And Now for Something Completely Different...

The Oculus, New York City, early 2020.

I boldly proclaimed last year that I would stop dwelling on the past -- and I've profoundly failed at this.

One pre-pandemic New Year's resolution was that I wouldn't post as many memorial tributes here or be so self-absorbed about the past.

I do try to keep my family out of the things I post, primarily to protect their privacy. Well, except for Mom. She likes when I post about her. 😊

But the simple fact is: It's hard to write about the living.

If binge-watching "The Good Place" (highly recommended) while staying at home during a pandemic taught me anything in 2020, it was that people change and grow. My perception is unfair to the reality of anyone I would write about.

I recently accepted a Facebook friend request from someone who has lived in Mom's neighborhood for many years. The next day Facebook suggested a friend of my new friend as a connection for me. It was someone who had bullied me in grade school. I didn't accept the recommendation, but I looked at the bully's profile. It seems he's had a good life.

So what do I know? People don't ever stay the same. Only words on a page are immutable.

I find that immensely comforting.

Here are my words: Attached here is a collection of my poetry over the past year. It's titled "Greetings From 2020," a collection of nine (mostly wistful) poems, illustrated by my photos. Below is a recent sample, "The Mystery of 3."

It's something different from me anyway. I hope you enjoy it -- and forgive my Monty Python reference in the title of this post.

I'm feeling inspired today. My hovercraft is full of eels.

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The Mystery of 3

In New York,

everyone pairs off

in threes.

 

I have evidence of this.

Exhibit A: The Oculus' random crowd.

Look closely.

 

Three shoppers,

a couple with a baby carriage,

a man rushing to join friends.

 

What is this magnetic pull?

The sturdy balance of a three-legged stool?

Or merely the nature of things?

 

Confirmation

that no one has

one true love.

 

A Visit to Eagle Rock, With a View to Oz

On a clear day, you can see Emerald City.

Above is the view from Eagle Rock Reservation. More specifically, it's from the lookout next to Highlawn Pavilion, a restaurant/hall on the ridge of the Watchung Mountains, in the midst of a 400-acre park triangulated by Montclair, Verona and West Orange.

It's the site of Essex County's September 11th Memorial. 

Here are some photos of the memorial items from a recent visit:

Above is "Remembrance and Rebirth," a bronze figure lifting a lantern to the former site of the Twin Towers.

To the left (with caption information from the brochure linked above and published by the Essex County Department of Parks, Recreation & Cultural Affairs) is the 120-foot granite "Wall of Remembrance." Engraved there are the names of the 3,000 people who lost their lives in the September 11 attacks, including those aboard the four airline flights.

The three memorial artifacts below are:

Freedom - An 8-foot, bronze, life-size eagle with its wings spread in full flight.

Gabriella - A life-size bronze sculpture of a young girl holding a teddy bear. She represents the more than 1,000 children who lost a parent, brother, sister, grandparent or other family member.

Firefighter Helmet - On a short pedestal to the left of Gabriella is a replica FDNY helmet engraved, "with deepest gratitude from the people of Essex County, New Jersey, in memory of the 343 New York City Firefighters who sacrificed their lives in the line of duty on September 11, 2001."

Finally, here's a World Trade Center artifact that is preserved at the site: a 7,400-pound steel and concrete portion of the foundation. Behind that is a newer statue saluting the search and rescue dogs of 9/11. More than 350 Daschunds, Golden Retrievers and other dogs were called into action that day.

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Of course, Eagle Rock is also the site of some stunning views of the New York City skyline.

Those aren't hard to stumble across in New Jersey.

When I posted the photo at the top of this page to "Found in New Jersey" on Tumblr, a friend (I don't know his real name, everyone seems to be anonymous there) commented: Pete Hamill wrote that when he stared dumbstruck at Manhattan for the first time in his life, his mother said, "Peter, you've seen it before. It's Oz."

Traveling around New Jersey, this skyline can appear suddenly and magically: driving over a bluff heading south on Route 17 past Ramsey, or north on the Turnpike approaching Newark, or east on Route 3 in Nutley or on Route 80 in Hackensack.

I also have favorite destinations to see the city in the distance: Weehawken and Jersey City, Fort Lee Historic Park and Garret Mountain Reservation in Paterson.

The view from Weehawken.

Sometimes, New York's skyline appears unexpectedly. On my first visit to Gateway National Park, I was surprised to see the city to the north since it's a more than 50-mile drive from Sandy Hook Beach to One World Trade Center, the heart of Ground Zero.

Stumbling upon the view, I felt a kindred connection to what F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about the Dutch who sailed down the Hudson River from the opposite direction centuries ago.

In January 2021, the copyright on "The Great Gatsby" has expired, so I end this post with a clear conscience as I quote some favorite lines:

As the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

 

The view from Jersey City.

20 Images of 2020

In January, walking to work in Manhattan with the sun in my eyes. A video loop of the same basic image shows the Ghosts of 2020 Future.

In February, a post-Valentine's Day trip to Asbury Park, followed by a post-quarantine visit in July, again haunted by sunrise shadows.

In March, I saw Manhattan for the last time in months... first, from a final plane trip at the start of the month, then walking to work past Times Square on March 13.

In April, it snowed in my hometown in New Jersey, and deer roamed the suburban streets during lockdown.

In May, I needed to drive into Manhattan to run an errand for Mom. I didn't get out of my car, except to shoot this photo of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Later, I stopped on the way to Mom's house to sneak a photo of the Great Falls in Paterson.

In June, I saw my youngest daughter for the first time in months. It was a foggy night on the Seaside Heights boardwalk, and I stopped when she didn't realize it so I could capture her image before she disappeared into the mystic.

In July, I met photography friends, socially distanced, at the Empty Sky Memorial in Jersey City.

In August, I visited Fort Lee Park with my wife (and returned in October for a different perspective from the Palisades).

In September, I went for a walk with my oldest daughter in Saddle River Park, and we watched birds already heading south.

In October, I was back at work in New York two days a week, enjoying the office view and returning to find Times Square decidedly not a "ghost town."

In November, I stopped to take a photo in Bloombury, NJ -- and found more shadows on the face of this church.

In December, a friend who hasn't been able to return to New York asked for a photo of the new skyscraper, One Vanderbilt, in the season's first snowfall.

Finally, after Christmas, I returned to Asbury Park to take a photo of 2020's last full moon...

... and howl.

The Year in Churches (Predicting Better for 2021)

New Jersey churches in 2020; view them here or at @foundinnj.

One low point I witnessed in 2020 occurred while driving home from work in New York City in mid-summer.

Coach USA no longer operates a commuter bus serving my hometown in New Jersey; drivers on that route were furloughed in March.

So I used my car when allowed to physically return to the office in July -- just two days a week, and only after responding to 5 a.m. emails to testify I was COVID-free.

The low point occurred the evening Waze's iPhone navigation app displayed an alert that road kill was blocking the entrance to the lower level of the George Washington Bridge.

Road kill? In Manhattan? I was already too close to the bridge to change course. I drove with caution to the source of the congestion.

It turned out to be a living person: a man clutching a sign proclaiming his homelessness, standing in the middle of Harlem River Drive in the twilight, trying to get the attention of cars merging to the onramp.

Some Waze user had classified the beggar as "road kill" to warn other drivers.

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As 2020 comes to a close, I find hope for a better future and encouragement in the hundreds of iPhone photos I have taken over the past year. Many are of family, and many are of churches.

Why churches?

I love to photograph them because there's always more to the image than the eye can see. Every Sunday, I dutifully post about another New Jersey church on Instagram using the hashtag #NJChurchEverySunday.

When 2020 started, it was a year like any other.

I posted a photo on Epiphany Sunday at St. Bonaventure's in Paterson. I had taken Mom, who was raised speaking Polish in Garfield, to hear the Chopin Society Male Choir sing Polish Christmas carols. It was the choir's 25th annual visit to the church; needless to say, there won't be a 26th this coming Sunday.

In January and February, I was fascinated by churches with a rich history that were in danger of closing. I posted on Instagram about the sale of Alpine Community Church, fire-damaged St. Mark's Episcopal Church in East Orange, and the closing of the Stanley Congregational Church in Chatham. I also posted here about the demolition of the iconic A.M.E. church in Bivalve.

This was only a foreshadowing of the images from later in March: empty church pews or pews filled only with photos of parishioners, and distant images of locked church buildings.

By the end of summer, my Google Photos folder began populating itself with highly stylized images of churches I had previously photographed. These automatic "creations" were beautiful churches in beautiful towns, such as Summit, Haworth, Montclair and Norwood.

Here, for example, is the Church of the Atonement at dusk in Tenafly.

This photo seemed even more picturesque on my phone than it had been in real life, and Google's artificial intelligence engine picked up on this mysterious quality. Google had stored the photo in its cloud, then -- as if to offer solace -- automatically stylized the image to enhance its lighting and shadows.

I admire any church that inspires Skynet; I think that bodes well for our collective fate.

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Many very smart people try to predict the future... with little success.

This week I read with interest Marketing professor Scott Galloway's 2021 predictions, fully aware how wrong he has been in prior years. Two years ago he predicted that Tesla stock, then about $85 a share, would crash and burn. In 2019, the stock soared, and in 2020 it soared even higher. Each share, even after a 5-for-1 split in August, is worth more than $700 today.

Is this the lesson of 2020? That the gap between rich and poor, between the haves and the have-nots, will forever widen?

It doesn't have to be that way in 2021.

I look at the churches surrounding us and see symbols of hope for better days ahead.

Churches, even when closed, have stories to tell. They offer us more than what our eyes can see.

I predict with utter certainty they will outlast not only this pandemic, but also the rise and fall of the rich, and the vagaries of weekday traffic in New York City.

Our churches promise salvation for all, and they glorify our road kill.

NJ churches, stylized by Google in 2020; view them here.

My Life on Instagram: November 2020, So Far

Nov. 16 - Lunchtime walk in New York City.
The Rockefeller Center tree arrival; Saks 5th Ave. windows.

My life in Instagram posts:

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Nov. 5 - I wrote a poem.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bob Varettoni (@bvarphotos)

And took a COVID-19 test (results: negative).

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj)

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Nov. 6 - I recalled the light I saw at the end of the tunnel.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bob Varettoni (@bvarphotos)

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Nov. 8 - I saw a breathtaking statue along the Hudson River in Piermont.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bob Varettoni (@bvarphotos)

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Nov. 10 - I visited Mom in Totowa.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj)

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Nov. 11 - I took a walk across the Tappan Zee Bridge.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bob Varettoni (@bvarphotos)

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Nov. 14 - I took a walk around my hometown.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj)

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Nov. 18 - I participated in a virtual wine-tasting. Via Zoom. Very 2020.

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A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj)

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So you see, Bob, you have lived a wonderful life.