And what is a barbarian, you ask? A man dressed in skins? Not in this century, friend. He's the type who likes to destroy. That's all. He wants to be boss-man, whether it's with a hatchet or a gun or a bomb, or with nice cold-eyed justifications such as "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs." As if we were only something laid by a clucking hen for breakfast.
~ Helen Macinnes
It's so miserable having one's illusions of civility torn apart.
I don't need to say more, do I?
Setting: 8 a.m., Second Ave & 4th St.
Her (middle-aged lady with rollie suitcase): How do I get to West 4th?
I point her towards the nearby F but she doesn't want to do stairs. I point her towards the bus.
Her: And I can get the 2 train there?
Me: No. Where are you going?
Her: Columbus Circle.
Me: The 2 doesn't go there either.
Then she tells me she's actually going farther uptown.
I don't know how people expect to get directions if they won't tell you where they're going!
Everyone I've showed this photo to thinks I'm a teenager in it. Or younger! People have guessed anywhere from age 11 all the way up to 19. Including my husband who knew me & was at the event where the picture was taken. I was 31. I look at it & am no longer surprised or indignant that cops thought I was a 15-year-old runaway when I was 25.
The boys were 20 years younger than me at the time of the photo but are now my age, in that odd way age has of flattening out in adulthood.
Did you ever notice that if there's a bad connection, the person you're talking to ALWAYS blames you & your phone? I suppose if I can hear perfectly & you can't, I might assume it's your phone, but that doesn't even make sense: It's not the phone, it's between us & sometimes it just happens. They are always very judgmental: You're moving around - hold still! Something's wrong with your phone! Not only is it your fault, they know what you are doing to cause or exacerbate it.
How about: "We seem to have a bad connection. Let me try calling you right back."
I remember many, many years ago, when Maggie & Rachel lived on 9th St, we were on the phone & we could hear another conversation, faint but clear. We started butting in, giving girlfriend advice, until they realized what we were doing. They lived nearby & somehow we ended up meeting up at the Grassroots. Nelson & Rene were Puerto Rican revolutionaries & eventually moved to Boston, but we hung out for a few months.
My nephew was supposed to go on a senior trip to Germany in a few days. His school just canceled it out of concern for COVID-19. Not surprisingly, my sister (& several other people) asked if I was thinking of not going to Scotland next week. As long as I'm allowed to go, I'm planning to. That is, unless the U.S., UK or Delta pulls the plug, I'm getting on that plan in exactly seven days.
Should I worry? No more than I ever worry about the unknown, I suppose. I'll take some precautions, like trying not to touch my face & washing my hands more than I do, but for now I don't feel at risk. Things can change! I notice there are a few more empty seats on my flight back than there were a week ago.
People are on the subways as ever & everywhere else. New Yorkers don't scare easy! Some of my friends have been stocking up on things like rice & lentils. I can always use a few more rolls of toilet paper.
If you don't like politicians, you should try living in a country where they don't have any.
~ Tony Benn, British politician
I have been unable to find confirmation of the quote or its source, but it's a good one. I remember a book by Paul Gallico, one in a series about Ada Harris, a cockney charlady who also goes to Paris & Moscow. In Mrs. Harris Goes to Parliament, she gets elected quite by accident & ends up quitting right away. She says it's a job that like any others needs qualified people & it devalues the job if people like her do it. Yes, politics does demand knowledge & skill. You can see that some people, like Lyndon Johnson & Abraham Lincoln, are really good at it. And some people fell into it, like Jim Hightower said about George Bush: he was born on third base & thinks he hit a triple. (A quote originally from football coach Barry Switzer but not about Bush: he said "some people.") Getting elected is only part of the job, & it's what you do afterwards that counts. I guess I would say I'm for unity. I hate to see Democrats fighting Democrats when there are so many Republicans who should be sent packing. I look at it as a moral issue, & I'm not sure I would support Lincoln if he was running against a decent incumbent.
One time Maggie & I went into a tiny shop in Chinatown for something to drink. In the case were cans of jellied grass drink. How is it? we asked the lady. Quenching! she declared. We bought a can. IT TASTED LIKE JELLIED GRASS. It was the most horrible thing I ever drank. We spewed it out into the street. To this day "quenching" is our adjective for GAAACK.
And now this. Has anyone called it divine?
I've been bummed out ever since my birthday turned out to be warm & gray. I want snow! We haven't had any this whole winter, except for a 10-minute flurry. A couple days ago I checked out a bunch of books from the library with "snow" or "winter" in their titles. One turned out to be (I think) a romance novel, so now I've read a romance novel (I think). At least it had impossibly attractive people with unlikely talents, but it also quoted Christina Rossetti: "Snow had fallen, snow on snow on snow." I just found a book of British mystery short stories set in winter called Crimson Blood. That's the one! I want to be cold & look up & see quiet white outside my window.
It is hard to be finite on an infinite subject, and all subjects are infinite.
~ Herman Melville
And what else do you want or need to know about Melville? One great thing about him is that Moby-Dick is kind of like the I Ching or the Bible—you can open it anywhere & find a great line, one that speaks to what you need right that minute. How does he do that? And why is his prose so much more poetic than his poetry?
I sometimes forget how interesting it is to wander around New York, especially way downtown where history snaps at you on every block. I had a lunch meeting & she chose the Fraunces Tavern, where I'd somehow never been. We soaked up the breath of the founders & tried to feel hopeful, the way they did, fighting a king & starting something remarkable.
I tried the Impossible Burger, which not only did not taste like meat at all, was both salty & bland.
BIRTHDAY.
Yeah, & Dot bought me banana cream pie at Veselka.
But it didn't snow
So it wasn't the best birthday ever.
But I'm still here
& that's OK.
Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact.
~ William James
This isn't an exhortation I need, or have ever needed, but it seemed like something I would like to hear the day before my birthday. (Let me know if you need further reminders.) (Happy to oblige.)
Totally great to see Bob Holman open yet another Boog extravaganza with his singing dancing music machine. He has made such a welcoming space at the Bowery Poetry Club. So happy to support it. Then a bunch of poets & musicians & plays. Fun afternoon!
The Marble Cemetery from the outside, very early one recent morning. Abandoned? Forgotten? A purposeful display? Yet another New York mystery.
Meet Lefty, the newest member of the Stanton-Nauen household. He was found in front of a church in Brooklyn a month or two ago & taken in by the wonderful organization Loving Touch. They rescue lost & abandoned cats & dogs with love & kindness. Since he got here, Lefty's been purring, exploring, talking... biting. He slept with us the first night. I still miss Buster, intensely, but we are so full of love & wanted to share our home with a cat again. It's like how they say your sweat glands are established in the first few months of life—our love glands have been permanently opened. He's not a replacement for Buster—not in the least!—but he is a chance to love more, love again. Which we will, as we get to know each other.
He's tiny, young, & a yakker. Very different from Buster. I'm trying not to compare.
One of the great mistakes is to judge policies and programs by thir intentions rather than their results.
~ Milton Friedman
Oh it's so hard to decide. My instinct and preference is towards the center: I think the president should be the president for one & all, whether or not they voted for that person. And definitely the grander the plans, the more I distrust the promulgator. Those who support the so-called visionaries of course disagree, and for sure it's hard to present an inspiring vision of the ordinary, the pragmatic, when you could roll with idealism. I distrust revolutions—it gets worse for many & only better for the same few who always come out on top. Friedman is saying the road to hell... unintended consequences... but hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?
That creamy golden light of dawn, gone in seconds. I love being out & about when almost no one else is.
This was on a wall on Avenue B and 3rd Street. Did it go up before the demeaning-to-them vote? Did whoever do this poster make ones for the 51 other spineless Republican senators? The 12-year-old I was with asked who he is.
What makes pie cute?
The day Buster died Johnny said, We have to get another cat! There's something about loving one that makes you want to love another. The sorrow is so hard & painful but the day-to-day pleasures & delights are worth it. All my sorrows have been for love & I accept that, with gratitude. We are going to meet Griffin this weekend, if all goes well, but I still love & look for Buster around the house. It's hard to believe that every day he's not here. My mother always spoke well of my father's first wife, who died before my parents met—she didn't put him off marriage, she concluded. Buster has opened my heart to all the possibilities of loving cats.
I was reading The Translator last month when its author, Ward Just, died.
I was reading After Babel this month when its author, George Steiner, died.
Anyone want to pay me not to read their book?
I'm bored by being sick so feel free to skip this update, but I have to say, I was so happy to wake up this morning & feel like myself at last. A whole month of dragging, coughing, coughing, dragging. I took my first karate class in a month. Not sure I was gonna make it & glad I couldn't see the clock, & then suddenly, I started to sweat & instantly felt better. Thanks, A.J.—you were so right when you said it was better to sweat it out than lie about.
Poetry is like fish: if it's fresh, it's good; if it's stale, it's bad; and if you're not certain, try it on the cat.
~ Osbert Sitwell
No comment.
On Sunday I went to this magnificent church right around the corner from me for a concert by a bunch of neighborhood churches, mosques, synagogues et al. The acoustics were daunting, so a couple of the choirs I know are good didn't shine. Who did: a Tibetan monk who did chanting deep in his throat; he sounded like a didgeridoo & you could tell he wasn't straining. Quite remarkable. My favorite was a ragtag group from the Catholic Worker busting with hilarity & sincerity, with trombone, bagpipe, harmonica & guitar. It really made me think a vow of poverty was the best thing for your soul & spirit.
Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
~ Virginia Woolf
I have had this same thought. When I can't talk I can't flirt, I can't be funny, I can't shine. But wit goes first.
I didn't want him banging in the carrier & by the time we set off for the vet he could no longer walk. So I wrapped him in a towel & carried him in my arms, Pieta-style. And here he was, outside in the bright sun of a spring-like day for the first time in at least 8 years. He blinked & then he smiled. He basked. He got to have one last moment of pleasure in life. A little kitten love for the fresh air & adventure of his youth.
After that he stared into my eyes the entire walk to the vet. I don't have words for what it meant, just that it was profound, reassuring, & communication beyond what I've had with most people. It could have been: Are we good? Will you let me go? I don't want to but there's no body left to hold my love. You have to trust me, as I have to trust me.
All of that, but not in words. I was seen by him & he by me.
No more running to the door to meet me. No more clawing the bathroom door open demanding treats. No more snuggling between us on the bed. No more galloping around like a crazy person at 4:30 in the morning. No more nonstop purring the minute he climbs into my lap. No more sleeping on my head, holding my finger.
Buster was a gentleman, a love bug, who never made me think he was condescending to me. We were pals & partners.
The Mr. Rogers of cats.
We took him in to be euthanized this afternoon but he died just a moment before they could start. I feel happy about that: that he died on his own terms, & not shorted even by a minute his full life span. And in case you think we made him hang on too long, yesterday the vet said she expected he had a few more weeks. Until she got the bloods. His kidney numbers were higher than the machine could read. She couldn't believe he could walk. But he did. The dying was that quick.
Buster, please be reincarnated with that big patient heart of yours.
Buster always sleeps with us. He waits till I get into bed, when I click at him & a moment later, there he is, wiggling into comfort between us. When I wake up, he's usually at the end of the bed but sometimes he's on my head or pillow.
Last night he didn't come when I called. He slept deep in the closet. I worry. Dante did that when he was separating from life & from us.
I snuck in & gave him an appetite stimulant, & I dragged him out to give him his subcutaneous fluids. He ate (he ate!) & now he's sleeping at the edge of the closet.
He doesn't look unhappy or gaunt so I'm going to believe he'll be OK for a little while longer.
I love that little purring loving being.
We were prepared to have a nurse and a servant as a necessary extravagance, but would never have dreamed of having a car. If we went to theatres it would be to the pit. I would have perhaps one evening dress, and that would be a black one so as not to show the dirt, and when we went out on muddy evenings, I would always of course, have, black shoes for the same reason. We would never take a taxi anywhere. There is a fashion in the way you spend your money, just as there is a fashion in everything. I'm not prepared to say now whether ours was a worse or a better way. It made for less luxury, plainer food, clothes and all those things. On the other hand, in those days you had more leisure–there was leisure to think, to read, and to indulge in hobbies and pursuits. I think I am glad that I was young in those times. There was a great deal of freedom in life, and much less hurry and worry. ~ Agatha Christie
I am thoroughly enjoying her autobiography & this passage really struck me. So true! It's an individual thing too. Everyone seems to be cheap about certain things & (willing to be) extravagant about others. I reuse plastic bags for the cat litter, X buys them. I think of myself as frugal—I don't want to replace something I needn't have thrown out. I never begrudge money I spend eating out but lots of people do.
I don't know that I know what the current fashions are in spending. Maybe when I was younger & more a part of the zeitgeist.
MUCH better than thinking about this dang tentacled cough is hanging out with Cousin Susan, who is related to me in the most convoluted way possible: step-half-semi-demi-hemi-ish. And yet, the bond of family is strong & we are part of each other's lives & hilarities. I'm still a bit half-masting it this week but I feel the winds of health starting to blow my way.
It's in the next block, so I've walked by this building probably 30,000 times (I did the math: 2x a day x 43 years in my apartment) but I never once sat at the bust stop across the street & really looked at it. See that handsome trim along the top? The rich color?
Every day I fall in love again with New York City.