IT’S OKAY TO USE A GOOD BOWL FOR SUPPER

 

I think a lot of us do this, I can’t be the only one --- protect our ‘good’ things so they don’t get hurt or broken.  When I was little and I’d get a new blouse or dress, I’d leave it hanging for weeks, maybe months.  My mother couldn’t understand it; she’d have had it on immediately.  But, I didn’t want to get it dirty, wrinkled, whatever.

But, years later, I’m still doing that --- holding off, not using things that are beautiful because they are beautiful and could be hurt, broken etc.  I will only use my Writing Retreat mug on Sundays as I’m so afraid of breaking it.  Why Sunday should make me any less clumsy is anyone’s guess.

How long is this going to last?  How long do we have to live? --- None of us know.  I’ve lost many friends younger than I am, so, what am I waiting for?

But, if I wear the pale pink tee shirt (instead of the dark gray), it could get stained.  If I use one of Tommy’s bowls (Tommy was a guy in my old neighborhood in Philadelphia who is long dead; he was in his late 80’s when I bought the two bowls from him), I could break it. Every time I see the bowls, I think of him and, though I love them --- the color, the strength, the weight, the age of them, I end up protecting them, for fear I could hurt them and, instead, use the thinner, bright white, no-magic-in-it-bowl left behind by my neighbor.  It has neither the beauty nor character of Tommy’s bowls.

Am I afraid if a bowl breaks that I will break Tommy, break his memory, and lose him?  And, what about the pink tee shirt?  Sure I’m frugal to a fault and don’t want to buy another one and don’t always do too well with stain removal techniques.  But, there is no Tommy involved here, no memories of a sweet older man in his funny little shop, cluttered with treasures.  Who would I be hurting? --- The chain sneaker shop that sells the tees at 5 for $20? 

Once, I threw away a pair of terribly grubby sneakers into a barrel on the West Side Highway as I neared work.  They were gross. But, I then walked back and pulled the sneaks out; it was my 2^nd or 3^rd year living in New York, ‘pounding the pavement’ as they say.  I stood on the West Side Highway during morning rush hour with tons of traffic whizzing by and held those sneaks and cried.  Look where they had taken me, look where I had come.  I had moved to this wonderful city, I had walked and walked to find my first apartment, and to quickly find another when that fell through a few days after I moved in. I walked to many a temp agency in these sneaks and explored it all --- Central Park, Prospect Park, Coney Island, Jones beach, Oyster Bay, Seacliff, Chelsea, Soho, the Lower East Side, Harlem, the Bronx, Queens and marvelous Brooklyn.

So, it wasn’t just sneaks I was throwing away that day on the West Side Highway, it was a legacy.  They had carried me far, they had been my friends.  The sneaks had helped introduce me to places and people and scenery I would never forget.  They weren’t just old grubby sneaks with not a speck of tread left, though they were definitely that.  They were an institution, they were venerable, they should have been framed, covered with gold gilt like baby shoes and shown in a gallery.

 

Mary Pat Kane

a wisp ---THE OFFER

Last night I went to water my plot in the community garden and to help water the many other plots of people who were away.  Outside the fence, stood two men talking excitedly.  I should have invited them in; I don’t know what I was a thinking.

One of the men introduced himself to me through the fence as a resident of the brand new apartment building across the street.  I asked him how it was and he said ‘very nice’.  I had been reluctant to talk with anyone from the building as it had been the subject of a bitter community battle for a few years.  The building was thought to be totally inappropriate to the lovely old architecture of the area.  It was huge and modern.  It blocked out the light from many, many people’s back yards.  The building had taken away our subway entrance and exit for a few years and made it into a myriad of long corridors and many more long narrow stairs to navigate.  Then, there was the mess of the actual building itself and getting around cranes and walking under scaffolding.  It was a long few years but I don’t know why I thought it was the new residents’ fault.  They didn’t build the building.   Still, to be adversarial stayed with me. 

I got real grubby working on my patch (I call it “TARA” but it’s only 3 feet by 3 feet) and I’d forgotten to bring a cloth to clean up with and was on my way out to a street party.

I showed this nice young man who had just moved into the big new modern-fought-against-by- the-community building my hands covered with mud.  And, he did something I wasn’t expecting.  He offered to go get me a towel from his apartment!

“I just live across the street,” he said.  Wow, how often does that happen?  I answered that I’d be fine and could wash off with the garden hose which I did.  But, I remembered the friendly young man and his kind offer this morning. 

Narrow-mindedness, mine and anyone else’s, closes so many doors, cuts off so many opportunities.

Mary Pat Kane

July 11, 2011

THE TALL SHIPS STORY, from the summer of 1976

Memories of another 4^th of July

I used to attract negative people and I definitely attracted negative advice --- “you can't move there, it's too expensive, they’ll eat you up and spit you out, they'll knife you in the back,” … --- real uplifting sorts of stuff and in the summer of 1976, I had my share of nay-sayers too.  It seems to be easier to be negative than positive, to fantasize a catastrophe instead of a great joyous undertaking, or, even just a simple nice day. 

In 1976, I still had a ‘normal job’ (i.e. I wasn’t a writer) and worked in an office where there were lots of people to talk to about weekend plans.  It was about to be The Bicentennial Weekend, July 4th, 200 years of our country and I lived in Philadelphia then, a real Bicentennial city if ever there was one. But, the newspapers kept mentioning the Tall Ships Parade in New York Harbor and it stuck in my mind as a most exciting idea.  I would never leave Philadelphia on the 4th itself but I hatched a plot to take the train to New York the day before and see what I could see.  I did not know New York City well then and had no idea how to get to the Harbor but figured there were subways and I would work it out.  I am always scared enough of new things on my own, so I really didn’t need all the nay-sayers.  But, they were there, aplenty

Some people at work told me it was a totally foolhardy idea; they told me I would never see anything.  They questioned me as to my knowledge of the subway system (not much).  They told me scary tales of New York.  They told me that terrorists were going to bomb the Tall Ships.  They said that on the day before the 4th, and they were authorities, most negative people are very authoritarian in their pronouncements --- on the day before, there would be no ships to be seen at all so why was I wasting my time?

Well, to tell you the truth, maybe it was because of the negativity that I got over my fear of all new things and my general inertia and donned my blue and white striped shorts and my red tee shirt and got on a train to New York City early on Saturday morning, July 3.  I had to stand up to the nay-sayers whatever I was about to see or not see in New York.

Once I arrived, I quickly found my way to a subway that went to the Battery Park where the Harbor was and I was on my way.  The subways did not feel at all violent or unfriendly as had also been predicted.  In fact, everyone seemed in a buoyant and expectant mood. People were draped with cameras.  It felt like hope was in the air.

I had never been on the Staten Island Ferry but when I came upon the Ferry Building, it seemed like a good idea.  Why not?  The Ferry cost a quarter then, now it’s free --- once in a while life works for the average person.  I figured I'd, at least, be on the water and see what I could see.  It was a partially sunny day.  Whole families boarded the Ferry, most everybody smiling.  It was the day before the 200th birthday of our country.

Within seconds of boarding the Ferry, a thin sad-seeming widower from Staten Island attached himself to me.  He told me the story of his life and all his troubles, so, though I had traveled to New York, it seemed like every day to me, anywhere.  We rode out across the water together on the left side of the Ferry where we could see huge military vessels anchored.  The widower was pretty enthusiastic about the military ships so I tried to be polite but they were not very exciting to me.  Then, on our return trip, he wanted to stay on the same side of the Ferry.  He wanted to see the military ships again and he was absolutely sure we wouldn't see anything more interesting. 

There I was, attracting negative people, again.  The man tried to convince me that we had no chance of seeing a Tall Ship.  But, I can be pretty stubborn too and, by that time, I would have been happy to see the Statue of Liberty and call it a day but we had to move to the other side of the Ferry to do so.  I hadn’t set out on this journey to see military boats.

So, I said --- "Look, I've really enjoyed talking to you" (he still wore his gold wedding band) "and I’d like to continue our conversation but I’m going to the other side so if you want to keep talking, come along".  He quickly followed.

There, we found that the sky was growing dark and ominous and huge cumulus clouds were stacking up.  It seemed the clouds were rushing in from the outer sea into the Harbor.  Then, just as our Ferry was nearing its docking point --- whooosh --- a ship with purple sails jumped into view --- whoosh --- a ship with red sails and we stood on that deck in shock.  Then, several more of the Tall Ships that were out at sea doing their trial runs for the next day’s event came racing into port to escape the impending storm.  I can't tell you how many, sometimes three and four came in at once and there was this clutter of Tall Ships.  And, what clutter it was!  Our Ferry was stranded, stranded away from docking as we were forced to leave space for Tall Ship after Tall Ship to come rushing through the channel.  I remember one ship with 12 billowy white sails, like something out of a movie. 

As a group we "ohhhed" and "ahhhed" and pointed; we jostled each other to look this way and that.  There were shouts of  ---"There's the Greek Ship” and “There's the Swedish Ship" --- many people knew the ships and I about cried for the joy and beauty and spectacle of it all, enhanced even more by the contrasting backdrop of fierce black clouds and now rough, white-capped waters.  Our Ferry was 'stuck' for half an hour, half a glorious hour and I doubt there was anyone wanting the time to end.  The photos I got from my little Instamatic camera show an eerie-looking like old world battle scene with Tall Ships bobbing against a threatening sky and turgid waters.  (Of course, I sent copies of my snapshots to the widower who wrote me a beautiful note.  He and I would send Christmas greetings for several years.)

Eventually, he and I said our goodbyes and on my way back to get the subway, I spotted a group sitting at an open-air cafe on the side of the Ferry Building.  (I wish that place still existed, I'd move in!)  I sat down, ordered a drink and found everyone in the place talking animatedly to each other.  People across the way bought me a second drink because I was from Philadelphia and it was, after all, the Bicentennial.  So, I bought a huge bag of popcorn and gave it to everyone at the Bar from my city.  A young man next to me was in awe that I had been on that Ferry.  He had come down to the Battery with the same idea of riding it.  But, when he arrived no boats were allowed out and Michael, a lovely and gentle person, looked out to see my Ferry ‘trapped’ out there on the water while the Tall Ships informally paraded by. 

So much for the unsafe streets of New York and my warnings that I wouldn’t see anything.  When the rain finally stopped, Michael escorted me back to the subway.  But, before that, we walked through Battery Park together.  I had never seen the Battery before and found it so softly green and lovely.  People were out walking again, clowns and other costumed people were entertaining children. Life went on.  An old-fashioned ummpahh band swung into gear as we walked on the shiny rain-slicked sidewalks and I laughed out loud.  How perfect --- there were tubas, the whole thing.  The sun came peeking out and caused brilliant reflections in the puddles. The sky was slowly becoming blue again and I knew it would be a beautiful day for the 4th ahead.  I was returning to Philadelphia and friends, parties, fireworks and parades as well as people who told me how stupid I was to attempt this trip, how I would see nothing.  Nothing? How about 20 - 30 Tall Ships just yards away?  And, what if I hadn’t seen any Tall Ships, what if I had seen nothing?  Would it have mattered?

Michael stopped at a street vendor and bought me an apple pin which he pinned to the neck of my tee shirt.  I used to come across it from time to time in my top dresser drawer and I could never part with it, no matter how hard I was trying to get rid of things.  Memories of the day before that Bicentennial Fourth of July came over me anew each time ---- memories of trains and found subways and helpful people; memories of the widower and the Ferry itself and all us Americans and those ships, those gorgeous God-given Tall Ships and the people in the bar.  I can see their faces still --- all wishing each other well. 

Michael said he bought me the tiny apple pin so I would never forget my day in “The Big Apple”.  But, then, how could I?

Mary Pat Kane

WISPS

I live a floor higher up than most of my neighbors so I have lots of light and see the sky.  If I lay flat down on my couch, I can watch clouds journey by.  I love that --- sometimes they muddle along, sometimes they speed or swirl.

My favorite clouds are the little wisps; they look like a part of a larger cloud that has ventured off on its own.  They make me laugh.  They’re so small and determined though they appear fragile.

In my life on the streets, wisps of human, animal, and plant interactions come at me and bring me great joy.  They’re mostly not huge life-changing events, they’re not about jobs or promotions or worldly success.  They’re these precious little wisps of moments of interaction or, often, observation --- of a child, a dog’s sad face while waiting for his owner outside the greengrocer, flowers in my community garden, the white butterfly that greets me there and is totally unafraid. 

Those are the things I intend to write about here --- those beautiful wispy clouds that make my life rich.  (And, sometimes, as in this first piece, I’ll include longer stories.  I couldn’t resist a 4^th of July story this week!)

Thanks for stopping by and, please, come again.

And, feel free to comment and to share your own ‘wisps’.

All the best,

Mary Pat Kane