Day 25: Rockaway Normal Land

Friday, February 15, 2019

While wearing my blue MAGA hat on the Staten Island ferry this morning, I’m preoccupied with a work document so don’t really pay attention to anyone. On the small ferry from Wall Street to Red Hook, I sit in the front of the boat facing aft, for two reasons. One is so that I can avoid glancing accidentally at the huge video panel that shows annoying politically-correct ads and vids. For a while they were showing a propaganda cartoon of the legendary Trump-hater, gym rat, “supernaturally healthy,” i.e. living corpse Ruth Ginzberg working out with dumbbells. Hmmm, let’s see, how many days did Ruth Wonder Woman miss from work lately? What? 55?

The other reason I sit facing aft is so the maximum number of people will see my hat. It’s obvious that most of the ferry passengers are libtards (not surprising, given how many libtards live in New York).

However, there are exceptions. The other day an unexpectedly cheerful guy made a friendly remark to me (as normal, happy people do), and it turned out that he’s an aficionado of the Rockaways –­ a Rockaway hound –­ like me.

While writing this, I instinctively wondered for a millisecond whether I should even mention the Rockaways, lest the cat be let out of the bag but I screeched back to reality: that cat has been out of the bag for quite a while. The Rockaways used to be gloriously unknown, a world unto itself, frequented mainly by the locals. Then the New York Slimes did a series of articles about the wonders of Rockaway and word started getting out, and then the hipsters from Williamsburg started descending like locusts, by the thousands, clogging up the beaches, flaunting their tattoos and hipster-speak, like, you know, like, moronically saying “like” every other, like, you know, like, word. But I will commend them for the fact that most of them do take their trash with them when they leave the beach, which is very important to me, having picked up countless bags of trash from the beach over the years. And, I will admit there are more good restaurants in the Rockaways now. So, trade-offs. Whadda ya gonna do?

But I do miss the days when there were only a handful of locals at my secret beach, even on a fine summer day.

Anyway, this guy I was chatting with seemed completely uninterested in, or unconcerned about my hat—as if wearing a MAGA hat is nothing out of the ordinary. The guy obviously lives in Normal Land, because wearing a MAGA hat is nothing out of the ordinary for normal people.

He says that Rockaway is his “summer home,” tells me that he’s been going there for decades. I tell him I’m at the beach all the time, too, because I have some garden plots at the Ft. Tilden Community Garden. As I leave the ferry, I urge him to stop by the gardens because there are so many friendly, happy people there. He would fit in.

I cannot wait to resume my gardening! This time of year, with the days getting longer and Spring inching closer, a gardener’s thoughts are focused on the new season. My garden catalogs have been arriving since late January. On a day like today, partly sunny, near 50, I have to chain myself to my desk at work.

Each year I have a theme. One year it was “vines.” Another year, “fragrance.” Another, “Cosmos” (to attract honeybees and butterflies). One year it was “natural” (I let whatever wanted to come up, come up. Many “weeds,” of course, are edible or have medicinal properties). Last year my theme was “beans.”

I haven’t decided on a theme for this year but will probably create a vine-covered gazebo for one of my gardens, as well as expand the bee and butterfly sanctuary I created a couple of years ago:


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