Tuesday, February 23, 2021

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.

Sunday, February 21, 2021

Every Picture Tells a Story

Panoramic view of Jersey City waterfront

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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View of the Katyn Memorial with the Manhattan skyline in the background

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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Street mural with image of Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange, in Jersey City

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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Memorial plaque in front of Rig A Tony's Pizza in Jersey City

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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Outside view of a church

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.


Saturday, February 13, 2021

Wednesday Night Poetry at the Photo Journaling Club

Screenshot of a Zoom meeting

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.


Young boy and his grandmother
This is my Nonna.
Dad's mom, who taught me to pray.
Her smile, heavenly.


Photo of a painting damaged by fire
An artist creates
dark beauty from depression,
then sets it ablaze.


Portrait of a man, crafted from fabric
A friend crafted this.
An image of her father,
made from his old ties.

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Charcoal portrait of a young man with glasses


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.

Sunday, February 7, 2021

And Now for Something Completely Different...

Overhead view of the floor of the Oculus.
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.

 

Sunday, January 31, 2021

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.

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

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




Thursday, January 14, 2021

A Visit to Eagle Rock, With a View to Oz

View of New York City skyline

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:

Statue overlooking NYC skyline

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

9/11 memorial wall at Eagle Rock Reservation
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."

Memorial artifacts: the statue of an eagle and a child, and a replica firefighter's helmet

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.

World Trade Center fragment, rescue dog memorial

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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.

NYC skyline view
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.

 

Jersey City waterfront view of NYC
The view from Jersey City.

Sunday, January 3, 2021

20 Images of 2020

City street with shadows

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.

Bench on Asbury Park boardwalk

Shadows of beach-goers at Asbury Park

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.

Aerial view of Manhattan from Newark Airport

Times Square in the rain

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

Snow on suburban streets


Deer on a suburban street

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.

St. Patrick's Cathedral

Paterson NJ Great Falls

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.

Boardwalk in fog

Girl with back turned on boardwalk

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

Empty Sky Memorial

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

View of George Washington Bridge

View of New York 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.

Birds flying 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."

Office view of Manhattan's East Side

Times Square, October 2020

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

Church with shadows of a cross on its front

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.

One Vanderbilt, looking up into snow

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

Full moon over Asbury Park boardwalk

... and howl.

Thursday, December 31, 2020

The Year in Churches (Predicting Better for 2021)

Thumbnail photos of churches
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.

Choir sining in church
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.