Thursday, May 23, 2019


Rapid Changes in Quick Succession
Lately I'm either overflowing with options

...or a closet case in denial

Mind matter and Real matters alternating
What actually comes to matter is what catches my attention from moment to moment and place to place

9 a.m.

3 p.m.
Neighbor, Ron Sherbet and I journeyed to Third Avenue at 11th Street for $5 Tuesdays at AMC theaters
"A Dogs Journey"
Mostly kids in the audience and a great pleasure
with nostalgia and gentle tears.

6:30 p.m.
10th Street on 2nd Avenue
St Marks Church
Plaza in front

 Ron poses on request

Then, Perogies and blintzes
Little Poland Restaurant
2nd Avenue at 12th Street

Home at 8 p.m.

Waning moon and shaky hands

Between two street level entrances


Finally finished the package of ten Note Cards
("Painting by Max Gimblett-NYZCCC-Photo by Ms")

After Meditation
Walked home from the Zendo
(Madison Square 8:30 p.m.)


Leaving 2019 behind
"New York Album"
by Lou Reed
Listen back to
(whole album)

Look Back Four Decades
Preview and Brilliant New Introduction

Sunday, May 19, 2019


Saturday May 18th 2019
The parade of groups started at 11 a.m at East 21st Street
danced down Broadway to St Marks Place ending at
Tompkins Square Park
for more performances till 7 p.m.


4 p.m.

I was accompanied by my best Buddy
"JO-JO Yoga"
aka. Joanne Stekler
We then went to
Sixth Street B Garden
A serene place to Rest
Bleeding Heart

 Then we had a lovely thin crust vegan pizza treat
and headed home.

Dance Fest
see the whole schedule and professional photos

6th Street B Garden

Saturday, May 18, 2019


Manhattan Moon
Another Way of Seeing
6 a.m.

7 a.m.
7:10 a.m.

 7:20 a.m.


Friday, May 17, 2019


(Dusk this evening)
I've been swirling and unfocused, inundated with 
 too much alarming news on every front and its been building up since Mothers Day. I can't keep up, actually spent all of today in bed and woke at five p.m. unable to breathe, so printing this poem by Alexander Poesy to try to inject perspective on my current high anxiety:

There is more glory in a drop of dew,
That shineth only for an hour,
Than there is in the pomp of earth’s great Kings
Within the noonday of their power.

There is more sweetness in a single strain
That falleth from a wild bird’s throat,
At random in the lonely forest’s depths,
Than there’s in all the songs that bards e’er wrote.

Yet men, for aye, rememb’ring Caesar’s name,
Forget the glory in the dew,
And, praising Homer’s epic, let the lark’s
Song fall unheeded from the blue.

(6th Avenue and 23rd Street)
Feeling a bit like these dangling sneakers, suspended, waiting for the light to change from red to yellow to green. It seems about everyone I know has challenges and burdens hard to bear.
(The sun returns)

The Full blown panic attack has calmed.Various homeopathic remedies, herbals and neti pot + deep sleep till noon today did the trick. I am viable again. Still processing but stable.

Doves are flying.

Evening at the Brotherhood Synagogue where my neighbor, Sami Rose Katz had two roles in the spirited and marvelous production of "The Sound of Music"

The kids were a real lift to my spirit.
There was cake. 
Sugar-rush is wearing off just in time for bed.

Julie Andrews at 75 returns to the set with Dianne Sawyer
(19 minutes)


Sunday, May 12, 2019


The Courage That My Mother Had

The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.

The golden brooch my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:
Yet, it is something I could spare.

Oh, if instead she’d left to me
The thing she took into the grave!—
That courage like a rock, which she
Has no more need of, and I have.

-by Edna St. Vincent Millay-

For My Mother

Once more
I summon you
Out of the past
With poignant love,
You who nourished the poet
And the lover.
I see your gray eyes
Looking out to sea
In those Rockport summers,
Keeping a distance
Within the closeness
Which was never intrusive
Opening out
Into the world.
And what I remember
Is how we laughed
Till we cried
Swept into merriment
Especially when times were hard.
And what I remember
Is how you never stopped creating
And how people sent me
Dresses you had designed
With rich embroidery
In brilliant colors
Because they could not bear
To give them away
Or cast them aside.
I summon you now
Not to think of
The ceaseless battle
With pain and ill health,
The frailty and the anguish.
No, today I remember
The creator,
The lion-hearted.

-by May Sarton-

Here She Is

My little 'Mommy' in her Sunday best
with scraped knees and loose socks, posing.
Behind her a Privet Hedge in sweet bloom
So young she could never have seen beyond
this moment, nor imagined
her future unfolding.

 With her sisters Kay and Dorothy Ryan
surrounding her mother Deliah Cunningham Ryan
Lace Curtain Irish to the core


She grew up, finished high school,
danced through the Jazz age,
fell in love and married
(he was a telephone linesman)

 William James Slater
(He went to school and joined the force, rose through the ranks
and became Chief of Westchester County Parkway Police)
They moved from rentals in the Bronx, to Yonkers
and then Larchmont, NY.

She had lost her first born to crib death
and went on to the second.
It was a difficult birth.
She was 31-Dad was 38

Sirens silenced the howling winds.
A bloody trail marked the steps
of a shocked woman rushed
through Emergency to
the operating theater.

An incision of 6 inches was made
through her lower abdomen,
then a second incision
opened her uterus.
I was delivered.

Thus unto this rude world I came.
Elsewhere, my father was
told I was probably dead.
It proved quite untrue
I howled the proof.

The storm raged all night and day.
I was swaddled and held apart.
In recovery, unavailable,
drugged to sleep, my
wounded mother.

What I felt I can not remember,
only imagine the pain of it,
the loneliness and fear
of that brutal welcome
hearing wind howl.

Childhood amnesia veils it all
for many years until one day
a bleeding wound becomes
the memory of something.
Howling confirms it.

This second cut sinks way down,
down to the level of the first,
carries it upward where
it joins the current pain.
Howling's the familiar.

It goes on like that into adolescence,
through adulthood and to old age,
so that every cut of every kind
might call the first to mind,
make a calm wind howl.

("The First Cut"-verses written on my seventy fifth Birthday)

Anne Adelaide Ryan Slater
Seven years after me, she had another child,
William James Jr. in 1950
Then in 1953 came her heart attacks and while recuperating at home, she lost her husband to a sudden Fatal Coronary. We lost our rental house and slept at her sisters home for a month till she was well enough and an apartment was found. She went on into brave widowhood, working to keep her little family alive.
She died at the age of 69 in 1980.