Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
We have just today to have more adventures...and we will. Last week, we ventured into the City, via the train on the NJ side, and "got lucky" by scoring late afternoon tour tickets to the 9/11 Memorial. Last night, my son met up with a friend and did Manhattan, Times Square and Hell's Kitchen, coming back at 2 a.m. full of NYC lightheadedness. My husband went on his own (with a bit more frustration, I think) to see his cousin who lives by Central Park and he stayed over rather than repeat a very late night of trying to get the right subway to train.
As for me, I requested and enjoyed a solitary evening in my cousin's apartment, gazing at the NY skyline and lights, finding mars in the sky, reading and writing. This is not a lifestyle I could take on for everyday but it's one that, I think, gives a deeper meaning to the 99% vs. 1% current economic divide. We are "visiting" the world of the 1% and returning to our real 99% life tomorrow.
More on the trip and reentry next week, if not before.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Here's a poem about Spring I really like:
A Cold Rain the Day Before Spring
From heaven it falls on the gray pitted ice
that has been here since December.
In the gutter rivulets erode piles
of dirt and road salt into small countries
and the morning is so dark, in school
teachers turn on fluorescent lights
and everyone comes in smelling of damp wool.
From heaven it falls, just the opposite
of prayer, which I send up
at the traffic light: please
let me begin over again, one
more time over again, wipe the slate
clean, the same way after school
janitors, keys jangling from
belt loops, will use a wet rag and wipe
the school day off, so there is only
the residue, faint white on the smooth
surface. It's the same way
the infield looks before the game
begins, or the ice on a rink
between periods. All new again
for the moment and glistening.
Imagine each day you get to start
again and again. Again. How many
days does the janitor enter the room
of your soul, wipe it clean
go out into the hallway
and push his broom
down the long corridor, full
of doors to so many rooms.
"A Cold Rain the Day Before Spring" by Stuart Kestenbaum, from Pilgrimage. © Coyote Love Press, 1990. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)