Israel 1982

Where was I?In 1982, on the eve of Christmas, I was in Bethlehem (Israel).

Tuesday, December 20 the Transit Workers of New York went on strike. I believe I was stunned into immobility. I realized that I wouldn't be able to walk from my house to the bridge.














For three days the Union and the Metropolitan Transit Authority wrangled. Hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers, day and night, walked, biked, car pooled from their homes to Manhattan--the hub of the workforce.

On Christmas Day, Marijke and I are going to New Mexico.

We'll arrive in Albuquerque around lunch time, Marijke from Pittsburgh and me from New York.

I am just beginning to get excited; thinking about what to pack or rather how to pack, one of my bete noirs, packing is but thrilled to be able to think about another adventure with my daughter.

We haven't traveled regularly together but we've done it swell. Last trip was to Sicily just before the little Anya Zoe was born six months later.

At Thanksgiving dinner Thursday night, our hostess, invited the circle of more than 3 dozen, to share their thanks. Sophia, 13 years old, shared, "I am thankful that I don't have to experience loss to appreciate what I have."

Yes, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea!

Now, believe it or not, I am struggling with how much I'd like to see of my City of birth before I leave.

Several times I've nearly come to tears as I touch base with the past. This past Thursday, December 1, was such a day.

After taking some unpleasant tests, one of which had me still for 45 minutes, coffin-like, I decided to proceed Uptown to 53rd Street, a most magical street of New York City museums.

I only managed the MoMa, but I did peek into the shops of two others.

At the MoMA, I was privileged to see van Gogh's "Starry Night" and several rooms filled with the work of Redon.

But for every street and avenue that sparkles under my feet with remembrance, nothing shines like the skylights of this City.

Everyday is different but some days remind me more of yesterday. Reading the news this week, I recalled the times since September 11th that I traveled by air. On more than one occasion I hastily packed and found myself with a scissors in my carry-on bag. On two occasions my little scissors were confiscated. Once I nearly cried!

I don't recognize any of these, but mine was orange but much smaller and perhaps even sharper.

It seems that effective December 22, the prohibition will be lifted.

Will I take my favorite scissors again and risk another loss, or will I be more mindful when I pack my case coming and going to New Mexico?

I'll let you know when I return.

Stolen Moments at the Museum

Today was a most special day, not because it is Thursday, but because it was filled with stolen moments.

Up a little earlier than usual, I went with a certain trepidation to the Diagnostic Center to have an MRI and a bone density test; nothing like getting older for ratcheting up these expensive tests to see why we're aging.


But instead of going to work, I headed uptown to West 53rd Street for a look at van Gogh's "Starry Night" and an hour's tour of Redon.


Going, coming, staying, all stolen moments as I first sat leisurely in the Museum Cafe and eat the tinest portion of smoked trout and drank two really well made cups of coffee--so fresh it was as if I was drinking an aphrodaisiac!

Trying to catch up with each day's memories can be a challenge.

Monday, R and I found ourselves in the East Village. While walking back from a St. Mark's restaurant, I looked up as we approached Second Avenue.

I was perplexed by the absence of a movie theatre on Second Avenue off St. Mark's Place that I recall going to with great regularity. I know I saw the outstanding film, "Coming Home" with Jane Fonda about a paraplegic war veteran played by Jon Voight. The movie left a big impression on me then, enough so that nearly 30 years later I recall it clearly. It probably was among the first post-Vietnam movies, and among my favorites.

But no matter how much I craned my neck the theatre was gone. What was left was the Stuyvesant Polyclinic and the Library.