Chronicles Continued

I had been busy in my own space, until 10:30 this am, when, not wanting to be late for an appointment, I came out the door and  jumped into the first cab that stopped.  I gave the address: 35th and Madison where I needed to be. ‘You can’t go there,’ said the cabby. Imagine my look of surprise, and my thinking, you’re not a relative with do’s and don’ts. ‘What do you mean I can’t go there? I replied. ‘Because of the shooting,’ he says. Not having a tv or listening to the radio, I had missed the shooting news of a few hours earlier. Since I had to be there, he drove to 35th and 8th and I would walk the rest of the way. That was another of those experiences. Along the way, people were gathered. At 35th and
Fifth they were congregated. Cell phone abuzz, news casters big and small, and the small, talking to anyone who had anything to say about anything. More cameras than imaginable by everyone. Even asking the police persons who were on duty to keep all of us off the scene of the crime couldn’t say which streets south were closed off and which were open. Had I stayed in my space for more hours, I never would have known at all. Makes it so clear when something like this happens, time and space are relative.

As I walk across the street, in addition to watching for any traffic that might come my way, I tend to glance down at the pavement. It never ceases to surprise me the number of coins I see embedded in the asphalt. Coins dropped on a hot summer day soon work their way into the street never to be retrieved again. Guess that is what a street paved with gold would look like.

A friend noticed a wine shop on Park Avenue displaying a white bicycle in their window. She said it made her feel creepy, and considered it a strange addition to the display. You know, she said, the Ghost Bike. She then explained that when a biker is killed in traffic, a White Bike is attached to the nearest corner pole, decorated with flowers in remembrance.  I said I had been fortunate enough to never experience that. Apparently it is true for other cities, she mentioned Seattle.

These are fantastic, right?

Below, the artist at work.  A German citizen who visited New York and first made one on a whim.  Now working here, everyone she knows collects used cards for her.  She is having an art show of these images.

This is the front and back of an average metro card.  The plastic one uses to ride the Subway, the Bus and now to make art.   They are so fantastic I will post them over a couple of days.

Dawned on me one day, as I hurried by, that I too often ignore the lovely ironwork that graces the stairs up and to the basement levels of the brownstones – townhouses – in the village.

I noticed her sandals were too long because we were walking side by side over the subway platform. I took a closer look at the rest of her clothes. It made me realize that when one is buying second hand, one doesn’t always get what fits, but what makes do.

When visiting friends in their country houses – that means a home outside with a garden in a place that is not Manhattan- the best gift upon leaving is a bouquet of flowers cut from the garden. Nothing compares to a random sampling of non-florist flowers in a vase on a table in the city. Thank you!