Thursday, December 10, 2015
Keep Talking: Jim The Subway Man
Keep Talking: Jim The Subway Man: This morning waiting for the light to change on the corner of 96 & Third a man asked about my pocketbook: “Is that deer?” I felt ...
Jim The Subway Man
This morning, waiting for the light to change on the corner
of 96 & Third, a man asked about my pocketbook:
“Is that deer?”
I felt woozy from my first cup of
coffee and the cool, but still unseasonably warm December temperature felt
good.
His engagement nudged me in a good
way.
I was also unsure if he would
condemn my bag as harmful to animals. I risked it.
"No," I answered, "I believe it is cow. A friend of mine made it." I debated adding that how the animal hide was sourced was responsible.
I became animated along with him as
we started to discuss hunting.
“My husband has been hunting since
he was a kid. His dad taught him. He isn’t out to hurt the animals and is
really responsible with the gun.”
As he came clearer into focus I saw
a patchwork of clothing: bandana, long ponytail streaked with gray and held
into place with more than one band: shaped like an old caterpillar. In the
pocket of his flannel was a vaper. He smoked from one of those ridiculous metal
cigarettes. It was long and I could
imagine him inhaling it on the job.
“Where I come from every one hunts.
It's what you do.”
He was from Michigan and came here to work on the Second Avenue subway construction-which is taking forever maybe because they contract people like him from all over for work.
He specialized in ceramic/ concrete glazing.
He specialized in ceramic/ concrete glazing.
I imagined him 700 feet underground
delicately painting the surface of concrete with water resistant glazes. Ones
that only certain people with specialized glaze-schooling from Michigan could
do.
“I bought my husband a compound bow
for his birthday a few years ago.” We continued to discuss hunting and he stated that it was unusually to meet hunters in the city.
Was I trying to impress him?
His yellow construction helmet was
clipped to his jacket. It was covered with mud and stickers from all over.
Together we walked up the hill
towards the subway.
I wondered what I looked like to
him.
My bright pink lipstick and
tortoise shell glasses. I had a ponytail, too.
A head shorter than him.
I sized him up to be in his late
40’s. He sounded like he was from Michigan and I thought it was interesting
that he was plopped here to do this work on the subway.
“They send me all over the country
to do this work, I’m headed to the Empire Building now."
He forgot State and I refused to
correct him.
I imagined him in the woods with
his bow poised to bag an eight pointer.
We walked down to the subway
platform together. I pointed to the south end of the platform and said, “I’m
going that way now. What’s your name?”
“Jim.”
“I’m Liz. Nice to meet you.”
I extended my hand and we shook.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Keep Talking: Hemlock Society #2
Keep Talking: Hemlock Society #2: The subway is crowded and shoving her butt onto a seat is difficult, but possible. She pulls out a book and when the train stops a whole n...
Hemlock Society #2
The subway is crowded and shoving her butt onto a seat is difficult, but possible.
She pulls out a book and when the train stops a whole new slew of people push through the door. She attends to her book.
The aisle clears and a suitcase slides down the aisle and jerks to a halt in front of her. It's orange and she looks around to see who it belongs to. No one comes to claim it so she returns to her book. After several minutes she looks up and the suitcase is still there. No one looks at it, however there is a person with a large grey duffle bag standing near the suitcase so she thinks it might belong to him. It's still not clear who is in possession of it.
A woman with a wig is leaning against the door. Her face is covered by her long dark hair.
Maybe the suitcase belongs to her.
Her mind drifts to that day in the park when a police helicopter circled over the reservoir and the wind from the chopper made giant waves in the water. The emergency vehicles came speeding on the bridle path creating a massive cloud of dust behind them. When she approached the north end of the reservoir a police man came up the path and pulled out the yellow tape to keep her and others from approaching. She watched as the divers unlocked the fence and made their way down the steep embankment to the water in search of a body.
The water was dark and murky and the helicopter was hovering at a precarious angle. The sound was whipping past her ears and she scoped the surface of the water to see if there was anything there. Nothing floating, no debris or divers. Her heart raced with anticipation and from behind she heard an emergency officer's walkie-talking. In a tinny electronic voice, "we got him."
Where she stood she could barely see the divers pull the body out of the water and place it on the floating gurney. But there it was. Still and alone.
The gravel path dusts up as she heads toward the emergency vehicles, also cordoned off and the divers peel off their wetsuits. The body is transferred into an ambulance which stands still for a while. Then the vehicles depart one at a time and the police tape is removed. She circles the reservoir one more time and when she approaches the spot where the body was retrieved a group of teenage school boys race past in a tight pack, naked torsos, wearing only their shorts and they are beautiful.
She thinks, "that is a lot of testosterone." Her heart aches seeing the beauty of young, alive flesh: before scars and blemishes mark time with wisdom and pain. Innocence is ripe and fermenting.
The orange suitcase is alone, but filled with something. Clothes, and she is quite certain someone will claim it as their own.
She pulls out a book and when the train stops a whole new slew of people push through the door. She attends to her book.
The aisle clears and a suitcase slides down the aisle and jerks to a halt in front of her. It's orange and she looks around to see who it belongs to. No one comes to claim it so she returns to her book. After several minutes she looks up and the suitcase is still there. No one looks at it, however there is a person with a large grey duffle bag standing near the suitcase so she thinks it might belong to him. It's still not clear who is in possession of it.
A woman with a wig is leaning against the door. Her face is covered by her long dark hair.
Maybe the suitcase belongs to her.
Her mind drifts to that day in the park when a police helicopter circled over the reservoir and the wind from the chopper made giant waves in the water. The emergency vehicles came speeding on the bridle path creating a massive cloud of dust behind them. When she approached the north end of the reservoir a police man came up the path and pulled out the yellow tape to keep her and others from approaching. She watched as the divers unlocked the fence and made their way down the steep embankment to the water in search of a body.
The water was dark and murky and the helicopter was hovering at a precarious angle. The sound was whipping past her ears and she scoped the surface of the water to see if there was anything there. Nothing floating, no debris or divers. Her heart raced with anticipation and from behind she heard an emergency officer's walkie-talking. In a tinny electronic voice, "we got him."
Where she stood she could barely see the divers pull the body out of the water and place it on the floating gurney. But there it was. Still and alone.
The gravel path dusts up as she heads toward the emergency vehicles, also cordoned off and the divers peel off their wetsuits. The body is transferred into an ambulance which stands still for a while. Then the vehicles depart one at a time and the police tape is removed. She circles the reservoir one more time and when she approaches the spot where the body was retrieved a group of teenage school boys race past in a tight pack, naked torsos, wearing only their shorts and they are beautiful.
She thinks, "that is a lot of testosterone." Her heart aches seeing the beauty of young, alive flesh: before scars and blemishes mark time with wisdom and pain. Innocence is ripe and fermenting.
The orange suitcase is alone, but filled with something. Clothes, and she is quite certain someone will claim it as their own.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Keep Talking: #82 Hemlock Society (#1)
Keep Talking: #82 Hemlock Society (#1): It is obvious she was becoming one of those New Yorkers. The ones that don’t care if their socks don’t match, wearing an old skirt, ragged ...
#82 Hemlock Society (#1)
It is obvious she is becoming one
of those New Yorkers. The ones that
don’t care if their socks match, wearing an old skirt, ragged polo shirt
without a bra, cracked sunglasses and a purple UV protected hat with sun tan
lotion stains all over it. There is no longer interest or objective style sense related to fashion or vanity. All she cares about is
getting her old bones out of bed and onto the reservoir path, the one Jaqueline
Kennedy Onassis Reservoir Path. In 1994 they dedicated it in her name. 1994.
For all she cared she could’ve been wearing her pajamas.
For all she cared she could’ve been wearing her pajamas.
So when she walks around the
reservoir, with her left ear to the water, she appreciates what Jackie has done
to improve the place and hopes that if Jackie is interested in the Reservoir in
her afterlife, she would not be offended by her clothes and judge her while
peering down on the general vicinity of the upper east side.
There were some photos from the 70’s
of Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkle posing next to the chain link fence which
surrounded the reservoir back then. She tried to visualize the Park in the 70’s.
Whose idea was it to do that photo shoot there? A really good idea.
This morning some tourists asked
her to take their photo. They picked a spot where the light wasn’t good, but
they were so pleased when she agreed to do it. When she handed the camera back
she noticed the woman’s fingernails were each painted a different color. She
pointed to them and gave her a thumbs up, because she knew they spoke no
English. They really looked good. There
was no rhyme or reason to her choice of colors. No pattern at all, but they
were well painted and a daring choice which also showed a sign of fun and
frivolity which she usually saw on younger women who did a much sloppier job painting their nails.
As she continues walking, people
much younger than she are jogging past her. It is incredible how many
inspirational athletic slogans there are on t-shirts: aiming to be the best, or
congratulating the runner for a half marathon in 2009 for not giving up. What exactly
is the significance of these slogans in the current context of their lives? Do
they wear these shirts to inspire others or to brag about their athletic
accomplishments? Because for her they
seem slightly ridiculous.
And this is when she realizes that
she is aging. The idea of striving for a t-shirt with a slogan to congratulate someone for
running a race is funny. Especially because of who is wearing the shirt. But
that’s neither here, nor there and they are gone fairly fast. She used to run, until the arthritis happened and there is no cartilage to protect her bones anymore.
So now she walks.
So now she walks.
She enjoys hearing the fine gravel
path kicked up and shuffled around like sand with imprints of every kind of
sneaker sole design.
She enjoys tourists posing for
their loved ones.
She enjoys overhearing a group of
women in their 70’s strolling together and cracking jokes about where they will
go for lunch and what they think the waitress will say about their visor-hats.
Her left ear is to the quiet water,
ducks floating below and an apple tree full of fruit sagging above.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Keep Talking: #81 The Thing About It Is
Keep Talking: #81 The Thing About It Is: Essie is about 4 standing on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. The brink, the edge and her toes are sinking into the sand and the water splas...
#81 The Thing About It Is
Essie is about 4 standing at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.
The brink, the edge and her toes are sinking into the sand and the water splashes
over her feet and she has a terrible feeling that she is sinking deeper but really
her feet are making more of an impression. She is wearing what can only be
described as a salmony pink and white horizontal pin-stripe tank suit which feels like it is a wool blend because it is scratchy. It must have been a hand-me-down
from a friend who purchased the odd blend at Macy’s (and quickly discovered its
intrinsic impracticality, therefore discarded it immediately) or it was pulled out
of a drawer from the Paramus NJ Alexander’s- the one with the massive tile sky streaked
with lots of cobalt blue and red screeching across the white façade.
The wave, which was probably no taller than mid-calf, took her
down and for the first time ever she discovered that wet sand on wet legs cannot
be easily brushed off. It sticks and feels like unwanted wool stockings. She falls
on the sand and cries embarrassed, helpless and very uncomfortably lifts herself
up and wipes the mess off her legs. Sea foam turns into quicksand sinking her little
feet deeper and sending her deeper into hysterics.
The tears turn to laughter and she is suddenly taller and all
grown up. The beach is gone, replaced by a steering wheel and she is driving upstate
past farms and eighteen-wheelers. The music is on the radio and it is
chattering away. Gradually, her car lifts up and floats toward the clouds. It is
a beautiful day and she has a great view from the air. She isn’t sure where she
is headed next, but there isn’t anything she can do about it but wait and see.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Keep Talking: #1 Drunk, Drum and Noisy Bird
Keep Talking: #1 Drunk, Drum and Noisy Bird: The bird perched in the tree. Great Blue Heron with a s-shaped neck, sleek feathers, arched beak, long and slender legs. Gracef...
Keep Talking: #2 Of A Scruple Popping Up and Getting Squashed Do...
Keep Talking: #2 Of A Scruple Popping Up and Getting Squashed Do...: Sitting on the subway and a homeless person walks on. Actually, two homeless people- no, three, four, five, six…….a whole subway...
Keep Talking: #3 But She Came Back
Keep Talking: #3 But She Came Back: The good day when the sun is out and there aren’t any constraints pulling one down into a dark place. The day when all the assig...
Keep Talking: #4 With Can Opener, Book of Poems and House
Keep Talking: #4 With Can Opener, Book of Poems and House: Just returning from a walk in the Park where we enjoyed the Conservatory Gardens. Especially, the empty Koi pond now partially...
Keep Talking: #5 With Shotgun, Middle Manager and Carnival Ride
Keep Talking: #5 With Shotgun, Middle Manager and Carnival Ride: Two women get onto the subway with identical giant red suitcases. When I say giant I mean that one suitcase alone could a...
Keep Talking: #6 With Someone Who Can't Stop Sceaming
Keep Talking: #6 With Someone Who Can't Stop Sceaming: My mother-in-law is 82 years old and suffering from mid -stage dementia. She can remember the past as far as you could th...
Keep Talking: #8 Messing With The Icarus Myth
Keep Talking: #8 Messing With The Icarus Myth: Malaysian Flight 370 disappeared over the Gulf of Thailand. From Kuala Lumpur to Beijing, the flight is missing. No contact, fam...
Keep Talking: #9 With Lizard, Tattoo and Sun God
Keep Talking: #9 With Lizard, Tattoo and Sun God: In the Bahamas there are lizards. You can be lounging in the sun next to the pool and they scamper around so quickly like little...
Keep Talking: #10 In Which Someone Has Unmasked You
Keep Talking: #10 In Which Someone Has Unmasked You: Kids come in dribs and drabs after their games and some cry, some are greeted with hugs some shrug off their losses and play on ...
Keep Talking: #11 Of Something That Doesn't Get Better
Keep Talking: #11 Of Something That Doesn't Get Better: There is this band of soft flesh that has galvanized around a portion of my torso. I refuse to allow it to rule my life so there...
Keep Talking: #12 In Which Someone Falls Down
Keep Talking: #12 In Which Someone Falls Down: I am fairly certain that the bus driver who operates the 96 th Street Crosstown gets baked, stoned, high or whatever you choose...
Keep Talking: #13 From The Sick Bed
Keep Talking: #13 From The Sick Bed: The sickbed is where the tired, weary, sweaty and weak rest until they are capable of standing on their own. Infirm, dizzy...
Keep Talking: #14 With City Bus, Sequined Dress and Jar of Marm...
Keep Talking: #14 With City Bus, Sequined Dress and Jar of Marm...: Get into the groove Boy you’ve got to prove Your love to me Get up on your feet And step to the beat Boy what will it ...
Keep Talking: #15 In Which a Scruple Arises At A Cocktail Party...
Keep Talking: #15 In Which a Scruple Arises At A Cocktail Party...: The last cocktail party I attended was an absente party. It was at my friend Wally’s new apartment in Brooklyn. He just moved ou...
Keep Talking: #16 Of Fighting About Food
Keep Talking: #16 Of Fighting About Food: We have our coats stripped off and are waiting on line for the butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. Over the yea...
Keep Talking: #17 Hello My Life
Keep Talking: #17 Hello My Life: My upstairs neighbor usually lives on some outcropped island adjacent to Hanoi. I believe he does this for most of the year. The...
Keep Talking: #18 Describe in Excruciating Detail How You Star...
Keep Talking: #18 Describe in Excruciating Detail How You Star...: 7:15 The alarm goes off. NPR wakes me up. A depressing report on Syria spoken in a soothing voice. I am exhausted. I press snooze. I he...
Keep Talking: #19 With Artichoke, Bathing Suit and Pier
Keep Talking: #19 With Artichoke, Bathing Suit and Pier: Once upon a time there was a beautiful artichoke. It did not bother anyone and it was remarkable to look at. It was the armadillo of vegeta...
Keep Talking: #20 In Which Someone Hollers, "Love the Hat!"
Keep Talking: #20 In Which Someone Hollers, "Love the Hat!": The women all collect at Au Pain Quotidian at exactly the same moment. They are an army of middle aged woman who treasure the time with t...
Keep Talking: #21 Life Is A Goat. Is Life A Goat?
Keep Talking: #21 Life Is A Goat. Is Life A Goat?: Life is a goat, a Scape Goat. I was raised with this belief. I come from a large herd of Scape Goats, or family, or just a bunch or a gro...
Keep Talking: #22 With Sage, Rosemary and Thyme
Keep Talking: #22 With Sage, Rosemary and Thyme: Let us be lovers we’ll marry our fortunes together I’ve got some real estate here in my bag Every time I speed past Newark airport I ...
Keep Talking: #23 Entitled To Silence
Keep Talking: #23 Entitled To Silence: Today I visited the Conservatory Garden, again. The Magnolia tree blossoms are a mass of elevated chubby pink angels fluttering just with...
Keep Talking: #24 Of Being Inappropriately Dressed For An Occa...
Keep Talking: #24 Of Being Inappropriately Dressed For An Occa...: Adele had been struggling with body issues for quite some time. Looking in the mirror and getting an accurate visual picture reflected ba...
Keep Talking: #25 With Broken Tooth, Haircut, and Abdominal Pain...
Keep Talking: #25 With Broken Tooth, Haircut, and Abdominal Pain...: Slowly, slowly going up the roller coaster hill. Seated, tilting backward with gravity holding you down. The earth is at an angle never see...
Keep Talking: #26 In Which Someone Fails To Move Something Too ...
Keep Talking: #26 In Which Someone Fails To Move Something Too ...: “Mom, it’s me. Can you hear me?” Her son kneels next to her, not sure if she is alive or dead with the detritus spread around her, buf...
Keep Talking: #27 How Far Back One Must Go To Find The Beginning...
Keep Talking: #27 How Far Back One Must Go To Find The Beginning...: Candy Land Chutes and Ladders Twister Trouble Sorry Jenga Mancala Uno Battleship Zingo Clue Monopoly Yatzee Apples to Apples Mouse Tr...
Keep Talking: #28 With Mouse, Radiator and Sky
Keep Talking: #28 With Mouse, Radiator and Sky: I am on Court Street in Carroll Gardens, or Cobble Hill, eating a meatball sandwich staring at the sky cause it was gonna rain any minute a...
Keep Talking: #29 Debi's Laugh
Keep Talking: #29 Debi's Laugh: I’ve much to say on her behalf yet nothing parallels Debi’s laugh it’s sort of a snort but not quite a sneeze it comes out fast m...
Keep Talking: #30 With Liar, Sissy and Rotten Egg
Keep Talking: #30 With Liar, Sissy and Rotten Egg: Guilt and shame stink like a rotten egg. A smell so foul leaves a residue of scum that lingers and is not easily scraped off. ...
Keep Talking: #31 Set Of Keys, Empty Cup and Girl With Blue Hair...
Keep Talking: #31 Set Of Keys, Empty Cup and Girl With Blue Hair...: Three sisters with blue hair are sitting on the couch. They all wear glasses and Christmas sweaters. Their physical build varies and it i...
Keep Talking: #32 Of Something I Do Remember (written on Feb.18t...
Keep Talking: #32 Of Something I Do Remember (written on Feb.18t...: All the things I forgot I remember, too. I just think that I wish they were clearer memories, but maybe that’s why I think I don’t rememb...
Keep Talking: #33 In Which You Get Out Of Lying By Saying Somet...
Keep Talking: #33 In Which You Get Out Of Lying By Saying Somet...: Another train story starting at Bleeker Street on the uptown 6. I am sitting there and three separate groups of young Asian people get on o...
Keep Talking: #34 First French Kiss
Keep Talking: #34 First French Kiss: I need a love to keep me happy. I need a love to keep me happy. Baby. Happy. Sorry to go there, but the tongue: The Rolling Stones ...
Keep Talking: #35 A Persistant Sound You Cannot Find The Source...
Keep Talking: #35 A Persistant Sound You Cannot Find The Source...: You will not believe this, but for the past hour, at least, a car alarm is hogging up the air with its howling barf. It isn’t the 90’s anym...
Keep Talking: #36 Yellow Lawn Mower, Mormon Friend and Kmart
Keep Talking: #36 Yellow Lawn Mower, Mormon Friend and Kmart: I have a Mormon friend who is intrigued by my Jewishness. When we spend time together, not more than 5 hours will pass without a reference ...
Keep Talking: #37 That's The Way It Is
Keep Talking: #37 That's The Way It Is: It is not fair. It is not fair. It is not fair. Brush your teeth and Brush your hair. You lost your mom. You lost your mom. You los...
Keep Talking: #38 Spoon, Kindergarten Teacher and Typewriter
Keep Talking: #38 Spoon, Kindergarten Teacher and Typewriter: When I met my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Figatner, for the first time I am certain I was traumatized. I had terrible separation anxiety for...
Keep Talking: #39 Vogue In The Doctor's Office
Keep Talking: #39 Vogue In The Doctor's Office: I have a few things to say about Vogue Magazine. Aside from the fact that it costs $5.99, it is useless fluff weighing about 4 pounds. ...
Keep Talking: #40 Pot & Patchouli
Keep Talking: #40 Pot & Patchouli: We pull up in front of a ramshackle tenement on 9 th Street. The brass numbers above the entrance are askew and the crescent of the 5 is c...
Keep Talking: #41 About Something That Takes A Little Time (or T...
Keep Talking: #41 About Something That Takes A Little Time (or T...: When I was walking through Dean & Deluca yesterday, I felt so happy. I have been living in NYC for 26 years and I am proud to call it m...
Keep Talking: #42 The Smell Of Money
Keep Talking: #42 The Smell Of Money: I am getting my annual breast MRI at a new location near Columbus Circle. I’m nervous because I think there will be no tiny peek-a-boo mirr...
Keep Talking: #43 In Which You Do Something Bad And Have No Remo...
Keep Talking: #43 In Which You Do Something Bad And Have No Remo...: James hated Jacob. Everyone in the third grade hated him. As a parent who hated an eight-year-old, James felt sad, pathetic and righteous. ...
Keep Talking: #44 One Woman And The Sound Of A Thousand Babies
Keep Talking: #44 One Woman And The Sound Of A Thousand Babies: How is it possible that in one day I took the subway twice with the same very cranky baby and his mom? What are the odds that I would be in...
Keep Talking: #45 Gingham Is Taking Over The World
Keep Talking: #45 Gingham Is Taking Over The World: All over the city, men are wearing the exact same patterned shirt: gingham has taken over the world. This morning as the subway was sliding...
Keep Talking: #46 City Of Brotherly Love and More Bad Parenting
Keep Talking: #46 City Of Brotherly Love and More Bad Parenting: Perched on top of that beautiful building, William Penn is presiding over the City and the view must be fabulous. She loses many games ...
Keep Talking: #47 Friendships: Old, New & Confusing
Keep Talking: #47 Friendships: Old, New & Confusing: Slithering through the years (1972). We started in New Jersey and moved West to Harrisburg in central Pennsylvania. When we realized that o...
Keep Talking: #48 Icy Lane, by my mother Evelyn Rhea Eichen Weis...
Keep Talking: #48 Icy Lane, by my mother Evelyn Rhea Eichen Weis...: ICY LANE The snow feels soft beneath my sodden feet, As falls white dandelions' feathery down, And it performs God's greatest wi...
Keep Talking: #49 Blue
Keep Talking: #49 Blue: Sitting around the pool at night and it is a strange, beautiful luminous blue; lit by underwater lamps which make the splash of fins look l...
Keep Talking: #50 Something Vanished
Keep Talking: #50 Something Vanished: For two weeks it was out of sight and A didn’t care much. Compensating for the missing __________ was easy enough. It didn’t cost a lot and...
Keep Talking: #51 Never Again
Keep Talking: #51 Never Again: “If anyone is separated from their child, there is a TA employee with them at 59 th Street.” It is 33 rd Street or 23 rd or 51 st w...
Keep Talking: #52 Age Of Innocence
Keep Talking: #52 Age Of Innocence: In.no.cent. adj. 1. free from moral wrong. 2. not guilty (of a crime, etc.).3a simple;guileless. b pretending to be guileless. 4 harmless. ...
Keep Talking: #53 Ten Years Of My Life, Using Three Word Senten...
Keep Talking: #53 Ten Years Of My Life, Using Three Word Senten...: Painting large paintings. Painted tiny paintings. Wallpaper flowery collages. Great Soho studio. Met cool people. Mourned a relations...
Keep Talking: #54 Blue Girl
Keep Talking: #54 Blue Girl: I’m sitting on the Uptown 6 train and a woman gets on. Her hair is blue, not ordinary blue but cerulean blue which reminds me of fuchsia he...
Keep Talking: #55 Red Chair, Bunch of Knives and a Man Named Roc...
Keep Talking: #55 Red Chair, Bunch of Knives and a Man Named Roc...: The kid won 1 st place in her chess section. She just moved up recently, and won first place in two separate tournaments. I’m sure the fam...
Keep Talking: #56 Shelter Island
Keep Talking: #56 Shelter Island: Rice, wind and water. Wind pours through the trees: a giant bag of rice pours onto a table Eyes closed. I can see the inlet where s...
Keep Talking: #57 Tight Jeans. Ugh.
Keep Talking: #57 Tight Jeans. Ugh.: Sadie is too young for this. For most of her life everything fit fine. Clothes fit her well and were easy to put on and take off. She likes...
Keep Talking: #58 A Banksy Knock-Off And The Teenage Threat
Keep Talking: #58 A Banksy Knock-Off And The Teenage Threat: Early last week, Essie walked down the same section of Broadway between Houston and Prince that she always traversed. It had been years and...
Keep Talking: #59 Brindle French Bulldog on the Uptown 6 Train
Keep Talking: #59 Brindle French Bulldog on the Uptown 6 Train: Back on the uptown 6 train, Lorraine is sitting next to a tall black man with colorful patches of Africa all over his denim shirt. They are...
Keep Talking: #60 I Went To Yale. I Went To Yale.
Keep Talking: #60 I Went To Yale. I Went To Yale.: I went to Yale. I went to Yale. My mom is coming to town this weekend. She is coming to town. He beat his arms against the window in a rh...
Keep Talking: #61 Beautiful Balloons From Big Hearts.
Keep Talking: #61 Beautiful Balloons From Big Hearts.: Essie suffered some losses recently. The losses were hard for her, but harder on loved ones even closer to those who passed: beloved in way...
Keep Talking: #62 I Turn 53 on Friday: Clown Time Is Over. Not ...
Keep Talking: #62 I Turn 53 on Friday: Clown Time Is Over. Not ...: In the scheme of tragedies, and miracles which surround us- it is no big deal. But that is wrong. I just finished Lowlands , by Jumpa Lahir...
Keep Talking: #63 The Three Little Pigs And The Cowardly Lion.
Keep Talking: #63 The Three Little Pigs And The Cowardly Lion.: Essie has been thinking a lot about courage. One thing on her mind is the tale of the Three Little Pigs, especially the picture of the bric...
Keep Talking: #64 Thanks Giving.
Keep Talking: #64 Thanks Giving.: There is a certain buzz in the air on public transportation today. Essie is thinking about the small plastic bottles, textured in the shape...
Keep Talking: #65 Elf On A Shelf!
Keep Talking: #65 Elf On A Shelf!: Don’t mind me with my pointy nose and sparkly, twinkly eyes and my Grinch Who Stole Christmas grin! I will sit here and collect December du...
Keep Talking: #66 Mortar, Pestle & Gingerbread Cookies.
Keep Talking: #66 Mortar, Pestle & Gingerbread Cookies.: You are so tired you cannot lift yourself up. It is as if your body is being ground to tiny bits like allspice and pepper corns with a mort...
Keep Talking: #67 Out To Dinner On A Freezing Friday Night In NY...
Keep Talking: #67 Out To Dinner On A Freezing Friday Night In NY...: Walking to the restaurant on Second Avenue in the 90’s requires stepping over a fallen traffic light with a wire stretching into the broken...
Keep Talking: #68 Ten Flights Of Stairs In Soho And A Cigarette...
Keep Talking: #68 Ten Flights Of Stairs In Soho And A Cigarette...: Because this is my blog, I realize I can do whatever I want. Which is what I thought I was already doing- except I will try something diffe...
Keep Talking: #69 Ice Fields.
Keep Talking: #69 Ice Fields.: Jim, Lisa, Izz and Suzan were connected. Izz was in art school in Chicago and was dating Suzan. Jim lived in Wisconsin and Lisa was visitin...
Keep Talking: #70 Coming Clean About My Tween.
Keep Talking: #70 Coming Clean About My Tween.: My daughter turns 12 next month. She is in 6 th grade and now attends a public middle school in NYC. She commutes by a MTA bus 20 blocks t...
Keep Talking: #71 Where Have You Been?
Keep Talking: #71 Where Have You Been?: Gillie hadn’t seen his brother in 30 years. He wasn’t sure when and where their paths uncrossed, but occasionally he pondered it. Likewis...
Keep Talking: #72 Review Of Sally Gil's Installation At Jack Ge...
Keep Talking: #72 Review Of Sally Gil's Installation At Jack Ge...: Yes, I think it’s going to be a long, long time Till touchdown brings me 'round again to find I’m not the man they think I am at ...
Keep Talking: #73 La Guardia Airport and Thinking You're Losing...
Keep Talking: #73 La Guardia Airport and Thinking You're Losing...: Traveling from a Marriot long term parking facility in a van with sleep deprived until hysterical merry pranksters who are wearing flight w...
Keep Talking: #74 My Parent's Keeper
Keep Talking: #74 My Parent's Keeper: Essie called La Toya on her cell phone. They hadn't spoken before and when La Toya answered she heard some newish hip-hoppish stuff play...
Keep Talking: #75 Mary and Me
Keep Talking: #75 Mary and Me: It was time to haul her sorry ass out of the house. She was tired of feeling that feeling. That one she felt when something good didn’t hap...
Keep Talking: #76 Daffodil On 45th Street
Keep Talking: #76 Daffodil On 45th Street: A daffodil grew up the hill and a chocolate egg fell down. It is 45 th Street and the flowers smell really great next to the pile of garba...
Keep Talking: #77 "Dear Family, I Love You" said Cancer.
Keep Talking: #77 "Dear Family, I Love You" said Cancer.: They are little jelly bean cells. All different colors stacked next to each other. Smooth and round. They are multiplying like an animate...
Keep Talking: #78 Cinco De Mayo
Keep Talking: #78 Cinco De Mayo: The Moon is hanging out in the sky full of itself ready to explode with orange-gold dust all over the streets sprinkling on the river. It i...
Keep Talking: #79 Psychotic Arthritis
Keep Talking: #79 Psychotic Arthritis: It is the first day of June. Cold and rainy. A woman selling boots in a shoe store said, "this weather is strange. I'm not sure i...
Keep Talking: #80 The Last Day Of June.
Keep Talking: #80 The Last Day Of June.: The sun has been shining for three days. Winter was interminable and sunshine is still unbelievable. Each day Essie walks outside and the su...
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
#80 The Last Day Of June.
The sun has been shining for three days. Winter was interminable and sunshine is still unbelievable. Each day Essie walks outside and the sun is out she still cannot believe her eyes. Her body is still prepared to recoil in response to harsh wind, cold rain or snow pellets. Each overcast afternoon prepares her for the unexpected change. Waterproof Uggs, foul weather gear, full face ski mask.
Protection.
Last week, it rained and umbrellas were turned inside out. Some caught wind and spun upward getting tangled in tree branches, along with garbage bags. She slid her windows shut and retreated beneath her covers expecting clouds to take over for the rest of the week, or month.
Awoken from a dream by cooing doves outside her window, the sun surprised her. Was she really awake? Her cat stretched and pawed her leg then curled between her ankles. Sun strained through the blinds and covered her bed.
Outside the sun caressed her hair as soft wind swept through the green leaves. Rustling easily, carelessly as if never bruised and bent by icicles pushing down branches threatening to test their strength.
Her cat hops off the bed and finds the golden rectangle patch on the carpet and naps. Essie stands at the traffic light and time stands still.
Protection.
Last week, it rained and umbrellas were turned inside out. Some caught wind and spun upward getting tangled in tree branches, along with garbage bags. She slid her windows shut and retreated beneath her covers expecting clouds to take over for the rest of the week, or month.
Awoken from a dream by cooing doves outside her window, the sun surprised her. Was she really awake? Her cat stretched and pawed her leg then curled between her ankles. Sun strained through the blinds and covered her bed.
Outside the sun caressed her hair as soft wind swept through the green leaves. Rustling easily, carelessly as if never bruised and bent by icicles pushing down branches threatening to test their strength.
Her cat hops off the bed and finds the golden rectangle patch on the carpet and naps. Essie stands at the traffic light and time stands still.
Monday, June 1, 2015
#79 Psychotic Arthritis
It is the first day of June. Cold and rainy.
A woman selling boots in a shoe store said, "this weather is strange. I'm not sure if I like it or not."
I knew exactly what she meant and bought the boots.
I may have been in a dissociated state and retail therapy was not what the doctor ordered, however, what the doctor just ordered was emotionally expensive and my psyche was paying by avoiding the fact that my body is aging. It is undeniable and really, really obnoxious and rude.
I haven't told anyone this, but for the past few weeks I've been having quasi-hallucinations of cockroaches crawling up my legs. Lots of them are claiming real estate on each of my calves: from my ankles to right below my knees. Being in the mental health profession sends amber alert warning signs signaling to not let this go too far. If it goes too far, it will surge past the edge of reality. Frankly, I don't have time for that at the moment, so I just notice them and their loving adherence to my lower legs.
Disgusting. But what can I do?
I quit a professional group last week. This is a problem I run into now and again. It's like I have x-ray vision and I can see through everyone and their self-deception which leads the train off the rails and things get very disorganized. I have no patience for that, and know for political reasons and some social ones, that I must keep my mouth shut and try to work it through and let the phase pass.
It didn't.
And the truth, which is exploding within me, must stay there and I made the decision to leave which is awkward and humiliating and makes me question myself, and the meaning or importance (necessity?) of truth, honesty and self deception. All topics which capture my imagination. Clearly, not anyone else's in the group, so call me the crazy one and let the roaches go at me.
I have been in physical therapy for the past seven weeks because my knees hurt. There has been very little improvement so today I went to a Bone Guy. After mutual amusement with my X-ray technician, I waited a long, long time in a freezing examination room. A young PA entered, pulled my X-ray up on the screen and proceeded to explain that I have osteoarthritis. He pointed to the cloudy white spaces where cartilage should be, like when I was "15". I made a visual reference in my head and saw young, plump, healthy knees. Young.
Young knees with lots of cartilage.
I won't bore you with what came next, but I did receive cortisone injections in each knee and will receive more injections (once approved by my insurance company) which will mimic cartilage for six months, if I am lucky. Oil my knees up like the Tin Man and I'll do a creaky clanky little jig, in my lass sassy way.
So the truth is in my knees. It is really there, on the screen. Plain as day.
A woman selling boots in a shoe store said, "this weather is strange. I'm not sure if I like it or not."
I knew exactly what she meant and bought the boots.
I may have been in a dissociated state and retail therapy was not what the doctor ordered, however, what the doctor just ordered was emotionally expensive and my psyche was paying by avoiding the fact that my body is aging. It is undeniable and really, really obnoxious and rude.
I haven't told anyone this, but for the past few weeks I've been having quasi-hallucinations of cockroaches crawling up my legs. Lots of them are claiming real estate on each of my calves: from my ankles to right below my knees. Being in the mental health profession sends amber alert warning signs signaling to not let this go too far. If it goes too far, it will surge past the edge of reality. Frankly, I don't have time for that at the moment, so I just notice them and their loving adherence to my lower legs.
Disgusting. But what can I do?
I quit a professional group last week. This is a problem I run into now and again. It's like I have x-ray vision and I can see through everyone and their self-deception which leads the train off the rails and things get very disorganized. I have no patience for that, and know for political reasons and some social ones, that I must keep my mouth shut and try to work it through and let the phase pass.
It didn't.
And the truth, which is exploding within me, must stay there and I made the decision to leave which is awkward and humiliating and makes me question myself, and the meaning or importance (necessity?) of truth, honesty and self deception. All topics which capture my imagination. Clearly, not anyone else's in the group, so call me the crazy one and let the roaches go at me.
I have been in physical therapy for the past seven weeks because my knees hurt. There has been very little improvement so today I went to a Bone Guy. After mutual amusement with my X-ray technician, I waited a long, long time in a freezing examination room. A young PA entered, pulled my X-ray up on the screen and proceeded to explain that I have osteoarthritis. He pointed to the cloudy white spaces where cartilage should be, like when I was "15". I made a visual reference in my head and saw young, plump, healthy knees. Young.
Young knees with lots of cartilage.
I won't bore you with what came next, but I did receive cortisone injections in each knee and will receive more injections (once approved by my insurance company) which will mimic cartilage for six months, if I am lucky. Oil my knees up like the Tin Man and I'll do a creaky clanky little jig, in my lass sassy way.
So the truth is in my knees. It is really there, on the screen. Plain as day.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
#78 Cinco De Mayo
The Moon is hanging out in the sky
full of itself ready to explode with orange-gold dust all over the streets sprinkling
on the river. It is heavy, pregnant, like a stray cat mewing and rubbing
against my leg begging for attention.
If I walk away, it won’t.
It stays- like just another Tuesday
night. Nothing else matters and the Moon lands like a giant spaceship (A twist on the idea of moon landing) settling
here
Near
And maybe a secret door will open,
like the door in The Giant Peach which travelled across the Atlantic Ocean
housing insects, and James. Pulled by thick silk strands from a giant, blind frightened silk worm, in the beaks of sea gulls.
The Moon will land in Sheep’s
Meadow at midnight. No one will see it arrive
Or leave.
What will it leave in its wake?
Giant, friendly insects
Lost children searching for a home
A plate of enchiladas
An idea of something more
Moon
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