Chronicles Continued

pictures, no words needed

I was away from the City.  Whenever I go away, I always wonder if it is what I am meant to do. Live more rural, more close-to-the land; more in tune with nature.  After 8 days of snow, more snow and then if that wasn’t enough, yet more snow, it was heaven to return to sidewalks, streets, buildings all crowded together, channeling the sun so that there are no traces, none whatsoever of any snow.  And all that close-to-the-land theory?  I love the cooking and the baking and the ‘house-keeping’ of being away, but after a few days I am wanting someone to share it, eat it, and generally sit down by the fire.  That takes arranging, a car and planning.  In the City I can do it all with immediate success.  Yes, this is where I belong.

This is all that is left on the corner where the buildings stood that were blown up by the gas leak.  The flowers in the middle are a remembrance to the two persons that died.

 

Overheard last evening at the theatre.  Was seated next to two late thirties, early forties young men.  They were discussing the documentary that one of them was trying to get off the ground.  The subject matter was oppressive oligarchies.  In the course of the discussion, one of said, “Mrs George Clooney is interested in the …..”.  I restrained myself from leaning across the one seated next to me, to say to the man who had just made the remark,  ‘Excuse me, she has a name and reputation of her own.’  The only problem was, I couldn’t think past the A with which her name begins.

Amal Alamuddin.

As the trailer parked beneath my window today is for a model shoot, for which I have neither aspiration nor interest, I am not feeling pangs of exclusion and can, while writing, occasionally look out and observe them coming and going.

This is directly from the New Yorker magazine.  It was one of those front page articles.  This one about a coyote sighting on a rooftop of LIC Bar in Long Island City.  What made the story so good was that the headlining band at the bar that night- ready for it?  the Coyote Anderson Quartet. Life is so grand, you can’t make this stuff up!

..only that was not the intention.  Popped into the neighborhood wine shop and while asking about a small bottle of vodka to use to make vanilla for recipes – yes really, the Asian woman who owns it and is suggesting brands, all of a sudden, jumps past me from behind the counter and yells, “They Took It!  My Plant!  Someone Took My Plant!”.  Before entering the store I had noticed a wooden wine crate tilted on it’s end, sitting on the dirt under a lifeless tree at the curb.  It made me wonder if the wine store was trying to dispose of the box, and I thought someone would take it away.  But no, Mrs. Owner explains that the wine box held her struggling tulip bulbs that were just beginning to push through the ground and she wanted to give them sun to aid the process, so she put her glass pot on the box under the life-less tree in the sun.  “Oh Dear,” said I, “I’m afraid someone thought you had discarded it and it was there for the taking… which is what they did.” I walked with her to the restaurant on the corner to see if anyone had it sitting by their feet, but it was not to be found.  Expressing my disappointment for her, my final suggestion was that she buy a potted plant from Ti at the Golden Rabbit.  Wonder who took the pot?

by Pema Chodron.  Finding freedom from Anger, Resentment and Other Destructive Emotions.

The cover of the CD has a goldfish swimming.  Such a great visual for such a subject

Premiered today at the TriBeCa Film Festival.  It WILL come to a theatre near you in the future.  A most amazing 70 minute history lesson and explanation of where the Country came from and where it is going.  Noam Chomsky leads this intellectual discussion with clarity and the filmmakers have made it accessible.  Not to be missed.

 

On the 1 train this morning, going to an appointment, was wearing a hat.  A hat that does resemble those worn by Canadian Mounties, but I like it.  An African American man got on the stop after I boarded and as he passed me I was silently admiring his jacket.  It was black and white with a repetition of an animal black against a white background.  While I was thinking of this, he in passing says “Love your hat”. I reply. ‘Thank you”, and he says, “I do like it, it looks well, sexy”.  Now at my age, anything that even tips the scale in that direction is a plus.  He continues to the end of the sparsely populated car and after a very short announcement, begins to sing a Sam Cooke song.  Then another.  He has a paper bag for collecting tips.  He comes back my way, and I have something ready for him, because 1. he has a beautiful voice and it made the atmosphere more pleasant, and 2. he didn’t share his sob story.  We all have a sob story.  As he approaches, I say ‘You have a beautiful voice, do you sing gigs here in the City”?  And he sits down beside me.  Says his voice is God given and he does sing elsewhere and he says, “Let me sing you another song by Sam Cooke because he was a substitute father in my life”.  He sings two songs while seated.  When he stops, I thank him, we speak to what instruments he plays:  the harp, the sax, the congas, drums and a 5th.  Needless to say he was an impressive musician. He exits at 59th.  I stand to leave at 66th and this WASP young man across the aisle from me says “Yes, he did have a beautiful voice”.  And we continue the conversation until the door opens and I step out.  Still wearing my hat!

And no.  he didn’t complement me just to be paid!