after the assessment session today about what she can do to help him, and she is clearly a woman on a mission now.

As far as Sebastian's skills go, I'm not hugely worried about him, although I'd like to see him have mastery of a few more things before first grade. He can't write much of the alphabet, but he can identify every letter (mixing up b and d, which is typical) and can tell what sounds they make. He can identify a decent number of sight words, although that could be better, too. His biggest area of weakness is decoding, and I think it's because the poor kid's never really been shown how to do it. During the last three minutes of the lesson, I had him tap under each letter in the word "bug" while saying their sounds, then say the whole thing together and he did it perfectly. Without the tapping, he'd stare at me blankly, then blurt out some random word like "slide" or "toy." Gotta love the enthusiasm, at least...

I'm looking forward to working with this family. Because it's not through Kaplan, I have the freedom to design my own curriculum. This is both a good and a bad thing, as it's obviously easier to just go through the prescribed Kaplan stuff. But I don't always agree with what they want me to do, and I'm not technically supposed to deviate from it. My only regret is that I'm going to have to stop working with him when school starts. He lives in Brooklyn and there's no way I'm going to be able to make it out there twice a week. I guess I'll just have to try to help him develop a solid, pre-first grade base with the little time we have together.

She Works Hard for the Money

After trying, and failing, to set up private tutoring this summer, I resorted to working for Kaplan, a massive education company that primarily does tutoring and test prep. After some very extensive training (which I found rather boring since it was designed for people with no teaching experience), I have been assigned four students, all of whom I tutor in-home. Although I've been trained in both math and reading programs, all of my students are enrolled in reading only. Kaplan is not cheap - although to look at my salary you'd think it was - and meeting these families and seeing these spectacular apartments has been one of the most interesting parts of this whole endeavor.

Profiles of my students (with names changed to protect the innocent):

Adam - Adam will begin second grade in fall. He is tall and well-spoken for his age. He is an only child, and his parents live in a two-story apartment on the Upper West Side; it's close enough that I can ride my bike there. His mom works for Macy's, and although I'm not sure what his dad does, I am sure that he's very, very good at it. I work with Adam for 45 minutes a day four mornings a week before he goes to day camp. He's a sweet kid, but he's been led to believe that he's the best thing since sliced bread and our first few sessions together consisted of lots of testing from him. Unlike other adults in his life, however, I am not moved by fake tears, and now that all of that unpleasantness is out of the way we're getting along quite well. It's interesting to interact with doormen, about half of whom know me by now and greet me as though they're delighted to see me. This would be flattering if I didn't know that it's part of the job description.

Evie - Evie will also begin second grade in fall. I've never met her father, but her mother is a writer and has contributed to virtually every magazine you can think of, from Parenting to The New Yorker. She's got a book coming out soon, and is quite a nice lady, although unfortunately I've only met her once; her nanny or her mother are usually there watching the kids after camp. Evie has a twin who is a very proficient reader. She was embarrassed to have to be tutored at first - her decoding skills are kind of a mess - but she's decided that she likes me and we have fun together. I will most likely not be retaining her once school starts, as the trek to the Lower East Side will be too much when I've got a full courseload to contend with.

Nellie - Nellie is my oldest student. As an incoming fifth grader, she reads at a first grade level. She's VERY behind in almost every aspect of reading, and while she enjoys creative writing, other kinds of writing are like pulling teeth with her. About three minutes into the initial assessment, I made a mental note to ask her dad, a lovely guy who teaches second grade, whether they'd ever had her hearing tested; something about the way she was speaking and repeating sounds just didn't seem right. Moments later, he walked into the room and asked her if she was wearing her hearing aide (she was not). Mystery solved. Kids with hearing loss have difficulty with reading more often than not because they can't distinguish between sounds as well, making the process of connecting them with letters even more difficult. I'm not sure how extensive Nellie's hearing loss is. She was able to hear me enough to respond appropriately without her hearing aide at the beginning of the test, but I always make sure she has it on now before we start. She's very sweet and eager to please, which is important because she has a long road ahead if she's going to improve. She lives waaaay out in Queens, meaning that I won't be able to keep her when the school year starts either.

Sylvia - I have not actually started working with Sylvia yet, although I've met her. Her parents decided to give her a break for most of July, so we'll get going near the end of the month. She will be starting second grade in fall. Her mom is a doctor and had twin boys about two months ago. She's got another little brother, too, so there's a lot of activity going on in their apartment. They live in one of the Trump Towers and their apartment overlooks the Hudson River and the park. The walls that aren't all glass have huge windows in them, so it's pretty beautiful. Her dad supposedly invented the mechanism that allows people to tap ID cards on sensors that let them through turnstiles. He's very nice and is the one primarily home with the kids, because I think the mother's schedule is pretty crazy. There are two nannies as well. Sylvia is very sweet and wants to excel. She and Adam live very close together on the Upper West Side, so I'm hoping to keep both of them when the school year starts; if I can schedule their sessions back-to-back and do them twice a week, I should be able to fit everything in.

Starstruck by "Our Town"

I got a phone call a few days ago from Lisa, a former dance instructor of mine and a current St. Paul's mom. She and some other moms from the school had apparently accompanied their middle school-aged daughters to the east coast for a series of camps and some touring. I've worked with all of these girls at one time or another in some capacity - coaching, teaching summer school, etc. - although none of them were in any of my full-time classes. Lisa said they had an extra ticket to "Our Town" and wanted to know if I could join them. I finished reading it just a few weeks ago, as luck would have it. While I knew it was supposed to be one of the great American plays, I was a little underwhelmed by it, but I decided to go anyway; how many plays are good reads anyway? They're written to be watched, not read.

I headed down to a tiny theater on Barrow Street in the Village. Lisa and Co. had some problems finding the theater, but once they finally arrived and we were ushered in, I discovered that our seats were not only in the very front row, they were actually on the stage! I was explaining to the girls that the play was perhaps best known for its lack of scenery and props - the narrator describes everything and the actors pantomime pumping water, eating with silverware, etc. - when the lights dimmed and a woman walked onto the stage holding out a cell phone. I looked at the phone, thinking someone must have dropped it in the lobby and that this woman was trying to return it to its owner before the play began. It didn't look like mine, so I moved my eyes to her instead and I just about fell off my chair when I realized it was Helen Hunt.

As she started to speak, the moms and I frantically sought out each others' faces, and I saw my own surprise and delight reflected in their expressions. The girls watched politely and quietly; we learned during the intermission that none of them knew who she was. Turns out that Helen Hunt was playing the role of the narrator. Because of our fantastic seats, she was literally two feet away from me many times during the show, and because the narrator is supposed to draw the audience in, she really looked at the audience a lot. She made eye contact with me several times. The seats were in a semi-circle around the stage, so it was easy to see the other audience members, and they all looked riveted, although whether this was because of her performance, which was very good, or because of who she was, it's hard to say. She's never been considered a knock-out, but I think she's a beautiful woman. It was funny to see her so close up, particularly since she was wearing jeans and a simple button-down shirt, a loose, messy ponytail, and virtually no make-up; pretty different from the way she appears on the red carpet.

The play itself was wonderful, and I'm glad I got a chance to see it staged rather than just read it. Being so close to the actors gave us a chance to see every facial expression, which is rare in theater (at least it is if you can only afford nosebleed seats, which is usually my situation).

After the show, the girls and I posed for pictures in front of a poster, in front of the theater, and with several of the actors who wandered out after it was over. One of them, Anne Dowd, was exceptionally friendly. She had played Mrs. Gibbs, and was one of the better performers in a cast of great performers, in my opinion. She couldn't thank us enough for coming. After chatting with us for a bit, she mounted a brown bicycle with a basket on the front and pedaled away. We saw a cab pull up near the side of the building, and one of the stage hands opened the door, then opened the stage door and Helen Hunt emerged with her head down and quickly jumped into the cab, which sped away. No one tried to hassle her, but I'll bet she's probably had to deal with that in the past.

It was really amazing to be so close to a woman whom I consider to be one of the great acting talents!

A Tri-ing Experience

On Friday morning, I went for a run along the Hudson and saw that the starting and finish lines for the swimming portion of the NYC triathlon had been set up. I considered going to watch it on Saturday, but got distracted and ended up not going. Good thing, because as it turns out it wasn't Saturday, it was today (Sunday). Four miles of this morning's run through Central Park were alongside the track that the triathletes were plodding along. I generally run counterclockwise around the Park - no real reason, just a habit - and the runners were going clockwise, so I got to really check them out (and not feel bad if they were going faster than I was).

It was about 9:00 when I got there, and the athletes I saw would have finished the biking and swimming portions. Many of them, though surprisingly not all of them, were pretty impressive physical specimens ranging from people in their 20's to people in their 60's. They all looked pretty wiped out. It's in the low 80s at the moment, and most of the run through the Park was shaded, but it's about a million percent humidity and I could tell they were feeling it, particularly on the hills. I ran past several volunteers wielding hoses, which looked like a pretty good idea to me.

I saw several pairs of runners with what looked like thin plastic tubing roping their waists together leaving only about a foot or two between them, and two more guys who were each gripping an edge of what looked like a circular bungee cord; I'm guessing this was a physical manifestation of the whole teamwork/partnership mentality. I also saw a sighted guy escorting a blind man: they ran arm in arm, with the blind man just slightly behind. I wonder how they managed the biking portion. One girl ran with her arm in a sling, and just watching her made me tired. I saw 9 amputees, just one of which was a man missing an arm. The other 8 were missing at least one leg; one guy had lost both legs above the knee. They all had those cool prosthetic legs with the bendy, shock-absorbing base. One woman had put a shoe on her prosthetic leg to match the one on her foot. I also saw 7 paraplegics rolling themselves along in aerodynamic athletic wheelchairs with three wheels (two behind, one in front). I can't imagine the upper body strength that must take, particularly going up the hills.

I found this picture on a website created by a woman who lost a leg to necrotizing fasciitis (yes, that is the correct spelling) but wanted to be able to continue to run as she had before her amputation. She says that an above-the-knee amputee typically uses 80% (80%!!!!) more energy while running than an able-bodied runner. Sheesh. My admiration for these runners just quadrupled.

There were coaches along the sidelines, and a surprising number of people, who were obviously not entrants, jogging alongside friends, chatting and providing encouragement. I watched one woman and her young son jog a few meters with a man before the wife dropped off. The son kept going a few more meters until the woman was able to persuade him to stop, too. I always like watching runners recognizing their supporters on race day - the exhaustion evaporates instantly for a few seconds as both parties frantically wave and beam at each other.

I will run the Queens Half-Marathon in six days, and have been complaining steadily to anyone who will listen about how hot and miserable it's going to be. I feel a bit better now, though. If a double amputee can do a full triathlon in this weather, surely a persnickety yet able-bodied 27-year-old can handle a half-marathon.

Follow-up to this post:

While checking my Facebook page this morning (which was necessary for, uh, work), I happened to see that a former Catie, Henry Hagenbuch, was a top ten finisher in the tri! Henry was two or three years behind me at Cate and we used to chat about running a lot, as two of the more competitive members of the cross country team. These days he's a pretty elite professional triathlete and so I guess it makes sense that he'd have been competing yesterday, but I didn't even think about it. Wish I'd realized - it would have been fun to see him! Here's a link to his website (www.gohhgo.com) and blog (http://gohhgo.blogspot.com) if you want to check him out. Not only is he competing, he's modeling too! Goodness. I think K-Swiss is his big sponsor.

4th of July, on the 17th of July

I regret not doing this earlier, but it's been a busy two weeks for me. Apologies, etc.

My parents flew out from California to spend the 4th of July week with Anthony and me. We started in Boston, spent five days, then left Anthony and Jane to come to New York until Sunday when Mom and Dad flew back to California. I did not take many (any) New York pictures worthy of posting; I took a lot in Boston but somehow it didn't occur to me to do it in my own city. So I'll have to resort to thousands of words to describe each picture I would have posted. Hope your chair is comfortable.

Highlights:

-Dewey and LeBoeuf - Jane took us to the building where she works, where we got to admire sweeping views of Boston from the 20-somethingth floor.

-Georges Island - Mom and Jane braved their seasickness to join us for a ferry ride to, and hike around, Georges Island. There is an old Civil War fort on it, and we enjoyed exploring it, as well as the chance to ride through Boston harbor and look at the city skyline from afar.

-Food - I think my system has finally settled down again after being bombarded by fantastic, enormous meals three times a day. I, who believe that cereal is more than just a breakfast food, got to eat, drink, and be very merry at wonderful restaurants all over both cities thanks to my parents' generosity. In addition, Anthony whipped up fantastic fare at his apartment. Here are the Oysters Rockafeller he served us (really!) before the salmon course:

Mom liked the oysters.

-Fireworks and the Pops - There is, we learned, a reason that most Bostonians head for the hills on the 4th. Jane begged out of the fireworks show on the Charles, but the intrepid Guad Squad headed into the crush where, after nearly getting separated approximately 7,192 times and hopping several fences (Mom has the scars to prove it), we managed to squeeze into a pretty good viewing area between some trees. The crowd was unbelievable. We watched an attempted purse-snatching, thwarted because the thief, having carried out the snatching part of the crime, realized quickly that movement in any direction was next to impossible. The purse was returned to the girl by onlookers within moments. We stood for half an hour or so before the fireworks began, listening to the Pops and sweating. It was quite a show.

Mom and me and 500,000 Bostonians watching fireworks

We celebrated Anthony's birthday, since my parents won't be on the east coast for the big day. This candle began with an alarming eruption of flame, then slowly rotated while playing a piercing rendition of "Happy Birthday." It's the only candle I've ever encountered that came with directions.

-Literacy in the Content Areas Conference at Teachers College - I had committed, a few months ago, to work at the conference, and my parents decided they were both interested enough to attend. I thought it was fascinating, and I think they enjoyed hearing the different speakers and meeting some of the TC professors. We walked out with tons of leftover bagels, too, which further sweetened the deal.

-Billy Elliot - I'd always loved this movie, and when my dad said he wanted to see a Broadway show, this is the one we ended up picking. The events took place during the time that my parents were in England (I suppose I was too, but I'll admit my memories of the coal strike are fuzzy at best), which was interesting. The show was great, with the choreography standing out in my mind as by far the best part. The three of us loved it.

-Chinatown and Little Italy - We saw red, white and green fire hydrants and buckets of huge, live frogs for sale. I can't read Chinese and the signs on the buckets were a mystery to me, so I'm going to choose to believe that they were being sold for pets.

-Brooklyn Bridge - Dad had the idea to walk across it, something neither of my parents had ever done, and it turned out that we chose a perfect day. We got great views of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Statue of Liberty. I discovered that it is a bad idea to drink a glass of water, a Diet Coke, and an iced coffee in rapid succession immediately before crossing a bridge with no restroom facilities.

-Tenement Museum - When Anthony came for part of the weekend, we spend part of a day at the Tenement Museum downtown. It's an apartment that's been restored to look like it would have when immigrants were still pouring into the city. The restorations have been made according to the stories of the actual families that lived in the units, so it was a pretty fascinating tour. And I could have easily spent another hour in the gift shop, which is, of course, the mark of any fine museum.

Sitting on Top of the World

My friends at the Camp Cate laughed when I said this, but I'm going to say it again: I have a great fire escape. By climbing out my bedroom window, there's a view of my pretty, tree-lined street which culminates at Central Park on one end. On hot days I sit out there and read or listen to my iPod. It gets lots of sun, too, making it ideal for plants. Currently I have two pepper plants, some ornamental basil, and an ailing tomato plant. (It is not my fault, but the way, that it is ailing; I bought it from Whole Foods where it was jammed onto a shelf not high enough for it and allowing it to get almost no light. After a few days with me it looks very slightly better, but at least no worse. Please keep it in mind in your prayer circles.) Indoors, I have mint and rosemary. We're not supposed to store anything on our fire escapes, but since my plants are mostly on the windowsill and hanging, I think technically I'm ok. Even if I'm not, no one has said anything.

My pepper plants! Dave calls them "capsicums."

Crawling out of my window is a bit of a pain, but it's well worth it.

Neighboring fire escapes

View of Central Park