up at around 3 in the morning.....

 don't want to go back to bed as yet---if at all---body stiff when I wake up, seems to want exercise at this point---but where does one go for exercise at 3 A. M.? Apartment is small---so here I sit at the computer---trying to pass the time, and consider what the next few days will be like. The chemo has made its mark---the strongest part of the day seems to be from the morning till early afternoon---one activity for the afternoon, then lethargy sets in. Yesterday a long awaited visit to two venues in Brooklyn, that were once---pre-pandemic, simply part of my normal activity. First time back at the Central library--Grand Army Plaza---checked it out---really not a great deal of change, but the lighting is warmer, and the bathrooms are less scary. I found an interesting book that explores several Shakespeare plays (not great insights so far, but evokes some meaningful thoughts about the plays for me) and a play called The Baltimore Waltz--an off Broadway success in the early nineties, that I never saw. Readng it I am a little put off. From the library to the Center for Fiction, about a mile north---previously I would have easily walked it, but yesterday took the subway. The Center is still a great place to stop and read---you can have coffee or not. Its almost where it was pre-pandemic---but less people moving through it---like other venues---a kind of ghostly quality that signifies its emptiness. Still, I was able to read for about an hour there---nothing like that on the upper west side. My body seemed to focus well, until I walked to the Nevins Street subway stop, then the lethargy set in. Would I make it back to the apartment..? Sure, but not with a lot of energy. Returned about 3:30---finished for the day. Stayed in except for some short shopping trips. It seems like my body has one burst of strength---then it tells me to stay home for the rest of the day. Will it continue like that...? I long to move around. We shall see.

Being home allowed me to complete the non-fiction book, The Invisible Child, by Andrea Edwards. Some of it is brutal--a picture of how disfunctional parents can make life very difficult for their children. The children themselves are forced to create a system to fight this chaos. But so many things are beyond their control The book follows Dasani, from birth to around age 18---actually the writer came in contact with her when she was 12---and the reader sees the different roles she is asked to play as she is growing up, especially during periods when her parents cease to function. A tough reading experience, but one that kept me going for all its 500 plus pages. Also two movies---Drive My Car--a Japanese movie about a theater actor-director coping with loss. Truly the best movie I have seen so far since the movie theaters re-opened post pandemic. The first one in which I felt I was not being manipulated or pushed at by the director. Really character driven. Then on Tuesday, Tik Tik Boom---a revelation---much better then I expected. Great direction from Lin Manuel---totally fluid and a screenplay that really built on and improved the original off Broadway material. Very full. The movie really demonstrates how deep and beautiful Larsen's music truly is. He was a great composer---but I think it takes time to realize that. Great to watch both movies on a big screen---so important to the experience of appreciating them. Other movies for the next few days...? Have to work it out.

Writing this has enabled me to kill some time---still at 3:40 a long way to go before I venture forth to buy my morning coffee (around 6), now what..? Laps around my small apartment...? I doubt it---but no sleep for now. New Year's Eve in two days. That is another world unto itself. How will I partiicipate in it? We will see....

the strangest Christmas ever.....

 Christmas eve morning---the whole world seems to be hanging on a thread. Lots of activity, in theaters and other places, while simultaneously, things are shutting down. Sad to hear about the play, Thoughts of a Colored Man---I had hoped to see it, though its prices were high. But just to have it stop dead like that, because of Covid--sad and startling. If I am going to see any plays at all, in the next two weeks, I want to see Slave Play, and Trouble in Mind. I hope they survive. And movies---well that too---there are enough of them to keep me occupied in the next ten days.

Why ten days? Because, as I write this, I have no more tutoring sessions until January 3. So ten days of unstructured time. Will see what my body allows me to do. This week, I had four tutoring sessions, one per day, but after the trip to 145 street and the session, not much more that I could do but return home and "chill". Body is satisfied with that. Now that the effort I put into the sessions is negated, and so is the trip, will I have some ability to move around the city?  Certainly I want to spend time in the new  Drama Book Store, and take advantage of their incredible vast library of plays. Center for Fiction in Brooklyn, by BAM? I used to live going to that place--pre pandemic. It would be nice to return---somewhat surreal---also to check out the Central Brooklyn Library at Grand Army Plaza and see all their new changes. No plans---just take it day by day.

Tomorrow is Christmas day---of course the city closes down on that day---but there are still movies. Even pre pandemic that was a tough day to get through. Also, reading a terrific book, Invisible Child, by Andrea Elliot, a non fiction study of a family living in poverty in a Fort Greene Shelter, and beyond. Brutal to understand what this family is dealing with on so many levels, a family with six children. Originally an article in the Times in 2013, the writer has expanded it---really a trip into the underclass of Brooklyn. I have just finished the first part---I think the pages to follow, actually follow the 12 year old at the heaIrt of the book into adult hood or at least show the reader her teen age years. Should be very interesting. 

In a few hours, the woman who cleans my apartment will arrive. I have to spend the time before that preparing for her---that is putting everything I have lying around the apartment in order. That takes a lot of time itself.....

a warm morning in December....

 Relief at last! After three days of two tutoring sessions, I only have  only one today. Somehow the tension I may have felt in the last three mornings---planning for two---- has dissipated. Feeling very loose---a kind of "empty" feeling, as if my life, or at least my imaginaitve life, has opened up. Close now, to the Christmas vacations, I expect that there will be some falling off of the tutoring in the next two weeksl will that give me time to....? Not sure, still feeling some effects of the chemo pills; that will obviously effect my activity during those weeks.. Oh, to wake up, and take the L out to Brookyn! Stop off at Cobra Club for some early morning coffee, or perhaps read for a long while in the Nook, a new and large coffee and snack place about a block away. Or maybe a trip to the Center for Fiction---would love to just go there, grab some coffee and read into infinity. One defect about living on the upper west side. There are very few places outside the apartment where one can go and read. The lobby of a nearby hotel is adequate, and the staff is fond of me, but I still feel restless there. Well, it is a tradeoff, the street that I live in is very quiet---important in light of my medical situation at this moment. 

After the long week of tutoring, which ended on Saturday, I was able to go on Sunday to the Friends matinee production of The Trial, but not the last night at Jack---much too fatigued. How was it...? A little long winded (about an hour and 45 without an intermission) but it was good to see so many students I had worked with on the stage.  Credit to Steve, the director for getting those 25 students onto the stage---actually that is what he is supposed to do--and they moved through the action very easily. I made it through with good cooperation from my "appendices" and went over to the upscale luncheonette a few blocks away. There I  sat contentedly with a muffin and coffee, while I watched one or two football games on their TVs. Really have not watched football live much this season--get most of my info from the computer reconstruction, which pushes the imagination in a very different direction. Will this continue...? Still not ready to hit a bar and hang out there on Sunday afternoon--Pine Box Rock Shop, off the Morgan Avenue L stop would be ideal, but who knows if I can really end up there. For me now, it is all moment to moment.

And there you have it---the new novel by Gary Shteyngart that I amazingly enough, was able to take  out from the library, sits on my floor---somehow I can't push myself to get into it. Well, maybe in a few days. I returned to the final two paragraphs of Hema and Kaushik by Jhumpa Lahiri this morning---a world that "defines" me? Possibly. or atleast some part. So life continues...

a new life....

so to speak. Friday afternoon: I have just completed  nine and a half hours of tutoring for the week, and have four, possibly five sessions tomorrow. So my life has become dominated by tutoring--after the sessions I immediately return to the apartment, mostly tired, and just "hang" as I prepare for the next day. No evening activities, not even eating out. Don't get me wrong---the fact that my clinetele seems to be exploding is very gratifying, but this is not the pre pandemic days, when, if I just had tutoring, and no subbing, I could do something interesting in the evening. Not now.Tomorrow is the final evening of a group of projects at Jack, and I would love to go, but after possibly five sessions---well we will see. The work itself if very gratifying---I seem to be relating better to the students whom I tutor then before. Of course, many of my sessions pre pandemic came after long days at Friends, so perhaps I just wanted to finish things off at that time. The second floor of the library on 145 street is incredibly hot, yet i find the work and the relationships that I have with the students very meanngful. Next week will be heavily booked again--Sunday sbould be a day of rest, but I have reserved a ticket to the winter play at Friends---an adaptation of Kafka's The Trial. Since I have not been there in a couple of weeks, it should be nice to get back to the community there---at least in some measure. Looking forward to it

A few words about Sondheim---why not---everyone else is getting there visions and memories in---I think his career exists in two very distinct parts. The first, from 55 to 65---six projects three words and music and three just lyrics. In each of these, the vision of the musical was shaped by older men, men with more experience then he---and Sondheim's lyrics, or in three cases, music and lyrics---were very much in the service of their vision. A five year gap between the lyrics to Do I Hear a Waltz and Company, the latter marked his first collaboration with only his contemporaries.One senses that he had a much greater power  in these productions, most of them that are revivied now, are really about his musical vision; with a few exceptions, the text of these plays seems irrelevant.

Saw an interview that he did with Adam Guettell, son of his long time friend Mary Rogers. He comes off as wonderfully relaxed, free associates in a very natural way---nothing self congradulatory about his presence. I think he was genuinely curious about other people. Thats enough for now---maybe some discussions with other "Sondheim freaks" at a different and future time.

Thursday after Thanksgiving....

 Caught in the middle. Tutoring at 4:30---whatever I want to do before that is possible.Just returned to the chemo pills, and feel a little inhibited in the body. At odds. 

Last Thursday's thanksgiving get together was very pleasant. Just the four of us: my cousin Kara, her sister Kayla, Kayla's husband Stan and myself. Very mellow---very relaxed conversation. Easy trip both ways by subway. It took place in Kara's new co-op apartment---on Prospect Place near Washington Avenue, about four blocks east of Flatbush, the border between Prospect Heights and Park Slope. Interesting walk between the Eastern Parkway subway stop and Kara's apartment house. Co-ops and condos going for sky high prices, but still very much a sense of the working class black and Caribbean communities that were in that neightbohood before gentrification changed. It is an odd contrast. Kara's apartment is extremely small--yet I would bet that she paid around $500,000 for it. Maybe I am wrong--maybe it was less--but prices around there are heavy.

It was Kara who brought me in as a substitute at ps 163, an elementary school in Bath Beach. I really enjoyed working there--a very interesting and eclecic group of kids. It ended in 2009 (does not really seem like so long ago) when I was hired by computer and then the principal asked me not to come in, but I received the message not to come in when I was already four blocks away. So they accepted me, and actually I remember having a really pleasant and interesing day there, but my taking the job seems to have gotten the principal angry, and I was never called again. Of course, I was at Friends most of the time anyway, so it did not factor in much in term of work--but I would have liked to go out there again. A long trip from the upper west side to Bath Beach, but worth it for the whole experience.

That Friday night in 2009 I returned to Friends to see a dance concert there. Of course I knew many of the dancers. So a full day, first the subbing, then maybe a Friends basketball game and finally the dance concert, all before I returned to my apartment. So easy to do in those days. Now, stamina is definitely an issue.I would like so much to go out to a movie or a bar in Brooklyn after my tutoring session, but mostly I am too tired to do so. The chemo works its effects.

I am waiting for a call from the social worker at Lenox Hill---I need some help with applications for the new year, but I would like to go to the Drama Bookstore and lose myself in a play or memoir. Possibly soon---will report later.

thanksgiving....

 here we are, Thursday morning--holiday! How many thanksgivings have I lived through? After going out for coffee and a bagel, at about 6:00, thought about Long Days Journey Into Night. Went through my character analysis, as if I was instucting actors whom I was directing. Discussed the father: James Tyrone. Have always seen him played "straight up", that is with a kerind of upstanding manner. I see him as an actor from the very beginning of the play--his concern for his wife Mary, and her health problems is all a front. He does not know how to empathize with other people; he has never learned. And Edmond, the youngest son, is usually played as a straightforward young man looking for focus---no, there is an ugliness inside of him, an understanding that this family has given him nothing. He is also going to be the playwright who creates these characters who face their ugliness. Had to get all of that out of my system. Of course, I will never direct a production of the play. Will I ever see another production of it? Do I want to-need to. With a lot of plays that I have thought about over the years, there is a sense of completion--or maybe saturation---don't need to live through them watching others perform them on stage. I felt that way after seeing The Iceman Cometh at BAM several years ago. When the next production came to Broadway I had no interest in re-exploring it. 

Two days ago I began to tutor a first grader in reading. Very intense---lots of concentration needed, "harder" then tutoring math. His mother wants me to work with him every week day. As of now, that is possible. Also may be adding another one or two students. Time goes from being "empty" to being "cramped". Structure made stronger. 

Thanksgiving dinner with my cousins in Prospect Heights at around 5. Not sure how I will fill the time up before that. Prospect Heights---thirty years ago there was no name for it. Just a part of the larger Crown Heights neighborhood.  I remember visiting my friend Fred, who lived on Saint Johns Place in Park Slope in the late seventies and eighties. I would get off the subway and walk south on Flatbush. On one side the Park Slope side---safe. To the left---a world which I did not want to enter. Well things have really changed. Now I walk east of Flatbush towards my cousins apartment house with ease. 

That is all for now---will report soon.

after a harsh weekend....

 24 hours of no heat on the coldest evening of the year---things are leveling off. Kind of drowsy today---had the chance to see Gnit, at its final performances---would have been a lot of fun---but just could not do it---still tired. On Thursday, got myself to the Tank, to see a very strong one woman play performed and written  by my friend Zoe. Beutifully done--full of wonderful eclectic energy--I was really very impressed and happy for her. My first post pandemic and post illness play---made it without any problems. Of course, it was only an hour. Still, augured well for future play visits.This was followed the next night with the hell of cold weather coming into the window, with three heaters keeping me warm, but aware that the heat in the apartment house where I live had been arbitrarily cut off. Did not sleep much; tutored on Saturday morning---then returned to the cold---finally at around 5, heat restored. No reason for this catastrophe given. Slept very soundly once the heat was on. 

Somehow, a few minutes ago, my thoughts turned to Graham Avenue in Brooklyn. Why? Visited a few bars on that block--played trivia at a bar near there--the blocks near the L train full of bars and cafes and pizza places. At one time, if I wanted to see what was there, I just went. Harder to go there now---however have made two visits to the new Drama book store. Larger and for me, more inviting then the old store---one can just bring a book, sit down at a table and read, with or without coffee, plus their play selection is enormous--everything from "hits" to totally obscure work. Lots and lots of shelves.I found several books devoted to plays performed by the Group Theater in the thirties, that were not written by Clifford Odets. They are pretty obscure now, still, at some point I would like to read them, or some of them, just to see what they were like.

Still reading the Henry Roth autobiographical novel: A diving Rock on the Hudson---his story of his childhood and early teens. Still drawn in with so much power to his events---the relatives and friends who he is around. The echoes---the echoes from my childhood. Again, even though my  parents were totally assimilated Jews--I hear their relatives---or the people around the neighborhood, with their accents, their lack of assimilation, their sense of being out of place and the rage that came with it. Trying to put my finger on it with words---hard.

So this blog ends on that note---more to come soon.

Sunday morning...a week

yes, a week later---lots has happened in this time period. Two days at Friends, and at least two more this week. Getting "re-integrated"---seeing all the old faces, the warm greetings, the tasks at hand. Energetic---a complete contrast to the reality of the pademic and illness that has dominated my life for the past--what---nineteen or twenty months.  But it is Sunday---one more day until I go to work---and what is the agenda for today?

A good question. Perhaps a movie at the documentary festival over on 23rd street. Then what..? A visit to Formerly Crows, a bar owned by the gentleman who owned and ran South fourth street bar for the years that I visited there. At formerly Crows, I can probably watch a football game, something I have not been able to do these previous Sundays. That is one idea...any others...? Well, now I have the monthly pass, so I can basically ride the subways as much as I please---no extra cost. It means that the whole city is available to me. But how far do I want to go. Brooklyn seems a little bit out of bounds, at this point. Gosh! Remember the pre-pandemic Sundays when I took the subway to Cobra Club in Bushwick, then walked over to Molasses book store--then maybe the DeKalb avenue bus into the BAM area, then a stop at the Fiction Center---then---finally---around 7 or 8, and remember you left for Bushwick around 11, returning to the "barren" upper west side. Can I do that now,,,? Probably not---stamina and some medication issues.  Still, must get out---"see the world"---not just "hunker down" in the apartment as I did yesterday. Still some friends in off Broadway and off off plays. Only one week left....will I get to them?  Trying to figure that out. Hamilton's, a coffee sonhop I used to go to near 145 street has reopened as a coffee shop and bar. Seems like the place I might be welcome---nice to know it is there.

Continuing with Henry Roth's first novel of the group of five that he started in his late seventies. Penetrating---I have to stop reading for a while--the images and language really get to me. For the rest....

A Friday with Verdi,,,,

 or at least his overture to Giovanna D'Arco. For those uninitiated, Giovanna D'Arco is an early opera by Verdi, possibly his fifth or sixth, not really sure---out of the monotony of being home on a Friday evening, remembered my interest in the opera and found the overture on Youtube. Quite amazing! Early part has soft inventive, somewhat introspective qualities, while the finale of the overture is a true "blood and guts" Italian march---totally accessible. And that is the great thing about Verdi.; he could create music that could go from soft and gentle to open excitement. How many operas did Verdi compose before the "earliest"  ones that are done in the opera houses all the time: Rigoletto, Traviata and Trovatore. Probably about 13. A part of me would like to explore them all---but I wonder if I really have the concentration to do it. They are all there---in full--on youtube. But I hate sitting in front of the computer for a long time. Still, I am curious; there is so much Verdi that I would like to know from his early period. We will see how it plays out.

Actually I attended a concert version of this opera in spring of 1966. I remember it well---it was the year of my "infatutation" with opera--I was doing standing room at the Met at least two or three times a week. This concert version at Carnegie Hall had Teresa Stratas and Sherrill Milnes---both young exciting singers at the time---in the leads---I don't remember who the tenor was. Did not make a great impression at the time---but I simply had to see it. How would I describe the Spring of 66 in my life? It was a time of ease and discovery. I was working at the Department of Welfare on Tremont Avenue in the Bronx---interacting with other young workers---all of us in "transition', taking an acting class with Milton Katselas (very supportive) and falling in love with the world of opera. A calm had settled over my life, and I was feeling very relaxed about things. I remember a mild, spring Saturday evening, walking, by myself, through the streets of the upper west side, near the rooming house where I was living on west 94 street. A feeling of tremendous calm came over me---it was as if I was comfortable in my own shoes---no dates, no involvement--just myself. I think I was surprised by that feeling, but it was indicative of that whole time. This would change in mid July of that year, when I quit the Department of Welfare, because I thought I wanted to auditon for theater work full time, and I presumed that I was ready. At first, relieved, but then long days followed with little to do--tried to do some part time work on shape ups or same day hirings---usually did not go well. More chaotic, more pressure, but I continued. Should I have stayed at the Department of Welfare a little longer. I liked the life--but if was a year after I was "humiliated' at Yale, and I was anxious to prove that the "humiliation" was wrong. What happened after that---well that is another story, possibly to be discussed in another blog post.

Just found out that one of my students tomorrow has canceled. A little more financial pressure because of that--but maybe also some time to explore. Will keep you posted.

Spring 1959....

 A Facebook post of Broadway shows running in late 59, got me to rememeber two musicals that i saw in March and June of 59, respectively. This was my Junior year at Science, the first year in which I traveled independently, and interacted with different students in each class. First year at Science my class was, like about half the sophmore class, put into the Science Annex, about 6 blocks east of the main building, and treated like a junior high school class---that is traveling the whole day with the same students from class to class. Made some good friends from that class,but in retrospect, feel cheated---limited contact---treated as if we were still in Junior High School. At the "old buiding" on Creston Avenue where I experienced the first part of my junior year I remember the rush--the hurly burly---other students desceding on you from all different angles. Totally different from the year before.

The musical were Flower Drum Song (March of 59) and  Destry Rides Again (June of 59). Not interested now in appraising the shows---trying to return to that time in memory. The Bronx! Still mostly Jewish and safe. Neighborhood after neighborhood. Fifteen and a half---constricted by my family---trying to figure out  who I was with my female classmates. I had just "broken up" with the first girl I had dated for a couple of dates--now every conversation that I had with a female classmate of mine, left me with a sense of wonder and possibilities.  A classmate from history---we found ourselves walking to the D train together--a great conversation--she was attractive and a year older---seemed to know her way around the school better then I, but now we were talking to each other. When it was over--"it" being the conversation---I felt like "wow!"; I could not believe this happened. No continuation---of course I saw her around school_--but it did not matter. I returned to my apartment in the Bronx---turned on the radio---tried to do homework---but it was hopeless. I play our conversation in my mind over and over. But the boundaries! Dreaming of this woman and others while trying to please my parents by getting good marks. Was I trapped?And all these women classmates who fascinated me lived in Manhattan---wanted to be there more and more---was this part of it---because they lived in Manhattan, and I in the Bronx, did I endow them with a kind of mysterious erotic energy? To be raised in Manhattan! Then, in the fifties! Amidst the grime, the gangs, the different streets, while I was raised in the Bronx--completely safe and predictable. This dream of mine would not end well---(when has it ever?)---the girl sitting next to me in English---the nice cameraderie--my expectations of a romance---the unavailability---my insistence in my head, all during senior year, that a romance with her was possible---"the plumetting to earth" (Williams).

Not where I wanted to go. I simply wanted to recapture the feeling of myself at that time. Riding home from Flower Drum Song with my brother and parents---yes that is it! Still part of the family unit. "Trapped" in it? Waiting for the next "interaction". Should have been "free-er". But how...?

If I could get on a subway car...

and go to Brooklyn at this moment, I would. But it is close to 4A.M., Sunday, October 31, and even for someone as "adventurous" as me, a subway trip at this hour is impossible. So here I am, early in the morning, not wanting to go back to bed, with a crick in my neck that I am trying to understand, and the rest of my body feeling pretty good. 

So what now...? Talk about the body, the chemo, now down to just one a day, and moments when the body feels like it lacks muscles. But it does---there is just a different feeling then before. 

What have I done this week..? Well tutoring--got a new student on Thursday who needs a lot of input. Hope that I will continue with him. Tutoring feels very vital to me at this moment---really enjoy the interaction---and the pressure on me to help the student improve. Travels....? Well not many. Just the trips to the library on 145 street---several times this week---incidentally, two of the coffee places I would visit before or after a session in that area  have closed---one very suddenly. Only other trip of note was to the Harry Belafonte library in Harlem (115street) to pick up a book that was only at that place. Kind of interesting---for all the news of Harlem's gentrification---things looked pretty "scruffy" around there. The rest of the time---well I continue to read Henry Roth's novel---the one that brings me back to the echoes of my family---going slowly--sometimes it is a little too heavy for me. Then a sports book about the Nets of 2019-20---a little too much trivia in the beginning, but still i read on---and just took out a book by Michael Riedel which chronicles, in detail, several important theatrical eventsn of the 90's. Good to read---i followed most of those events closely, so the detail adds to what I mostly remember. A lot of detail--he must have worked hard to get that information An easy read.

Still no visits to a theater---just one movie--the world of "culture" in the city seems alive with possibilities. But can I take advantage of them? The illness and the chemo create a stamina issue---I can be tired by 6 or 7 P.M. Just imagine if I was well---I might see four plays this weekend. The Met has Die Meistersinger--would love to see one of those performances---only two more weekday choices---of course it is six hours long---possibly see the whole opera  in two different evenings ---first act one night--third act another---skip the second act---it is kind of bland in relation to the other two---that is one idea. Of course with 40 minute intermissions, I could easily make the 10 blocks to my apartment---make sure the bag was behaving itself, and then return to the Met. But could I do that twice..? Quite an assignment. 

This evening I thought of the time pre pandemic---choosing a play was easy---there was usually a friend---a part of the "indie community" who was performing somewhere. It was nice---everyone knew you---there was a purpose for being there---now where is "the community"? All over, how many of them know of my illness---things are so different now. What is next...? With all my current obstacles, can I regain my space..? We will see....

A Visit to a whole new world....

 How fortunate that a friend invited me to have breakfast with her at the hotel that she is staying at on west

40 street between 8th and 9th. Traveled by subway, off at 40th and 7th, then two blocks west---40 street between 8th and 9th--once a strange no man's land---seedy at best---now packed with hotels---there must have been five of them all in a row. Can they really exist beside each other in this economy.? But the street was filled with people, and the hotel where my friend was staying---the furthest west on the block, was alive with energy. Many people eating breakfast. Truly a different experience---a rush of people, an exciting energy all over---no sign of the emptiness that the pandemic caused. 

Now back at the apartment---quiet settles in. What did I get from this "adventure"? Just a sense that I would like to be moving around more. It is exciting to be 'other places" then the upper west side. So what does the future hold? Today---not sure, could be anything. Lots of football and basketball to follow...but where,,,?  Must find out---will report soon.

tough night...

several awakenings---chemo must be making my joints feel stiff. I awake and wonder if I will have any play in them. Of course I have---just get them to move. Just walked to the grocery store on the corner of 72nd and West End---just to get the joints in gear--grabbed some coffee---could have made it in the apartment, but had to get out, Now, back, have to wait it out until I tutor up at 145 street at 11.

All the nights at home. Can I change that? Challenge myself to do something in the evening. A movie, maybe a trip to Brooklyn and a simple walk on one of the major avenues. Usually I am simply tired. Yesterday two conversations, one with a friend the other with my sister in law. I was very cool. But not enough. 

Reading--yesterday for one dollar, bought the first of Henry Roth's autobiographical novels. His writing mesmerizes me, I am drawn in---all those stories of Jews coming over in the teens (19). My father arrived here from Poland when he was 12---1920. By the time I was born, he was totally integrated into a middle class lifestyle, if he had not told me he was born in Warsaw, I would never have guessed it. But these Jews, Roth's Jews are bumblers--they came from small Jewish villages in Europe, you can feel their horror, their  confusion, their desperate attempts to integrate themselves into their new surroundings in Manhattan, torn away from a different, far more simple 

lifestyle. And now I ask myself, how much of that horror was carried over intoi the vision of my parents, two "normal" people who most of the time seem relaxed in their surroundings. Had many friends; went to the theater often--aware of the outside world...yet underneath....

Roth is intense--can't read it all the time. The opposite: short stories or sports books that are superficial. Torn between the two. During this time of the pandemic and illness, reading has become more vivid to me then ever---easy lose myself in it. 

Quite a "mouthful" will leave it at there now. Will see what happens...

and more...

 just went to facebook where someone posted pictures and addresses of older Bronx delicatessens (delis). Wanted to write a response, but don't know how much "profundity" the post can handle. So many delicatessens in areas that are now poverty stricken---growing up they were middle class white areas, mostly Jewish. Lots of nostalgia on the posts, statement about what a "great time" that was. But don't those Bronx old timers understand. WE HAD TO LEAVE. There was no way my generation was going to come back to those neighborhoods after college and preserve them. That is what they won't say. It was out "destiny" to go out into the world and do more then our parents. It had to end. And now I think, i wonder, what was it like in the last days for those delis. How did they close? Did they just retire, or did they simply see the onslaught of black and puerto rican people coming in and decide that they had to end it. No one wants to go there. No one wants to look at.....Some day someone will tell the stories of the last days. Of people who probably were not even born in the country (some) of people who worked their whole lives, who believed in the vision of the neighborhood that supported them. Still, the last days....

the city explodes with culture...

but can I participate in any of it? That is the question. At Theater for the New City, a man is doing a one man take on West Side Story Would love to watch it. But can I? Lots of movie choices, don't even ask me about theater---it is loaded in the city---many off off projects in addition to the explosion of activities on and off Broadway. Yet I remain simply a "watcher". What keeps me at home? The bag? Sometimes being tired for much of the day? What am I capable of? In the "old" (pre pandemic) days I knew how I would spend Sunday, usually. At some point in the morning, take the M to the Knickerbocker stop in Bushwick, walk towards Jefferson and Knickerbocker---look at all the activitiy--the many stores, people on the street, then hit Cobra Club and remain there for a few hours; probably watch some football, read the second part of the Times, some conversation, some crazies there at time---it did not matter, I was happy and I knew what I was doing. Then possibly off a few blocks to Hart Street and Molasses bookstore---a really nice husband and wife with a new born (who is probably about 3 now) and chat with them for a while. They are opened now, now that the pandemic is over, but it is a hard journey for me now. So that is how it was. The past, a fevered dream of a journey through Bushwick and possibly a walk into Bedford Stuyvesant. Did not even know that they were next to each other until I began to travel there. But that was then---now, my life sits around the apartment. 

Still a productive week. Some good conversation with the couple who live on the next floor above me. Then on Thursday, with little preparation, was able to sub a few hours at Friends. Amazing just to be there. Third grade class, had to be on my toes watching them the whole time, but had no trouble doing it. Felt great when leaving. Then found out I could not work there Friday, because I was not "vetted" or something. Amazing! This should be sorted out by the end of the week. When I was asked to cover the thrid grade class, I was hesitant, wondered if I had the stamina, about four hours with only one break, but I did it and did it very efficiently. A good way remind myself that I could really do the work. Yesterday two turoring sessions that went well. Also good work. I am proud of this, but what is next...?

Sunday morning, early as I write this. Where will I be today? What are the factors involved in my choices. Energy, the "bag" behavior, the money I want to spend, anything else...? Not sure, anything can happen, but,,,,?

The Voyage (by subway) Out

 So there I was, 3P.M., ready to go to Bushwick, not without some trepidation, thought maybe my stamina was too low, or whatever, but forced myself into going. Subway: 72nd street to 14th, then the long tunnel that connects 7th to 6th avenue, and then my "old friend" the L train to Halsey street, deep in the heart of Bushwick. The train moved very quickly through 14th street, then Williamsburg, then into Bushwick--I arrived just as the party for the Bushwick Starr's  new space was beginning. Nice greeting from Noel, one of the artistic directors who created the space, and Flako, an important member of the arts community connected with the theater. The theater is now just a shell, lots of construction work needs to be done, but hopefully they can turn the building into a great theater and community (that is very important to the theater) space as well.

I stayed for about an hour and a half, had a nice chat with an actress friend of mine, heard a good salsa band, and simply watched the scene. But what was missing? Somehow I had fantasized that many of my Indie theater friends, a very solid community would be there, but actually none showed up. Three years ago, at a party to celebrate the Starr's ten years at the old space, many friends whom I had made over the past ten years of experiencing Indie theater were there--lots of good conversation, warm energy--I had expected something similar yesterday, but it did not happen. So many "missing" people. So perhaps a gap has been created---it is after the pandemic and that group has gotten older--but I think in the end it will be a "whole new world". Bonds made pre pandemic will still exist, but there has been a breach---one will not be able to "go home again". So it was over. Rejoined the L train for my trip back to the apartment--read a good short story by John Updike on the trip home (he is great for trips like this) and got back to the west side, sooner then I expected.

In the apartment I felt relaxed and pleased that I had stuck to my vision of the day and made the trip. Some part of me longs for travel in the city, but at the same time, I am more relaxed in the apartment. Today, not sure if I will take a trip---may want to remain close to home and just relax---read and follow the four playoff games that are happening today. And yet I know I must see the Balanchine movie at the Film Forum--can I make the trip before it leaves on Thursday---we shall see...

So, the next day...

 Lots of tasks in the morning, then went over to the blood center and got them to work through the problem. They were able to schedule an appointment for the scan that day, on13th street and 7th of all places. This is the small medical set up that replaced Saint Vincent's hospital across the street, sold to developers for luxury apartments. All went well; it was nice to be somewhere not on the upper west side or by Lenox Hill. On Wednesday I received the results: eveything is "stable" and treatment with chemo pills should continue for another three months. And what then...? No one is saying---welcome to the world of "limbo", cityboy.On one hand it gives me some time to focus on the present---that is tutoring and maybe doing some subbing---don't have to worry about an operation. On the other...what is the endgame here..? I see the blood oncologist on Friday, will ask...not much else I can do.

Tutoring going well---Friday  a very upbeat day---first took the subway to my bank near Union Square. Then decided not to return to the upper west side, which is what I usually do after visiting that bank, but took the M train to 53rd and 5th and checked out the 53rd street library---the one that replace the amazing Donnell Library---and browsed and found some books. Nice and refreshing to be somewhere else. After check out I walked to 59th and Broadway to the nearest subway back to the apartment. Wow! Did not realize how long that walk would be---still, I had no trouble doing it. Something about that trip---maybe just because it was different---enlivened me, as if something happy and fertile had exploded inside o me. Was it just because I had chosen a new path, to be in a different place..? Maybe, but it carried me through the whole day.

This afternoon I am going to Bushwick---a long trip for me---to a block party hosted by the Bushwick Starr theater company at their new space---or at least outside their new space. Should happen unless the light rain around now becomes serious. I am expecting to see a lot of my theater community friends whom I have not seen since the beginning of the pandemic. Should be fun---and meaningful. Do I tell them about my "condition"? Will have to play that by ear---anyway, the action should be fast and furious---the kind of party that I enjoy.

not the greatest day.....

scheduled ct scan did not come off. I knew this would happen. When I got to the hospital, the woman in charge showed me the order for the ct scan. It was from June, from another doctor who is treating me, but not from the one who wanted this ct. Could not do anything---they were waiting for me---all set up---then out into the air with nothing. Tomorrow morning I will go to the Center where my blood oncologist is, and arrange for another appointment for the scan. Not really a problem re my treatment, I suppose it can wait a few days, but I really wanted to go to the next step. All morning I psychologically prepared for this trip. Now, got to wait to tomorrow morning, and go there---an extra trip, but must do it.

Not much to report for the rest of the day. Decided not to try to see some movies at the film festival. Am reading an autobiography called Spotless. It is by Sherman Yellen, a successful screen writer who also wrote some books for some Broadway musicals. Another Jewish kid raised in the thirties by parents who came from the horrors of the lower east side poor Jewish community.Like Sherwin Nuland's autobiography, actually very similar, this is an attempt by the writer to come to terms with the srrange, harsh vision of their parents life, and how both the love and the inconsistencies in that love shaped the child. Nuland's father was unsophistocated, only really spoke yiddish and was a poor breadwinner. Yellen's father was a successful and agressive business man. Yet both were given to explosive rages without warning  which would disappear suddenly as life continued. Yes, I am fascinated by these stories, as the protagonist tries to explain life with these people, and also the recreation of the thirties and forties in their lives. Haunted, perhaps, but my parents were for the most part, far more stable and attentive and giving---yet there were moments when those qualities seemed to disapppear. So I am "lost in the fun house" as I try to figure it out.

Two tutoring sessions yesterday---very fulfilling---at this point don't see why I can't add some more students. Of course, there is my medical future to consider, but until I get my scan.... 

woke up this morning...

no neuropathy---haunted by it yesterday---body giving me messages of "looseness",maybe fatigue,  for want of a better word. Still managed to go to 145 street---two sessions canceled, but gave the day some structure. Apartment being cleaned today---have to prepare---earlier, on the computer,on a Facebook page called Back In the Bronx,  someone posted a picture of their first grade class from 1951---all white. I checked the address of the school, near Tremont Avenue, the area that is so prevalent in Random Families---almost completely jewish at that time, but by the mid eighties, poor, hispanic, violent , drug ridden and chaotic. Now, probably calmer---but still mired in poverty. Went to google maps, looked at photos of the surrounding streets. I remember as a teen ager in the late fifties feeling so safe and secure as I walked in that area--also in other neighborhoods of the Bronx that are now poverty driven. How didi it happen---this 'seismic" change, at least in my own mind. 

Reading Henry VIII, one of Shakespeare's (presumed) last plays. Have seen two productions of it, neither one left much of an impression on me---found them sterile---a void---something I very rarely feel about any play by Shakespeare. Now reading it, I find very interesting moments. The early part of the play is centered around the trial and possible execution of the Duke of Buckingham, for treason. Actually he has run afoul of Cardinal Woolsey, who seems to have Henry's confidence and wants to eliminate all rivals. Buckingham has a long speech in which he forgives all---he emerges as a kind of Christlike figure--the play stops for his long final statement. Lots of imagery and sharp dialogue that calls to mind other Shakespeare plays--other characters who seem important are Katherbyeine of Aragon, Henry's Queeen at the time, and Anne Bullen, who of course will replace her. I am reading the play slowly---trying to concentrate---maybe forming public readings of it in my own mind---but of course, that is not what is happening to me now. 

Rest of the day---prepare for cleaning---maybe contact a parent of a possible student--lots of unstructured time---let's see what happens......

When you can't sleep....

 search the past. At 3:00 in the morning---body wants action---to move around, but do not want to go out, take a walk, and please it. I have been out this time before---a few times during the first days of the pandemic--when I was angry at what happened---but at this moment prefer to stay in. Not a good time to read, eyes are tired---somehow they can tolerate the computer better. Went to googlemaps, and visited Vyse Avenue around 174th, 173rd street in the Bronx. Must we go into this again---a neighborhood now basically a working class, poor neighborhood, filled with apartment houses, that once, when I was growing up, housed a mostly Jewish population. My father taught at James Monroe High School, and that would have been mostly children from that neighborhood would have gone. In late 61, early 62, I had a couple of dates with one of his students, or something. She was nice, but nothing happened. But as I traveled the neighborhood, I remember feeling relaxed and safe. Two or three years later, it began to "turn", the influx of black and Puerto Rican familes began, while many of tha Jewish families moved to the new apartment houses that replaced the lot and lawn that abutted my apartment house. I began this post when I found myself thinking about visiting Park Heights Avenue in Baltimore, now a very dangerous place, but during my four years at Hopkins, the epicenter of a thriving Jewish neighborhood. It too, was changed, around the late sixties. Yet in my memory it is safe, and meaningful as a place that I could be. Such a sense of sadness, when I googlemap those neighborhoods, but why? A "longing for the past?" Yet here I am. 

The visit to Vyse Avenue was prompted by the book I am reading: Random Family, by Adrian LeBlanc. The author follows two women, born into poverty in the Bronx, living in chaotic family situations, moving all over the poor sections of the borough. It it a book that I always return to---I think this is my third complete reading of it---it really draws the reader in---reading it got me through the weekend. In my earlier readings I was just following the action--this is the first time I reallly remember being repulsed and sickened by the world the people in the novel exist in. People coming in and out of the apartments at all hours, drug use in front of small children, lovers exchanging partners indiscriminately---what would  it have been like to have been a child in those circumstances, I wonder with horror?  

Visited the newly refurbished Mid Manhattan library this morning, on 40th and fifth. What an amazing place! Lots of room to wander on the floors, a great selection of books; chairs on each floor to sit and read whatever you want, and a snack bar on the top floor. I could stay there all day, reading if I wanted to. Must return soon, and also visit the newly refurbished library at Grand Army Plaza---I hear that has some great new aspects to it (hopefully that includes the rest rooms, which, pre pandemic, were pretty grungy). Pre pandemic it was nothing for me to go there and browse, second nature almost. Now, with the illness and its accoutrements, going there will be a very different experience, a test of sort. Still, must do it soon. 

Seem to have made my statement for today. Should post a little more then just weekly---will try sooner...

Time to Write...

A week away from this blog is a long time. Had some issues (annoying but solved) with my Medicare coverage, and have been writing a lot on a facebook page called Broadway Remembered. Many sixty, seventies and eighty somethings inhabit this topic with memories of theater from the fifties and sixties and the rest.  It is a good outlet for my theater memories---between 55 and 64, I was a really active theater goer---took everything down in my head, now can share it with others. 

Reading a lot of Shaw---in the middle of You Never Can Tell, and have gone through Arms and the Man twice. Really good plays with incredibly sharp dialogue and character visions; I don't understand why at least one play by Shaw isn't being taught in high schools. Students would learn a lot if they were exposed to his vision---particularly Major Barbara, which I think is extremely timely in this world we live in where money and idealism live next to each other. Other than that, reading a little bit of War and Peace each time I hit the library, and have started the Philip Roth biography---also in the library---what a fat book to carry back to the apartment

Had a bit of an "accident" this morning---served to remind me that I still am in treatment---life very different from the one that I had pre-pandemic. Can I return to it? Not at the moment--yet I am comfortable living much closer to home---walking the streets of my neighborhood---the upper west side. Strange---pre pandemic and illness I hated the idea of staying in the neighborhood in my leisure time. Makes sense, though---there is not a lot of friendliness or openness as I walk these upper west side streets---i think neighborhoods in Brooklyn would be friendlier. This morning's "accident" has made me a little more determined to travel, but i am tired, now, and might have to use today as a rest day.

Anyway, if I return to Brooklyn I will report it--hopefully soon.

Monday morning....

 so many thoughts; so many ideas---where to begin. Yesterday, traveled to Brooklyn. (Trip 3) Got off at Nevins Street, checked out the Brick, found it closed---walked up to the Fiction Center bookstore. Spent a bit of time browsing there---a very unique collection. But then the sadness. Pre-pandemic, it was two floors, lots of room to read, a coffee shop, and the sense of joining a community---a place to "be" if you loved reading. All that gone now---just the large front of the bookstore---no place to sit, to consider, to choose a book from their groups and read some (or all) of it. In 2018-19 read The Not Wives, but Carly Moore there--really intense but loved every minute of it. Just read it all there over a period of weeksl did not buy it at all. So with Brick closed, and the bookstore limited, pushed south, went up to Barclays Center and continued to Bergen and beyond. A great coffee place on Bergen, right by the subway entrance now gone---a little coffee place (without a bathroom) has replaced it. Stopped off at Hungry Ghost, read some of Arms and the Man, by Shaw, then proceeded to walk south to Grand Army Plaza. Almost 53 years since I discovered Park Slope. December of 68---a college friend and his wife were living on Garfield Place. Remember my first journey there on the F train. Felt as if I was going into a twilight zone, before I finally arrived at the 7th Avenue station, and then walked the eight blocks to their apartment on Garfield betweem 7th and 8th. 

 The 52 years of Park Slope. To stand at the Barclays center or thereabouts and look around now is frightening! Development everywhere! What does it show you? A sense of rage, or power---certainly a brutal impresonality---a force, turning the whole neighborhood into one. So I stand on the corner of Bergen and Flatbush--try to see the whole neighborhood over a 52 year period. One remembers when it seemed bohemian---one did not need a whole lot of money to survive in Park Slope. Everything easy. Not very upscale. Cheap (or reasonable) eats. Flatbush avenue now south of Bergen seems full of upscale dining places. It reeks of entitlement. So where are you in this cityboy? Aren't you part of the generation that settled the area, and now reaps its upscale benefits? As I stood on the park edge where Flatbush meets Plaza street, I could sense the calm---far enough away from the towering buildings to appreciate the architecture that surrounded me. Then I grew tired and went home---"chilled out" the rest of the day, with the help of about 60 minor league baseball games available for me to watch. But even that gets to be a bit much--had to shut it down at some point. 

Much joy in reading. A novel by Arthur Phillips, entitled The King at the Edge of the World---about one of my favorite topics---the succession of JamesI to replace Elizabeth as ruler of England. The time of Shakespeare! Also, Arms and the Man, by Shaw--really bright and witty and for the most part, playable.Rest of the day---not sure. Yankee game, Bushwick, some other place in the city,,,? Could be--will report soon.

Wednesday in the rain.....

 Lots of action since last week. The highlight: a trip to Studio 54 on Monday evening, to see Anthony Rapp do a one man show. Anthony, of course, was a close friend of mine from 91 to 96---saw him much less after that, but we still remained friends. Of course, I saw Rent many times, most of them with him in it. But it had been a long time since I had seen him in person.  I was nervous about going; on these "outings" there is always the issue of the bag's "behavior", but it was fresh, and there were really no problems. A lot of action that day, since I had met my friend Joe from Friends earlier for a long coffee conference.  At 54, I was seated with a couple around 40, and a younger woman named Meredith---a true Anthony Rapp fan. We all hit it off well---contact again, very easy to make. Anthony's concert was fine---I enjoyed some songs more than others and would have preferred a little more spoken memories, but the audience was really with him---some in the audience knew him, some did not---so that is all that matters. Loved the energy of 54 downstairs, even as I realized how expensive the place is Not somewhere I can go often---if at all---occasionally they have some places on tdf, but even then, it is pretty expensive. The place is not interested in people who have only $20.00 or less to spend on their entertainment. Afterwards there was a meet and greet, but a trip to the (smallish) mens room convinced me that it would be better to just go home (there was a long line to visit him) and e mail him my good feelings. So that is what I did. When the bus did not show up after a while, I actually splurged for a taxi, just to get home to make sure all was well with the bag. 

Still, very glad I went, exhilirating, almost like a dream event.

Saturday afternoon---feel a little "woozy" from the pills, could not make another trip into Brooklyn as I had done the two Saturdays before, but I did see my first post pandemic movie in a movie theater. It was Annette, at one of the two Lincoln Center movie places--no real problems there, just the movie, which was incredibly obnoxious and "in your face' to the point where I left a little early. Theater had about 30 patrons for a 3:00 showing--really not bad, but the lobby of the theater has no flyers, and no coffee shop--there is still a kind of ghost like feeling when you enter, or going to the mens room, as if one if the only one there. But as hateful as the movie was---the attempt has to be seen as a success. 

So the rain continues to come down--this will definitely be an evening at home. Will report soon.

Try to Remember...

Quite by accident, browsing on facebook, I came across a tape of Jerry Orbach singing Try to Remember, from the Fantasticks. All of a sudden my mind shot back to the summer of 63; during that summer I listened to the recording constantly. I was home, working in a park near the Bronx Zoo, (watching the changes in the neighborhood) and preparing for my senior year at Hopkins. 

Two images immdiately came to mind---the first, of myself in my family's apartment on Thwaites Place, listening to the record, and the second, was of course of J. Who was J? A freshman at Goucher that year when I was a senior at Hopkins. She had come to Goucher to act--and since I was the President of the Hopkins undergraudate theater group, we had to interact. She was thrilled by what I was---incredibly empathetic and wanted to be close to me. Only one problem: she was comitted to a boy friend who was a sophmore at Hamilton. That would not stop her from spending a lot of time with me---but of course--no sex, or even simple hugs and kisses. So what could I do? Once I made up my mind to leave her alone---then she saw me after my performance in J.B. by Archibald MacCleish. "I have never seen you so happy", she said. That was it---I could not give her up---and so for the next six or so months---our relationship, based on this "compromise" continued. Did I believe that at some point she would change, that she would leave her Hamilton boy friend for me?  As I sit here now, all I remember is her ability to "absorb" me. It did not end well; you can understand that. There are moments when I remember another side to her---an ability to push away, to be harsh, if she felt threatened or imposed upon. There were rules to our game.  Yet Try to Remember only made me feel her warmth--the energy in her that I believed in. Perhaps I am "distanced" enough now (well it is only 57 years later)  to simply focus on the warm memories.

The phone rings---a friend unexpectedly is in the neighborhood; we meet for coffee, discuss the state of the city; the pressure on possible Mayor elect Adams to move to the left; black theater, etc. I return to the computer in a very different place; memories of closeness seem to have vanished. I am ready for the next moment in my life.

And what of J? She is now 76, living, I think, in New Jersey (she is not on facebook!).  My fantasy of her is that she lives with a  'boyfriend" around her age---close to retirement--you know the whole thing. Has she "blown out her candles"? I don't know---probably at some point, some other song or play will evoke more memories of our relationship. Oh how I longed to have a girl friend in my senior year at Hopkins--how envious I was of those boys who had them. But that was a long time ago--- in the present.....

A day of Darkness.....

Sunday morning---already it has been raining for a while--seems to be letting up a bit now---are we just waiting for the brutal downpour that has been promised?  It means spending the whole day in the apartment---I think I have enough food for it---but just being hunkered down. Well, have to put up with it---lots to read, am reading a "tell all" now---kind of grim; don't really want to go into it any more.

Yesterday--my second trip to Brooklyn--this time to Bushwick--a place where in the past few years, I have spend many hours. Looked for my old "haunt" the Cobra Club, only to find that it was closed.  I went becasue the Bushwick Starr, one of my favorite theaters, was organizing an arts festival in Maria Hernandez park, right near the theater. But it was early, so I stopped off at a new "hangout" called Nook. It is a large, friendly venue---lots of room to "hang"---I really went there to check on my "bag", to make sure there would be no "trauma" in the park. But I ordered an ice coffee---and after a while it came (they were, at that moment, a little understaffed) and was very good. Outside, Irving Avenue seemed like a dream palace---a place that I knew, but now, even if I was there, was just imagining. But remember, in the last few years before the pandemic, especially after South fourth closed I hung out  there almost every Sunday Finally it was time to enter the park. Glad that I did---had good conversations with Noel, artistic director of the Starr, and Flako--my buddy who acts, directs, and runs acting classes for the neighborhood kids. Both of them were glad to see me---all of a sudden my trip had a purpose. 

Then I left them, and sat on a bench, near one of the places where they were distributing free fruits. The park was full of hispanic families---parents and kids; very few of the gentrifiers that Bushwick has become known for in the past seven or eight years. The kids, and their energy, were very mellow and self contained---both the girls and the boys. Most of them seemed around 8 or 9. I had a strong desire to ask any of them if they needed help in math---I wantd to help them right away, but I did not. After about an hour, I felt ready to leave---probably could have and should have stayed longer, but I was worried about the bag's behavior, so I went. Stopped off at Nook again, and took the risk of cleaning the bag---not perfect but needed to get some junk out before the long trip back to Manhattan. Would the bag behave? Walking back to the subway, I passed a packed beer hall, filled with twenty somethings and such from the neighborhood, all relaxing and deep into conversations. So that is where the gentrifiers were at that moment! Just as the atmosphere in the park, seemed to be about the hispanic population, this atmosphere, was completely white and (I suppose) privileged. Anyway, made it back to the subway, the L going into Manhattan came--very crowded; I sat down next to a few people hoping that all would go well---it did, and I made it back to the apartment without any incident! Yay! Just as I had felt the week before when I returned from the production at the Navy Yard, I felt strong and felt very satisfied. Going to Brooklyn in the future was going to be possible!

Looking out the window, I see the rain falling steadily, though without much force. Maybe that is all that it will be...well, I can hope...will report soon.

Tuesday morning....

 have just returned to Jhumpa Lahiri's book of novella's called Ubnaccustomed Earth. The writing is beautiful, so effortless, the earth is America, actually Cambridge Mass and its environs, and those unaccustomed to it are the newly arrived Indian families. The husbands are college educated and have settled in Cambridge because there are jobs in engineering and such there. The mothers, who have met their husbands through arranged marriages in India, stay home. The children are caught in the middle. They go to Ivy league colleges or thereabouts, and have good professional jobs, but....It is the final novella called Henna and Kaushik that I have been reading this morning; I have read it several times before, but it calls to me, envelopes me---really takes me in. Her sensitivity, her sense of place, her sense of a person's isolation and the opposite of it---the bonding of two people either for practical purposes or sSometimes for totally romantic purposes---this is what draws me in. 

Yesterday I took two books out of the library, one a novel, one a tell all, both of them seem negligible to me at this point, I don't even want to name them in this post. Their writing is so ordinary compared to Ms. Lahiri's 

Saturday took my first trip to Brooklyn since the pandemic and the onset of my illness. To the Navy Yard on Flushing Avenue---wow! even in the short time (17 months) that I have not been to Brooklyn I saw so many changes---mostly new luxury buildings, of course, what did I expect, but I could not believe that they could have been built this far north. No subways near the Navy Yard, where friends of mine were putting on a pop up theater afternoon. Nice to be there and see and interact with some people who were part of my community before the pandemic. But the walks in the heat! First from BAM to Flushing and Carleton--how many blocks..six or seven long ones. But then the return: in the past, I had approached the Navy Yard from the F, so I thought it would be a fairly easy walk to go back that way---but I was wrong. A long walk in the blazing heat from Carleton to downtown Brooklyn, sweating all the way, fearful of taking off my long sleeved shirt lest my ostomy bag reveal itself. Would not opt for a cab;  even as I saw one as I got near the bridge, instead, continued walking until I found the High Street station on the A line, which would bring me back to Manhattan.  All during the intense walk---with all the frustration of not being able to see a subway entrance, I thought to myself: "you are sick, and you can still do this?" Yet I pushed on, my body obeying my need to move.  Finally I returned to the apartment, amazed at the story of this trip.

So it is Tuesday morning---a day of unstructured time. Will find out how events evolve....

Thursday morning...

 Interesting day yesterday. In the early evening, I participated in an online trivia game created by the Kaslynn, who is the Assistant Head of Equality for Flatbush. She expected a bigger online comittment from the members, but in the end, it was only myself and "Miss Elias", a Jamaican grandmother and member of E4f who played. Had a great time, the liveliness that Kaslynn projected and the idea that I was really keeping all of this going, made me feel very strong. Very focused in a world that I really like. Nothng "romantic", nothing moody or reflective--just living in the moment. Very different from earlier in the day. I was in the library on 82nd and Amsterdam. There is a book that I have reading there---I don't take it out, It is called The Power Notebooks and it is by Katie Roiphe. The book is a diary-meditation, on her life, but it really focuses on her relationships with men--both permanent and fleeting. I get lost in it---why? The loneliness, the search for contact, the search for immediate contact--that gets to me. Sometimes she admits that she chooses men to sleep with whom she does not have much feeling for, ;yet she does it. Where am I in this? Somehow I see myself--the way I present myself to women---"non manipulative--forthright" as exactly the kind of man she would NOT choose to have a brief affair with. But I read on--perhaps I am attracted to the excitement I identify with her choices, or feelings. 

When I have read about fifty pages, and kept myself cool---for that is what I have really come to the library for---I replace the book on the shelf. I know that the next time I go to this library i will go right to it, but I don't want to take it home with me. On these hot days, the libraries are my only destination---I build the vision of my day around them. Today the plan (in my mind) is to go south, and spend most of my time at the Lincoln Center library---lots of books or plays or essays on Shakespeare to browse, but also I will bring the book that I am currently reading---a biography of Ethel Rosenberg---to the library and make that my essential reading focus. Quite a contrast: the musings of Katie Roiphe, played against the totally realistic life that Ethel Rosenberg lived, before she was jailed. Ethel had no time for reflection---a husband who was living pay check to pay check; two young sons that she was very comitted to taking care of--no, this was a very practical life, built around the attempt of a young couple to rise above the poverty that they were born into. 

The "poor Jews" of the twenties, thirties and forties---why does that life resonate with me--born and raised in a comfortable middle class environment---far away from the horrors of poverty. And yet I know them. What does that mean...?  Will return to this at another time.

Saturday night, between

 Schubert's Trout quintet and the end of the Met game, here I am. (Maybe also the end of the Mets). Spent the day, an extremely hot one, at two libraries: the one by Lincoln Center and the one closest to me, on Amsterdam and 82nd. Both good places to go into, just to get away from the heat, but I was able to read some of tomorrow'sTimes at the second library. Did not choose any book from either library; just could not make up my mind and did not want to commit to any one book or vision. Still have Lopate's collection of Essays and a play called Take a Giant Step, from the fifties, out. But neither interests me very much. Three books that I wanted are at different libraries,and with the heat, and my "tiredness" which I think is caused by the zeloda (chemo) pills, I did not feel like going to any of them.

Here comes the "Trout" theme from Schubert's work. How long ago did I become interested in chamber music? Probably early twenties, about the same time I was listening to as much Mozart as I could get my hands on. That would be summer of 67. A bridge from seven months sorting mail at the Post Office on 33rd street to my second social work job. Only three years from my "triumphant" last year at Hopkins. But this was so different. Confused, working nights at the Post Office so that i could audition for stage work during the day, but found myself unable to deal with that system---very few friends---most days spent reading---read Roth's When She Was Good, Malamud's The Fixer, and Kohl's non fiction book about teaching in Spanish Harlem---36 Children. Had to change my life style; wanted to be alive in the evenings---to date, interact, etc. So I made the transition, and got a job at Riverdale Children's Agency--an agency that worked with black foster children and their placements.  I liked the work--i remember two brothers, Turan and Maurice--knew them well; I wonder where they are now? Can't believe that they are adults--they are stuck in my mind as teen agers. The change worked---I was free enough to have my first serious "affair" that winter and spring. But my vision of myself as an actor had ended. 

Schubert's music is ending soon. Back to the baseball game, if it is not finished? Must get out, walk again---far too much time in the apartment and looking at this "screen".  Will report soon.

sunday evening....

not much happening---did have a nice talk with an old friend, Alvin A, today. I should have called him sooner, but the occasion of my calling him was the news of the death of Arthur French---a terrific actor---also somone who I knew a bit, but who I loved watching create roles. He instinctively could create any type of person---first saw him doing the opening monologue in Van Peebles' Aint Supposed to Die a Natural Death---a play that gets stronger in my memory as the years go by. It is a virulently anti-racist work--never received the acclimation it deserved, probably because it is much more confrontative then say, the work of August Wilson. But Arthur, there was something so pure about his acting---he was 89, but I feel such sadness at his death. 

Yesterday voyaged to the new re-done library on 5th avenue between 40th and 39th street. An amazing place---even has a snack bar on the top floor. Saw many books that I was tempted to borrow, but ended up taking out none. Why? Committed to finishing the one I am reading now---1066, about the Norman Conquest of England. Almost finished---really enjoying it--I love English history---I see so many books in the library about England's history that I could take out and absorb myself in, but is that the  direction that I want to go?  Also in that library--the five autobiographical novels of Henry Roth---I have re read two in the past couple of months; very tempted to take out one of the others---but ofcourse, I stopped myself. It did not help that I had a vicious stomach ache---I did not want to carry anything back with me to the apartment because of that. I returned to the apartment---took a nap, and the pain went away---almost washed itself away, and my body felt limitless.

Rest of the night---chill and follow the one remaining baseball game being played this evening.  Tomorrow dentist---possibly a hair cut (I need one) and the rest---all up to me. Some traveling to a different neighborhood or borough---possibly, must play it by ear, will report soon.

Strange dreams...

Yes, last night, three of them---stunned by their content. Dream one:  somethinug about a women's prison---some woman in jail for "murder"? Something violent, called to my attention. Dream 2: I am subbing in an all boys class with two floors. One of the students, around 12, seems very brusque and agitated. I separate him from another student and bring him upstairs to a smaller room. I calm him down and observe that he is okay. Then one of the students from the first floor tells me that something is happening there. I get anxious for I have left that part of the class unsupervised. I rush down, looking for trouble as the dream ends. Final dream (3) One of the younger female teachers in the school tells me she has just found an aparment in Park Slope. I know the street; there is a store, or arts venue that I know has just moved to that street---I see the street in my mind--Park Slope with its low lying brownstones. That is it! Why would I have a dream about a woman's prison. Only association that I can make is "anger"---these women in jail have rage inside them; they are trapped---and maybe that is how I feel about my current physical and emotional state. Medical limbo while I take the chemo pills for the next two months, and emotional limbo as I struggle to structure my day and wonder if I can take the risk to be away from the apartment for too long. 

Morning---hot! Going to be hot today. Yesterday I continued reading An American Type, Henry Roth's posthumus sixth novel. Great scene where Ira (the hero and protagonist) takes his wasp girl friend to meet his parents in Brownsville for Shabbas dinner. All goes well---his parents are well behaved---but afterwards he reflects on the miserable marriage that his parents are doomed to live through, and again, on the whole Jewish immigrant experience for Jews who arrived in the first part of the twentieth century  iand the ensuring struggle that shaped their lives.  Menial jobs; minimal pay--a sense of being totally defeated by life. His parents: .A man and a woman who can't stand each other, yet are locked into their destructive  relationship. Economics of the time? Definitely---but what else..? Some insight from reading this into my parents' limitations of vision---even as they were definitely one generation removed from the frightened "green horns" that Roth describes and had a comfortable relationship. What fear...what rage did they carry with them from the past, from the uncertainty of their relatives, who just arrived here,   and rage against "who"?

Have to move to the rest of the day. Come to terms with my life in "limbo". Will report soon.

Another Saturday night and....

 you know how the song goes. Yes, here I am on Saturday night, around 7:30---no appetite--a little bit scared of going to a movie--a little bit tired of listening to baseball games or going on the theater site on Facebook---definitely need a change. Have tried to contact a friend for some advice---no luck yet---at some point I will go out at least for a walk---move around---and maybe then the appetite will arrive.

Yesterday evening walked from my apartment north on Amsterdam---teaming with life int the many restaurants that I passed---to 86th street, then  south on Columbus---more restaurants, including two on 84th street, a little east of Columbus---84th street---remember when that was considered the most dangerous block in the city---sixty years ago--now lined with restaurants and middle class-upper class patrons without a care in the world. How do you process time? Many couples in these restaurants---I would say about 35 per cent older and the rest, young couples. Everyone with someone except me---process that cityboy! Actually I can accept that--not a problem---except sometimes I wonder,,,?

Took out a book of essays today from the library. First one read was from Notes of a Native Son by Baldwin. Could not put it down---great, passionate writing. A few others---one by Mary McCarthy---a little slow, and one by Adrienne Rich---revealing but I had to put it down at the park because my eyes were getting strained. May return to it next reading. Still on my "buddy", Henry Roth's last autobiographical novel. A few dull spots, but mostly interesting---a great description of an uncle--once exciting and jovial; now (late thirties) destoyed by the grind of work---a harsh counterman at an all night cafeteria (yes, they used to have them)  Roth's description gets it so right---captures so carefully the plight of the first generation poor Jew, who arrived  from eastern Europe in the early part of the 20th century, and was econmically beaten down into a harsh, ugly world. 

Could go on further but will stop here---medically moving along with my treatment---nothing new---will report soon.

All alone...with 60 minorleague baseball games,,,

 yes, that is right---I think that through the afternoon and evening, I will be able to look at 60 probably more because some are double headers) baseball games being played in "the bushes". Kept me pretty occupied yesterday and Friday---at first I thought that this would not be a productive idea, but the heat and the fact that all those games could be watched for free, clinched the deal. The result: well, some interesting games yesterday, and a sense of continuity when it comes to knowing the players who make up the teams. Will I continue if I am asked to pay. The cost for the full season is around $25.00, not really expensive, yet some part of me tells me to refuse. Too much distraction. How many hours can I go today...since there are games on from 12:00 to the evening? Can't say---but that Bowie-Erie match up sure seems interesting.

Otherwise just hanging in...completed Major Barbara by Shaw---it gets very talky in the end, but the ideas are still very strong. Must read more Shaw--when I return to the library tomorrow, will try to figure out what next play to choose. Thank heavn for the Lincoln Center Library that has re-opened; finally a place to spend a few hours in the afternoon. Still pretty empty---wonder how long that will go on. Miss the snack bar that was on the first floor; now there is a nice reading space behind the library that was not there before---but no food or drink. Have not tried it yet---too warm, but might soon. Still have not gotten to the rebuilt large library on 5th and 40th. Really want to go there---they are supposed to have really upscaled the place---the old library was very functional---I liked it---but oh, those bathrooms--the worst! That is something to look forward to---I bet that the rebuilt library has bathrooms that are truly usable. Important for me, in my current state---hope to check it out soon.

Not much else---checked out the fifth book in the autobiographical sequence of Henry Roth; this one about him as a young adult, falling in love with the woman who would become his life long partner. Taken from his manuscripts by his very talented editor, who used to hang with me in the late nineties at the All State Cafe. Have read it once a few years ago, but I enjoyed Roth's other autobiographical book in that series so much---found it so completely stimulating--that I really want to get into this one as well.

So Sunday baseball and other stuff begins---will report soon.

a strange time....

Friday morning---heavy heat expected---have to stay cool---some things to take care of, but they don't have to be done today---still i would like to do them--kind of in limbo---the only plan I can come up with is by the early afternoon, to hit the Lincoln Center library and read and browse there for about 2 hours. Much room in that library, andd very cool, as the many people who used it pre pandemic seem not to have discovered it now. After that,  maybe stop off at Spectrum and pay my bill as well---it is right near there. And what about my long lost plans to buy new dungarees and a belt? Well, Target is nearbye---perhaps I will stop in there, but possibly will put that off. Better off at Old Navy, but that is a trip.  

Still have not taken my movie "risk"---not sure of when that will happen---in the meantime i read like a fiend. Yesterday read most of Andre Gregory's autobiography (ironically entitled This is Not a Memoir) It reads well---since I am familiar with most of the theater events he describes, and the people who were part of those events, it is easy for me to relate. How many years of theater memories do I carry with me? My other read is Shaw's Major Barbara, and believe it or not, I have found it to be a brilliant play. Totally timeless, and incredibly sharp. When I finish it, in my mind, I would like to read several more of his plays, particularly the ones I don't know. One of the first "adult" movies that I saw when I was less then 10, was Androcles and the Lion, adopted from the Shaw play. Sterling Holloway played the hopeless Androcles. All I remember is him dancing with the lion, and feeling so "adult", because at that young age, I was in the movie theater all by myself.

The movie theater was called The Globe, and it was about 5 blocks away from my apartment house. How many movies did i see there as a kid...I remember there were Friday afternoons, when I would be finished with school, and my father, who was a school teacher would take me to a double feature that began around 4 P.M. Angels in the Outfield, about my favorite team, the Pittsuburg Pirates, and a Bing Crosby movie that had In the Cool Cool Cool of the Evening---those are two I remember off the bat---yes my chidhood: very relaxed and appreciated--very unstressful and rich in imagination.

So we will leave it at that---still in the apartment---no appetite to speak of, but the day is moving on---will report soon.

Of Mozart and Pete's Candy Store...

  Began the evening, listening to Mozart's Piano Concerto no 12; one I did not feel I was too familiar with. Great music---I am in awe of Mozart's ability---one more of the 21 (not counting the first five) concertos that I want to be familiar with.  So much more of those concertos to listen to---if I wish. Yet when it was over, I went directly to Yelp---to check out the following bars: Sonny's in Red Hook; Freddy's in the south slope, and Pete's Candy Store, in north Williamsburg. They are all open now---what longing---just to be there---to walk in,  hang out, have a converation with a new person---if only it was possible! But isn't it?  Here I sit---in this total limbo world---not sure how far I can go with anything. What issues..? The bag...my energy level---long trips, short trips, does it matter? Willing to spend tonight at home, reading possibly since I have no interest in the all star game...What next...?

something to say....

 so it turned out that the nodule is cancerous, and beginning yesterday, I am taking cancer pills, no infusion, which means I don't have to visit the center on 86 street, and can drink cold drinks. But after three influxes of two pills each, feel a little drowsy---not sure if that is the cause or not.

Overall, though, feeling pretty good. Nice long weekend--on my own, but basically enjoyed it. On Monday afternoon, while reading in Riverside Park, near the apartment, ran into Teddy G, and old friend, a former playwright, and member of Artists in Action, a group that I was part of that was formed to campaign for Walter Mondale, during the 1984 election. You know what happened then, but it was a good group, made up of many of the young New York actors and actresses at that time. No names, now, maybe later, anyway, Teddy and I chatted for about an hour---compared notes, spoke of the current elections, went through the list of old friends---where are they now---you know, the whole thing, and I found myself enjoying the conversation very much. Will I see him again this summer---possibly, he has a summer house in Stockbridge, and is leaving for it soon. But we may have time.

First trip to Lincoln Center Library yesterday---its first day of reopening. Wow! Glad to have it back--its nicely cooled, and I can spend hours there, reading plays or books analyzing Shakespeare's plays, or whatever. Also, there is a nice outdoor reading space that was created for Lincoln Center's re-opening right behind the libaray that was not there before. Too hot to read yesterday---but might be a nice place to read in the future. The library was not very crowded---a kind of a ghost like energy filled the place, those people like myself who returned seemed like phantoms---have been going there since it opened in late 65,  it where my ex wife and I began our first date in late August of 66. Funny how that just came to mind; I was carrying a recording of Cosi Fan Tutti when I met her. But I did not really "learn" the opera until a year later--my "Mozart immersion" spring and summer of 1967. That was also a summer of isolation, per se---but isolation for a twenty three and a half young man, is different then isolation for this person whom I am now. Lots of reading then, too---The Fixer, by Malmud, When She Was Good, Philip Roth's only non Jewish novel, and 36 children, by Herb Kohl, about his experiences teaching fourth grade for a year in Spanish Harlem. Feeling  a sense of "strangeness", I kind of "how did I get here" questioning, going through me at that time. An apartment very much like the one I have now--a studio---only located on Irving Place--and very inexpensive.

Sometimes as I walk the streets of my neighborhood---the upper west side namely the seventies, I ask myself, "when I spent time on these streets in the sixties, could I have imagined what the neighborhood would turn out to be?" The upper west side at that that time was "gritty"---considered by many "dangerous"---attractive to only certain kinds of youn- people---actors, teachers, social workers---that was all---a twenty something in any other profession would have chosen to live on the upper east side---considered safer--friendlier---definitely a place for people with high ambitions. No dealing with brownstones that had become rooming houses that held addicts, or crazies, or prostitution. This was a tough world, and while I would not say one navigated it at one's own risk---there were plenty of safe streets and aveneues--you had to be careful. Now the side streets are placid, the brownstones all safely residential, the welfare hotels (yes, there were many of them) turned into stylish apartment houses---younger people (like my radiologist oncologist)  see the area as a place of wealth. But it evolved, as did my generation, and tbe chaos no longer exists,

Just finished an interesting memoir by Julie Metz called Eve and Eva about her mother---a true "New Yorker" and woman of the world, who was born in Austria, and experienced two years of isolation before she and her Jewish family could emigrate to New York. The Anschluss---brutal. They were lucky to get out. Very well written---not sure what I will read next---another trip to the library soon. 

All for now...next time...?

The last of the "airless" days....

 is coming on strong. Unbelievable! Never in my adult life, have I experienced heat so "airless"---it seems to sap the energy out of you the moment you leave the apartment house. Well, one more day of that---and as the weather becomes more "liveable" (I hope) the doctor's appointments commence. One tomorrow morning and one on Friday. Have they determined the results of my biopsoy yet? They should have by now and yet no word. What does that mean...? No news is good news, or do they want to "break it to me gently"? I am not in any hurry; I simply want to live through this day. Feeling quite good and solid though, so we will see how that plays into the larger  .

Going for my morning bagel, I passed a large group of west side parents and children standing on a nearby corner. It occured to me that they were waiting for a bus, that would take their children to camp---probably day camp---it did not seem like the goodbyes were very heavy. It made me think of my years in camp--all sleep away-- many summers in my childhood---but were they summers that I really wanted to spend in that way?

My camp history...I must have heard about sleep away camp some time during first grade, because I told my parents that I wanted to go. My parents were okay with it---don't remember that much of that summer---I was basically happy for the eight weeks--parents came to visit twice---the son of the girls head counselor, who must have been five, bopped me over the head with a toy gun during a pageant on parents day---but i think that I made up my mind that I did not want to go ever again. So, ofcourse, for the next six years, I found myself in sleep away camps for the whole summer. Why? My parents---who were so comfortable with me being away for eight weeks, decided that they themselves wanted to work as counselors at camps during the summer. So there it was. My father was the camp dramatic counselor, and my mother, who taught science, during the year, was the nature counselor. Two camps in five years---and then another sleep away without them for me, until the streak was broken. Was that what I wanted? I dreamed of being allowed to stay in the Bronx all summer, each day looking at the television, watching either the Yankee or Giant games being broadcast.  No structure, no tasks. But  it never happened. My parents---who really gave me so much as a child---took me to plays and movies all the time to build up my imagination---insisted that we go. But was it really for them? What part of them could not spend the summer in the city..? "We think it is best for you (and my brother)".  that was the mantra each year, as I would make a brief protest before we left. And  to a certain extent it was---organized sports, lots of swimming---some good friendships, but what was in it for them...? I wonder.

So the basic conflict between my parents and myself was basically set up by their committment. My imagination could rome free with their approval---until it couldn't. Once they made up their mind, the line was crossed---and whatever I felt---whatever I dreamed about or envisioned---meant nothing. The break--the cut---call it what you like---but once they made up their mind, my autonomy was ended. And yet (as I will end this post) I had a "happy" childhood.

Monday, a day later....

an intensely hot, airless afternoon. Finishing up A Diving Rock on the Hudson, Roth's autobiographical novel. But is that all? My enery is very high---but at this point I am unable to move into a more interesting zone. By that I mean, take in a movie at the Lincoln Center theaters, go up to the Bronx and see what is happening around the stadium (maybe someone will offer you a cheap ticket) head out to Brooklyn---just to the Atrium opposite the Harvey. My mind bursts with fantasies of places that I use to go, while I remain here on 76th street. What stops you? Is it the bag? You know you can get it under control; it worked for you at the marvelous Friends graduation---still can't get over that day---it will behave if you want it to---but what? Fantasies of far away places too strong? Not clear---my body asks me to move, my mind wants to play it safe, at least for today. So here I sit, writing this.

No "adventure" tonight, cityboy?  So what does the evening hold for you. First, checking out the beginning of the the Yankee-Angel game---should start soon, then maybe, in the hope that the atmosphere is a little more bearable, a walk, probably north on Amsterdam. The street restaurants are always filled, even on a day like this, there should be many people out. Why not go the other way, south to Lincoln Center? Maybe. Somehow, walking on Amsterdam seems to work for me better. At odds---will have to see what happens---stay tuned.

New York reawakins, and we are ....

 caught on the upprer west side? Possible. Strange day---five days after biopsy,  (no results in yet) some pain in my unrinary tract---seems to be receeding now, but earlier---intense. What does that mean for me today? Probably a lot of reading in the close environs of my apartment house. No trip to Brooklyn just yet. Ah, remember a time when Sunday morning meant getting on the subway---the 1 to the A to the M at 4th street---the ride over the Williamsburg Bridge----South fourth, Lorimer, the beginning of Bed Stuy from a distance, from the window,  Bed Stuy on one side and Bushwick on the other. Finally getting off at Knickerbocker, walking from there to Wycoff and Jefferson and finally Cobra Club with your bartender friend Olivia getting you coffee and putting on the baseball game for you. Some aquaintances dropping by---feeeling good, then off, down the Bushwick grid, past Starr Street and the Bushwick Starr--possibly stopping by Molasses, the bookstore you like---chatting with Matt, who owns the place and his nice wife Maggie---the continuing out of Bushwick, to Broadway, then walking a bit away from Myrtle Avenue and chopsing a street---Bainbridge, Decatur,  maybe Patchen, to walk down, into Bed Stuy, brownstone city, calm, relaxed, wondering if this is the same neighborhood I was taught as a white person to fear for most of my adult life, Finally, a bus ride back to Flatbush and the BAM neighborhood, checking out the books at the Fiction Center, having some coffee there, reading what ever looked interesting, and also checking out the Atrium, opposite the BAM Harvey, plenty of TV' to watch baseball or football. Those days are long gone. I wonder if the Atrium and its restaurants have re opened. Always found good convesation there---could that happen now?  

Can't say---still dreaming of many trips, but today my companion will be Henry Roth as I try to come close the finishing his autobiographical novel, A Diving Rock on the Hudson---His writing is revelatory--much of the time, but some of it is plodding. What is he to me...? I read his story, almost recorded day by day, as if it were my own. But it isn't. Could I write about my life at Science or at Hopkins, It is hot today--I can feel the Baltimore heat---even more intense then we have here--just thinking about some moments that I spent there. But what would be the point,,,? More things going on now. Now I simply fantasize another book after Roth, but quite different in content I would hope.

Played out. Not much more to say. Want to move on. Will report soon.

so here we are again....

 Saturday morning, around 12---have already sat in Riverside park, reading and remembering. Reading: Henry Roth's autobiographical novel called A Diving Rock Off the Hudson. Young jewish youth around 1920---lives with impovershed parents on 114th street and Madison---then a Jewish and Irish slum. He gets a job selling sodas at the Polo Grounds--remembers being cursed at by John McGraw. The writing is sharp and detailed---the author now writing this is approaching eighty. Roth drills into his past. Nothing seems wasted. Second time reading this---bbvetter then ever. 

Memories---sitting in the park, recalling the first time I watched a pro basketball game that used the 24 second clock. November of 54 ---I am in sixth grade---the Fort Wayne pistons are playing anther team. Bald George Yardley and his two handed set shot. Don't remember who they played but they won going away. Before the clock: New York Knicks ahead with three minutes to go. Freezing the ball. It goes to center Sweetwater Clifton---a former Harlem Globetrotter. Opposing players swarm him---he simply makes tools of them by palming the ball from hand to hand. Knicks were good in those days. 

Other memories: the first Quentin-Maggie scene from Arthur Miller's After the Fall. Always moved by that---very innocent. Directed it at Yale, in my one (horrible) year at the Drama School. Fantasized directing it again with High School students. What would they think of it?

Almost time for second Yankee-Oakland game. I want to follow it closely. At one point yesterday, fantasize about going to the Stadium, trying to get a last minute inexpensive ticket---just to stay for a  few minutes, just to get the feel of things, the images. But not able to--will have to settle for the radio play by play---maybe stop by a few bar windows to watch a little bit of it there. Even though the bars have reopened, I have not been in---too expensive at this point. Energy level mixed---will see what happens tomorrow.

Amsterdam Avenue, 2:45 P,M

 Walked in the heat north to 96 street to pay my Spectrum bill. Passed the apartment house that I think Don McKay lived in. Felt regret. Who was Don McKay. He played Tony in the London company of West Side Story---this company was sent over in fall of 58, with an all American cast, and took London by storm. Four actors from the original cast---Chita Rivera, Ken LeRoy, Eddie Roll and Tony Mordente recreated their roles in this production. A few weeks before rehearsals began McKay replaced Larry Kert for a week in the Broadway production. I saw him that Saturday matinee and Maria was played that afternoon by Marlys Waters, who would be his co star in London. I remember that performance so well---I had seen Larry twice, and was not sure if McKay could be as good. He was stockier then Larry---I wondered whether he would collapse the fire escape when he climbed up to meet Maria. Or whether he could scale the fence at the end of act I. He was okay, but there was something tentative about his performance Then came the final scene in the play when Tony lies dying in Maria's arms. Something happened between the two of them---a "frightening chemistry" that was so intense and real. I was sitting in the front orchestra and could almost feel the heat and passion  they shared. Had they reached a new level? During the curtain calls, the conductor, Max Goberman, seemed to have tears in his eyes. He blew them kisses at the bow. Had something happened on stage to them that had never happened before? The intensity of McKay and Waters has stayed with me--I can feel it now.I

Mckay died about two years ago---several obituaries mentioned that he lived in a building around Amersterdam and 90th street, and that sometimes he sat on a bench outside that building  My God, I thought, when I read that, I could have easily encountered him on one of my walks that way. What a loss! I would have loved to talk to him, and have him tell me stories about being in WSS at that time. Apparently he had scrap books with a million pictures from the London production. I could see myself looking at them for hours. But of course it did not happen.

Late August 58--I was preparing for my junior year at Science---had just returned from camp Music Land on the Bard college campus, where a close friend of mine was dating a girl I liked very much. I remember that summer well. Will tell some tales about it later.

Real world: Must prepare for the biopsy I am scheduled to have on Monday, Not sure how I feel about it. A judgement call on the part of my surgeon. Well, might as well get it over with and move on to the next episode in my treatment.