Elinor Nauen

Johnny's from an Irish "18 & Out" family. Traditionally, as soon as a son gets old enough, he has a fight (I'm talking about shoving & punching—this is not done with words) with his father & leaves home. They may reconcile but they more or less never speak again. 

That's what Johnny did, only he was 15: cutting his sons off at 18 was a step up. Johnny left home & lived at the Catholic Worker, where he hawked their newspaper ("Catholic Worker! Only a penny!"), got his girlfriend pregnant, graduated from Catholic school, went to college & so on. 

I love this photo because it shows that his sons have done a better job than Johnny, who did a better job than his own father, of changing those tough family ways. 

(By way of contrast, when I was 20 & living in Maine, one of the guys I was living with asked who I'd been on the phone with just then. My folks, I said. I thought you weren't speaking to them...? With no sense of irony, I said, Just because I'm not speaking to them doesn't mean I don't check in every week.)

Aw, my much-liked blue-with-dots duvet cover finally devolved into thread. Every time one of us turned over it ripped a ittle more. Usually, that kind of thing goes on a ridiculously long time in our household but for once I marched right on over to Bed, Bath & Beyond & got a new one. 

Whenever a theory appears to you as the only possible one, take this as a sign that you have understood neither the theory nor the problem which it was intended to solve. 

~ Karl Popper

There's a lot more than this that I don't understand, believe you me! 

I'm trying to figure out the 19 parts of the 5 ballot questions & mostly I wonder if it's ever possible to know in advance if they'll do what proponents hope. It seems as though every single change brings about unintended consequences, some positive, some not. I'm not at all saying that's an excuse to cling to the old ways. Just that I am never surprised when the promise fades. 

Anyone miss me? I don't know that I meant to take time off from my blog, but I seem to have done so. I've been avoiding the news & I guess that made me duck all sorts of things. Anyway, I'm re-inspired to start back up again. I have a few things jumping around in my head & it helps me think them through when I commit myself to publishing regularly. 

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.

~ H. G. Wells 

I was thinking of how tired I am of being indignant. Time to hang up the halo. 

Joe Carey sent me this. I'd entirely forgotten this poster—but not New York Is Missing, a six-page novel I wrote with Maggie Dubris. I remember Steve in a bald wig as Mayor Kroch. Tim Milk & Johnny Stanton were supposed to be dancing boys, but Johnny & I had a big fight right before & he didn't show up & Tim wouldn't wear the little short-shorts alone.

I loved the holidays this year, the whole month of them seemed to be a rolling epic through stages of life & states of mind, from Rosh Hashanah, the birthday of the world, through the 10 days of self-reflection, to temporary outdoor life, to rejoicing in our Torah. I don't always relish them but this year I was able to relax into them & feel a part of it all. I got to hang out without deadlines, make goals for improvement, eat on the roof of the Y....

But I can't say I'm not glad they're over! 

Sparrow

on a pipe outside

I give them

crumbs

to entice & cheer

until an adolescent rat

comes out of

my wall & eats

their food

the birds

forgive

me except when I

give them peanut butter cocoa puffs

Buster in his Halloween crab hat. Not liking it but OK with whatever silliness I force upon him. He is such an enlightened little being. 

Also, I seem to have lost my mind. I now have tickets for three trips in the next 4 months, to St. Paul, Barcelona, & Edinburgh. 

My dojo is moving, after 43 years in the same location. There were a lot of people at the last-ever black belt promotion at West 23rd Street. 

Vow in Old Age

I will never

I swear

talk about

my health problems. torture

me

I'll stay

mum

how boring & demoralizing

to hear from anyone

who isn't Susie Timmons

my cat doesn't complain

my husband doesn't complain

my neck wobbles—that's OK!

I can't stay awake

O Susie, tell me your troubles!

On Tuesday I got ready for Yom Kippur. On Tuesday night & all day Wednesday I atoned, prayed, ponderd, fasted. (Very meaningful! Best holiday in years!) On Thursday I caught up with as much of my work & to-do list as I could. Today looks to be about the same. The editing work I've been doing is so intensive that I don't have much brainwill left to talk about the holiday. Nothing out of th ordinary except to be immersed the whole 26 hours. 

Here's Buster, relaxing atop me. 

Action and feeling go together…by regulating the action, which is under the more direct control of the will, we can indirectly regulate the feeling.

~ William James, Talks to Teachers on Psychology and to Students on Some of Life's Ideals

This is very Jewish, I think. Before receiving the 10 Commandments, the people said, We will obey & we will hear. I had an argument with a friend once. She said, I can't do anything I don't believe. I said, I can't believe anything I don't do. 

Doing leads to belief & to feeling. If I act kindly towards you, I'll end up liking you.

Yom Kippur is a day away so of course I'm thinking about how to do better. 

So happy! Buster has been taking thyroid meds & in 3 weeks he's easily gained a pound, I'd bet—a lot for a being that was down to 8.1 pounds. Now what he eats stays on him, rather than peeing it all out. His eyes were sunk in his head he was so dehydrated & he barely could get off the floor. Now his behavior is beginning to match his kitten face. He leaps & trots & meets me at the door. Also, he is so in love with us. I can barely get him off my lap. We haven't been back to the vet, not for another couple weeks, but it's so clear that the meds & subcutaneous fluids are doing him a world of good. 

An Old Story

when I didn't give the young man money

he said is it because I'm black

& you a old white lady

& I said that's right fuck off

& when I told this guy I know

he told me a story about a beautiful girl

he once lived with who made the thugs

on 8th & B back off by screaming

you fucking pussies

her tininess making her curses louder

he found a story of his own to top, correct & instruct me

fuck off, you fucking pussy

Stealing this story but it's too good not to! 

So my friend's 10-year-old kid just got her period, freaking out the dad no end. He was, she said, frantically googling and at one point said in front of my friend and her sister, "It could last SEVEN DAYS!"

Their conclusion: The most perfect example of mansplaining in the universe. 

Poetry is a rival government always in opposition to its cruder replicas.

~ William Carlos Williams

Is this an impeachment inquiry quote? I dunno, I've just been so in love with Williams lately. I never exactly know what he means but he always inspires me. 

Almost a new year, the chance to set things right, aim better, get on the mark. Happy New Year, l'shana tova, to all, whether or not it's your holiday. May it be a sweet & healthy new start, may you find your passion, & make a start on repairing the world.

I'll be off the next two days but a Monday Quote will magically appear nonetheless.

Two women with 4 bags apiece, including two I could hardly budge, were at the West 4th stop, looking to get to West Canal Street. Not the F, I said, it goes to Brooklyn. I got off with them at Broadway-Lafayette, planning to help them haul their stuff upstairs to the 6 train, when they let slip that they were going to the Chinatown Bus (way east! on) Canal. I told them to get off at East Broadway. They didn't believe me, asked a man, who said East Broadway. They were headed for Cincinnati. We got back on the F. You'll have to walk a couple of blocks from the train stop, I said, can you manage? We'll have to, won't we, she side-eyed at me. No thanks at any point. Did I look like a scary New Yorker who was trying to scam them or run away with their luggage? They did not like me! The nicer I was, the more resentful & suspicious they were. 

Someone spilled half a cup of (tepid, thank goodness!) coffee on me then said it was really my fault, that I'd bumped him while he bumped me. C'mon, manners, people! I'm the one wet & ill-smelling, just apologize for the inconvenience, yeah? 

I sat on 5th St half-hearing then listening to (& recording pages of) this woman talk for at least half an hour (& I left while she was still on the phone). She was addressing "Detective" & telling a incident-filled tale of woe: her apartment broken into & art stolen ("I'm a well-known artist & surrounded by a lot of celebrity stuff"), which unfortunately wasn't identifiable ("people who sign their drawings are not serious artists"), her elderly parents were in the hospital, her bank account defrauded, her building broken into, her boyfriend Derek Jeter was wildly jealous ("he flipped out when any man came near me") but the Yankees didn't respond when she complained about his behavior, she also does bigtime corporate design work & was a prodigy ballet dancer ("I'm in better shape than any of them"). 

I sort of imagine the detective putting the phone down, going off for coffee, or maybe playing games & throwing in uh-huh occasionally. 

Do I sound as crazy as her when I tell people I divorced Derek Jeter & am happily remarried to Didi Gregorius? 

A writer is in the end not his [sic] books, but his [sic] myth. And that myth is in the keeping of others. 

~ V.S. Naipul

Yet another reminder that doing the work is what’s important, not worrying about what happens to it. 

Finally made it to the Biennial, just a couple of days of days before it closed. 

I liked everything & I didn't like anything. 

I don't know what I mean by that. 

Last night I stopped by the Salmagundi Club to see the American Impressionist show. It was depressing—like a bunch of MFA poems, competent & lifeless. The Biennial was full of life but a lot of the work seemed entirely conceptual, so there was no point in actually executing the piece, or they were op-eds. It wasn't depressing but I didn't leave wanting to charge home & make art. 

Then He Who Must Not Be Named stepped on my foot & now I can't walk. 

The Alphabet's Dilemma

For want of a bee the hive was lost

For want of the sea a ship was lost

For want of a gee the wonder was lost

For want of an I the novel was lost

For want of a jay the aviary was lost

For want of an ell privacy was lost

For want of Em Dorothy was lost

For want of a pea the soup was lost

For want of a queue no time was lost

For want of tea the afternoon was lost

For want of you I was lost

For want of a why the philosopher was lost

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives. 

~ Toni Morrison

My birthday twin (same day not the same year!)

I hope this is true.

It's hard to write a light account of a bad week. There was Buster (who's doing better! long saga); & September 11 anniversary (for some reason more talked about this year than of late); a friend with a sudden (benign!) brain tumor (diagnosed the day before they were leaving on a month-long birdwatching & Galapagos trip) (she had surgery the next day & seems like it'll be fine); & a horrific gun/domestic-violence tragedy involving a family I'm tangentially aware of (too awful to be in this list except as part of a tough week). 

Well, there was one little bright spot (right): Yours truly as a member of the largest consecration class ever at Mt. Zion. It's pretty easy to tell which kid grew up to be a pawnbroker, isn't it? I had a crush on him when I was 5 because he tanned so dark & fast. What a great trick! How'd he do that?

That's my fency 1970s handwriting. I suppose I was trying to decide what name to use or maybe whether I would be at that address long enough to get a reply. I didn't have a first income so not sure what second income I was thinking would do me any good. And why this card turned up in a box the other day is yet another story. I moved to NYC with all my belongings in a couple of paper sacks, & I kept that? 

In 2012 my beloved cat Dante died. I was devastated. We had such a bond that I didn't think I would ever love another cat as much. And along came Buster... big-hearted, loving, cuddly Buster. When Johnny was in rehab all those months, I was so relieved to have Buster to come home to. I've never known a cat with a sweeter personality. He came when I called & purred nonstop. We have had such an easy friendship. He's at the vet right now but it doesn't look good & he won't be around much longer. He's not happy right now & if some of the easy treatments don't work, we'll have to decide that hard thing. Right now I can't bear that thought of sending him on ahead of me, but I will have to, I know. A month or year, I count the hours. 

Pray for a brave heart, which does not fear death, which places a long life last among the gifts of nature, which has the power to endure any trials, rejects anger, discards desire… If we have common sense, Chance, you are not divine: it is we who make you a goddess, yes, and place you in heaven. 

~ Juvenal, (10. 357-360, 365-366), epigraph to Pray for a Brave Heart by Helen MacInnes

I love the books of spy novelist Helen MacInnes because they are wholly unmemorable, yet exciting while you're reading them. I'm rereading one now, which I only realized because I ran into a passage I had underlined. Nothing—not the characters, scenery, or situation—is familiar the second time around.

Or too familar: all the men are handsome, strong, quick-witted & educated, except for the villains who have squints or cold, cold eyes; the women are either beautiful, strong, quick-witted & educated, or plain, with cold eyes. This isn't a criticism, merely pointing out that she uses a formula, which she does very enjoyably. I've read several of her books published in 1940 or 41 & even that early in World War II she was well aware of what was going on & condemned it in no uncertain terms. We should all be so sure of the moral high ground & so willing to stay on it. 

For Ted Berrigan

We were afraid of everything except kindness. We made a cult of generosity. We slapped them silly who weren't witty or lovely. We wanted better boots, better polish, better hair. We thought about country diarists without leaving our rooms on 23rd Street. We bought one expensive handcream that someone else paid for. We knocked down screens to see a woman wash her back. We ate Krishna feast. We found soft wool undershirts on the street & said they were Patti Smith's. We called her Patti. We said Bob, & people were supposed to know we meant Dylan. We won prizes & forgot to pick them up. Our teeth broke. We checked into the hospital to rest. No one we voted for won. We were Black Jacobins. We recognized beauty & nothing else. Nothing else mattered.

11/15/2018