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In the neighborhood

Paving First Avenue. Now they're putting down a zillion lines for traffic. I don't know what all those boxes & stripes are supposed to mean. Does anyone? (I'll try to remember to take pictures.)


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Another treasure, the provenance of which is lost. 


I once bought a lutefisk TV dinner for the plastic cover with its scan of the lutefisk & potatoes. I threw the food away many blocks from me. 


Y'all know about lutefisk, right? Cod cured in lye, a Scandinavian "delicacy." My dad had his office in a small building called the Nordic Hall, where the Sons of Norway had their lutefisk dinners. I am here to tell you that lutefisk smells awful. I got Myron Floren's autograph at a Sons of Norway event. Only one person, my accordion-playing friend Rachelle, was every excited about this revelation.


I also had a book of lutefisk cartoons that to my chagrin has long since disappeared. The only one I remember was a golden-arches fast food McOlson's LutefiskBurgers, with the display "1 sold." (Oh my, there's one copy available at Amazon for $1,999.99. Free shipping!)

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Finally found the postcard of our front door (see June 25). (Does this mean I can stop searching'n'cleaning?) Our super, Jeff, made the sign. I still am astonished that it worked. That was pretty much his entire success as super. 


Jeff, not yet 60, is now living in a nursing home in Maine, his memory destroyed, I assume from HIV. The last time I spoke with him he didn't know who I was or any of our mutual friends. Several others have died & I think only Maggie & I still live in the Pound from those days. 

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Sam Shepard

Alex Neil, me, Sam Shepard, circa 1991. 

When Sam Shepard died almost 2 years ago, I looked high & low for this photo of him. Today I looked everywhere for a "don't piss here" postcard & found this photo. Alex was filming a documentary on Kerouac & Shepard was one of the people we interviewed.

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In the neighborhood

Not just the neighborhood, that’s my front door. The graffitti won’t be there long, if our landlord’s recent (fency!) past is anything to go on. Long ago, when the area was much less bustling, the super had to post a sign on our door: “don’t piss here.” Which worked, to my surprise. No one ever used our doorway as a urinal again. Someone made a postcard of the doorway. I’ll find & post it. 

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Monday Quote

We all know that prime ministers are wedded to the truth, but like other married couples they sometimes live apart.
~ Saki


Seems like a good reminder as half the countries in the world seem to be choosing leaders, in one way or another.

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Sunday in the Park with Robyn

It's the summer of adventure! Robyn up for anything & today it was the Conservatory Garden. The neighborhood around the train hints at the East Village from my early days. The birds—wren? nuthatch? sparrow?—bathe with obvious enjoyment in a fountain. Something violet in a strip of white & red. It's OK that I don't know what I'm seeing. I see it. 

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Water Heron Rock


Rock standing still

looks no closer

than water



great blue heron

intent on dinner

ignoring our desire

that it spread


shadow wing


mushy leaves

mill ruin


dog path

Carolina wedge



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The tree & the forest

When JetBlue emailed me to say my return flight from Ecuador had changed, I noticed it left Ft Lauderdale 3 minutes earlier than before & they had put me in a different seat. Much to-do later, I was all set.


The next day Willis pointed out that the flight was actually a whole day earlier, not just three minutes.

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This year, there will be more people over 65 than under 5 for the first time in human history. One word: robots.


I miss being cute.

I miss believing everybody wants to sleep with me.

I miss not being the grownup.

I miss driving around and the only concern is affording gas. 

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