The Long Walk

 

It is interesting to watch how some sentient beings walk. I took my usual stroll to the grocery store and passed by the European bakery with heavy chocolate ganache frosting on yellow cake and a purple coffee machine that dispenses cheap coffee. I can see through the window the lady who takes orders and parades like in protest back and forth between the jam filled cookies and unsliced rye bread. 

Passing the local park there are tons of children playing. There are 3 children wearing tee shirts and jeans pretending to march and pace and shuffle like army soldiers. Toddlers abound crawling and toddle and edge towards the grey pigeons. Lucky for the pigeons they can amble quicker than the toddlers. 

The winter trees are trying so hard to grow their spring leaves but the branches hobble and stagger and sway in the still biting winter wind.  

An unexpected man with a white coat, orange pants and a green hat stumbles and staggers to a bench to sober up. 

A black cat sashays in a confident way making sure she is seen so she can be fed by local animal lovers. I think she has kittens.  

In my distraction I tripped over and almost fell. I hopped and lunged and scrambled and looked like a waddling duck to regain my balance. Hoping no one would notice.  

It’s a long trek to the grocery store, I try not to rush or skip the aisle of bread and milk and cookies. The veggie carts are holding purple grapes, red apples, and lettuce of six varieties, orange carrots, yellow potatoes, green parsley and white turnips.  

It’s a sprint to the meat case and I have to sneak and creep past ancient women inspecting the ground beef.  

I had to stop wandering around looking at every sale item because I had to pace my walk back home.  

A lady tried to cut me on the exit line, but I loped in front of her regaining my position on the line.  

As soon as I checked out, I rushed home because I didn’t expect to do so much sightseeing time on this trip. I walked with short quick steps and advanced quickly to get home.  

Finally, I dashed up the stairs with my heavy bags of groceries and plodded to the stove to start cooking.  

After cooking and eating and cleaning up I tiptoe to my favorite chair and relax in front of the TV to watch the local walking five-mile marathon. 

Georgia

2.2022 

Someone I May Have Met

 

On one of my early rides to Montauk Point with my old friend Vinny, I probably met someone famous, but chose not to ask his identity as it was not offered. We had packed our bags that morning and after attempting to sleep through the day, while fighting our internal clocks, we arose and ate a hearty meal to fuel the trek before us.

 Leaving at ten o’clock p.m. we headed out into the night. As it was late Summer, the sun had set a little over an hour before. The roads were quiet as we headed south down Woodhaven Boulevard bearing left onto Rockaway Boulevard and down to South Conduit East which hugged the Belt Parkway. This highway would eventually change into Sunrise Highway at the Nassau County border. Avoiding potholes, we rolled through the battered streets of the poor neighborhood. Groups of people sat on their stoops and leaned against parked cars. Caribbean music played as men played along on bongos and kettle drums while the smell of exotic tropical foods intoxicated the hot summer air with a wonderful bouquet from various islands. Stores advertised live chickens and goats for slaughter as we had been miraculously transported to a tropical island somewhere in the Caribbean Sea. A few people waved at the white boys traveling through the neighborhood at this unlikely hour. No one bothered us.

 The night rolled along as urban streets eventually gave way to rural roadways without potholes and our pace quickened. As the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon and the energy from our previous meal was almost spent, we pedaled along in search of a diner or delicatessen. My gas tank was almost on E at this point, and I hadn’t looked at the map in a while but from occasional road signs I determined that we were somewhere in the Hamptons. Finally, a General Store came rolling by and we stopped for a break. The store smelled wonderful to two hungry teenagers like the fragrance department in Macy’s on 34^th Street to a woman being treated to the latest fragrances by attendants as she walked down the main aisle in the cosmetics department. Eggs, bacon, cheese and toast seduced us as thick, nutty brown Colombian coffee bubbled in the pot. Sirens could not have been more alluring as we were drawn to the shoals of the counter happily turning out our pockets for this much deserved feast. There must have been an orange grove behind the store as the orange juice tasted fresh squeezed! We happily disposed of overlooked pits, into our provided napkins.

As we sat on the steps of the General Store enjoying our breakfast a large black, shiny Rolls Royce pulled into the parking lot stopping a few feet away from us. A chauffeur got out of the driver’s seat in a trim blue suit and cap and proceeded to open the door behind him to let out a small man dressed in a suit and overcoat, sporting a Fedora with a wide band around the base. His skin had a white, pasty pallor and he wore dark black sunglasses which revealed little of the face beneath. His overcoat seemed too heavy for the time of year.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said with a southern drawl intertwined in a lisp.

“Good morning,” we responded in unison.

“You picked a nice day for a bike ride, how far have you come?” He queried.

“We left Queens at ten p.m. last night to take advantage of the cooler temperatures and quiet roads devoid of maniac drivers. We are heading for the Montauk Lighthouse,” I told him.

“Very impressive,” he said!

Vinny and I looked at each other and Vinny said under his breath,” Do you know who that is?”

“I think so,” I whispered.

Truman Capote did have a place out here in the Hamptons during that time and this man certainly fit his description to a tee. I had seen him on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. There was something about the thick sunglasses and tinted windows on the limousine which told me not to ask his identity. I was curious though as my father had just finished reading In Cold Blood and told me that it was very well written. I left the subject alone.

The chauffeur came out of the store now handing his purchase to our new acquaintance. He opened the rear door again and the man got in. The chauffeur closed the door and with a thin smile tipped his hat to us and got back behind the wheel. The rear electric window rolled down now, and the mystery man said,” Godspeed on your ride and be safe!”

“Goodbye and Thank You,” we responded.

The car pulled out of the lot and disappeared down the road bringing the man back to his secluded abode. 

“Was that Truman Capote?” Vinny asked.

“I am pretty sure it was, but something told me not to ask. He comes here to be left alone with his thoughts and write; you have to respect that,” I said.

We agreed that this had been the best course of action as we pedaled on to the famous beacon at Montauk.

 

Jim

Feb 2022

Eric Satie

 

Here I am in one of the many cafés where Eric Satie plays his trance like music. Let’s see if I can get his attention. 

I cough loudly and raise my hand waving to get this master musicians attention. 

“Mr. Satie, Mr. Satie, can I have a few words with you?” trying not to shout. 

Mr. Satie swings around on the piano bench, lowers his glasses and smiles.  

He gets up from the piano and heads in my direction. I am almost speechless. 

I am star struck and Mr. Satie knows it, I am sure he has seen this look in many of his fans. Graciously he sits down and kisses my hand. So romantic, so gallant.  

“Mr. Satie” I say, and he interrupts “Please call me Eric.” 

“Eric thanks for sitting at my table. I so admire your courage to create your own music in your own style and in your own time. How did you do it, how did you keep from buckling under peer pressure and the expectations of society to fit in with everyone else?” 

Eric gives a belly laugh “It was quite easy for me; I just knew in my bones and intuition that the only route for me was my art. Nothing else mattered; I just kept going and handled any obstacle that came up. Peer pressure became nonexistent and a large part of society was accepting of my music. Those were just two of the markers that kept me going.” 

“So simple and wonderful advice, I needed to hear this.” I said. Eric looked at me and muttered something about being glad to help and rushed away because he had to begin a new concert.  

I listened to his three gymnopedies and was swept away; his work is minimalist and abstract at the same time, serene and notes drifting in the air moment to moment. 

I relaxed my mind and reentered the atmosphere of the café. Feeling renewed ever so gently I exited the café and walked down the rain-soaked cobblestone back to my home with the advice of Eric Satie: stay close and true to your art, this is all that matters. 

Georgia P

FAMOUS

 

I get very excited when I meet a famous person. Maybe I think their aura will rub off on me. “Attention, attention!! The Pope will be appearing shortly,” the announcer blared. We were in the Vatican courtyard. What a blessing! He sure is famous and I sure am excited. What ecstatic joy. “Ben, look, look that man standing on the corner of 5th Avenue is famous. I recognize him, but I’m not sure where I know him from.” Ben is looking at me as a pathetic groupie,” Ethyl, he just waited on us in Saks men’s department store.” No; he’s not famous.

But you know who is famous; my husband, he’s famous. I married this plain young man from Middle Village, Queens over 65 years ago, and who would imagine, he would become famous? He might be considered famous for staying married to me, but no, he has greater fame even though he is no dignitary or celebrity.

I think that if there is a picture and a chapter in a best seller nonfiction book about you, one can say you’re famous. City For Sale by Jack Neufield and Wayne Barrett came into the bookstores during the Koch administration. He and Mannes had much reckoning to do about all the unsavory events going on in NYC.  Among these events, Mannes was pushing the development of a Grand Prix racetrack in Flushing Meadows Corona Park. Ben was the head of the committee to stop the building of the track in a city park. “Parks Are for People” was one of the slogans. His role is described in the book. Wayne Barrett inscribed Ben’s copy with, “You’re a citizen crusader.” Neufield writes, "You’re the first Donny buster.” (referring to Donald Mannes). Ben continues to be a park activist and fought a losing battle to stop the building of the tennis stadium in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, an aesthetic eyesore to anyone who loves a verdant green park.

In more recent years, Ben’s fame took a whole other direction. He got very involved in adult education classes in sculpture. Ben began sculpting pieces he called Meditation. A number of these have found a home in the window of an exquisite eyeglass store called Occhiali on Lexington Avenue. People have purchased them during the 10 years the store has chosen to keep them as their window decoration and they are replaced with others.  His most successful work, however, is a Holocaust bar relief he calls MISHPOCHEH. He successfully made five copies and his fame follows him in each venue. They are on exhibit at: The Holocaust Memorial Center in Glen Cove, N.Y., the Kupferberg Holocaust Center at Queensborough Community College, The Holocaust Resource Center of Temple Judea (Manhasset, Long Island), Temple Hillel B’inai Torah in Boston, Ma. and Kew Gardens Hills Synagogue in Queens, N.Y. The sculpture in Temple Judea was just installed this past December. Over fifty friends and relatives attended the unveiling of the piece and the press honored the event with an effusive article. Ben, at his age of 94 is honored to be honored by the presence of his work on the walls of this emotionally wrenching structure. 

To summarize, the famous man I married has other attributes as well:

1.Sculptor

2.Cabinet builder

3. Writer

4.Gardner

5. Park Activist

6. Jewelry Box builder

7. Mensch (look it up)

Ethyl Haber

February 2022 

A Well-Known Person

 

Harry Truman was the Vice President in the fourth presidential term of Franklin Roosevelt. Roosevelt died in April1945, and Truman then became president. Thereafter, he was nominated by the Democratic Party to seek a full term in 1948. His Republican opponent was Thomas E. Dewey who was then the Governor of New York State. Truman was not expected to win the election. Not only was Truman considered not to win, that expectation was further supported by the fact there were there were two other opponents, Strom Thurmond and Henry A. Wallace. When the election was over, a newspaper ran a headline that Dewey was elected.  It was wrong; Truman won with 303 electoral votes, to 189 Dewey, 39 to Thurmond and none to Wallace.

    I was old enough to vote for the first time, and I supported Truman in the 1948 election. Truman’s presidency accomplished a great deal, both domestically and internationally. He had enacted considerable aid to the European countries that suffered much from World War II. I was satisfied I had voted for him. 

     In 1994 David M. McCullough, a well-known biographer wrote Truman, a book I found excellent.  I wrote a letter to Mr. McCullough on March 10, 1994, which was as follows.

 “Dear Mr. McCollough:

       I just finished reading Truman and found it most interesting and well written. You made Harry Truman come alive.

       I tried to think of a word or phrase that would capture the essence of Mr. Truman. Patriot, decent, well meaning, hardworking, all came to mind, but in the end, I settled on a Yiddish word that I think best sums him up. He was a “mensch”.

     Thank you so much for having written this wonderful book.

Very truly yours, 

Ben Haber

 

On July 1. 1994. Mr. McCullough wrote a me a letter as follows:

“Dear Mr. Haber:

          Thank you so much for your wonderful letter about Truman. I was delighted by your comment describing him as a “mensch” - I’ve never heard him described better!

Warmest regards.”

     While it is clear Mr. McCullough knew what mensch meant, I do describe its meaning for the benefit of the readers of this story.

     Mensch is a Yiddish word that can be applied not only to those of the Jewish faith, but to all human beings. It represents a very high compliment to call him or her a mensch. It is someone who could be relied upon to act with noble character, honor and integrity. 

Benjamin M. Haber

February, 2022

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the trav’ller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often thro' my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

'Tis your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the trav’ller in the dark,
Tho' I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 

The lyrics from "The Star" were first published with the tune in The Singing Master: First Class Tune Book in 1838.^[5] 

^{This is an original poem of Jane Taylor (1783-1824).}  

^{Mozart at the age of 26 – 27 wrote the twelve variations of this poem in music. I listened to this charming rendition of the poem and I was transported to when my kids were little. I used to sing them this song among others I made up.} 

^{Just like the twinkling of the stars caused by passing light though our atmosphere I felt bright and flickering like a sweet child full of curious energy and delightfully complete. I felt like moon dust floating in the sky like diamonds, glistering in deep silence at peace and safely resting.} 

^Georgia

Voice of New York

 ** Assignment: Catch a (the) Voice of New York**

1.  

Gershwin players fiddle,

Articulated bus motors by,

I can hear the city laugh,

I have heard the city cry.                   

RM, Jan. 2002. (Idea from hearing people laughing on East 79th Street in NYC while I was listening to an old song on the radio, Jan. 2002.)  (I had heard the city cry on Sep. 11, 2001).  RM, 2-5-2022. 

 

2. 

“Chair”

“A woman carries a chair to points west of my location.

At one thirty-six A.M. perhaps thievery's her vocation.  

Why carry a chair like that, so rigidly wooden and wicker?

A certain posture assured, obtained by muscles of liquor.

Perhaps discarded by someone; you know what is said about one person's trash.

Redeemable right down the street, the currency is comfort or cash.

From an outdoor film perhaps, or a whiffle ball strike zone.

or a musty room or dark garage, determination takes it home.

Perhaps to complete an old set, ruined by ravaging time. 

A ten-fingered overnight bargain by not having to spend a dime.

Toting her burden on which to rest, this odd little nighttime affair;

determined she travels, walking west, a woman carries a chair.”            

-RM, August 2004, after witnessing the above event on East 79th St. in NYC.  RM, 2-5-2022. 

 Rembrandt’s portrait “The Jewish Bride “captures a married couple profoundly in love. Their gestures display the utmost admiration for each other.   Placing his hand on his wife’s heart expresses how truly he loves her.  He is intrigued by her beauty.  However, he is content with her beautiful soul.  Given in return, she caresses his hand softly.   As she looks to a distance, she is aware beauty fades.  Nonetheless, his arm around her reassures her of their everlasting love.

 

 Cristina Infante

 

 

The Sunny Side of the Soul

 

One part of me feels sorrow for you

We both know what loneliness is

Although we left each other so many years ago

Feels like you're picking up and leaving again

Fresh start, lots and lots of sunshine and warm weather

And in spite of only living our lives as friends

I can’t believe we never got together...again

Never know what to wish for you and your new endeavors

Failure, happiness, sorrow, joy, peace of mind finally

That all depends on the day I'm having or not

The telephone still spins our tales

We make sure we talk in neutral tones

Hang up on each other, quickly, with certainty

Should the conversations ever start to touch the soul

Ellen G.

Feb 2022

Winter in New York City

 

It was a heavy snowstorm. The snowflakes were quickly falling and landing on my black down jacket, no two flakes ever alike. They seemed to be dancing as though choreographed by the wind. The flakes had already made a blanket on the field in Central Park. Through the snowstorm, I could see the panorama glowing, glistening and glittering in the sunshine. No one had yet walked on this pristine virgin landscape. Farther afield, children were screaming with joy as they slid down the small hill on their sleigh. 

A short walk away, families were ice skating on the Wollman Rink. They were laughing with glee, even when they slipped and plopped to the ice. Why didn’t I bring my white figure skates? I was once quite good at this. 

Outside of the park, people were bundled up, mittens on, scarves tied and hats covering their ears as they sat on the wide steps leading up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sometimes they joined in song with the young guitar player strumming a familiar folk song. I should join them. This land is your land; this land is my land.

All these joyful scenes are now only memories, planted in my imagination from times gone by. This was my Winter in New York City from the past. A winter scene I once knew; one that I would have been part of. At my age, and my stage of agility, would I ever dare to be walking in Central Park on a snowy day? While I do not sit in a wheelchair or use a walker or cane, I do walk with mild trepidation on my carpeted floor. Could you imagine my trepidation walking on a path in the park carpeted with snow? Could you imagine this elderly woman figure skating in Wollman’s Rink? Can you picture me getting up those icy museum steps with not even a banister to hold on to?

During a winter in my city, I’m strictly a stay-at-home girl. And you know what? I I can’t say I mind it. I can appreciate the beauty of the storm from my glass front door. My view of my snow carpeted front lawn and white powdered trees and bushes is awesome. My view is a winter wonderland.

 When I leave my front door, I join the sumptuous simmering pot on the stove where my comfort food is cooking; water, carrots, celery, onions, string beans and potatoes dancing together. Part of this is soup for tonight’s dinner and part to be frozen for future use.

While my outside garden is dormant, my windowsills hold natural wonders.   Every day, I visit my small African Violet plant with its 5 tiny purple flowers. Standing alongside is the tall multi flowered white orchid. The elder of the pots is the orchid plant I received for my eightieth birthday, over ten years ago. This plant has a long spike, promising to yield at least eight blossoms shortly. The surprise of the windowsill flower garden is my newly acquired amaryllis bulb, which will probably make history, since in one month this one bulb has produced fourteen huge red radiant blossoms. Successful herb plants (chives, basil, oregano and parsley) adorn my dining room windowsill. 

As this day winds down, snow continues to fall. I can enjoy my shut-in winter day snuggled on my couch, my body wrapped in my hand knit blanket, writing this story. Softly, Beethoven’s Pastorale Symphony adds to my wintery day’s indoor contentment with a certain promise of spring to come.

Ethyl Haber

February 2022

Voices in My Head

 Voices in My Head 

Welcome to the entrance of my mind, colorful, full of ideas and very crowded. I’d like to introduce you to a few of the parts that live in my head: Inner Critic, Inner Child, Inner Protector and Me.  

Inner Critic:                   Good morning, what will you ruin today? 

Me:                       I’m not ruining anything. 

Inner Critic:                   The day is young. 

Inner Child:           Good Morning, how are you? What are we creating today? 

Me:                       Good Morning Love. We are painting today, in watercolor. 

Inner Child:          OK, sounds like fun, I will be there with you.  

Me:                       Thank you.  

Inner Protector:    Hold on we are vulnerable in the world. I’ll cloud your judgment                     in case you feel scared. 

Me:                       Dear Inner Protector, we are OK. Whatever happens I’ll take care of it and not run away. 

Inner Protector:    But what if you can’t handle it. I won’t let you or the Inner Child be taken advantage of. That is my job.  

Me:                       Yes, Inner Protector, I get that and I love you for the great job you do protecting us.  

At this point I start to paint without any direction and just put paint on paper to see where it goes. The voices continue.  

Inner Critic:          Ugh, that’s horrible, no one will like that. You’ll be made fun of. 

Me:                       I hear you Inner Critic 

Inner Child:          (She directs me) Put pain here and there.  

Me:                       Wow, this is beautiful, thanks for your guidance. 

Inner Child:          Welcome. 

Inner Protector:    I’m scanning our circumstances, we are safe, we are OK, we are not being threatened.  

Me:                       We are safe, we are OK and we are not threatened.  

Painting is finished.  

Me:                       I absolutely love how these colors blend together in this new painting. Glad I did not give up. 

I feel internally so satisfied of this accomplishment that was almost thwarted by inner voices of the Inner Critic and Inner Protector.  

************************************************ 

I hope you found this little dialogue interesting, I know 

the subject of voices in your head is scary and fraught with stereotypes of crazy people talking to themselves. In reality we are all multiplies. We have many parts in our personalities (aka voices). There is no “one mind”. We are a collection of different parts (voices that speak to us) that work together sometimes and at other times are blocked off from our system because of trauma or triggering event.   

What I have written is a simple example of some of the voices in my head, I have many. I have many parts that are children, and teenagers and adults and spirits and guides. If my mind gets overwhelmed by a situation it is up to me to identify what part has been triggered and treat it as if it is a real person. It needs to be witnessed in some way with compassion and curiosity. This exchange frees up stuck energy and gives a shift in perspective.  

You and everyone else is a multiple personality and that is actually a good thing to know. As we recognize the parts in us we can see the parts of others.  

I learned this method by reading “Internal Family System, an evidence based therapeutic model that de-pathologies the multi- part personality.” Dr. Richard Schwartz is the creator of this system. This method gives a new way of processing trauma, addiction, neurosis, and all those parts inside of we want to wish away.  

Internal Family System gives us the tools to be self-led rather than dysfunctional parts led.  

Bessel van der Kolk MD writes “Opens up a path to self-acceptance and self-leadership. IFS is one of the cornerstones of effective and lasting trauma therapy.” 

With this method we learn to unblend from parts and instead witness and love and care for our parts that can be so frightened by events of the past.  

          Change is not easy, becoming whole is not easy.  

By listening to those voices in our head we are listening to ourselves. There are parts of us with messages about the next step, the hurts, and the insights we need to know.  

          Keep listening to those voices…………………..

Georgia