Elinor Nauen

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

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. 

Water Heron Rock

 

Rock standing still

looks no closer

than water

rushing

 

great blue heron

intent on dinner

ignoring our desire

that it spread

 

shadow wing

over

mushy leaves

mill ruin

 

dog path

Carolina wedge

not-quite-cloudy

sky

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.

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. 

You can kill a man, but you can't kill an idea.

~ Medgar Evers (1925-63)

 

Do young people know who Medgar Evers was? Mississippi civil rights activist, the state's field secretary for the NAACP, a World War II veteran. After the Brown decision in 1954, he was denied admission to the University of Mississippi Law School, but was instrumental in the eventual desegregation of "Ole Miss" in 1962. Assassinated. His widow spent 30 years pursuing Byron De La Beckwith, who'd been acquitted by an all-white jury—Beckwith was finally convicted 30 years later & died in prison, still an unrepentant segregationist, from all accounts. 

 

 

Marble Cemetery looking towards 3rd St, 8 a.m. today. I don't know that I've ever seen it so green. Every spring, the magnolia tree blossoms briefly & I wonder how many more times I'll see it.