face time

dragging two bags, one returning, the other being emptied.

Pull into the station, tired and wet, soul folds up into a compact box.

Twelve hours of television, more than I've seen in a year. Getting restless and spaced out. People file in and out of my vision.

what's this? that looks like home on the tube...Broadway Danny Rose, Donnie Brasco, Night and the City...

next morning, volume goes down, sign of "the talk"

"you are restrictive." Actually I'm the opposite, I think wanting to run out is not restrictive.

" I wish you had some of your old personality." I don't.

Same old accusations...

I wanna go home, one more day...

next morning, soul starting to burst at the seems of the box. Dragging two bags, one that came with stuff I needed and the other filled with stuff I didn't ask for but I can use.

Heading on the train that soon becomes standing room only to the island of misfit toys. Box unfolds again, soul unleashes in full fury.

playing dress up

sometimes a whimsical mood will come over me and the little girl that is buried somewhere inside, pokes her head out and wants to do whimsical things. So to take a scheduled breather from emptying the project in my head onto paper, recently I decided to go and stroll with the rest of the crowds to see the shops all dressed up in pretty lights and sparkles. In one such store of which I can't remember, there were beautiful dresses in the window. The kind of dresses I could never afford and even if I could, I would never want to.

So I went in and for an hour or more tried on gowns and pretended I was going to some society ball like in the old days, when the New York Times actually had a society section that announced things like "miss so-and-so had her annual tea party at the Plaza last evening and wore a gown of blue taffeta." Then I made my way to a vintage clothing store and tried on jackets from the 30's and 40's. Nice too, and within my budget except those jackets would match nothing in my present wardrobe. I would need the shoes, skirt, blouse and little hat to go along with it. Maybe a fox neck piece to compliment it all, but that's a project I don't have the time for right now... but maybe later. In the meantime, it was nice to live in a time warp for a bit.

maggie and milly and molly and mae...

...went down to the beach to play one day

and maggie discovered a shell that sang

so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and

milly befriended a stranded star

whose rays five languid fingers were

and molly was chased by a horrible thing

which raced sideways while blowing bubbles , and

may came home with a smooth round stone

as small as a world and as large as alone

for whatever we lose, like a you or a me

it's always ourselves we find in the sea.

-Vincent Persichetti

connecting dots

sometimes you have to step back to realize how unique an experience is, as you can become so submerged in it, or don't give it a second thought, until you are holding it up in contrast to something else. Every one of my connections here in my adopted home have manifested themselves from a single moment or action and has turned into extraordinary journeys that will remain with me for a lifetime..

the friend I met for the first time riding the subway years ago as she was peering over my shoulder and was interested in the book I was reading which happened to be by and about Polly Adler..anyone who is familiar with old New York will know who she is..

with said friend, got into a choir concert for free this past Friday and was given a Hanukkah present even though I'm not Jewish ( she is), of hand stitched scented satchels made out of tablecloths and pillowcases from the 1930's. They are sitting on my dresser in the blue and white bag she put them in.

the neighbor in my apartment house, who has lived in said apartment with her now deceased husband for over 30 years and he in turn grew up in since his parents moved there in 1928, the father's name still written on the door and the old telephone wiring from the 1930's that still runs along the baseboards ( I discovered that when she wanted me to help her program a new answering machine and got distracted when I realized what the strange painted cord was)..

said neighbor giving without me asking, the schoolbook of a deceased neighbor who had been 100 years old when she passed, brittle and fraying at the seams in a old zip lock bag and containing an almost 90 year old mail in coupon for makeup rouge..


pursuing the ledger book of the man with the broken nose and fedora who opened a whole array of connections with a group of talented people whose insight and encouragement I am profoundly grateful for, this journey is still in production...

and today, having coffee and cake with a new friend and gaining invaluable insight.. :)

I ran and ran...

Two parallels crossed paths this weekend, a friend of mine was running into or I should say away from the same form that has crossed her vision for the past 14 years, and as she is afraid of realizing what the answer will be she runs away from it, terrified she tucks the truth in a hidden corner in her heart.

As I walked in the snow/rain/mush late at night, I began to ponder what if anything I am running towards or from. I think my adopted city has allowed me to unleash years of not being able to run anywhere. I have retraced my steps in every neighborhood and borough a hundred times over and my eyes and feet keep looking for something different to appear. I look for it in faded signs, manuscripts and photos, yet I don't know what it is I'm searching for. Somethings have defined their shape or purpose over time, but others are still vague, shadows that pass over my vision at night, never revealing their true form. Maybe I'm suppose to stop to get a better look, but part of me is afraid that if I stopped running, I won't find what it is I'm meant to see.

looking up

I don't think I will ever understand the rage of thinking one can type and walk at the same time, feet dragging as if the person is trying to waddle their way through quicksand. Or screaming so loudly into a phone as if the person is desperate to call attention to themselves and the conversation they are having with the anonymous person on the other end of the line. As for me, whenever I need to be reminded of an age where people had common sense ( don't get me wrong, they had their faults) all I do is look up and see things like this...

or this....

there was only one time I looked down and that was an odd occurrence.