In Which Our Heroine Goes to New York and Buys a Bay Tree
Ah, my new bay tree. Which was abandoned last night in a locker here at the law school but will come home with me this afternoon. After the working is done for the day, and dagnabbit, there's a lot of that to be done.

I suppose the natural place to start the story is Friday. Friday started out pretty well. I was tired from going to bed late, and of course getting up early to be downtown for meetings, but the 10 o'clock meeting was good, the 11 o'clock was fun meeting for a bagel to give Liz her Dar Williams ticket for Saturday night, then the two o'clock went well, over and done with quickly, and as it started to rain and get ooky I headed out to practice, thinking I would get to the boathouse early and unwind there. The benefits of membership and all that. And as I walked, and got my cup of tea at Darwin's (as is my wont, custom and practice), I finally popped into the store two doors down from it that makes all the beautiful beautiful wood furniture. I stare at this place every time I go by, but I had never gone in before. I could see the prices, and my luxury is that cup of tea! My official excuse was the auction; I was hoping they had something like a box or whatever they would donate to us. They were utterly wonderful! It would appear we have an incredibly beautiful end table, valued at $750 (which personally I think is a bit cheap - it is a gorgeous piece). The problem of course now is that I really really want this table. I think it is a good price for what it is, and I could maybe get it a little cheaper at the auction, but I would still need plenty of cash for it and even were I to come up with such cash, there are other things it needs to go for at the moment, such as rent, food, and wick away socks. Still, it is in June. I can dream. And well, with what money I do have, I can bid so that CRI will make the most money possible on this table.

So I continued my trek to the boathouse, with a happy little "this auction's going to be great, we're going to raise so much money for CRI" spring in my step despite the fact it was raining quite hard, windy, and frankly such miserable weather that not even the colleges were out rowing. I got to CBC, had a quick chat with Nick about coaching the niblets, some tips, some technique questions (he is a college coach, and a former Ukranian champion sculler. Disipline!), and then retired to the library to work stuff out. But not for long. The varsity girls had somehow gotten let into the kitchen and were hiding in there. Fine, but they're being noisy. Plus, they're not supposed to hide in there. They are supposed to come in, go to the bathroom and leave. It is not their clubhouse, we are there at the sufference of CBC and frankly a LOT of CBC people don't like the CRLS kids. So part of my job, walking the line between being a CBC member and a CRLS coach is trying to get CBC to like us more. We struck a big blow in our favor when the novices turned up and helped clean up the boathouse the other week. But no, this time it is the varsity girls doing what theyr'e not supposed to be doing, where they're not supposed to be. So I went in and kicked them out, and proceeded to get a bunch of lip back from one girl. This, of course, is the same girl who leads the way in disrespecting the coaches, equipment, safety, etc. I don't have to deal with her often, but she burns my buttons anyway as I get driven crazy when Dale's busting hard to keep this program going and she's there doing her best to keep it from succeeding. I can't figure out why she's there, but she's not my problem. She's Dale's. Until she's in my face, despite the fact she's in my boathouse and she's not following the rules. Never mind. Kick them out, talk to Dale, Dale talks to them, tells them not to be loud. Then, unfortunately, one of the girls reveals that she's been driving to practice. This is megastrictly uber verboten. They all know it. Heck, they've all signed rules that they've supposedly agreed to be bound by. It is a massive legal liability issue. Dale, having just announced lineups, sent all the girls home. He's just as fed up and burned out as the rest of us - the varsity girls have failed to row the same lineup twice as they can't be bothered to turn up for practice on a regular basis. I can honestly say if I was in charge of his girls, I'd probably have quit by now. I may quit yet. My novice kids are incredibly fabulous (this cannot be underemphasized), but the rest are in your face, up your nose, trying to get in your way because they think it would be fun. There are five varsity girls that seem super keen, dedicated, actually want to row, and also give Dale the respect he deserves. The rest can be a misery. That said, I personally wouldn't have sent all the girls home, just the one in violation and just picked up without her. But a) he knows his crew far better than I do, and b) it is his program to run his way. If he wanted to send them scuba diving in the Ascencion Islands because he thought it would improve their rowing, that's his perogative. Although come to think of it, if he did that, I would try to join them. Hmmmmm. Thinking thinking....is there a way to justify such a trip?

Having been sent home, the girls didn't go home. They went back into the kitchen area. I really don't care if they're there, but they can't be loud. They're directly under the Head of the Charles' directors office there, and if they're running a risk of disturbing him, or god forbid another club member (many of whom find the children disrespectful anyway, and some of whom actually resigned in protest when CRLS was allowed to use the space) its my job to say "girls, stop it." The response previously had been a most pathetic "we didn't know anyone was here." That doesn't cut it. A) They're not supposed to be there in the first place, and B) Whether or not they knew someone was there, it isn't their club and they need to treat that with the respect it deserves, seeing as they get massive benefit from the CBC members through use of excellent and highly expensive facilities on the river. Not to mention C) the logic that not knowing someone was there means you can violate every rule you've signed off on is something that only a punk teenager would pull. Unfortunately, that's what we were dealing with.

The noise level came up. I came out of the library and said "You have to be quiet." Then, to be certain, I left the door to the library open. The obnoxious girl started slamming me thinking I couldn't hear, and then just shut the door to the kitchen. I left them to it, so long as they weren't loud. Within five minutes, the noise through the closed door was even louder than it had been the two times previously. That. Was. It. I was in the kitchen, and I was yelling. How could I not yell? There was no other way to be heard. I reminded them this was the third time I'd spoken to them that day, and Dale had spoken to them as well. And then I pointed out they'd been sent home, and this was not their home, so what were they doing here? Get. Out. (I suppose it is worth mentioning that it was still cold and pouring with rain at the time, which is no doubt why they were so keen on hiding in the kitchen in the first place.)

They got.

But not without one last final salvo from the obnoxious one. I really do not know who this girl thinks she is, but I am finished with her. But first I have made myself more than perfectly clear. I was in her face, big time. Thankfully, she finally shut up in the face of superior lung power (you know, if she actually worked out, she too might have lung capacity. Hmmmm.) , thus proving miracles exist. I pointed out to her that she had failed to row that day (as had they all, through their own behaviour), she failed to show respect to any of her coaches, she completely failed to respect the fact that I busted my ass so that they could row and get better facilities there, or that anyone else did anything. Then I went back inside into the warm. I was so angry my hands were shaking. They'd been given three warnings by me, one by Dale, what was the problem with these kids? Then I went down and told Dale what had happened, and that I felt I'd been a little out of line. Then a parent came down to check with Dale what was going on as she said she was the only parent who seemed to know there was no practice. Dale pointed out that the girls had been sent home, and should have been running back to school. Then she said that something was going on upstairs, and that a girl said one of the coaches pushed her. WHOA! I never touched her. Never would, never will. Obnoxious girl is now obnoxious lying girl, but the bigger problem here is the classic one that rightfully so, an adult accused of such actions against a child needs to make certain of whether or not the statement is true. Children get discounted every day when they complain against adults, which is why many children never report child abuse. The abuser tells them no one will ever believe them, and the kid feels they're right. I do feel this is the way it should be, mainly because I can't come up with a better system to address the problem, but it means that suddenly, I'm the one who's gotta act fast because it is MY reputation on the line, and for something I didn't do. Hey, if I've done something wrong, I'll take the consequences (as one should) but I'm not going down for something I didn't do. Particularly for this girl. Luckily, when confronted by Dale she immeditely admitted in front of many people that I never touched her. Whew. Big relief. Any person who says such a thing will have a writ for defamation on their doorstep as soon as I can draft one up. For as Iago said in Othello (Act 3, Scene 3, for those who want to know):
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

Dale sent me home. I went to town. I was supposed to be meeting Mike for a drink before going to Hartford, but now I had an extra hour and a half. Mike was thankfully ready to leave the office anyway. I sent a quick e-mail to Dale asking whether or not I should quit (I'm thinking about it, I really am. If I stay, it is for the good kids. Which is who we do this for anyway, let's face it.) and headed to the Good Life. Where Mike let me vent, and bought me cosmopolitans and buffalo wings until it was time to hop the bus. Frankly, by that time I was slightly unsober, but I felt better. Off to Hartford. Reed met me at the station, still in the miserable rain, and we went off to his house where I was plied with peppermint tea and a video he had to watch to determine whether or not he wanted to show it to his class (Reed is a professor of comparative religions) about the evolution of the Christian faith from small following to the foothold of what it is today, and then we went to bed. (Me in the bedroom, Reed on the kitchen floor. Yes, I do feel guilty about this! I would happily have slept on the kitchen floor!) Except I couldn't sleep, which was shocking since I'd only grabbed four hours of sleep a night for the last two nights. But I stayed awake and after lying there for an hour and a half in the dark, I got up and starting knitting. The scarf got nice and long. Finally I fell asleep around 4, only to get up again at 7 to hop the bus at 8 to NYC. The bus ride was a nightmare. The weather was so bad that there were accidents on the road and it took us an extra hour and a half long to get to town. So I got to Harter's hotel to discover a message saying he'd meet me at Bloomingdale's at 1. This wasn't going to leave too much time - I had to find when my train was. Luckily, you can do this all by phone. I got a reservation for the train at 4:03. Perfect. Then I had 50 minutes before I had to meet Harters. Since I was at Union Square, my old stomping grounds, I wandered through the farmer's market, which is what I used to do on Saturdays when I lived there. There were loads of herbs, but nothing special. And lots of flowers and branches, but nothing I could really take home with me. This was just window shopping. But then, there it was, bay tree seedlings for sale. I have been looking for a bay tree for about three years now. I couldnt' find one, and here were five staring me in the face. All priced at $10, but there was a smaller one which would be easier to take home on the bus (not to mention lug around all day) for $5. Sold! Sold! Sold! And then me and the tree went to meet Harters.

Harters, as ever, looked great. But we didn't have much time, so we grabbed a cab down to Wall Street. I'd forgotten about NYC cabs. Harters, of course, hadn't had the experience before. This cabbie was particualrly off his trolley. I think at one point he managed to be in three lanes at once on the FDR. At sixty miles an hour. With some truly awful music turned up so loud he couldn't hear Steve as him to turn it down. Steve felt carsick when he got out. So we went for a walk and then two blocks later there we were at Ground Zero. I'd thought a lot this week about whether or not I wanted to go there. At first, I thought it would be good. Then with the week so stressful, I thought that it would not be good right now. And I was still on that mindset. But of course I had not articulated it to Steve, so I was dealing with the suprise. I think my reaction is slow and a bit delayed. At the moment it was just this overwhelming sense that it had all been vaporized. (Of course, there has been excavation.) First Peter was here, and then he wasn't. And at the same moment, the Twin Towers were there and then they weren't. And aren't. And there is currently no real concrete memorial to say "here were disappeared many people, including Anne's friend Peter, who got up in the morning, boarded a plane, and then wasn't here anymore." (Peter was many people's friend, but this is personal.) But there we were, and the next immediate step was to get some lunch. Amazingly, the weather had cleared, it was warm and the sun was shining. So we ate outside, which seemed so incredibly decadent. Lobster rolls, a bottle of chardonnay, ah, life is nice. And then a rush back to the train station, quick kiss goodbye, joy because he's coming up to spend the weekend in a month (he keeps being in the country because the home company is bringing him over from London to NYC for things.) and dash to the train, just catching it with a couple minutes to spare. It got me to Boston at 7:47, with Dar starting at 8. I just made it.

Was it worth it? It was so worth it. The opening act was the Ben Taylor band. Ben is James Taylor and Carly Simon's son, and it turns out he is the new millennium embodiment of his father. Shut your eyes and listen to the voice and you won't be able to tell the difference. Bit more rocking though. And good fun. Although at one point he made everyone get up and dance. People did it, led by my friend Lolo. Good fun, but we were in the front row of the balcony and you could feel the floor move up and down as people hopped to the beat. A little unnerving. And then it was time for Dar. I haven't seen her in concert before. But man, she rocks out! I wasn't expecting that somehow. I was expecting something more plaintive. And occasionally, when it was just her and her guitar, it was. And then she'd go back to rocking on. Awesome. Totally awesome. Caught myself singing "And I can't believe what they're saying, they're saying I can leave tonight, start over on Spring Street, I'm welcome any time." in the shower this morning. It makes me want to exercise. And I will exercise today. I'm meeting Lizzie at three thirty to row,a nd the weather is good enough for it too. But first, I have to prep tomorrow's presentation. So I ought to get to it. Much work to do!
Love and good behaviour!
Anne