Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York. Show all posts

Sunday, May 14, 2023

Haiku at Sandy Hook


Emerald City.
I can see it from Jersey.
There is no wizard.


It's no secret: I love New York's skyline, and I often write haikus about the city: Exhibit 1 and Exhibit 2.

The view above is an edited version of what you'd see about 20 miles away from the northernmost point of Sandy Hook Reservation in New Jersey.

In un-filtered real life, you can even pan right to see the Parachute Jump, the iconic, now-dormant ride at Coney Island:


I visited Sandy Hook last weekend with photography friends from Black Glass Gallery.

These next few days are an ideal time to visit for yourself. Sandy Hook is part of Gateway National Recreation Area. If you get there before Memorial Day, there is no entrance fee and no charge for parking. It's a wonderful place to explore, with plenty of room to avoid crowds.


As Friend ChatGPT tells me, the park is named after the Sandy Hook Peninsula, which is a narrow strip of land that extends for several miles into the Atlantic Ocean. One of the main features of the park is the Sandy Hook Lighthouse, built in 1764 and one of the oldest lighthouses in the U.S. Visitors can climb to the top for panoramic views.

Another popular attraction at Sandy Hook is Fort Hancock, is a former military base that was active from the late 1800s until the mid-20th century. Visitors can tour the old barracks, gun batteries, and other historic structures at the fort.

Still, for me, it's the view from this platform, looking about 20 miles to the north, that's the biggest highlight:


I can't help myself. Just yesterday, Google Photos randomly sent me this video compilation of the New York City skyline photos from my photo cloud -- many taken from the back of a NJ Transit bus commuting to or from work. Google randomly chose a great Tears for Fears song as a soundtrack too (and assures me it is not a copyright violation :)

I love New York, even if there is no wizard there.



Friday, January 13, 2023

Poem: 'Mysteries of the Rosary'

This week's poetry prompt was simple:

Go through your phone’s camera roll and pick a random photo. Capture each detail with words and phrases, descriptive words for what you see, what the photo is of, where it’s from, etc. Think of these various details as a collage and put together a new poem.

I have thousands of photos on my phone: 61,023 as of earlier this week, to be exact.

So I downloaded a free app called "Stumble." Developers Ritchie & Mason enticed me with the first line of the app's description: "Take a serendipitous walk through your photo roll."

My life can use some serendipity.

Once installed, I pressed the "Stumble" button, and a photo appeared from a March 7, 2021, visit to The Met Cloisters. My wife and I had stopped to look at what we've previously discovered was the same favorite exhibit which we had both first seen years before we married.

I had seen this extraordinary rosary bead during a high school field trip, then years later accompanied by a friend who was an artist. I later took my young children to see it. Years later I returned alone, before returning again with Nancy last March.

I even tried writing a poem about this once before, but I like this one better:


Mysteries of the Rosary

I am a pilgrim.


Each decade of life,

I return to New York

to behold an intricately carved

boxwood prayer bead

the size of a snowball.


It depicts Christ’s crucifixion.


The museum piece,

hollowed and exposed,

never changes.


My spirit, 

hollowed and exposed,

diminishes in return.


My prayers

have been autonomous circles

of desire and intent.


Nothing more than empty shells.


Behold this dying man.

I see everything now.

Salvation is in the details.




My New Year's resolution: write a prompted poem each week in 2023, encouraged by New Jersey poet Dimitri Reyes.

Sunday, September 4, 2022

10 Slices of Life in New Jersey

Two views of Wesley Lake in Asbury Park
Wesley Lake, Asbury Park

Last week (Aug. 29-Sept. 3), I had fun taking over the Jersey Collective Instagram account. And you can too! There's a story pinned to that site with more information about how to apply; another story pinned there will take you to more information about the new "New Jersey Fan Club" anthology.

I've loved raising a family in New Jersey and currently live in Bergen County. About five years ago, I started a Found in New Jersey Instagram account to document the eclectic beauty and whimsy of life in the Garden State.

Below are my recent @foundinnj guest posts at Jersey Collective. It's my own "top 10" list, of sorts, with things to like about New Jersey.

- 1 -

Above are two images of Wesley Lake, with a distant view Ocean Grove from one of my favorite places: Asbury Park.

Citgo tanks along the Turnpike; Bon Jovi rest stop along the Parkway
To get there, I drove down the Turnpike, past Linden's iconic roadside Citgo storage tanks (made world-famous by the opening credits of "Sopranos" episodes), to the Parkway, stopping along the way at the Jon Bon Jovi rest area.

At the Asbury Book Cooperative on Cookman Avenue, I attended one of Project Write Now's Tuesday evening "Write Out Loud" events, open to all.

I read this essay I wrote for one of their classes. I figured, "What better place to talk about Springsteen?" and I was touched to see the audience snap their fingers in appreciation. PWN has great writing courses/events for all ages, and the Asbury Book Coop sells copies of "New Jersey Fan Club" at the front counter. Check it out! Go during the day (after 11:30) and you can ride an Asbury Park Pedal Boat on Wesley Lake too.

- 2 -

Four scenes from Asbury Park

More from Asbury Park, from visits over the past year. I like the place most when it's haunted, before and after hours, when the boardwalk is empty and streets outside the Wonder Bar and Stone Pony are quiet. I often visit with friends from Black Glass Gallery for photo meetups at sunrise. Check out the Black Glass Gallery Instagram account, where many of the best photographers from Asbury Park and around the state contribute photos from New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York.

- 3 -

4 scenes from American Dream Mall

58 years ago today (Aug. 30), the Beatles toured New Jersey in the back of a fish truck (a limo would have been too conspicuous) before performing that night at Convention Hall in Atlantic City. You can look it up (thanks, Weird New Jersey).

Today, such a magical mystery tour might take them to American Dream Mall in East Rutherford, where they (and now YOU) could ride in an air-conditioned cabin on the Dream Wheel, a 300-foot Ferris wheel, or stroll through an indoor rival to an Octopus' Garden, or film ski scenes for "Help!" at an indoor slope in the middle of summer. I'm not generally a fan of malls, but this one makes me feel about 58 years younger.

Pro tip: check out IT'SUGAR, the three-story candy store there.

- 4 -

3 skyline views of Manhattan

What's your favorite place to view the New York City skyline from New Jersey?

Recently, I saw it from the top of the Ferris wheel at American Dream Mall (the top photo above, #nofilter).

Just about every day I sneak a photo while riding in a New Jersey Transit commuter bus (driver's side on the way in to work in Manhattan; passenger's side on the way home to New Jersey) on the Lincoln Tunnel Helix in Weehawken.

I've also seen the city's skyline from as far away as the beach at Sandy Hook.

When driving, the view often appears suddenly, as if approaching Emerald City. I've seen it from Route 17 heading south in Bergen County, Route 80 heading east in Hackensack, and... a favorite... Route 3 heading east in Nutley. I should pull over for that!

- 5 -

2 images of fireworks at ballparks

Fireworks and baseball are two favorite things.

I recently attended a Somerset Patriots game at TD Bank Ballpark in Bridgewater, where there were post-game fireworks DURING a distant thunderstorm (photo above, right). You can see the threatening clouds in the photo, but I'm pretty sure it was a Brett Baty HR that ignited the storm. The minor league season is short, but there's a final Patriots home stand you can attend Sept. 13-18 (with fireworks on the 17th).

Meanwhile, in Montclair, I attended a fireworks night (photo above, left) following a Jersey Jackals (love that name) game in July. Their season already over, the Jackals announced recently that the team WON'T be returning next year to Yogi Berra Stadium on the Montclair State University campus.

I'll miss seeing them there, but maybe there will be baseball to see in 2023 at a refurbished Hinchliffe Stadium in Paterson?!?

Teams to see on my bucket list: the Jersey Shore BlueClaws, Trenton Thunder, and Sussex County Miners.

- 6 -

Images of a red barn, a sculpture of dancers, and a boardwalk in nature

Where's your favorite New Jersey park?

Looking back to winter (feeling wistful during this summer's heat and draught), I visited two personal favorites.

New Bridge Landing, on the River Edge/Hackensack border, includes several historical buildings, particularly a red barn that's picturesque in the snow. The site is maintained by the Bergen County Historical Society, which is hosting its annual Baron Beerfest there on Sept. 24.

I also visited snow-covered Grounds For Sculpture in Hamilton Township, where ticket sales are currently open for its Nov. 2022-April 2023 nighttime lighted exhibits.

More recently, thanks to NJ Spots, I found a new (to me) park to visit: the Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge in New Vernon, with well-kept walkways through beautiful greenery. NJ Spots is a great resource for exploring New Jersey!

- 7 -

Images of 4 casual dining places in NJ

Thursday is #DateNight, and while all these places may not be date-worthy (depending on your relationship status), all are wonderful, in a New Jersey sort of way.

Here are four possibilities: Rutt's Hutt in Clifton, Pizza Town in Elmwood Park (which is not closing, as rumored; it's just under new ownership... although, sadly, Tavolino Pizzeria in Wallington closed its doors Sept. 3), White Manna Hamburgers in Hackensack, and the Summit Diner.

Press of Atlantic City file photo
Earlier this week, I posted about the Beatles' visit to Atlantic City in 1964. There's an (infamous) photo of them holding a giant sub sandwich from the White House Sub Shop... so that's on my wish list too.

All these places are perhaps guilty pleasures. What places are on your Date Night list? Asking for a friend :) 


- 8 -

Images of the Devil's Tree, Devil's Tower and Annie's Road

I posted this on a frightful Friday, facing the unofficial last weekend of summer (although the meteorological end of summer was Sept. 1). I'm wondering: What are your favorite haunted places in New Jersey?

Here are three places I've dared visit:

The Devil's Tree tree stands alone in the middle of a large field off Mountain Road in Bernards Township. It remains standing because anyone is cursed who tries to cut it down, according to local legend.

The Devil's Tower is located on Esplanade Road in Alpine, where a jealous lover leapt to death in 1922. As every schoolgirl at nearby Academy of the Holy Angels will attest, if you drive or walk backward around the tower three times, you will face the actual Devil.

Along "Annie's Road" in Totowa, you will see roadside memorials for the ghost of a teenager (sometimes called the "vanishing hitchhiker"), dressed in white, killed late night in the 1960s by a pickup truck as she tried to find her way to safety along unlit Riverview Drive. Local legend says she had fled her boyfriend's car after an argument on Prom Night.

PS- if ANYONE can tell me exactly how to find the Gates of Hell in Clifton (I've looked twice), I'd appreciate it.

- 9 -

Double rainbow at Garret Mountain overlook

Months ago, I caught a double rainbow over Paterson at the scenic overlook at Garret Mountain Reservation.

I like to visit Paterson when checking in on Mom, who lives nearby. Yesterday, I stopped by the Great Falls to see the Passaic River aglow with algae. I also strolled by adjacent Hinchliffe Stadium, now a full-scale fenced-in construction site (and future home of the Jersey Jackals?) where Dad played semi-pro baseball in his teens.

Need an occasion to visit NJ's 3rd largest city? I recommend the Paterson Poetry Festival, Oct. 1-3 (more information available at Word Seed). Allen Ginsberg grew up in Paterson, and the Poetry Center at Passaic County College sponsors an annual awards event in his honor every February.

Below is a poem I wrote inspired by the view from Garret Mountain. Forgive me, Allen.

Text of a poem
post here about the evolution of this poem 

- 10 -

The outside of St. Patrick's Church, with a plane landing in the background

Church buildings can provide quiet inspiration, and they often have wonderful stories to tell. I wrote about that as a contributor to "New Jersey Fan Club," so here's another shameless plug for that book.

About this image: Someone told me there had been crosses atop the two majestic front spires of St. Patrick's Church in Elizabeth, but that the crosses needed to be removed in 1961 due to damage from the vibration of low-flying planes at nearby Newark Airport.

Call me Doubting Thomas, but I didn't actually believe that until I visited there this past winter while a plane was landing!

This ended my week posting at Jersey Collective. At @foundinnj, I'll continue to post sights from around the state and, every Sunday, another image of another church.

See you there?

Tuesday, May 24, 2022

Short Story: 'The Prophets of Grand Central'


“More people with white privilege are learning about racial dynamics and social justice terminologies than ever before. They are awakening to the fact that their white privilege has protected them… This work is not about those white people ‘out there.’ It is about you. Just you.”
— Layla Saad, “Me and White Supremacy” (2020)

By Bob Varettoni

It was the morning after Kim Kardashian wore Marilyn Monroe’s dress to the $35,000-a-ticket Met Gala, and Robert Anderson thought nothing in the world made sense anymore.

He didn’t belong anywhere. Even here, sitting in a car behind the same couple he shared an inbound commute with for many years.

The car was about to round the corner of the Lincoln Tunnel helix, promising a view of the New York City skyline.

The driver and his wife were Robert’s neighbors in a wealthy suburb of New Jersey. They owned a small business at the South Street Seaport and after driving through the tunnel, they’d drop Robert off in Midtown, blocks from his office, before continuing south.

This long-standing arrangement was about to end. His neighbors had informed him of their retirement plans the day after Russia invaded the Ukraine. The commute had grown longer each day, with roads filled with nastier drivers the longer the pandemic endured. His neighbors had grown tired.

In the dawn gloom, with the car at a standstill in rush-hour traffic, Mrs. Neighbor applied makeup by the light of the mirror on the lowered passenger-side visor. She was prattling about what she had gleaned from media coverage of the Met Gala.

As usual, Robert sat behind her husband. This gave Robert the best view of the skyline as it flickered between the moving traffic in the adjacent bus lane.


The mirror’s faint light and the dirty rear window allowed Robert to catch a reflection of his face superimposed over the skyline across the Hudson River. It was as if he were a subliminal message in an advertisement.

Robert was staring blankly at a kinescope version of New York. The city stared blankly in return. It seemed to Robert that everyone his own age, everyone he had relied on and who had supported him, was giving up.

“I don’t even belong here,” he thought again. The car completed its sweeping turn toward the E-ZPass toll and slowly edged its way into the tunnel.

“Hell, with tiles,” Robert said, once they were under the river. His neighbors didn’t hear since they weren’t paying attention to him.

--------- 

Outside the tunnel, the car made better progress along West 40th Street.

Robert reflected on newly familiar sights. The city was barely recognizable from the one he had fallen in love with during his first rides to work three decades ago.

On Eighth Avenue, they passed the new sleek, silver version of the Gray Lady headquarters. Then, passing Seventh Avenue and into the Garment District, a familiar sight: the giant Needle Threading a Button statute on the corner of “Fashion Avenue” and 39th. Installed in the 1970s, it would soon be refurbished, Robert had read.

Approaching Broadway, they passed a narrow pedestrian plaza named after Golda Meir, the former prime minister of Israel. It was filled with 14 oversized thin-bodied sculptures, in a diversity of colors, with oversized hands. They reminded Robert of aliens from the science fiction stories he read as a boy. They seemed to be waving hello.

A block further, the car approached the southwest edge of Bryant Park, a corner named after the inventor Nikola Tesla. Out of habit, Robert shifted sides in the back seat, positioning himself for an easy escape before his neighbor turned right to head south on Fifth Avenue.

Robert had an ulterior motive in sliding closer to a view of the sidewalk. Some part of him anticipated the temporary backup in traffic in the middle of the long block between Sixth and Fifth. Here, outside the former American Radiator Building, Robert tried to catch a glimpse of the receptionist in the grand lobby with 30-foot ceilings.

This woman had red hair, in curls, and she often wore floral-print dresses. Her desk faced West 40th Street. It was as if she were on display through the large ground-floor windows.


Once, long ago, she had seen Robert in the car watching her. She winged her elbows, shielding her eyes with her hands to cut down the glare and get a better view. Then she smiled at him in return.

Today, this lobby is a shell of its former self. Gutted and plain. In 2022, it is an uninspired annex to a Gothic Art deco black-bricked skyscraper that had inspired a Georgia O’Keeffe painting in 1927. If Robert had looked up at the setback terraces above the lobby’s base, he would have still seen gold-accented allegorical sculptures of matter transforming into energy.

Instead, Robert looked where he used to see the red-haired receptionist. Both she and her ornate surroundings were long gone. In fact, he could barely see through the large front windows, now plastered with signs identifying the site as a community college.

“What community?” Robert wondered, this time in a whisper.

Hoping for an angel, he found only a ghost.

Then Robert was in motion again, riding past a row of blue rental bikes bearing logos of a bank, until his car pulled over on the corner of Fifth Avenue. He slipped out the back seat, outside the former Knox Hat Building (a quaint Beaux arts structure now subsumed by the headquarters of another bank) and wished his neighbors well.

Happy birthday, Mister President,” sang Mrs. Neighbor.

“Thank you!” he replied, surprised and touched that someone had remembered.

---------



Robert began the familiar 10-minute, half-mile trek to his soulless office, dubbed Commerce Place, at Lexington Avenue between 43rd and 44th streets.

Walking north on Fifth Avenue, he passed the marble lions of Patience and Fortitude guarding the front entrance of the main branch of the New York Public Library. The street sign called it John Bigelow Plaza, after the historian who had edited the complete works of Benjamin Franklin.

At the start of the pandemic, the library decorated the lions with oversized hospital masks. But, these days, masks were optional, and Robert noticed that most on the already-crowded sidewalk, including the statues, were maskless.

Most everyone was also younger than him too. They walked while staring at phones or talking to others through wireless earbuds. Or, like Robert, sometimes talking to themselves.

One hurrying white man, who reminded Robert of himself when he was younger, tried to walk right through him from behind, as if Robert were a ghost.

Minutes later, minutes older, he was standing in the shadow of One Vanderbilt, a massive skyscraper that had opened during the pandemic. Robert had been one of the first to tour its observation deck. Its ground floor was home to yet another bank, and its lobby featured three untitled statues of what again reminded him of aliens from space. These elongated, silver-bodied sculptures were armless, not as welcoming as those in Golda Meir Square.

Opposite that was Robert’s favorite building in New York: Grand Central Terminal.

He neared its southwest corner entrance on 42nd Street under the watchful eye of the gold-leaf Vanderbilt Eagle, a 3,000-pound iron statue perched on the viaduct that circles the terminal. A marker outside the entrance explains it is one of 12 such eagles that formerly graced the roof of the original Grand Central Station in 1898.

“F*ck America! God bless my dick!”

This startled Robert. He hadn’t noticed the wild-eyed man wearing sandals and a dirty red t-shirt.

The man was approaching passersby in front of the entrance. Most simply averted their eyes and kept walking. He flailed his arms and shouted again.

“F*ck America! God bless my dick!”

The man defiantly shook his dreadlocks and stood right in front of Robert, almost touching him.

“F*ck America! God bless my dick!” the man shouted, louder and with more urgency.

“Jesus!” Robert exclaimed, then hurried past, hands covering his face, since the raving stranger was unmasked.

Robert escaped into the terminal and joined a crowd walking down a long brick-tiled ramp. This led first past a wide marble-arched entrance to the dining concourse, and then to a similar entrance to a grander place: Grand Central’s main concourse.

The sight of it brought to mind his 7th birthday and his first visit to Yankee Stadium. His dad had elaborately tipped a cigar-chewing fat man in a ticket booth on 161st Street in exchange for field-level seats. Emerging through an archway in the concession area, holding his dad’s hand, Robert’s first view of the impossibly green, expansive baseball field gave him goosebumps. How could something be real and, at the same time, bigger than life?

Grand Central’s concourse evoked the same feeling, and Robert took in the moment.

Before him, in the great hall, he saw a flock of commuters dressed in various disguises. Some could barely hide their claws and teeth amid the anarchy of the poor and the homeless. Masked, elderly wanderers looked lost and walked tentatively, heads down, like geese on thin ice. Itinerant travelers wore distracted faces.

Robert looked to his right, toward a corner ticket booth like the distant one at Yankee Stadium. Brass bars separated buyer from seller, and it advertised “Official Grand Central Terminal Guided Tours.” These had ceased when the pandemic started, and perhaps would never resume.

Enshrined in front of the ticket window, a man slumped upon a cart full of his possessions. Robert recognized him, a familiar beggar. His forehead rested squarely on the marble countertop, and he was fast asleep. With nowhere else to rest unobtrusively at this hour, this was his temporary home.

Instinctively, Robert averted his gaze.

The West Balcony to his left, he had read, was a replica of the Grand Staircase at the Paris Opera House. Robert had never been to Paris, but years ago, in a moment of romance on this balcony, he had kissed another red-haired woman who still haunted his dreams. On the vaulted ceiling above them, dimly lit motionless stars with images of the zodiac outlined in faint gold paint had conveniently suspended time.

The concourse ceiling was an odd, self-contained universe. Its mural jumbled east and west, so the constellations were in reverse of their proper order. When Robert had visited the observation deck at One Vanderbilt next door, he looked down on this very spot to imagine the heavens from God's point of view.


This morning, Robert began his diagonal walk across the concourse, from beneath a double-reverse image of Orion toward the immortal winged horse Pegasus. Along the way, he passed the four-sided opal-faced brass clock above Grand Central’s circular information booth. He skirted the East Balcony, which was now a retail showroom filled with upscale electronics manufactured by suppliers who violated Chinese labor laws.

A line had formed at the foot of this stairway, with people waiting for the store to open. Robert observed three tourists from the Far East and a man in a weathered VFW baseball cap. The veteran wore shorts, displaying a prosthetic leg, and he nursed coffee from an Anthora ­­— a blue, white and gold Greek-themed paper cup that read “We are happy to serve you.”

Last in line was the man Robert perceived as the younger version of himself, the one who had nearly knocked him over in front of Patience on Fifth Avenue. The man was engrossed in his cell phone, watching a news video of Marilyn’s ghost, dyed blonde, posing on a red carpet.

---------

Robert Anderson’s birthday journey was near its end.

He entered another marble-vaulted hallway that would lead to an exit, with his office across the street on Lexington Avenue. This Graybar Passage derived its name from Elisha Gray and Enos Barton, founders of the electric company that had originally leased the adjoining Art deco building.

He slowed his steps. The acoustics here made it an attractive venue for street musicians. This morning it echoed with the words of a young woman.

She was sitting on the marble floor, her back against the wall, next to upscale bodega signs for coffee and cold beer. She had surrounded herself with plastic tote bags filled with books.

Despite wearing a short black skirt, the woman splayed her legs, with the toes of her white sneakers pointed toward the ceiling. Her black tights were embossed with white skeleton bones, corresponding to the legs of her hidden flesh. Her lips were vibrant red.

She was reading aloud from one of her books: “More people with white privilege are learning about racial dynamics and social justice terminologies…”

She looked up as Robert approached. Their eyes met. He kept walking, and she kept reading. After a few indecipherable words, she increased her volume and Robert heard, “This work is not about those white people out there.” One pause. “It is about you.” Another pause. “Just you.”

Robert did a double take. He glanced back to see the young woman, head down, her face buried close to the open pages of her book. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings, and they seemed somehow to be alone. He stood dumbly for a second beside a storefront window advertising the next generation of wireless service, then headed again for the exit.

A heartbeat later, he was bumped from behind.

Robert felt something warm against the back of his neck. He let out an inarticulate cry. He thought he was being mugged and flinched to withstand another attack.

When none occurred, he reached behind him in the mugger’s direction, but grabbed only air. He turned to see a pair of skeleton legs retreating toward the main concourse. The woman’s hurried footfalls made no sound, and she was reaching behind her head to gather her ponytail, which had come half undone.

Frantically, Robert fingered his neck and felt a sticky substance.

He looked down at his hands and saw proof of life and evidence of where he belonged.

When he examined the red on his fingertips, he found lipstick where he had expected to find blood.

# # #


Monday, February 14, 2022

A Valentine for New York City


I captured the image above while sitting in the back seat of a New Jersey Transit bus, stuck in traffic on the NJ Turnpike, during the morning commute to work last week.

I didn't mind the delay. It gave me time to enjoy the sun rise over the New York City skyline.

I returned to the office in February, after an Omicron-imposed work-from-home hiatus, and I've realized over the past two weeks just how much I missed the city.

Here are two Instagram posts with some context:
 

And here are three more images from just one day: February 2, 2022.

This is a footbridge over the FDR I hurried across at daybreak. It was Ground Hog's Day, of course, and the image here is over-exposed. I didn't see my shadow:

This is Grand Central Terminal a little later that morning. It's one of my favorite places in the city, and February 2nd also happened to be its 109th birthday:

This is St. Patrick's Cathedral even later that same morning. Police had begun gathering on Fifth Avenue (I had crossed Park Avenue accompanied by officers from San Francisco) for the funeral of NYC police officer Wilbert Mora. He was only 27 and had been shot and killed along with officer Jason Rivera while responding to a domestic disturbance on January 21.


New York is complicated.

It isn't like anywhere else.

I love that it has depth and substance and beauty, even when drained of color.

“To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.”

Scene from the 1979 movie, "Manhattan."


My view from the same location, returning on Feb. 12, 2022.

Thursday, December 23, 2021

12 Days of Christmas: Weehawken via NJ Transit

The view from Weehawken (from top) in May, July, October, December.

On Thursday, 84 years ago today (just weeks before what would be my mother's 6th birthday), commuters took advantage of the first full day of driving through the newly dedicated Lincoln Tunnel to travel between New York and New Jersey.

Above is the 2021 view from the notorious Helix, a 4,000-foot sloping loop connecting traffic from Route 495 in Weehawken to the tunnel entrance on the Jersey side.

With apologies to F. Scott Fitzgerald and his Dutch sailors, this view of the Manhattan skyline is my daily reminder that something exists in the world that for a transitory, enchanted moment makes me hold my breath.
December 1937 opening of the Lincoln Tunnel.
(NY Daily News photo)

The skyline, magically, presents itself differently every working day. Ensconced in a seat of a New Jersey Transit bus, I often press my cell phone camera against one of the back windows to take just one more photo of the view as we pass. The images, captured at the same time (albeit on different days) of the same place, never look the same.

My office in New York reopened, tentatively, earlier this year. My bosses, generously, even paid for expenses if I chose to drive. But, by May, traffic had built up to pre-pandemic levels, and I began to prefer to take the bus.

There's now about half as many passengers on commuter buses as there were in 2019. We're all wearing masks, and most are staring intently into their cell phones.

Except when we pass through Weehawken on Route 495.

Then, from the back of the bus, I notice a few heads turn toward the skyline in appreciation of a sight still commensurate to our capacity for wonder.

Wednesday, December 22, 2021

12 Days of Christmas: Weehawken via Zoom


It's the last Wednesday night before Christmas 2021.

Usually, during this past year, I'd be on a Zoom call on a Wednesday night. My friend Anna, who runs the adult programs at my local library, has been hosting a weekly "Photo Journaling Club." We're on holiday break now, but the usual Wednesday night has been like this: A handful of us share photos, and then we follow a prompt from my friend Janet, who is a real writer, and write extemporaneously about our photos based on her prompt.

I have a great time, because I never know for sure what photos I'll show, and I don't know what I'll write until the time comes to share. It's magic that, in the end, it always seems to work out just fine.

Early this year, I shared the image on top of this page from New Year's morning 2021, when my wife Nancy and I watched the sun rise over New York City from Weehawken (right next to the Hamilton dueling grounds).

Janet had asked us to show a photo that suggested a metaphor. I wrote that the sunrise was a crown on the New York City skyline.

Janet said that, to her, the clouds looked like a chorus line of Rockettes.

Now, as 2021 limps to its finish line, with the real Rockettes having shut down for the remainder of the year, I wonder where Nancy and I might best watch the sun rise on New Year's morning 2022.

I long for some certainty next year in real life. But, I know, real life is not like writing, and everything doesn't always work out just fine.

Real life is a roulette wheel; each passing sunrise is another sucker's bet.

#BlockThatMetaphor

Thursday, October 7, 2021

Wake Me Up When September Ends


Summer has come and passed, and this past month has gone so fast.

It began with the rain in New York...

Which flooded parts of my hometown in New Jersey...

I was moved by the quick action of many neighbors to help those in need.

Days later, the banks of the Hackensack River, whose high tides had been unforgiving, looked idyllically lush...

The juxtaposition between New York and New Jersey seemed heightened in September...

... The stark differences between looking up past the eagle guarding Grand Central Terminal and the gathering crowd at the Mets/Yankee game on the evening of September 11, and looking down Van Houten Avenue in Clifton after Sunday brunch or a lonely visit to the new sculpture garden at the New Milford Library.

I love these contrasts in my daily life.

Later in September, on a return visit to Citi Field, my wife and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary with family and friends. I didn't ask for the OK to post photos, so here's simply the back of my daughter's jersey (I'm wearing the "Varettoni 35" jersey, a great gift from my great friend Joe). My daughter had the jersey made in honor of my late Dad, who was nicknamed "Chick" when he played semi-pro ball...

I celebrated my birthday on Sept. 27 by watching the sun rise on the beach at Asbury Park...

And, finally, on Sept. 29, our family attended a wake in Tenafly at dusk to celebrate the life of a remarkable woman, Carmen Unanue. May her memory be eternal.