Scenes From New Bridge Landing

One thing about New Jersey: A little distance can make a big difference.

On short afternoon walks from my suburban hometown, I pass neat rows of houses and a busy county road, and then just yards away I seamlessly pass into the Revolutionary War era.

Sure, I can see a shopping mall beyond the trees in the distance, and I know there's an Applebee's and Home Depot just down the road, but here -- at Historic New Bridge Landing Park -- an abundance of trees creates the illusion of a time bubble.

From top: Steuben House,
Campbell-Christie House,
my favorite barn at sunset.

It's quiet here, and in recent COVID days I often have the place to myself and pretend I am haunting it.

You can read all about the park, download resources, hear podcasts and take virtual video tours at a Bergen County Historical Society website. It describes the site this way:

"Historic New Bridge Landing preserves a compelling and scenic fragment of the Jersey Dutch countryside, strategically situated at the narrows of the Hackensack River and famed for its compelling role in the Revolutionary War. Its distinctive antique dwellings, artifact collections and scenic landscapes are uniquely reminiscent of a vanished folk culture, dependent upon the tidal river as a commercial artery and a self-renewing source of nourishment and industrial power."

Here are some images to help you set the scene. The locally iconic red barn is my favorite.

Stop by for a visit some day. See hello, if you see me, or my ghost, wandering the grounds, taking photos.

 

Various views of "New Bridge," constructed in 1889
on the site of "the bridge that saved a nation." You can look it up 🙂

Pre-COVID old-time baseball games and dances.
Bottom right, a peak behind locked doors in March 2021.

Storytelling in 6 Words, with Images

A chance tweet caught my eye today: poet Ty Gardner was promoting his latest work, "A Thousand Little Things," which contains 1,000 monostich (or "one line") poems.

This is not unlike the popular "six word stories" that have always intrigued me.

As I post images on Instagram lately, I find that less is more when writing captions, and I have even been playing with using haikus as captions to accompany images of New York City.

But tonight, inspired by Mr. Gardner, I thought I would try something new: post seven images, with six word captions that tell their story.

Why seven? Because seven times six equals 42. And 42, according to the writer Douglas Adams, is "the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything."

Here goes.

Unfinished by Dad, before he died.

---

I stood alone, surrounded by history.

---

Returning March 2020, never to leave.

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Remembering our town's 51 Covid deaths.

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First Avenue promised infinite possibilities ahead.

---

We traveled in threes, for protection.

---

Art is shallow; love is whole.

---

9 Photos on a Saturday in New York

Captions in haiku

Running in circles,

imagining no heaven,

children laugh at us.

A cloud for a dress.

Pink carnations and a crown.

The world is your stage.

Two people apart.

Unmoved by the melody,

"Besame Mucho."

Ride available.

White chariot, lined in red.

Remember this day.

Bethesda Plaza.

The one thing I share with you.

Lost in the moment.

Document our love.

Compare it to the skyline.

Our smiles, brighter still.

Kazoo_365

plays music for us to dance,

in social distance.

We're all mad, Alice.

We were different people then.

Curiouser now.

We are not posing.

We are in a fairy tale.

You do not exist.

About My Job: A Foundation Serving New Yorkers

Mother Cabrini statue on our office windowsill (photo: me 🙂)

Reprinted with permission: a message from Msgr. Gregory Mustaciuolo, CEO of the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation

Today, the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation announced a new round of more than 400 grants totaling $115 million for programs serving vulnerable New Yorkers to help address health gaps across our state.

These funds will go to community-based organizations, food banks, healthcare providers, nursing homes, schools, federally qualified health centers, and others that are on the front lines providing crucial services to New Yorkers in need: groups such as low-income individuals and families; older adults; youth and young adults; persons with special needs; immigrants and migrant workers; veterans; formerly incarcerated individuals; and young children, pregnant women, and new moms.

So many organizations demonstrated resilience, creativity, and flexibility over the past year. Our grants reflect a commitment to these essential nonprofits and providers, which are the bedrock of a healthy and equitable future in New York.

Our grants support a wide range of urgent health needs and social determinants of health across New York State. These grantees include organizations such as the Food Bank of NYC, which promotes food security for the ever-increasing number of hungry New Yorkers; the Immigrant Justice Corps, which supports access to legal counsel for low-income immigrants; Le Moyne College, which provides nursing school scholarships to students from disadvantaged backgrounds; and Veterans One-Stop Center of WNY, which bolsters veterans as they transition from military to civilian life.

Grantees will also address chronic racial healthcare disparities that have only been heightened since the onset of the pandemic in New York. These programs include a grant for the Arthur Ashe Institute for Urban Health to conduct a New York City-wide community needs assessment of social determinants of health, as well as grants and scholarships to organizations such as Hunter College, Iroquois Healthcare Association, and Associated Medical Schools of New York to promote workforce development opportunities for underrepresented groups in the healthcare profession.

Alongside these grants, we are rolling out the Foundation’s first statewide strategic program, focused on improving dental health access and outcomes in some of New York’s most underserved communities. The $5 million in grants will purchase five new mobile dental vans statewide and subsidize the expansion of mobile van services in an additional program.

During this time of transition and recovery, the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation must seize the moment not only to meet urgent needs but address longstanding inequities.

Now is the time to lay the foundation for a healthier and more resilient New York.

Though we have seen a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, especially with the introduction of vaccines, the pandemic has deepened longstanding disparities in healthcare access and outcomes. New York’s health and social services providers continue to need our unwavering support during this time of heightened community needs.

See a list of year-end 2020 Mother Cabrini Health Foundation Grantees.

See more details on our grantees here.

Every Picture Tells a Story

Don't it?

A month ago, I spent some time feeling inferior, standing in front of my mirror... A camera hung around the neck of my reflection. At least the lens cap was off.

I had met a few photography friends in Jersey City earlier that day, but I hadn't taken a single photo with my camera. It was only a prop. I just wanted to fit with the others. Also, I've found that conspicuously displaying a camera also gives me license to wander among strangers.

In the hastily captured image above, I was toying with my iPhone's "pano" setting an hour before a line of true photographers gathered along what is, in reality, a perfectly straight railing to wait patiently, cameras poised on tripods, for sunset.

Their photos were gorgeous. My image (auto-enhanced by Google Photos) is like a horror movie where an inanimate object reaches out into another dimension. At least it's my inspiration for another haiku:

Beckoning to me,

a desperate city skyline

knows we are alone.

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I've thought of Jersey City often this past week.

I read, for example, that an annual survey cited it as the most diverse U.S. city for the third time in the past four years.

Just a few steps back from the Manhattan skyline view, in the heart of Exchange Place, is the dramatic Katyn Memorial, a bronze statue of an impaled Polish soldier dedicated to the massacre of POWs by Soviet troops in 1940. A few years ago, a civic organization sought to move it to a more secluded area, calling the monument "gruesome."

Instead, recognizing its significance to the Polish community, the Jersey City Council voted unanimously in 2018 to keep the memorial in Exchange Place "in perpetuity."

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The city's street art also reflects its diversity.

I took the above iPhone photo of the mural "Native" by the artist Gaia, and captioned it this way on Instagram:

"Finding Shakespeare, framed by dramatic clouds, on the streets of Jersey City."

Almost immediately I received a comment from the street artist himself. "Hey," he wrote, "that's Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange!"

So I corrected the caption and researched the story of Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange. Then I found the website for the Jersey City Mural Arts Program and got lost in the stories of dozens of other murals I had seen around town.

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On Friday, as I do every week, I posted a photo of a New Jersey pizzeria (this one, cleverly named "Rig A Tony's") on my "Found in NJ" Instagram account. I picked a photo from just blocks away from Prince Frederick and noticed a memorial plaque outside the front entrance.

Here's that story:

A small plaza in Jersey City, William Mercado Memorial Park, features a stone memorial, placed in 2019, and titled "El Piraguero #1."

This is in memory of William Mercado, who sold piraguas (flavored ices) on the site from the time he was 12 years old until his murder at age 25 in 1994.

According to newspaper reports, William was a popular figure in the neighborhood, and his snow cones were a favorite among children. To this day, his mother tends the flowers here. His brother, George, runs a flower shop nearby.

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And now it's Sunday. As I do every week, I'm posting a photo of a New Jersey church on Instagram.

This is Grace Church Van Vorst, an Episcopal church on Erie Street in Jersey City.

"Our church is not just a building," reads one of its outside banners. I've discovered that, built in 1853 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, Grace Church has been a haven for artists, musicians, people experiencing hunger and homelessness, the LGBTQ+ community, and anyone who might not fit in elsewhere. You can learn more here.

Better, you can enjoy the musical performances of its four-hour fundraiser, held yesterday on Facebook. The church surpassed its $8,000 goal, but the page has links if you wish to contribute even more.

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Every picture tells a story, don't it?

This is why I love photography. There's more to it than the craft or the aesthetic. It stops time.

An old Rod Stewart song is playing in the background as I write this. I remember the lyrics from high school.

"On the Peking ferry, I was feeling merry..."

It's a silly song, but it's full of life and energy.

Like the best photos by my favorite photographers, it focuses my thoughts on a moment I can savor, while everything else passes in a blur.

Wednesday Night Poetry at the Photo Journaling Club

Another Wednesday night, another Zoom, another wistful meeting of the Photo Journaling Club of New Milford, NJ.*

This week, the club inspired me to write three haikus and a poem in free verse. The haikus are about people whose lives intersect only in my thoughts:

• Rachel Varettoni, who would have been 120 years old late last month.
• Said Elatab, a Paterson artist who destroys his own work; a reminder that nothing is permanent.
• Joellen Brown, a true friend and a good writer who died suddenly nearly two years ago.

The poem is about a recent attempt to clean out my garage. With apologies to Marie Kondo, not everything abandoned is clutter.

Lucky for me, I can tuck things away here on the Internet, and they all but disappear into thin air. If you are interested in other recent poems, I hid them here last week.

This is my Nonna.

Dad's mom, who taught me to pray.

Her smile, heavenly.

An artist creates

dark beauty from depression,

then sets it ablaze.

A friend crafted this.

An image of her father,

made from his old ties.

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Every Work of Art Stops Time

I was surprised to find myself
among the papers I was about to throw out.

You had drawn this many years ago,
and I had forgotten.

I am comically disguised as myself,
in beard and chunky glasses.

I am Dorian Gray in reverse,
diminishing every day in real life,
with a hidden portrait of when I was whole.

Your hand-made cardboard frame,
sandwiching a plastic sheet to protect the surface,
had come undone.

Like us.

Stuck to a rough edge,
fossilized in scotch tape,
was the thing that froze my heart.

A single strand of your blonde hair.

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* (Recent post from my local library): Since last March, the New Milford Public Library went virtual and continued so many wonderful online programs — storytimes, exercise, book clubs and so much more. Anna Kim, Adult Services Librarian, came up with a unique offering, a virtual Photo Journaling Club for high schoolers and adults. She enlisted the help of New Milford resident, Janet Dengel who has a background in writing and teaching.

Now into the club’s third 7 week session, the group has welcomed adults, retirees, mother/daughter writers, and high schoolers. They write about photos from family albums as well as photos in their phones. The topics have included family, pets, holidays, architecture, nature and more. Through this virtual program, the New Milford Public Library has given people a creative outlet during this challenging time, a way to get to know our neighbors and join generations together, and an opportunity to capture our life stories.

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.

 

Words to Live By, Source Unknown

Visiting Mom yesterday, I studied my face in the mirror of the downstairs bathroom, which was almost exclusively used by Dad.

Earlier in the week, I had posted a memorial here about my father on what would have been his 89th birthday.

As I studied my face, I wondered when I had gotten so much older. If I die the same age as Dad, I have less than 10 years to live. Then I wondered how it was that the older I have gotten, the less things make sense.

In a flash of inspiration, I opened the medicine cabinet.

They were still there: the items Dad had taped to the back of his mirror.

The oldest item, yellowed... something I remembered from childhood... was a copy of The Prayer of St. Francis.

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your Peace," it begins.

I've learned, over the years, that there's no evidence St. Francis of Assisi ever wrote or said a word of this. However, it's become engrained in popular culture, and President Biden even quoted from it in his first words after the Electoral College confirmed election results last month.

No matter. It's a beautiful prayer, with a beautiful sentiment. I'm sure St. Francis would have approved.

Also, you have to love how Dad fixed the typo in the word "console."

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The direct quote from the item taped to the top was hard to find.

But Friend Internet can perform magic. I found those exact words in an excerpted Feb. 4, 2003, article in The Sun tabloid about a visitation Pope John Paul II purportedly received from the Virgin Mary. It's hard to disentangle the wild story, but the apparition likely related to the pope's release of the text of the mysterious Third Secret of Fatima in 2000.

According to the article, the last time the mother of god visited the pope here on earth, she said that "by accepting this prayer into your heart, you will be assured of a place in Heaven."

I'll reserve judgement on that one. But if reciting those words indeed got Dad a ticket to heaven, I'm all for it.

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The simple prayer card taped to the bottom is the most haunting.

I can't find those exact words anywhere, although I see hundreds of variations all over the Internet. It's just a typical morning prayer.

It haunts me, though, because I know why Dad saved it and attached it to the back of his mirror so he could think about it every day before shaving.

It's all about the last two sentences of the prayer; the ones that weren't about him:

"Watch over my children and grandchildren. Touch their hearts and fill them with Your love and peace, today and always."

I'm an ordinary person, living an ordinary life. Still, my heart has been touched by love and peace, today and always. Now I know why.

Dad said a prayer for me and my sister every day. And for our children.

A Dozen Images of Dad

Dad at 2, right, with his father and brothers.

Dad knew quite a bit about bad poetry.

While cleaning out the garage this past summer, I found a folder of long, badly-rhymed "odes" that Dad evidently wrote about work and Navy Reserve colleagues as anniversary or retirement gifts.

He also knew quite a bit about good poetry. Mom still fondly recalls how he used to recite Shakespeare to her.

At his best, like all of us, he had the soul of a poet. He worked for the telephone company; he wanted to be an architect.

Mom and I still talk about (and sometimes "to") Dad. It would have been his 89th birthday today, but he died when he was 73.

Holding a pitchfork, with his mother (who shared his birthday and would have been 120 today) at the wheel.

There's no "Ode to Dad" in the folder I found in the garage.

These fragments will have to do:

1. Shark-skin suits and Navy dress whites

2. A 13-year-old sandlot pitcher snapping off a tightly spun sinker

3. A 16-year-old's calligraphy drawing of Christ's last words

4. The smell of Old Spice and hair gel

5. Cigarette smoke (Kents)

6. Eggs over easy, bacon and rye toast

7. A round stain of bourbon on the counter of a bar

8. Crafting a too-perfect Pinewood Derby car

9. A 32-year-old storming a convent to defend his son

10. The intricate paint job on a precision plastic model of the U.S.S. Midway

11. Mills Brother records

12. Sentimental tears