Definitely times I'm not proud of my home state. Like when I find out that mask use there is the lowest in the country & infection rates the highest. C'mon, people!
It's a joke I've repeated for years: Vote early, vote often.
Today I was so moved to go to the polls with my fellow citizens that I really did wish I could vote every day. I know voting isn't all there is to democracy, but I think at every election of my dad, who had no citizenship at all for 10 years. Germany took it away & America made him wait. Voting meant he was a citizen, a participant in his country & community, a man of worth & substance. It's possible that I have never missed a single election since my first, when I voted for my home state senator George McGovern.
My mom (Joyce), Hazel, Beryl, & Pat were cousins who were close in age & grew up together in Liverpool. Joyce (daughter of Jack Phillips) married an American GI & moved to the States, while Hazel & Beryl (daughters of Ernie) & Pat (daughter of Maud) stayed in Liverpool. I didn't know that side of the family as well as the Woodlands, my grandmother's side, but I got to know Hazel when she flew on her own to Arizona for my mother's 90th birthday celebration, she herself only a couple months shy of 90. She lit up the room with her blue hair, her jokes & her joie de vivre. When I visited her in Liverpool a couple of years later, I was expecting to sit around & look at family photos but she whirled me around the area (what a lead foot driver!), to Lewis Carroll's childhood church, a park, historic spots. the Cathedral, & to the house my mother had grown up in & Anfield Cemetery across the road, where my granddad & numerous other relatives are buried.
The day I had train tickets from Edinburgh to Liverpool to see her this March was the day I had to scramble for a flight back to New York. I was disappointed but planned to go back as soon as it was possible. Then came her news that she was "yellow as a banana." Then an operation & daily morphine & today an email from her son with the sad news. As my mother said, She was a darling.
As nightfall does not come all at once, neither does oppression.
~ William O. Douglas (1898-1980)
Noted defender of the First Amendment, one of the youngest-ever Supreme Court justices (appointed by FDR at age 40), & apparently a terrible person in his private life. But this is a good reminder to remain vigilant & not take any rights for granted. I'm thrilled to see the long lines of people voting!
I left Manhattan for the first time since mid-March. Robyn & I rode our bikes over the Williamsburg Bridge & hung out in Domino Park. I hadn't been to that part of Brooklyn since 2014, when we went to see Kara Walker's Subtlety, a "sugar sphinx," before the old Domino Sugar factory was razed. It was weird-not weird to have a normal afternoon of hanging out with a friend, doing something a little different, chitchatting about our lives & not about the topics that seem unescapable so much of the time.
I'm thinking about how much I hate the word survivor. "L--- says she survived sexual abuse by M---." Meaning what? He didn't kill her? She didn't kill herself? Am I a survivor of arthroscopic surgery for a torn meniscus? "As a survivor of a sprained ankle…" What else have I survived? Tens of thousands of miles of hitchhiking, my mother's cooking, family drama, 1960s TV, 11 karate promotions, the air of September 12…. I'm a survivor of B--- sticking his tongue in my mouth thinking that's social kissing. A survivor of Sei Shihan Walter's 10 o'clock class. A survivor of Miss Kleinsasser's senior English class. Of my own ridiculousness.
Apparently cats don't know how to wear masks either.
Because I am taking an intensive language & culture class in Norwegian, I not surprisingly have been giving a lot of thought to language, grammar, & the like. Part of it is why one language appeals or not. I think I am drawn to Norwegian because my dad was German & there are a lot of similarities, without some of the drawbacks; because it is illuminating my own language to me, in a way that Spanish probably wouldn't do; because i grew up around Scandinavians & it's a somewhat familiar world; and because some unknown spark captured me.
It's making me think about how much we can learn about early people through linguistic archaeology. Is that a real thing? It has to be... yes! Although almost every NYPL title on the topic sounds like a PhD theses. Isn't there someone who can write a popular history that connects language with history? We know who we are because we figure out who we were.
We had the word "isbjørn" in class last night, which I realized meant polar bear, mostly because the sentence said you could see isbjørner in the streets of Svalbard, an island off (& belonging to) Norway that is home to many bears. Polar bears were once symbols of ferocity & adventure, and now represent a sad outcome of our assault on nature.
It is not that power corrupts but that it is magnetic to the corruptible.
~ Frank Herbert
That's pithy but comes from a longer, equally thought-provoking quote:
All governments suffer a recurring problem: Power attracts pathological personalities. It is not that power corrupts but that it is magnetic to the corruptible. Such people have a tendency to become drunk on violence, a condition to which they are quickly addicted.
When I lived in Maine, each of the 4 other people I lived with read Dune (the best-selling science fiction novel of all time) & got depressed, which lasted till the next person finished. That was a grim month & I skipped my turn. I know nothing about Herbert, except that it's his centennary this month, although he died in 1986.
I'm always excited when I remember to look at nature, although this odd tree would be hard to overlook. Except for snow, there never seems more to say about trees, sunlight, bugs. They have their world, I have mine.
The Norwegian word for "birch" (which this isn't) is "bjørk."
Possibly the most extravagant thing I/we have ever done is buy these two paintings. Each enhances & refers to the other, somehow. I hadn't noticed the line across the top of the one on the left (the one we bought first) until I saw a similar line on the other.
In this photo they are flanking the Wedding Shelf. I no longer remember who gave us anything except the Welsh love spoon, a gift of my Auntie May, who lived in Cardiff.
Janice Biala was Ford Madox Ford's last girlfriend/wife. I love that I have this tangible link to my favorite author. I love the paintings too—they are both restful and energizing.
I've known & loved Johnny way more than half my life. In my book about him, My Marriage A to Z, I wrote this:
Quotidian. At a certain point, the anecdotes and highlights run out. It's the dailiness—the quotidian—that matters. It's recognizing his tread on the steps of our building, knowing his exact look in some specific situation. Once I called from the other room, "Can I read you something?"
He said, "Is it the caption of a New Yorker cartoon?"
"Oh, do I have a special voice for that?"
So it seems. His knowing this one exact thing about me seems to be as important as anything else in our whole life.
That was years ago. The other day, he said, Oh wow! I said, is there a basketball game. And there was. It seems he has a special voice for that, one I recognize. It pleased me to be heard by him & just as much to hear him. This is our life.
I'd like to meet the person who wrote this. The few, the birthdayers, the ridiculous. That's me (& pretty much my whole family). Our calendar is a birthday calendar. Our song the birthday song.
I've probably posted this in my blog before, but in sorrow at & in honor of the passing of the Chairman of the Board, the great Whitey Ford (3rd Hall of Fame pitcher to die within a few weeks):
I. The Five Greatest Poets of the Twentieth Century
William Carlos Williams
II. The Five Greatest Mechanics of the Twentieth Century
Ford Madox Ford
Tennessee Ernie Ford
When Mark & I went to Mexico in 1981, I wanted to buy a toy typewriter to take with me. I couldn't find one & made do with a giant notebook. Now I own that toy typewriter, an iPad that weighs a pound. In 1981, any typewriter that could do what this iPad does was unimaginable.
Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. ~ Thoreau
that's the iPad feeling, indeed.
I like it & am happy I bought it
but it distracted me for days
The relic of the tooth of Buddha (Pali danta dhātuya) is venerated at the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, a Buddhist temple in the city of Kandy, Sri Lanka, in the royal palace complex of the former Kingdom of Kandy. It was completed in 1595. There are others of his teeth in various places, one of which, in California, is said to still be growing & is now 3" long.
I forgot I was doing the panoramic shot of my office piece by piece. This is in front of me as i sit at my main desk. So many treasures.
Today was one of those busy days of satisfying errands: biked over to the west village to drop off 50 postcards to Michigan votes (half of them done by my neighbor Louis), did a tech check for a little reading I'm doing on Monday for the Brooklyn Rail. My goodness, they have such lovely & competent young women, who are so reassuring. I got to step foot into my synagogue for a minute, pick up & drop off library books, buy the nice fluffy pita from Holy Land. Very early I went to Key Food, which continues to have Old People Hours, for cat litter & tricolor rotini. And baba ghanoush, which I don't think I like. How can I cover it up & still eat it? What about mixing it with cottage cheese, which Johnny bought but doesn't really like. I bought printer ink & a pair of pretty socks. I've been printing a lot of poems & a lot of text for my Norwegian class. And there's still some karate to come! Assuming I can stay awake for another hour.
And now for something completely different......
Laughing on Ice
Come with me & let the moonlight
turn to ice in our hands
Find the stars in our pockets
spend them on diamonds
Come with me & let ice turn to moonlight
& fall from our fingers
The endless fascination of trying to communicate with an alien. He kisses me with blinks so I know he loves me, but he uses his sharp little teeth & claws way too freely. His latest game is to moan to go out. He goes up a flight of stairs then calls for me. I go into the hall & he meets me on the steps, pushing his head into mine & purring loudly. Then he follows me home. He often sleeps nearby. So sweet ... & so many timeouts.
A despot doesn't fear eloquent writers preaching freedom. He fears a drunken poet who may crack a joke that will take hold.
~ E. B. White
I had sort of thought I would go somewhere else this week, but here I am. Hopeful!
It wasn't any random roof, it was in the West 30s where Upstart Creatures decided to try out LIVE THEATER. Carefully. Everyone in the cast was tested a day or two before, seats were 6' apart & the actors (who unmasked only when they spoke) were 10' away from the audience. We had our temperatures taken on arrival (dang it, even though I rode my bike & was overheated, I still didn't get anywhere near 98°).
The play was Oedipus Tyrannus—a flawed leader during a plague. Brilliant but I think I would have been happy if I were watching a play in Flemish. It was so good to be around others, communally watching theater happen. I don't suppose I've ever appreciated live theater so much.
Another Poem About All the Love in the World
what's wrong with being superficial, anyway?
what's under Manhattan?
rocks, roots 'n' rats
excuse me, can I have a bite of your slice?
if you were a pigeon, would you care if you died?
excuse me, how tall are you?
are pigeons more enlightened than we are?
why didn't someone tell me how awful it was
I don't expect god to tell me what to do
excuse me, why are you walking so fast?
excuse me, how are you able to walk so fast?
excuse me, who won the game?
the head it hurts
the mind it aches
the eye forgets to see
woke up, smoked a secret cigarette, had torrid sex,
ate an everything bagel (toasted) with cream cheese,
worked hard, slept well, went
to the beach, oh this life of ours,
it will go on like this
forever because why would it change when I love it so much
I've committed to making an hour's worth or two dozen calls pretty much every day for as long as i'm needed. (Today it was 30 calls.) It turns out to be fun, once I got over the shyness of doing a new thing. Well, I did make calls in other elections but this time around, it's easier: there's training, lots of check-ins, organizers who quickly answer your questions, & even a counter (when it works) so I know how long & how many calls I've been doing.
I do love chatting with people. I'm amazed how many answer the phone & are forthcoming. Today my two favorite people were the woman who said yes, she would love to volunteer, & the couple who said after the "debate" debacle, their staunchly Republican son had said he wasn't going to vote for tRump. He also wasn't going to vote for Biden but he had pulled back from tRump.
Michigan because it's a battleground state but you can find phone banking going on wherever there's a competitive race.