Subway Prayer Rules... Usually there is a lull on the West side subways about 9:20 am. First you have to wait awhile for the number one train, and then there is another wait for the express at 96th. Thursday morning was typical- I had a Civil Court calendar call so I headed out about 9:15 with a medium briefcase. There was a three minute wait at the local stop, and when we pulled into the express station at 96th street a crowd was already waiting. I was at the back of the platform because I go up the stairs a Times Square to catch the Q train down to Canal and Lafayette. As we waited, people shifted around the platform trying to get where we thought the doors on the express would land when it pulled in. Every one moved away from the lady with the baby carriage, because baby carriages at rush hour jam up the area near the door. Finally, after about five minutes I sighted the express train- a warm light curving in the tunnel- a number three train. The three is the one to get, because it starts in Manhattan it isn’t crowded, and has lots of empty seats. The two comes from the far reaches of the Bronx, and is always jammed up. Anyway, the three pulls in and I lose the door lottery- I’m four feet away from the nearest door. As I crowd into the train, I spot an empty seat next to a young woman with her eyes closed, but a young guy moving quickly gets it right in front of me. I stand in the empty area in the middle of the car and reach up to hold onto the overhead rail as the train hits 72nd Street. As we head out again, the train speed picks up markedly, trying to make up time, and the train starts swaying, nothing bad but you have to think about keeping your balance. As I sway with the train, the young woman with the closed eyes opens them and curtly remarks “Ma’am please watch your brief case, it just went into my knee!” I turned and looked down at her, defensively saying “The train is swaying, I didn’t realize I touched you because I’m trying to keep my balance.” She answered sharply “Well you did” and snaps her eyes shut again. I moved the brief case to my wrist and grab one of the center bars to hold my self steady, disgruntled, mostly because she had a seat while I stood, and looked her more closley. She was fingering a set of beads in her lap and moving her mouth in prayer. At that moment I felt bad, feeling that maybe she had an injury and my briefcase brushing against her knee had activated the pain, and said “Look I’m sorry, if I hurt you.” but she impatiently shook her head and continued to pray. The train thundered on, and just before we reached 42nd street she opened her eyes and looking up at me unsmilingly, announced “ I wanted to finish my prayers before I accepted your apology. Now I accept it, because I realize you probably did not intend to have your brief case touch my knee.” Smiling, I told her to have a nice day. Then, obviously uninjured, she jumped up and got out the door ahead of me while I lumbered off the train. I can’t get this incident out of my mind. Did my briefcase hurt her? I’ve tried swinging it at my knee but barely feel it. But it must have been annoying to have a brief case brushing up against her, hitting her knee. But if she was religious, shouldn't she have used a gentler tone of voice? I’m a lot older than her, what about respecting her elders? Is it OK in her religion to be annoyed at an old person trying to keep their balance because her prayers were disturbed? Isn’t that against prayer rules? Why didn’t her God tell her to get up and give me her seat?

I lived in Heidelberg for ten years 1965- 1975 in a 7 story apartment building without Central heating or hot water. We had a coal/woodstove in the kitchen, a "running" gas heater for water in the bathroom, and an oil heater in the living room. When we were low on funds I ran up onto the mountain to get wood for heating. My friend in Stuttgart lived in a 17 story building built after the war, and it also had no central heating. They had an oil stove in the living room, and when I wanted a bath there was a water heater in the bathroom with a scuttle of coal bricks beside it. We all dressed in heavy clothes around the house and slept in featherbeds. Normal everyday travel was by bicycle, and we rented a piece of roadside land from the City at 30 marks a year with the proviso that we would cultivate it. We reached it by bicycle and raised a lot of American vegetables- things like summer squash, acorn squash and eating corn, which they didn't have in Europe then, and American origin vegetables tomatoes, potatoes, and beans. Except for dairy and some meat, we basically ate off the garden between June and November. There was a big strawberry patch and a cherry tree already on site, so I made preserves, and sold fresh cherry pies to American army expats. Vacations were made on bicycles, and we took our bikes to the train station, got on the train with them, and rode around Paris or Normandy. My son had a kinderseat on the front of the bike. The summer I had a singing job Bayreuth I got a reduced fare train pass. Life in the City of Buffalo where I was born and grew up in the fifties wasn't that different then. We had a coal furnace in the basement, a big backyard garden, and I walked or rode my bike to grade school, high school, and college. When I was very small Buffalo still had a belt line with commutor trains and street cars, and my older brother would take the train downtown to work. Buffalo was killed even before the steel plant closings by the dismantling of the mass transit and huge eminent domain takings of entire middle class neighborhoods to build highways. I recall riding my bike through miles of a empty formerly German- American middle class neighborhoods destroyed for highways. I was an usher for the Philharmonic Junior Committee and my social life stopped when they stopped running buses after 10 pm. The developers also convinced Mayor Sedita to seize and dismantle downtown Buffalo - mostly east of Main street, and downtown became a huge vacant area. When I went to Mannheim Germany for voice lessons I stupidly asked my voice teacher if they had ripped down downtown Mannheim for a redevelo[pment project. He gave me a tart answer- roughly translated "No , your people redeveloped us- with bombs." Right now I live in Mannhattan, and still have a Garden- two gardens really, but use them mostly for herbs and flowers- I buy our vegetables in Chinatown after Court, or the GreenMarkets or the Koreans.. I got my first car as a gift when I was fifty, for trips outside the City. I am always amazed at the waste of good land I see in the suburbs. Our brother in law has a huge 12 room house in the suburbs of in Fairfax Va.,- they never use the deck, preferring the central AC, and the huge plot of land is manicured by Mexican day laborers There is, no vegetable Garden and you need a car to buy a quart of milk. But strangest of all- whether its in Va. or upstate, I never see anyone outside - people have huge houses on big plots of property and never sit outside or walk around. If my relatives are any indication, everyone is sitting around in the basement watching TV , or at the mall looking for more uninteresting stuff to buy. Why do they have to take up all that land if they are just going to stay inside all the time? In the Cities, people still walk around on the street, take buses and trains and ride bikes, and different types of people get to mingle and talk to each other.

Plummania... It's the time for beach plums out at Canarsie in the Jamaica Bay wildlife refuge. I've been going there for about fifteen years to harvest the small reddish-blue astringent fruits. They taste like a cross between a cranberry and a plum. When the harvest is good, I have enough beach plum jelly to serve at Thanksgiving Dinner with the bird, alongside fresh cranberry-raspberry relish. The jelly is gone by Christmas, but if the harvest is good, we have beach plum shrub spiked with vodka and ginger ale. Beach Plum shrub is also good in seltzer or in sweet and sour sauces. Last year, 2004, was not a good year for beach plums. I didn't get out to Canarsie until Labor Day, and only found one lone beach plum. A friend of mine called to report that she had gone earlier and had found only a few plums. The natural cycle of beach plums alternates between good and sparse years. Every five years or so they have a prodigious year, yielding a huge crop of succulent plums - enough for jelly, shrub, preserves, and some to freeze. This year was average, but the fruits were very small, only about an inch wide, which is a pain because they have big plum pits. To get out to Canarsie Pier, take the L train from 14th street. Emerging from the tunnel in mid Brooklyn, the train travels over the highest point in the 'subway" system, soaring 200 feet at Broadway Junction over the "A" and "J" line stops. Looking out from the train, it is at eye level with a nearby seven story building. The next stop, Atlantic avenue, is equally high, and as you move on to the next stop at Sutter you can look down into junk yards where giant cranes lift up cars and trucks, placing them into crushing machines. The crushed up metal is taken on a conveyor belt over to the next yard and fed into a noisy shredding machine which spits out metal nibs onto a blackish pile. Descending, the train is at street level by the last stop. Busses meet the train inside the train stop, no fare necessary, to continue the trip. Although the buses travel under the Brooklyn Queens Expressway (BQE) directly to Canarsie pier, there is no bus stop directly at the pier. Instead, travelers must get off a block away at the bus stop and walk to the pier. Cross the BQE exit ramp( there is a signal), walk under the BQE and then cross the BQE enter ramp ( there is no signal- watch carefully) in order to get to the pier and wildlife area. Once you have navigated these dangers, you'll find a large pier and a picnic area. Forget them - unless you like large expanses of concrete and parked cars. The little restaurant is usually closed, but people like to gather there to promenade. Old guys hang out along the fringes of the pier fishing. I saw a kid last year catching crabs in a trap by the defunct restaurant, and a 40'ish guy with sideburns was putting on his own DJ radio type show by the restrooms, with strong interference from the younger set. To find beach plums, Face the pier, turn left, and walk on the bike/jogging path along the expressway. You'll see a line of wildly inappropriate Arbor Vitae ( a columnar evergreen which prefers slightly acid soil) ) which is turning brown. Walk to the end of the line of dying evergreens and then lurch into the brush. The beach plums are on small shrub like trees or bushes with oval leaves. Look carefully for the small purple plums, they are overgrown this year with vines (maybe I'll take a trip out there next spring for some vine removal) After you spot a few, your eyes learn what to look for, and it gets easier to spot them. I quickly picked a pail full and then, since it was low tide, wandered out on the beach to enjoy the sky and watch the birds. A family was quietly fishing nearby, hip deep in the water, dressed in their bathing suits Working my way back up through the brush onto the pathway, I navigated the peril of the double BQE ramps to the bus stop. Getting on the bus, the fare box registered "transfer" on my Metro card. A cool one fare round trip between Manhattan and Canarsie Pier if you clock back onto the bus within 2 hours of your start time.

Swimming in New York...It was 95 in the shade when I got out of court today, so I rushed out to Far Rockaway for a swim. Ernie, who works mostly weekends as a church organist, joined me on the long air conditioned ride to the beach. When we got there it was blisteringly hot, with only the slightest breeze coming from offshore to promise relief. We spread our blanket ( actually my orange Halloween tablecloth) on a promising stretch between two jetties near the water where the breeze was strong. The water was green and glaucous with bits of seaweed churning in the waves like torn up bits of salad. The surf was pretty high with some waves over my head and it was cool and exciting tumbling in the waves. You couldn't go past waist deep to swim because the lifeguards were double teamed on the whistles, herding the people into a little patch of water directly in front of their chair. There have been a couple of unnecessary drownings in the papers this summer so they are super vigilant, guarding their reputations. Rockaway is like New York's secret beach. It's so big that it is never very crowded, and you can get there by train. Change for the shuttle at Beachchannel, and the subway lurches right on a concrete subway viaduct when it reaches Rockaway. After a few stops, it comes to the end of the line at ground level. The exit is in an old shopping district, and a couple of short blocks away is the beach, which spreads out for miles on either side. It's a world class beach at the end of the "A" line. The place I really want to swim is in the Hudson. Most evenings I take a bike ride down into Riverside park and ride along Cherry Walk, the path between 98th street and 125th streets, by the water. The Parks Department has put giant rip-rap along the water, and some of the large pieces of rock jut right out into the water. On hot evenings it would be nice to climb down and sit on one of those rocks - to take off my sandals and dangle my feet in the river, and then, as the sun sets, slide down into the water for a swim.

Speer's Toothpick.. Today the paper of record carried a couple of stories about the new design for the "Freedom Tower" in downtown Manhattan. The minute people start talking about building monuments to freedom I get nervous. Generally, governments that build monuments to abstract concepts, like freedom, are actively engaged in taking it away from us and giving us the freedom tower as a tombstone.Appropriately, the proposed monument looks like something from the drawing board of Albert Speer, Hitler's architect. The best monument to freedom in this country is the law and impartial administration of justice and the rights it preserves and protects. Rights that this administration feels less and less compelled to uphold, and laws that it feels are outdated impediments to its imperial power. How can there be justice without a government that is bound by law? How ca n there be freedom without justice? Meanwhile, let's name that building downtown something else. How about WTC2?

U.S.C. TITLE 18 > PART I > CHAPTER 47 § 1001. (a) Except as otherwise provided in this section, WHOEVER, in any matter within the jurisdiction of the executive, legislative, or judicial branch of the Government of the United States, knowingly and willfully— (1) falsifies, conceals, or covers up by ANY trick, scheme, or device a material fact; (2) makes any materially false, fictitious, or fraudulent statement or representation; or (3) makes or USES any false writing or document knowing the same to contain any materially false, fictitious, or fraudulent statement or entry; shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than 5 years, or both. (b) Subsection (a) does not apply to a party to a judicial proceeding, or that party's counsel, for statements, representations, writings or documents submitted by such party or counsel to a judge or magistrate in that proceeding. (c) With respect to any matter within the jurisdiction of the legislative branch, subsection (a) shall apply only to— (1) administrative matters, including a claim for payment, a matter related to the procurement of property or services, personnel or employment practices, or support services, or a document required by law, rule, or regulation to be submitted to the Congress or any office or officer within the legislative branch; or (2) any investigation or review, conducted pursuant to the authority of any committee, subcommittee, commission or office of the Congress, consistent with applicable rules of the House or Senate.

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Taking up space. The building next door to our garden needs to repoint their brickwork and wants to close one our 90th Street Garden gate and a quarter of the Public area 8 am-4 pm weekdays for about three weeks during the work. We found out about the scope of the project a scant three weeks before the beginning of our annual Tulip show. A large part of the Tulip display would have been in the closed off area. After a meeting at the Garden, the building agreed not to begin the project until later. So now we're negotiating for August dates and we would like them to contribute a sum of money to pay for new plants plus an amount to reimburse us for the loss of use of a quarter of our Public area Monday through Friday during the work. The building points out that if we were just another building they would not be expected to put up any money for stepping on our roof top, and any damage would be paid out of their insurance. They are right, but we are not a roof top. We are a Garden which can't wait several months for insurance to pay for lost plants and trees and shrubs. At this point, they have pretty much agreed to a small sum to replace lost plantings. It's the lost use of public space that is giving us problems. It's a hard concept. We are open daily, and the 90th Street gate and area to be closed during the work is the most accessible for the handicapped. Many disabled people come to the Garden every day, many pushed in wheelchairs or helped along by their Aides. They will not go around the block to the 89th Street Gate, they will just go someplace else, and after being turned away a couple of times many will stop coming to the Garden for this season. So what is the value of that? I'm having a hard time convincing the building that public access and public use of the space has value. I can point out that we will lose donations, but even that is hard to quantify. Our Corporate purpose, covenants running with the deed, and agreements with the City of New York all mandate that two thirds of the Garden be open to the public daily except during icy conditions. So what is the loss of a quarter of our Public Space worth? What is the worth to the 50 or so people who cannot walk around the block to a more inaccessible Gate, and how do we make the loss up to them? What is the value of the loss of pass-through egress to the hundreds of people that walk through the Garden daily on their way to work, or as a pleasant short cut while running errands? What is the value of open space to the public in a City anyway?

It takes a village to support a Garden... Well I've been distracted for the past month with our annual Garden benefit. The Garden needs about $30,000 a year to operate and maintain. We only charge $15 yearly dues, and $25 for members with vegetable plots, so you can see there is a constant fundraising component built into our continued existence. What does the money go for? Well there's utilities... right now Con Ed is charging us over 200 a month to light four lights. Then there's the tools, Newsletter costs, insurance, soil amendments, greenhouse supplies, plants and perennials that we buy, our annual picnics, the Arts Festival, and of course the costs of raising money. Finally, there is maintenance. Plumbing ( always a headache) brickwork at our gates, iron work on our railings and fences, sidewalk patching, doors to the two toolsheds, locks, keys, etc.etc.etc. We're open daily to the public so everything has to be maintained top notch. No one in the organization gets paid, but we have to pay our plumbers, ironworkers, and other craft people. Anyway, we raise money from grants- (too many to list here) booksales, neighborhood supporters and the annual benefit. It helps to be in an affluent neighborhood on the upper west side of Manhattan with good restauraunts nearby that donate food. Our members also make fabulous dishes- stuffed pork loin, shrimp appetizers with endive, spiral cut ham with plumsauce, asparagus with proscuitto, cakes and cookies. About 25 Garden members worked on the benefit this year- everything from setting lanterns the morning of the event, and working the food prep tables to designing the invitations in February. and inviting local officials and celebrities to be a part of our "Benefit Committee and Supporters" in January. Any way it's over, the garden is beautiful- and we can look forward now to our Shakespeare in the Garden Performances in July and August. Check out the website, westsidecommunitygarden.org for pictures of the Garden, membership forms and the latest schedule and coverage of events, and thanks to everyone who worked on this excellent Midsummer Revel.

Lucky tree...Last week we noticed ominous lines of pencil sized holes in the bark of a large poplar on the southern border of our Garden on 89th Street. The tree was already large when the West Side Community Garden was established in 1975, and survived the various building cycles which resulted in a neighboring townhouse development and the landscaping of our permanent Garden site. The Poplar tree was almost a goner when lightning struck it in August 1988. It survived, and now bears a long pale vertical scar along the north side of its trunk, as a reminder of the summer storm. Tom Thies, head of our Flower and Greenhouse regiments, noticed the holes first and alerted me during a walkthrough last Wednesday with some of our funders and supporters. Heavy hearted, I called 311 after the visitors left, and asked for the Asian Longhorn Beetle hotline. The young man manning the line is part of the Parks Department, and we went over the specifics of location and types of nearby trees. The beetles not only enjoy Poplar, they also would like our Birch trees, Plum and Crab Apple trees. I didn't think to ask him about the airy Sappora trees that shade the table or the rare Tibetan Cedars. While I was on the line I also checked the other Poplar tree in the property, located on the border of the vegetable garden and the 90th Street playground.. That tree is very large and grand and probably the largest tree below 110th outside of Central and Riverside Parks. It has no holes. Going back to the 89th Street Poplar, the hotline guy asked me to take a pencil or pen and see if it fit into the holes, and to check their depth. The tree looked healthy and our garden Mockingbird twittered in the branches as I approached. The holes were about a third of an inch deep. There was no sawdust about. The hotline mentioned there is also a possibility the holes are from birds, and promised to send an inspection crew out to look things over as soon as possible. This morning I heard again from Tom, who had contacted our regular tree pruning guys to come and take a look. They tell us it is highly likely that the holes were drilled by Yellow Sapsucker birds dropping by for a snack on their way north this spring. Keep your fingers crossed... lucky tree.

Memories of Buffalo... The recent stories about the Buffalo Fireman who regained his memory , and the proposed sainthood of Father Baker brought back memories of second grade back at PS 68 on Westminster Avenue in Buffalo. The ultimate threat from a teacher - even in public school- was " if you're not good we'll send you to Father Bakers." Father Bakers was widely known in Buffalo children's culture as a correctional orphanage for bad boys. The threat had teeth, because we all knew that parents who had too much to handle could make arrangements to ship an errant son off to Father Bakers. Big boys in the neighborhood working on their cars in the back yard would regale us with tales of deprivation and whippings at Father Bakers. Once a year the Buffalo Courier Express featured a story about the yearly Christmas party at the orphanage, with pictures of thin little tykes getting toys, and the older boys getting socks. It was said the boys slept in dormitories, and wore hand me downs. We'd make fun of kids in the playground by saying they got their clothes from Father Bakers. Now that time has padded some distance on the Father Baker story - and a symbol of terror from my childhood is being exalted. What else is weird is seeing the "Our Lady of Victory Basilica " getting press. Our Lady of Victory Basilica is a huge Italianate over- the- top structure on the border between Buffalo and Lackawanna. Originally built in white marble, pollution from the steel plants and factories turned it bright yellow. The whole area was engulfed in a horrible stink from sulfide gas. The nearby Buffalo river was so polluted that it caught on fire. The surrounding Lackawanna and South Buffalo neighborhoods consisted of workers hovels - A cheap two story wood frame house built in the twenties would have a tunnel of two or three tiny shack like houses built on the back of each other, extending into the back yard and filling the entire lot. The area was so low class that nice people ignored the Basilica as a sort of a Folly. My father would take the route past it on the way to the beach when the lake road was blocked with traffic, and occasionally we would visit the South Park Conservatory and Gardens located across the street. When the steel plants and factories went out of business, the smell abated and people rediscovered the Basilica on Buffalo's south side as a pilgrimage destination. The trip is actually enjoyable, and you can get world class "Beef on Weck" while you're there.

Kruschev arrests bicyclist... page 2 of Metro section of the paper of record carried a shocking picture of assistant Chief of Police Smolka forcibly arresting a bicyclist who was walking while straddling her bike at a Critical Mass gathering. To us cold war veterans, Chief Smolka bears an astonishing resemblance to Kruschev, leader of the evil empire back in the sixties. Naturally, this picture and the accompanying story will further inspire car drivers in their ongoing campaign of rudeness towards bicycle riders. Today I saw a huge SUV frustrated in a left turn onto Broadway from 110th Street honking and inching forward towards a man crossing the street with his little girl with the light. Police parked on the opposite corner did nothing- the SUV hadn't actually run anyone over yet. As soon as the man and his little girl walked far enough toward the curb to provide room for the SUV to get through, the driver surged ahead with a little burst of annoyed speed, only to wait for the signal at 109th street. I am so sick of drivers in the City who threaten us daily. Rushing us out of crosswalks so they can make turns, honking at lights the minute the light turns so they can race ahead, tunneling down Amsterdam Avenue at breakneck speeds to catch the lights any unlucky pedestrians crossing at the end of the light, and honking while they pass within inches of bicyclists trying to negotiate passage around cars double parked in the bike lanes. Let's reassign Chief Smolka to traffic cop duty. Maybe then he'll see who the real enemy is.

Methane Hydrate and global warming... Update on the apocalypse theme. I just read a book that takes place at and around the South Pole. It has a somewhat fantastic, overly complicated plot, but it gives the reader a picture of what it must be like to live and work in that region. One of the plot lines turns around a substance called Methane Hydrate, a mineral sometimes found under the glaciers at the South Pole. Interested, I googled the mineral just to see how much the book exaggerated climate risks posed by release of methane into the atmosphere from glacier melt. The 2005 information turned up was more alarming than the plot of the potboiler-written in 1999. Methane Hydrate is a crystalline substance composed of methane and water crystallized under pressure and cold. It's found at the presurrized cold at the bottom of oceans and glaciers, including the east coast continental shelf, and is a component of permafrost found in Canada, Russia, Alaska, China, and Antarctica. There's a lot of methane in the environment locked up in crystal form. When it "melts," one liter of Methane Hydrate forms 20 liters of methane, a greenhouse gas much more potent than Carbon Dioxide. Several scientific web sites discussed the mass extinctions at the end of the Permian Age as a result of a global warming caused by sublimation of methane hydrate into large quantities of methane into the atmosphere. Other web sites discuss how the permafrost in northern climes is rising in temperature, leading to instability and release of Methane. Another web site discusses how drilling for oil in the far northern areas may have an unsettling effect on Methane Hydrate, and could release methane. [If we could figure out a safe way to mine it, it would be the perfect fuel.] At least one website talks about release of methane hydrate as a destabilizer of the ocean floor on the coastal shelf, which could lead to an east coast Tsunami. At least one large tidal wave occurred in Norway and Greenland from a gas release. The theory is that once we warm up to a certain level, methane hydrate begins sublimating into methane, which rapidly escalates global warming, unlocking more and more methane and creating radical fast climate changes. Scientists from the Pentagon warned the Shrub about this possibility, but secure in his belief system that Jesus wouldn't want that to happen, the warning was shrugged off. Now I'm wondering why people who swallow the Left Behind fairy tale totally reject the idea that global warming may affect our civilization in some radical way because it is based on scientific extrapolations. If, as the ocean temperature levels and perma frost summer temperature levels indicate, there is a global warming effect taking place, why would a prudent world leader not take all possible steps to avoid a possible catastrophy? And why are people so prepared to accept extrapolations about the end of the world taken from the book of Revelations, but unwilling to accept in the tiniest way the possibility that continuing in our present course of fossil fuel usage could endanger civilization?
Some websites with methane hydrate information:

http://marine.usgs.gov/fact-sheets/gas-hydrates/title.html
http://www.llnl.gov/str/Durham.html
http://healthandenergy.com/methane_hydrate.htm
http://www7430.nrlssc.navy.mil/7432/hydrates/index.htm
http://www.commondreams.org/views04/1215-24.htm

Tulips make you feel good. Last November, about 50 people converged on the West Side Community Garden the week end before Thanksgiving to plant Tulips. We roasted hamburgers on the last of summer's charcoal, served roast turkey and chili out in the cold air for the workers. Money for the 8,000 bulbs came from the Green Acre Foundation, and neighborhood contributions. Species Tulips, Darwin Tulips, early Tulips, late Tulips, fragrant Tulips, Peony flowered Tulips, Lily flowered Tulips, Parrot Tulips, green Tulips, striped Tulips, pink and yellow Tulips, red Tulips, as well as some Bluebells, Crocuses, Daffidils, and Hyacinths. They are all in bloom right now. You can see them on our website- westsidecommunitygarden.org, but you should go to West 89th Street between Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues for the full effect. People go in there and wander around with their mouths open, stunned at the sight of so many different Tulips. Children grow quiet and walk the paths smiling. People set their newspapers down in their laps and just sit looking. Lots of people come with their cameras, taking pictures of the Tulips, then their companions and the Tulips, and then pictures of themselves in front of the Tulips. No one picks the Tulips- even the flowers in the tree pits remain unmolested. I went there yesterday after a hellish morning in court where my adversary fluently lied to get his motion granted and found myself leaving with a stupid grin on my face. This happens every year, and every year the experience is slightly different but the same. The garden is open daily from 9-ish to dusk.

Left Behind club... I recently got my first e-mail bulletin from the Left Behind club. After wondering how they knew I had acquired a copy of the first "Left Behind" book ( I got one as a forced Christmas present), I clicked on the free button for five of the ten signs that we are living in the end of days. But, the free button took me to a LB Club web site with only one puny sign of the end days- the death of Arafat. Nothing about the Jews being back in Israel, unrest in Babylon, or the Pope's death. The free offer for the other four signs required my email and account numbers. If I elect to join the LB club, I get all ten signs, and email bulletins updating me on our progress towards world's end. I've always been a sucker for apocalypse stories and alternate universes since reading A. Merritt's "Dwellers in the Mirage" at the Kensington branch of the Buffalo Public Library as a kid. The "Left Behind" book extends the predictions in the biblical book of Revelations, exploring similar ground as the "Omen" movies. But unlike "Omen" movies and Merritt's 1930's pulp fiction novels, LB purports to be a fictionalized version of true predictions contained in Revelations that are actually going to happen. Much like the Omen, the LB novelist has taken material from Revelations and liberally translated it into the humdrum world of malls, airplanes and highways, extending the predictions to modern day people caught in the intricacies of an end war between good and evil and the second coming. The LB club catches the wind, and invites us all to join the club, follow the score card, and breathlessly apply the implications of end war to our own lives. A year or so ago, the paper of record carried an account from a survivor who was on the very floor where the second plane hit the south tower. He recalled seeing the terrorists through the window in their final moments as they drove into his office, and they were smiling.

$40,000 a year to live in a nursing home facility. That's what the financial report on Monday Morning's NPR morning news said. The poor can't pay this and their Social Security can't cover it so the Government pays the facility the difference. Social Security is charactorized as the most successful retirement plan in history, but I don't know anyone who can live on Social Security. I have a relative who worked for many years at fairly good jobs paying $50,000 a year. She's getting a little over a thousand a month now. There is no way she can live on that., and due to a catastrophic hospitalization she was stripped of her savings. There are a lot of people like her- they are getting social security, they have little in the way of savings and they can' pay rent and buy food on their social security. The minute they get dragged into court and evicted the solution is to get them into a "home" where it costs $40,000 a year to keep them- but the government won't come up with the extra $300 monthly to keep them in their own apartment. Visiting a friend in a facility I saw what she gets to eat- canned green beans, a cup of clear orange gelatine, a white roll and a pat of margerine, some kind of creamed chicken thing on a half cup of white rice...What normal person would want that to look forward to for the rest of their life? There was also a salad- a leaf of iceberg lettuce with a hard slice of tomato with a dab of orange salad dressing. Most people would be much happier in their own homes with a little extra money to get their own food. I guarantee you they won't be eating any half cups of orange gelatine and white iceberg lettuce. Isn't it cheaper to goive someone an extra $500 a month so they can pay rent and eat than to pay a nursing home $3500 a month to keep them in a place where they must share a room, give up most of their own possessions, and eat institutional food for the rest of their life?

"Enjoy your day"... This little saying has migrated from someplace in the islands to New York City. The first time I heard it was from a client from Jamaica. We'd get together to talk, and at the end of the appointment, as we parted, he'd give me a wide smile and say "Enjoy your day." I next heard it from a woman at some City Agency after we completed some complicated transaction- she gave me the same dazzling smile as we parted and said "Enjoy your day." Now I'm starting to hear it around the neighborhood- the laundromat, in the copy shop, here and there. I don't know what island it come from, but I want to go there. It carries much more good will than "Good Day," which is too curt, or "Good bye " "Good Afternoon,"" Good Evening" "Chow", and all the other parting statements. "Enjoy your day " is like a reminder of what life is all about- we are here to enjoy time, to savor the hours, to take time for a walk in the park, to stop on the way home to pick up shrimp, to sit and read a book, or look at art.

Social Security Debate... What we really need in this country is a good poor person lobby. One composed of independent poor and disabled persons who can talk about what their life is really like, and how they are mangled by services set up to help them How come in all the Social Security talk I haven't heard one word about Social Security Disability, Medicaid, Medicare, and Nursing Homes? It is a true fact that if you are poor, disabled, and over 50, the present system shoves you into a nursing home the minute your situation becomes destabilized with a medical problem or housing issues. Rather than give a person on disability an increase so they can pay their rent or find an apartment, and an Aide to come in to assist them, they are summarily carted off to a "Facility." The Facility gives them a nice bed in a little shared room where they can't have their own things, and it's usually in a place far from home where their old friends can't easily visit. The facility takes over their disability payments, and since it isn't enough to pay for all the "services" the person is getting, they turn to the government for additional money. Facilities must have good lobbyists, because they seem to get the laws passed to keep the money flowing. I once had a client, a 94 year old man who went to Tompkins Square park every day to socialize with his old friends in the neighborhood. They would sit on the park benches together speaking Polish, remembering the old country, and go to the Odessa coffeshop for dinner. Then he had a minor stroke and was taken to the hospital. Next thing we knew, he was moved out to Queens, way-out past the subway lines, and shoved into a facility. There was a lawsuit in progress about their club house on 8th Street, so I drove one of his friends out to see him and to confer about the lawsuit. The facility was a big place on a bare field, built of yellow brick, with windows that didn't open, and wide corridors paved with cold blue linoleum tiles. We found him in the second floor lounge and he looked miserable. He felt like he was in jail. No park, no friends, no polish coffee shop every day for dinner. They wouldn't let him come home to his apartment where he had lived for 40 years because it didn't have a shower. Fortunately, he had a room mate taking care of the rent. So one of the young club members got together the room mate and the landlord, and together they put an accessible shower in so he could come home.

February Orange... On my way home from church on Sunday I biked up Central Park West about 1 pm. The Park walkways, the sidewalks, and the street were jammed with folks that turned out to see "The Gates" draped over 23 miles of Central Park's walks. Over on Columbus Avenue the restaurants were filled with out of town brunchers. The side streets were packed with their out of state SUVs and the bike paths blocked with double parkers. I heard on NPR that over a million people visited the Park on Sunday- some kind of a record in February, even for a sunny Sunday. I like The Gates better in yesterday afternoon's misty weather, or in the twilight at sunset. They lend themselves to a gray day, adding a secret layer of not too bright orange fluttering throughout Central Park's muted winter paths. In the bright Sunday at high noon, they looked traffic cone orange, too bright, too effusive against the digitally accessorized crowds, too loud, too crude, too New York.

NY trash... I saw one of my "positive" clients from the infamous Hotel Malibu on the street yesterday selling chatchkes and tapes in front of the Chase Bank. His rent is paid by the City... $2490 a month for a 9 X 6 room without its own bathroom or kitchen. They throw in a small refrigerator for his medication. Meanwhile, he gets a small amount of walking around money for food and everything else. I was looking at all this stuff laid down by him and the other two venders. Little carved statues and ceramic ware, clay pots, pewter ware, pictures and picture frames, ornate woven straw place mats, baby clothing, strange kitchen implements and pots, small boxes with drawers, tapes, and used books. The gleanings from New York City trash. I flashed on this idea - nothing sells on the street for more than $5.00 here, but most of this stuff would fetch better prices on ebay, and would not be confiscated by the New York City Police Department. What we need is a homeless ebay network to redistribute the gleanings from New York City trash to the rest of the country! Homeless guys with wifi laptops could skim off the good stuff out of the trash and go on line at Bryant Park, or one of the other free access sites in the city, and sell their stuff on the web for better money than they could get on the street. Paypal would deposit the money directly into their bank account. Although most people don't like to admit it many of the homeless, or marginally housed persons like my clients, are not any crazier than the rest of the population- they are just people who fell out their support network of job , friends and apartment. Some of them have substance abuse problems, but a lot of employed people with jobs have the same type of problem, but have never had the bad luck of getting sick for a while, losing in housing court, or being arrested. Many of the housed people I know are just about three paychecks away from homelessness. Give them a serious illness, or even a flu that goes on for a couple of months, and they could be homeless.