3 Days in Florida: What I Saw at Spring Training

Jacob deGrom's first pitch in 2020

Ever since spring training began, my fancy has turned lightly to thoughts of baseball.

This past weekend, I attended three Grapefruit League games, two won my favorite team, the New York Mets:

• Rays vs. Nationals this past Friday at FITTEAM Ballpark (the Washington/Houston home stadium in West Palm Beach, Florida)
• Mets vs. Astros on Leap Day Saturday, also at FITTTEAM
• Nationals vs. Mets on Sunday at Clover Park (the Mets home stadium in Port St. Lucie, Florida)

I’m posting these thoughts about my first-ever spring training visit on March 5 – the infamous day, 48 years ago, that Jim Fregosi broke his right thumb during a workout. The Mets had obtained Fregosi in an off-season trade months earlier for Nolan Ryan, and their careers subsequently took very different turns, with Ryan winding up in the Hall of Fame.

So the life of a Mets fan, like life in general, is not always easy or fair. Still, I am eager for the arrival of the 2020 season and happily took photos of FITTEAM field as soon as I arrived…

Scenes from FITTEAM (Jalen Beeks, lower left)

My wife gently nudged me and asked if it was a good idea to be seen in an Astros ballpark with a camera pointed toward the batter’s box.

One theme of the weekend was the Astros cheating scandal. Fans everywhere chatted constantly about it. During the Mets/Astros game, fans were especially vocal, chanting “Beat the Cheats!” to the tone and rhythm of “Let’s Go Mets!” It’s anyone’s guess how long this hostility will last, but I wonder whether it will demoralize or galvanize the Astros players as the season progresses.

Another weekend theme was how nice people are to you when you wear Mets gear. No matter where we were -- at the ballpark, airport, hotel, in bars and restaurants, or walking the streets of West Palm Beach -- people would nod, smile, wave, or say “Let’s Go Mets!”

One Rays fan, an older gentleman, saw my Mets cap and bemoaned how much he’ll miss Marcus Stroman, who left the Blue Jays to join the Mets last year. As he kept talking, he revealed a schoolboy crush on Nikki Huffman, Stroman’s personal trainer, who he will miss even more.

Scenes from West Palm Beach (Clematis Street, lower left)

Watching the Mets players interact up close gave me a hopeful feeling for the future. The players seem to genuinely enjoy each other.

The day before we left for Florida, mlb.com’s Anthony DiComo posted an endearing story describing how a group of Mets players have formed an impromptu “Cookies Club,” meeting up regularly after road games to eat peanut-butter cookies, drink 2% milk, and talk about baseball and life.

I saw evidence of this refreshing decency with my own eyes: Jacob DeGrom joked with the home plate umpire after leaving the pitcher’s mound following three innings of work. I’m guessing it was about the five strikes the ump had given the Nationals’ Michael Taylor in a previous at bat. And when muscular, fan-favorite Tim Tebow pulled back from barreling late into second base during a meaningless, late-game double play, Nationals middle infielders gave him a respectful, appreciative nod.

Even though today’s culture is so divisive, and cheaters evidently do sometimes win, I refuse to believe that nice guys always finish last. Give me Luis Rojas over Leo Durocher any day. I’ll take my chances.

Scenes from Clover Park (immortal Tom Seaver, lower right)

Niceness is contagious, even if it isn’t yet a global pandemic. It’s amazing how friendly the Mets vendors and support staff are when we attend games in New York. That vibe extended to Clover Park, which has been newly renovated and mirrors some of the best features of CitiField (cheers, Jim Beam Bourbon Bar!).

Clover Park was more fan-friendly and comfortable than FITTEAM. Upon entering on Sunday, the guards let my wife through with a friendly wave despite problems with a wonky metal detector. We joked that had the same thing happened at Yankee Stadium, I would have spent the afternoon bailing her out from a Bronx detention center.

Scooter and the Big Man warm up to face the Astros

My Dad, a great amateur ballplayer in his own right, used to observe that, however old he was, he always felt he was younger than the major leaguers he watched on TV. In real life, that conceit is hard to maintain. All the players look young… and younger than on TV. They also seem bigger in real life; not like actors, who always seem smaller.

Today’s baseball players are in terrific shape and are the most talented in the world. I chuckle to myself when people claim that Babe Ruth would be just as effective today as he was in the 1920s. Back then Ruth’s opponents came from a small, sometimes out-of-shape, homogeneous talent pool who did not have the benefit of all the advances over the past century in health, nutrition and sports science.

Strolling past the left-field bullpen during the Rays-Nationals game, I heard what sounded like a gunshot, only to look down to discover it was the pop of a Jalen Beeks fastball hitting a warmup catcher’s mitt. Young Beeks’ stats suggest he’s so far been an average big-league middle reliever, but I wonder if Ruth had seen or heard anything like him.

My wife wore her “Scooter and the Big Man” T-shirt to Sunday’s game, which happened to be scheduled on Michael Conforto’s 27th birthday. The E Street Band reference in this case refers to “Scooter” Conforto and “Big Man” Pete Alonso.

deGrom warming up

It also happened to be deGrom’s first start of the spring that day (we were doubly lucky: having witnessed Stephen Strasburg’s first spring start on Friday).

It was quite a sight to see “Jake” warm up on the third-base sideline (I wonder why the Mets dugout is on the third-base side of Clover Park; isn’t the home team always on the first-base side?). All the other Mets pitchers gathered around to study/watch/admire deGrom’s seemingly effortless delivery. Catcher Wilson Ramos, who looks to begin the season in top physical condition, was squatting closer to the ground and setting a lower target than he did during the 2019 season.

Once the game started, deGrom made short work of the first three batters he faced: a great sign for the season ahead. Not only that, but Scooter and the Big Man came through: Alonso getting his first hit of the spring and Conforto hitting a birthday home run.

It was a memorable Sunday. Only one thing was missing: Where was Mr. Met?

My only sighting of Mr. and Mrs. Met at Clover Park

Other things of interest?

• FITTEAM Ballpark has no clock on its expansive scoreboard, as if time had stopped… or we were in Las Vegas.
• The hawkers in spring training are especially entertaining, although the “very, very cold beer / if I were you I’d order a beer” guy met his match when a high school baseball team sitting together all jokingly stood, shouted and raised their hands when he passed.
• The between-inning amusements are sweetly reminiscent of scenes from “Bull Durham.” Games at both parks were interrupted by an urgent plea from the PA announcer for the owner of a certain car. The centerfield scoreboard then displayed said vehicle, and the announcer enthusiastically informed the crowd that it had won that day’s “Dirtiest Car in the Parking Lot” contest, awarding the owner a free wash.
• Florida is filled with palm trees and churches and concrete utility poles.

In the end, my wife and I enjoyed our stay in West Palm Beach very much. It features inviting bars and restaurants, street art and musicians, and people who like to dine outdoors on Clematis Street in shorts and short-sleeve shirts in 53-degree weather.

We crossed the bridge to moneyed Palm Beach only once. I felt claustrophobic there, finding the architecture imposing and ostentatious.

Perhaps that’s where the owners of the Yankees live.

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Postscript, from my Instagram account in March 2021:

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A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj)

Hey, Google, Show Me the Odds of a Miracle

As February comes to a close, I’m still thinking of Google’s “Loretta” Super Bowl commercial, which has so far been viewed more than 61 million times on YouTube.

The ad was a discussion topic at a recent event sponsored by the New Jersey chapter of IABC (International Association of Business Communicators).

Newhouse’s chief marketing officer, Jason Blake, and Sandy Becker from Rutgers Business School delivered a great post-game review of the Super Bowl advertising winners and losers.

IABC NJ event in Montclair, Feb. 11

To Blake and Becker, Google’s Loretta ad “humanized tech better than anything in a long time.”

Those in the room nodded in agreement, and a few said the ad had moved them to tears.

Less than two weeks following the “Big Game,” Blake and Becker noted that this year’s ads, with few exceptions, hadn’t been as memorable or as entertaining as the half-time show. Many advertisers desperately attempted to cram celebrities into vignettes with confusing messaging.

Upon further review, I’ve discovered that not everyone felt the same as our IABC focus group. On the positive side, I was even more moved to learn that the ad is based on a true story.

On the negative side, tech guru Shelly Palmer called it “the most evil advertisement” he’d ever seen because Google doesn’t disclose that it uses the information provided by the widower in the ad -- and by all of us in real life -- simply for marketing purposes.

Similarly, Joelle Renstrom wrote about “The Sinister Realities of Google's Tear-Jerking Super Bowl Commercial” on Slate. And then there’s this parody ad produced by Gardiner Bryant, with its coda that calls out Google’s “creepiness”:



It seems the world is divided in two: many who accept the ad at face value, and many -- like my wife -- who wonder about the implications and unintended consequences of letting technology supplant real human interaction.

I think, after all, that I still share the view of my friends at IABC.

I don't think the ad shows the extent of Google’s power; I think it shows Google’s limits.

Something that happened last Sunday explains why, and I wanted to post about it tonight because I fear my reasoning is as ephemeral as the waning hours of Leap Day.

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Last Sunday, family and friends celebrated the 90th birthday of my uncle, a retired priest.

As my wife and I drove to the party at Enzo’s Ristorante & Pizzeria in Budd Lake, NJ, I thought a lot about Fr. Julian’s life.

Not to “Loretta” him here, but I remember a conversation I had with my grandmother -- who would have been 97 at the time -- one summer, years ago.

As we sat on the front porch of her (now Julian’s) house in Budd Lake, Nonna told the story of the days following Fr. Julian’s birth: he had been so sick that the best doctors were convinced he would die within days.

Nonna said she prayed to Mary to keep him alive. She vowed to always take care of Julian, no matter what... believing, even if he survived, he would require 24/7 care for the rest of his life. She promised God that if only Julian would live she would never ask for anything else for herself ever again.

She never did. She never had to. She considered herself the luckiest mother in the world.

Julian grew to be the strongest of the Varettoni boys (and both his brothers were athletes and Navy officers). He always took care of Nonna, just as he has helped countless others throughout his life.

The miracle of Fr. Julian’s 90th birthday party is something Google could never have predicted. He, like Loretta and her husband, have had wonderful lives.

They, like the rest of us, are also among the rabble who share general similarities that can exploited for commercial gain. We’re the same rabble who do all the working and playing and living and dying -- but we all have individual stories that Google can’t get its fingers on.

Our lives are not algorithms. Love and death are unfathomable mysteries. We’re all miracles in our own way.

Not even Google can commoditize our souls.

Celebrating 49 Years of Teaching Photography at Montclair State

Klaus Schnitzer at the podium.

I stumbled upon a great tribute last night: the new exhibit at the George Segal Gallery on the Montclair State University campus.

It's an installation showcasing the work of photographer Klaus Schnitzer, and the influence he's had on pupils throughout his 49-year tenure as an Art and Design professor.

The exhibit runs through Saturday, April 4, 2020. It includes work by 54 of Schnitzer's students, and you can read more information and details here.

I was there last night to show support for a school my wife and oldest daughter both attended. My daughter -- who I am so proud of -- graduated there with a teaching degree. She's currently a special ed teacher, and she's also currently studying to obtain her master's degree at Montclair State.

Susan Cole, the university's president, introduced herself to us last night, which was very sweet. She said something important and true about this state school.

Schnitzer's photography on display.

She proudly noted that while many other schools strive for diversity and inclusion, Montclair State is already diverse and inclusive.

Just like the best parts of New Jersey itself, I'd add.

I was delighted and amazed by the gallery's current exhibit. Consider stopping by before April 4. I think you'll be delighted too.

This is a wonderful testament to a productive and meaningful career, to the profound influence one life has on so many others, and to the enduring legacy of art.

George Segal's "Summer Cabin."

Poetry Trumps Politics in Ginsberg’s Paterson

Grand Stairway at the Hamilton Club.

Of all the political theater I've witnessed over the past few days, none took me by more surprise than Congressman Bill Pascrell's performance this past Saturday at the historic Hamilton Club in Paterson, NJ.

The occasion was the 40th anniversary of the Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College. You can read about the center, and its legendary founder and executive director, Maria Mazziotti Gillan, here and here.

I attended the event on a lark -- because I love poetry, and I wanted to hear the poets who had won this year's Allen Ginsberg Awards. I was expecting to be among perhaps a dozen attendees. In fact, there were many, many more.

Including Rep. Pascrell.

He said he was a lifelong fan and writer of poetry. At the event, he read a poem he had written many years ago. It was scrawled in a script reminiscent of my grandfather's handwriting. Here's the 90-second video:

Witnessing a politician's simple and unapologetic ode to wanting to live life as a doorman was an unexpected blessing.

Perhaps appreciation for poetry can repair our losses, since we've otherwise seen the best minds of our generation destroyed by madness.

Other highlights from Saturday included:

• Gillan's story about Ginsberg passing notes to her at a reading many years ago.
• All the wonderful snippets of language I heard (I'm looking at you Marc Harshman, poet-laureate of West Virginia, and your "angel words" and the people who lived on the mountaintop and kept rocks in their pockets so they wouldn't blow away).
• The sheer variety of poets, with a special shout-out to Elizabeth Marchitti who, like my Mom, is 88 years old and lives in Totowa (the next town over from Paterson, where Ginsberg grew up).

The historic Hamilton Club itself was a surprise and wonder. As were the displays by Gaetano Federici throughout the building. Here's more about the sculptor, and here's his bust of David in front of a window overlooking downtown:

The charm of the event even extended to the catering, provided by an opera singer (Sheldrake Lukas, left) and a poet (Xandt Wyntreez):

Finally, I walked away from the event with a bag of swag, including a print of the event poster, featuring a beautiful image of Hamilton House by photographer/poet Mark Hillringhouse. At the event, Mark said he sought to take an image of the building "that seemed to glow from the inside... the same way poetry makes us feel."

The swag also included a 40th anniversary t-shirt and a thick, bound copy of The Paterson Literary Review (2012-2013).

If anyone would like that copy, drop me a line at bvar@verizon.net, and I'll mail it to you for free.

Feb. 1 was also the deadline for next year's Allen Ginsberg Awards. I submitted one of my poems previously posted here.

Considering the quality of the competition, it will be difficult to get enough votes for an honorable mention. Harshman -- one of two first-prize winners this year (Francesca Maxime and her poem, "Pleather," was the other) -- prefaced his reading Saturday by noting that he had long-ago "graduated from rhyme."

I never did. With apologies to Mr. Ginsberg, epic free verse is not my style. I blame Mr. Poe for that.

Here's a Bright Idea: Visit a National Park

140 years ago today -- Jan. 27, 1880 -- Thomas Edison's received his patent for the light bulb.

I learned this fact on Saturday on a visit with some photography friends to the National Park Service's site in West Orange, NJ.

This is one of my favorites of all the national parks in New Jersey. Like the Great Falls in Paterson, the Thomas Edison National Historical Park is close to home... and very photogenic.

You can take a virtual tour using the National Park Service's great online resources, including this picture guide. 

To me, our national parks always manage to provide enlightening perspectives. I mean, you'd think light bulbs would older than 140, considering all the advancements since, right?

Here's a short slideshow with some of my images from this weekend:

I hope this encourages you to visit and take in some history. The rangers there are friendly and helpful.

And photos, including selfies with life-sized Edison cutouts, are welcome (provided you don't use flash).

This is in contrast to the now-closed J.D. Salinger exhibit I recently visited at the New York Public Library, where all photography was prohibited.

I suppose, though, that was on-brand for Salinger, who provided his own enlightening perspectives in his own way... and who, alas, died 10 years ago today, 130 years after the invention of the light bulb.

Fighting to Save Endangered Historic Sites

Photo: David Woeller

You and I will never again have the chance to see, in real life, one of the New Jersey's most iconic sites -- the rustic A.M.E. church in Bivalve (on the state's southern shore).

This David Woeller photo is reprinted with permission from a 2014 story in The Press of Atlantic City, one of several news items in recent years about art or photography exhibits that have included images of the church.

This building was demolished this past week.

Here's an Instagram post by @tinychurchesnj with links to several photos and detailed comments about this sad news.

View this post on Instagram

The #Bivalve AME Church was lost this weekend. We have contacted the news but haven’t seen any coverage yet besides these posts from Facebook. The property was owned by Bivalve Packing Co and we are told they had plans to restore the church. The last we saw was over the summer when we shared a photo of the old roof ripped off with a post that said it would be replaced. Apparently it never was. The rain poured in for half a year until the structure was so deteriorated it got torn down. We don’t know why Bivalve Packing didn’t finish the restoration. Why the destruction was sped up by the removal of the roof or the demolition by bulldozer, we also don’t know. We only wish we knew about it before it was too late. This is a major loss to the black history of South Jersey. #thisplacematters #demolitionbyneglect #demolitionisnottheanswer #historicpreservation #historicpreservationmatters #someplacenotanyplace #blackhistorymonth #blackhistory #southjersey #portnorris #commercialtownship #mauriceriver #cumberlandcounty

A post shared by Historic NJ Churches (@tinychurchesnj) on Jan 14, 2020 at 5:13pm PST

There are so many evocative photos of this church. Here's photographer Francesca Frank posting this week on Facebook:



The loss of any church is a loss to New Jersey, but this one is particularly sad.

I post photos of churches from around the state every Sunday at @foundinnj, and several of the sites I've visited are currently for sale (the New Jersey Jesus Baptist Church in Garfield and the Alpine Community Church).

When I heard that the Friends of Waterloo Village had disbanded at year-end 2019, I feared for the United Methodist Church there too. But then I was happy to learn that this church is not only still holding services every Sunday morning at 10, it is also sponsoring Feed Fest 2020 on Sunday, Feb. 9 -- a family-friendly party to help feed those in need.

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I was also happy to learn this week about "Saved or Lost Forever," a documentary by Preservation New Jersey, scheduled to premiere at a March 4 fund-raiser at Newark Symphony Hall.

Below is a video preview (with event information here):




As a recent story in The Record notes, one of the sites mentioned in this video -- Camden High School's "Castle on the Hill" -- has already been leveled.

Another story in The Record describes how protections for Liberty State Park have failed amid a billionaire's push to expand a golf course into the wetlands.

These too were/are sacred places. They deserve to be cherished and protected.

I am grateful to Perservation New Jersey for their good work, and to all the photographers, artists and neighbors who capture and preserve the beauty and history of our home.

And yet I am horrified by this last photo of the A.M.E church in Bivalve...

Photo: @tkportnorris on Instagram

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Here's a hopeful postscript to this post, based on a 1/22/20 article in The Record:

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Good news. According to a story in northjersey.com today: “The historic Alpine Community Church has been sold, not to a developer, as residents and history buffs feared, but to a Rockland County, NY, congregation. The 149-year-old stone church on Closter Dock Road was sold for $2.1 million on Dec. 6 after being on the market for more than a year... This brings resolution to years of uncertainty for the #landmark.” #njhistory #njchurcheverysunday ⛪️ #church

A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj) on Jan 22, 2020 at 6:47am PST

Epiphany in Paterson, 2020 Update

Last year, I posted here about a visit to a small church in Paterson, NJ, on Epiphany Sunday.

I returned there today, and posted an update on Instagram (see below).

Spoiler alert: there’s a happy and hopeful ending.

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This is the altar at St. Bonaventure’s in Paterson, appropriately aglow on the Festival of Lights, #Epiphany Sunday. Today I took Mom there to hear the Chopin Society Male Choir on its 25th annual visit to sing #Polish Christmas carols during Mass. Mom happily sang along. She will be 88 later this month, and grew up in a Polish-speaking household in Garfield NJ. It was a morning of light and nostalgia and hope for the future. The pastor happily announced that this past Friday he had received word from the Franciscan Friars of the Holy Name Province that the parish would not be closing its doors. The friars, dwindling in numbers, are lately forced to give up some ministries. St. Bonaventure’s has served #Paterson since 1878. Fr. Daniel said that in 2020 the parish would redouble its efforts in the community, particularly in serving the poor. I wrote about my visit here last year too. You can read that at the temporary link in my Instagram bio. #njchurcheverysunday ⛪️

A post shared by Found in NJ (@foundinnj) on Jan 5, 2020 at 2:33pm PST

Page 364 of 365, And I Can't Yet Close One Book

It's page 364 of 365, and I have been defeated in reaching my self-imposed challenge of reading 30 books in 2019.

I got stuck in the mud trying to finish the last three books I chose.

In fact, I still haven't finished the third: "Just Mercy," lawyer Bryan Stevenson's tale of his attempt to free a man wrongly condemned to die on death row.

I can't finish this book because every time I try to dive back in, I get too worked up: the injustice presented here is too overwhelming.

I chose this book on the recommendation of a friend who said it would "change your life."

It certainly has. I now trust no one.

This is "To Kill a Mockingbird," updated for our times, stripped of any literary pretensions.

There's a film adaptation too, and "Just Mercy" will premiere widely nationwide on January 10th. So yes, Roger, I'll see you at the movies.

Here are two other books that took me forever to finish:

Death in Venice by Thomas Mann
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Having fond memories of this novella from my school years at Notre Dame, I started reading the Kindle version... and found myself stalling, putting the book aside, then dreading to reattempt to follow the stilted language of the opening pages. This was the "Dover Thrift Edition," translated by Stanley Appelbaum. (In his prodigious and accomplished career, he had translated Ovid's "Art of Love," another book I fondly recalled from school.)

But I guess I'm not in Indiana any more. Having lived in New Jersey for so long, I can now officially confirm I have no patience.

I eventually tried the Audible version of a newer, award-winning translation (by Michael Henry Heim) read by Simon Callow. Somehow, listening to a sophisticated English accent made the passing words and story tolerable. But disappointing still.

I wasn't moved by the book. The main character is simply creepy. The decay of the setting isn't as profound as I once thought. The Venice of Gustav von Aschenbach is Disneyland compared to the portents in the real world today, Venice included.

College Me would have chalked up my disappointment to the translation. I've always been wary of literary works that are not in their native language. But as Michael Cunningham notes in his very wise introduction: "All novels are translations, even in their original languages... None of us reads precisely the same book, even if the words are identical."

The thing is, I can't tolerate leaden genius any more.

On this, perhaps Aschenbach and I would agree: Let me be awed and thunderstruck by all the simple beauty in the world, even as our world begins to fall apart.


Super Pumped: The Battle for Uber by Mike Isaac
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

THIS is a really good book... although not quite as good, even if in the same vein (excuse the expression), as last year's "Bad Blood."

The journalism here is terrific. The problem -- and why I kept putting this aside before finishing it -- is that there are no characters to root for.

Not only that, but all the bad guys -- and, yes, they are all guys -- wind up insanely rich in the end.

It was painful to read about all the excess, all the wasted wealth, all the casual crimes (the incident of a female Uber employee's head being forcibly shoved into a pile of cocaine is simply noted in passing).

There's no moral to this story, and so much damage done in the wake of Uber's success.

It's page 364 of 365, and I'm ready to close the book on the "Super Pumped" decade, when technology combined with greed to widen the gap between rich and poor.

I have to believe that in the 2020s, Mike Isaac will have better stories to tell.

View all my Goodreads reviews

Pics, Or It Didn't Happen

Walking up Fifth Avenue: I was there

If you find yourself on Fifth Avenue before January 19th, I recommend spending some time lost in the J.D. Salinger exhibit at the New York Public Library.

It's free, courtesy of J.D. Salinger Trust and coinciding with the centennial of the author's birth.

On public display for the first time are papers, photos and other personal items belonging to the quirky, reclusive literary icon.

Salinger didn't publish anything after 1965, 45 years before his death, but he evidently kept writing long after moving from New York to New Hampshire. So many notebooks, so many letters, so many words.

The family photos on display are particularly touching, even more so to me than his actual Royal typewriter or the handwritten margin notes on the author's galley of "The Catcher in the Rye."

I wish I could show you some of these items, but -- in true Salinger style, in this cramped exhibit space where you will be instructed to circle single-file from left to right -- no photos are allowed.

The hallway leading to the Salinger exhibit's guarded entrance

Cellphones, coats and bags need to be checked before you enter. You can take photos anywhere else in the library, just not here. It's strictly enforced. There's a guard at the front door and another inside ready to pounce on any raised, smuggled phone.

Which begs the question: Since I can offer no pictures of the exhibit, how can you believe I was there?

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Photography stops time. It's magic... and intimate, and precious.

It's why I take candid photos of my family. Or why I have two Instagram accounts. Or why I've formed friendships with people who come home from work and wash up, then travel somewhere to capture a fleeting image.

All these photos I've taken have taught me to stop for a second, and marvel at the everyday things that hide in plain sight at the edge of the miraculous.

Every image proves I was somewhere; every somewhere never stays the same.

After retrieving my cellphone and coat after visiting the Salinger exhibit, I kept walking and walking up Fifth Avenue, without any tie on or anything.

All of a sudden, something very spooky started happening.

Every time I came to the end of the block, I had this feeling that I'd never get to the other side of the street. I thought I'd just disappear.

So I started to make believe I was talking to Salinger, and I'd say, "Please, Jerry, don't let me disappear."

When I reached the other side of the street, I raised my cellphone and took another photo.

Jerry, I knew, would understand. Having just had a glimpse into his real life, I realized he was just like everyone else. He wrote all those words because he was afraid to disappear too.

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Happy New Year, every one. Here are my "Top 9" photos from my Instagram accounts in 2019:

@bvarphotos

@foundinnj