This covers the week of 8/30/20 - 9/5/20.
Thursday, September 30, 2021
Some dogs are patient joy-bringers. This one, a senior golden retriever, swishes its tail as it stands before each person to get patted. Everyone enjoys a turn.
It's a strange way to participate in a wedding, but still delightful. We're thousands of miles away eating pizza and watching the ceremony and festivities on a laptop. We post blessings and good wishes online.
Peering at the river through shifting leaves. It's a glorious view.
Some chain restaurants are roach-like in their ability to survive an economic crisis.
Marriage would make me more acceptable to a number of people.
The shopping area by the park looks atrophied. There are fewer people around and more 'for rent' signs in display windows. But it's a crisp golden day, people pushing strollers and walking dogs, so the neighborhood doesn't seem too bleak.
The sparrows fly to the tree, which enfolds them.
Thursday, September 23, 2021
This covers the week of 8/23/20 - 8/29/20.
The man moves like a jumping electric wire. He's tormented to the roots of himself. Staggering up and down the street, he raves about how the industry used to want differences but now wants sameness. Homogeneity in opinions, looks, and creative ideas. I don't know which industry he's talking about. His description fits more than one. In his creased suit, and with his briefcase swinging and shuddering, he belongs to no workplace now.
I've walked down this street a bunch of times without knowing that its name alludes to three activists from the Civil Rights Movement who were killed while helping register black voters in the South.
I stay in bed later than usual, grateful for several hours of uninterrupted sleep.
An old man whispers to the young man working at the pharmacy, "You're at this job to land rich widows." When the young man splutters, the old one says, "No shame in that."
Sparrows in an ecstasy of puddles.
Rain nips at us at the end of our walk, a drizzle after all the breathless warnings about a major storm.
She chides me for eating too much chocolate. Then she offers me chocolate.
Friday, September 10, 2021
This covers the week of 8/16/20 - 8/22/20.
Two young men are having a conversation on a stoop. "To be honest," one of them says, when an old man walking past them interrupts by shouting, "Don't be honest. Deny everything!" He shakes his cane and cackles.
The Scrabble game is like a scene from a French film full of existential dread. ("Mes mots sont horribles. Je veux une cigarette.")
We walk past shells of restaurants and "Coming Soon" signs that have failed in their promise. The city is showing its ribs. In Times Square, it's easy to keep a quick pace. There are no crowds to push through. We do see one sign of liveliness, though: The Naked Cowboy, in all his cowboy-hatted, tighty-whitie-wearing magnificence. As long as he's there, things can't be too bad. Like a canary in a coal mine – if he isn't singing, it may be an alarming sign of the city's decline.
On the green surface of the lake, small rapidly vanishing white circles show that it's raining. The rain steadily thickens, until I'm squishing around in my shoes.
It's pointed out to me that I'm judging someone with leniency, which is true. I don't have all the facts, and why assume the worst?
In a dim, piney place, there are no children on the swing sets, only a couple of adults enjoying the gentle back-and-forth, the toes kicked up to the sky.
On a cool gray evening, beside a fountain crowned by the statue of an angel, a man sings "Lean on Me." Close by, a middle-aged couple dance slowly with goofy, self-conscious smiles.