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...

The Fluttering of Nearby Wings

Eureka Car(t) 2007

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She fit the stereotype of a bag lady. Her cart had weak ankle wheels and although she was strong it must have been well packed as she pulled it with jerks. She parked it by the rear exit of the M4 bus.Then she sat next to me, not interrupting my reading. I was lost in the world of painters and the grand opening of the Eiffel Tower. Suddenly she commented on the bicycle marathon at the north end of Central Park. Since I was agreeable to conversation she began telling me of where I could get freebies. It turned out she rode in from the Bronx on Sundays to bring food to the food pantry at the cathedral. Bring food?? Every Sunday??? I would have guessed that she was the one needing food. She had done this for ten years! Yes, she had help with the rent through a welfare program but her time and money went to amassing food for the destitute. I mentioned Riverside Church having a food pantry and she glowed. In the days before the Bronx, she lived near Riverside and took the food there. Now, what with the train/bus connections, the cathedral worked better. I told her how wonderfully generous and enterprising she was. She giggled as though this was the least big deal imaginable I said I like to do the "buy one, get one free" thing and keep one for myself and give away the other. However, I could tell she would give away both. I asked about what she herself had to eat. She replied, "Oh, I got plenty! People 'n given' me stuff all time." It reminded me of Porgy and Bess, "Oh, I go plenty of nothin' and nothin's plenty for me." When she reached her stop, I told her she would live long and bless hundreds being as how she was such a cheerful giver and housed a merry heart. I thought about her a lot during the service. She had so little! yet radiated contentment. If only one out of every ten people could be like this nameless errand girl, what a wonderful world this would be!

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...may the blessings of unseen angels visit you this day...

A Short Recap of the Last Twenty-One Hundred Days, Give or Take a Few

Photo Credit: George Page

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I was thinking of the post wherein I mentioned books written in letter form and this thought came to me, "Why not write my entire post in letter form?" An ideal opportunity arose when I found an old e-mail address . Instead of writing to the addressee alone, here it is for you also:

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Hi Jennifer B.!

I'm glad I found your address. A lot has happened since I left Roanoke all those years ago and I don't think I even sent you a postcard. You cross my mind every day because when I remember you, I remember most the books you brought by on your walks with Lucy. I stayed seven months in San Francisco in a lovely studio in what used to be an old hotel frequented by opera singers and actors with wood floors and huge windows. There was a clawfoot tub on a pedestal, the first of a succession of clawfoot tubs on pedestals. More about them later. The studio overlooked a magical garden completely planted and cared for by a Vietnamese man. I put some pots of chrysanthemum on the windowseat to show my appreciation and sometimes he waved. On the floor beneath (the basement), services were held for Muslims. I loved hearing the long sonorous prayers coming up through my floorboards. On night I was moved to reciprocate with Amazing Gracy in what my mother called my carrying voice and found an invitation at my door the next day. I responded with a note on the door saying I had my own faith traditions but appreciated their invite. A flyer at the library led me to a part-time training job serving lunch to about 50 Chinese women at the Salvation Army residential apartments close to Market Street. Unfortunately, I didn't learn any Chinese which would have been useful as a couple of months later, I was getting a flu shot at the Fisherman's Wharf Walgreen's when I inadvertently helped six elderly Chinese ladies fill out forms. Their interpreter had failed to show. I was touched that they trusted me with their phone numbers and home addresses. Hand motions and smiles work for all languages. Life in the City by the Bay was stretching the budget so I moved on up to Eureka in redwood country where I had visited my son when he was at Humboldt State. I lucked out with another winning place to live, a cottage divided into apartments diagonally across from the famous Carson Mansion which at Christmas lit up like an old movie set. Another part-time job came my way at the Humdoldt Senior Resource Center. It was there that I thought of you most as "Young Boss" recommended my reading Water for Elephants. That brought a flood of memories about the Patchett books you loaned me and the beautifulThe Solace of Leaving Early. And how surprised you were when I said the time traveller was "a jerk." I wondered if anybody in Eureka would be as kind to me as you were when I was so sick with the shingles and you asked me what I would like best. You brought Sprite which I considered the ultimate prescription. I stayed in Eureka for the two years of my lease and then headed back to Chapel Hill. But guess what! I'm now in New York City. More later. So, enough of me, what have you been up to? I've lost track of how old George is by now. Does your bookclub still meet around your fabulous kitchen table? Do you read Cheryl's blog? All for now. Keep in touch.

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...may the blessings of reunions be yours...

Serendipity Street on the Road to Enlightenment

Photos Credit: Kaye Barley

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I told you the Tale of the Ring, the wonderful symbolic event of not being the Wrong Mimja but instead winning the ring on Linda Blalock's site, http://atclindab.blogspot.com/. which came to me by way of a link on Cheryl Dolby's page. http://healingwoman.blogspot.com. She has heaps of links so I tried looking at another earlier in the year which led in turn to http://meanderingsandmuses.blogspot.com. What a nice "small world" surprise! The writer is Department Secretary for Philosophy and Religion at Appalachian State. I wrote her a quick note to tell her that I had lived in a cabin and had sung in the Appalachian Chorale which met in the music building. I mentioned that my daughter had been an anthropology major and her daughter is now at ASU. I kept meaning to get back to Kaye's blog but...no excuses. I just didn't. Well, she took care of that by sending me a message last week asking if I would like to be a guest blogger on her site September 12, 2011. I was floored. I thought maybe I was the Wrong Mimja again. I mean, Kaye's guests will include the likes of Pat Conroy. Yikes. The majority of bloggers have published works. Doubles yikes! I did start on an autobiography in 2003 and made it all the way to page 2. What to do? What to do? I decided not to turn down the offer. "They also serve who only" post a note. And this was another opportunity to show my philosophy and religion by example. Who would have thunk I'd be hobnobbing with Name Recognized Mystery Authors Who Tour? Given as I am to Signs, I think this means it's time I scurried (in Mimsey fashion) to LuLu.com and published my 6 page (mostly drawings) children's book. The Walrus Who Loved Yoga. Watch for me in the NYTimes. Ha ha. With blurbs such as "short and endearing" and "short and quixotic." Or more likely, "If you are looking for a quick read, this is short." I have a whole year, give or take a day or two, so maybe this will be finally done. Wish me luck. I got the idea in 1964. Maybe a better choice than luck would be a ghost writer.

...may the blessings of chance invitations be yours.