Visitors' Guide

"O God of Truth, we recognize that violence is part of our life, and we name this violence as sin. We confess that for a long time we have called this violence by names we could tolerate.

We have called physical abuse, discipline. We have called violence, a family fight. We have called isolation a need for privacy."--from the Riverside Church bulletin comes this prayer from John de Gruchy of South Africa

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I caught the M4 bus after taking a friend to St. Patrick's Cathedral and went on out to Riverside. I was going to read my Japanese mystery, all about a woman who lands in trouble because of personal bankruptcy after running into heavy credit card debts. However, right away a woman sat down with a city touring guide so I thought I'd chat instead of reading. She was from Norway in New York for a conference. She is a researcher specializing in bipolar and schizophrenic disorders of adolescence. We had a great discussion about Norway, disorders, and her outings. She was on her way to the Cloisters. I pointed out various landmarks such as the grand piano statue near the north end of Central Park and told her about the peacocks at St. John the Divine's. I asked her what her plans were for the next couple of days and suddenly she asked, "But where would you go?" I explained I was no authority and had very limited experience, mostly with alpacas at the zoo and the boardwalk of Coney Island. She got very excited. That was exactly what she wanted to know. "I want to know where a person of your sensibilities would choose to go. I want to go there, too!" What an interesting compliment. Her home in Norway is in a very wooded place and the noise and crowdedness of the Big Apple bothered her. I said, "Sometimes you have to embrace that very noise and crowdedness since, after all, you are only here for a short time. Look up Neil Diamond's song, 'It's a Beautiful Noise.' And there are so many parks scattered through the boroughs where you can stop and reflect." I said my recommendations were purely sentimental: the Statue of Liberty a must and a walk to the little lighthouse on Roosevelt Island is good for looking out on the bustle of the city from a peaceful setting. There is a cat rescue mission there, too. I love the mural by James de Vega with a quote of his on E. 124th Street. And another by students in Astoria. Her appraisal of my sensibilities reminded me of the woman from Brooklyn who was traveling on Amtrak to Richmond, Virginia. She looked me over and summed me up this way, "You need to go to the Tenement Museum." My 120th Street stop came before I could make a list of my sentimental favorites for the Norwegian. I'm pleased to think when she returns to her work, she'll think of the "tour guide" she met on the M4.

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...may the blessings of lists be yours today, trip lists, dream lists, book lists...

Map: courtesy of the Wildlife Conservation Society

Sticker: courtesy of Ronald McDonald House

"On Wings of Song"

On Fridays, at the lower level of a Boston Properties (do you suppose there is a New York Properties in Boston?) building, an African-American pianist of indeterminate age and huge talent plays a baby grand for the lunch bunch. Seven levels up in this atrium, there are arched skylights reminiscent of old Parisian garret windows. It's all a world away from the traffic of 3rd Avenue. I like his style--nothing discordant, large range of dynamics, rhythmic with a touch of Rachmaninoff. There are lots of cadenzas and big chords but he never turns cloying on me. The sentiment is pure rather than showy. I've seen people talk to him, perhaps requesting a favorite and it has had me wondering. If I had only one song to ask for, what would it be? He has played "Scarborough Faire," (my spelling), "Hotel California," and "Younger Than Springtime." All good ones. Would it depend on what mood I was in or are there songs fitting any mood? Would I choose pop, classical, Cajun, sacred, or something ethnically distinct? Would I go for zippy, ""Turkey in the Straw," or heavily nostalgic, "Memory." Re-watching Dances with Wolves. the last movie I took my mother to and by which we were both deeply moved, reminded and revived the love of Native American songs by Robert Mirabal, flute player/singer, who once marched on a peace trek to Moscow. The soundtrack of Dances with Wolves is extraordinarily melodic and expansive. I'm thinking of a Friday plan: each Friday I'll go with one song in mind, not for requesting but a thank you gesture for all the music in my life and I'll sing it to myself with all my heart as I eat my Cucina Gourmet plateful. "I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free," would be a good start.

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...may the blessings of a song for the day be yours...

18 Miles of Kindles, Nooks, and Crannies

"The Bridge of Friends"

Photo Credit: Henry Hobbs

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"Even the smallest of creatures carries a sun in its eyes."

Antonio Porchia, translated by W.S. Merwin

as seen on a banner at Central Park

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I've been noticing Kindles on the subway and examining why I prefer the scent of musty books and their delicate crackle as they slide into falling-apart-hood. I watched someone reading his Kindle. I observed how distracting the lights relfected on the screen were and how quickly he put it away. Was he bringing it out just to tell us how up to date, successful, on the beam he was to be able to afford (or get in debt for) a pricey accessory or had it simply tired his eyes? An interview with Stephen King had him giving high praise to eletronica. How curious that he was seated in front of a floor to ceiling shelf of First Editions! My cousin Karen writes: "I love musty old books, but I love being able to read the words a lot more. Luv my kindle for PC!" Kindle in Big Print. I hadn't thought of that. I'm thinking of Cheryl's blog on which she posted an illustration from The Book of Kells. I realize that a Kindle would transform a student's backpack and with textbooks making up a third of a a year's budget, what a great invention these devices are. What seems to worry me, though, is the loss of beauty, of craftsmanship. Emily Dickinson said, "There is no frigate like a book." Frigates have gone out of our lives except in maritime museums. Is this where books are headed? The demise of rotary phones was practically overnight. A Barnes and Noble closed on the West Side. An indicator? There is a stand at the entrance to Central Park for Mark Strand books which proudly proclaims, "18 Miles of Books." I asked the salesperson if Kindles would soon find him out of business. He said no. He said it would be like radio which coexists nicely rather than a complete displacement of product the way the automobile revolutionized horse & carriage world. He said those younger than 45 would embrace the Kindle as quickly as they did the iPod.This was not an ageist issue as he was over 45 himself. He added, "For 'us' it was more a question of nostalgia." Mark Strand Books won't be in trouble as it deals heavily in out of print books. He had a very good line of totes, too. Kindle "wallets" I'm sure will be an industry like cell phone "skins." I asked an 18 year old college student her opinion and she answered unequivocally, "I like to turn pages." My daughter is more concerned about the illiteracy rate in her county than what form the books come in. The rate is up. A traveling friend made this comment: "Kindle/iPad are great if you are traveling and wish not to carry a backpack full of books or magazines/newspapers you wish to read. Truly amazing. I understand that Kindle works much better in the sun and has free access to the Internet. But the look, feel, and experience of a book is still the gold standard." The Merwin quote above is a clue to my feelings. There is something about paper that is part of the natural landscape. There is something about a Kindle that has yet another glossy the-future-has-arrived aspect. There is nothing essentially wrong about this and I'm glad authors will continue to put their thoughts somewhere. I wonder, uneasily, if sacred texts will have their gravitas on a portable toy? Perhaps like the bird on the branch, we can have both the past and the future. A Kindle on the road, a well worn favorite paperback under a lamp at home.

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...may the written word and oral traditions bring you blessings."

Private Collections

artwork by Danny, Age 8

Ronald MacDonald House

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A beautiful coincidence. I had decided to write about people's collecting habits when I came across a book by Durham, NC writer Haven Kimmel called The Used World. I wondered about the title and soon discovered its setting is the Used World Emporium full of furniture, vintage clothes and best of all, a writer's eye for catching me by the throat with just a sentence. Anyone who has ever watched the hoarders program on A&E knows there is a big difference between collecting and accumulating. The darling figurines in the Red Rose tea bag boxes are collector's items. The plastic wrap is not. What people choose to collect is fascinating. I had a rich friend who only collected statuary that was no more than one of five on the planet. She had documentation to prove it. My maternal grandfather collected wooden elephants. He wasn't a Republican; he just liked elephants. He hadn't see one in real life and there were none around to purchase so he whittled them himself. I'm like him with my collection of small wooden camels and giraffes. I haven't tried whittling yet but wouldn't be surprised if that gene popped up should I try. I think I was programmed to collect teddy bears and practice Liszt for hours on end as my first and only childhood teddy had a music box inside him which cheerfully cranked out Liszt's Mephisto Waltz #3. In subsequent years, I was given several music boxes; my favorite had a poignant version of "Deep in December...follow, follow," when it wound down, slowly dwindling like September itself. There was a waterwheel music box I took to kindergarten music days and made up words for the children to sing along, "Oh, this is the tune that the waterwheel sings, tra la. The wheel goes around and the doors open wide. The little man smiles at his dear little bride. Tra la la la la la." Then came a description of the couple venturing out, returning by a back door. Given the chance I would have collected cuckoo clocks. One day at school, I took all the boxes and started them to hear all together. Enchantment. Over the years, all the boxes were given away and only one teddy remains. I sewed an angel scarf for her (with a ruffle, of course). She came with a tee, "Someone in San Francisco loves me." I call her, "The Greeter" as she sits at the entrance to the Shire. A friend at the Eureka senior center liked frogs so much, they became part of her e-mail address. Another friend found a love of angels when someone slipped an angel pin into a birthday card and now she has around 350. Perhaps constructing a wayside chapel is in her future. Some friends have extensive libraries; others are partial to orchids in greenhouses, antique cars, and harmonicas. The tender loving care expended is a tribute to the appeal of inanimate objects and natural world companions. I particularly like collections which reflect an owner's taste rather than the urge to impress. I knew a man who worked all his life on a train set in his garage, a good blend of passion and desire to share. The origin of our obsession would be good research material, would it not? I think we collect to remind ourselves that we were here on this earth; we mattered. It's a need for a past.

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...may the blessings of good things and the pleasant surroundings therein be yours...