11/21/10 A little forceful

Kevin and I stand outside the movie theater in Union Square while Kev rolls a cigarette and Katie finishes a phone call with her father. A stumbling, slurring bald black man in sweats rolls up to us and asks for change? a smoke? something unintelligible through a haze of alcohol that I can smell from 3 feet away. I put up my hand, look him in the eye, say, "Sorry, man" and return to my conversation, and Kevin apologizes for not having anything to give to him.

The man's eyes widen in surprise, and as he staggers away I hear him say, "Man, I wouldn't a minded you didn't have nothing, but that guy [indicating me] was serious!"

10-25-10 - the hutch

The white haired gentleman chats with Kevin and me while Katie goes to the bank to get the cash to pay for the hutch we've decided to buy from him for the kitchen.

"You never know what your life is gonna bring. My son died five years ago from cancer, and then my wife died a year ago from cancer."

I think about what I would do if Katie died, how lonely I would be, and all I can say is, "I'm sorry, man."

5/25/09 - Water Taxi Washing Machine

The Water Taxi to Ikea sails us out into Buttermilk Bay and around the industrial ports and loading docks of Red Hook. Katie and Kevin and I stand on the upper deck, beneath a glorious, beaming sun, and watch the light dapple off the water in glinting sheets. The wind blows my uncut-in-far-too-long hair and whips it into my face, until, irritated, I sit back down and watch two people I dearly love laugh and talk as they lean on the rail. Kevin and I have spent the day walking though the concrete and too bright streets of downtown, but the wind and the beauty of the day, the smell of water and salt from the sea just a few miles away, erases the city and leaves us clean and joyful and grateful to be alive.

5/24/09 - Memento Divino

The Cathedral of St. John the Divine rises above us, massive and elaborate, every inch of the facade covered with visions of the apocalypse and a multitude of saints. Where other cathedrals may soar and yearn to the divine, this one seems to want to pull the divine down into it with it's sheer gravity, as though a sizable enough gravity-well was all that was needed to bring down the Godhead to our plane.

We wander through the incredible space, past pillars thick as redwoods and probably taller, past dozens of side chapels, each with their own light (this one multicolored and lush, that one all washed out in white and gold), when suddenly the chorus begins to practice for the evensong service. Kevin and I pause to listen for a while as they start and stop through various songs, their voices rising and swelling until the entire space is filled with sound, and Kevin says, "I think I like this better; when they stop you only get little bursts of divinity, and anything more would be too much."