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In the Hall of Vertebrates at the Museum of Natural History in New York
I recently read Ed Yong's An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us, a big, thick book that I had to prop on my pillow at night. Though it was not easy to read, I am left with bits of knowledge, much of which I will forget, but that leave me with a speechless wonder about this earth that we share with billions of species.
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A slow moment at a cafe in Ogunquit, Maine.
There's a writers' guru named Dan Blank who asks writers to answer, "What do you want to say?"
It's mid-August, and I want to keep these thoughts at bay. I want to hold on to sitting with friends in the shade... smacking my arm after the mosquito's left... The streets are empty. I'm feeling slightly aimless (which is good). But here it is. Here is what I've been doing and believing for the last many years:
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Turkey paella at Socarrat Paella Bar in Nolita.
It’s pouring outside this morning and the pounding sounds are soothing. It’s the last day of November. I’m glad it’s over. November. An election month here that’s held us in a pitch of anxiety, uncertainty near despair. I’ve started to write many times but didn’t know how to describe the sensations we were experiencing here in this land of plenty.
There’s a glimmer of hope now. In fact, one of the most dreadful things about November is that the people whose candidate won did not have an opportunity to celebrate and be jubilant. All Americans no matter who or what they voted for have a right to be jubilant today. It looks like democracy in the United States is holding. The transfer of power after a scrupulously fair election will take place peacefully.
Cover image in the November issue of The New Yorker. I believe in this future.
A man of profound character and experience has been elected president. I pray for him. He will need every prayer to begin to turn this country in the right direction. It will be tough going, but I think this is incredibly the right person for the job. And Kamala Harris. Another cause for jubilation. Not only a highly accomplished woman and stunning choice for VP, but a symbol of hope for people of color and a win for women and girls. Little American girls can now aspire to the highest office in the land. It’s happened in dozens of other countries. Why are we so late?
So I am feeling more hopeful—and grateful for the judges and local leaders who’ve stood up to do the right thing (even though most national “leaders” of the other persuasion have not!) My faith in the basic strength of this nation is restored. There is so much for us to work on. A renewed recognition of the travesty of slavery and its searing impact on generations that followed is hopeful and important, and we have to keep it in the forefront of our local and national policies.
D and I did have a sweet, absolutely delicious high on Thanksgiving Day. And it’s interesting how contact with others first hand lifts us. First, I have to admit that we miss the physical presence of our sons, their wives and our grandchildren. We will not see them in person for many cold months—and the California team we haven’t seen for full year. I worry about maintaining a vital connection especially with the grandchildren. Zoom and calls are not enough.
Back to Thanksgiving, my creative funny guy saw an ad for a Thanksgiving feast at a Paella Bar on Mulberry Street in Nolita, north of Little Italy, near Soho. A Spaniard long ago told us that this was the only good paella in New York City. We used to go years back and perch at long wooden tables next to hip “kids” and pretend that we were hip. The paella platter for two or three was cooked on a wide, iron pot like a wok, with the secret ingredient hiding underneath the rice. Concolón in Panamanian lingo, it’s called socarrat in Spanish Spanish lingo. This is the crusty golden and sometimes black, chewy rice at the bottom of the pot. You can find a reference to it in my memoir At the Narrow Waist of the World on page 1!
We called Socarrat and asked if they had tables outside, and heat, and four days before the day we walked by the small bistro to check out table distancing. A lovely woman reserved “just that table” for us. And chef/owner Lolo made an award wining turkey paella that began with a sampling of five tapas. Outstanding food, but better yet were the young waiters and guests around us who were of every ethnicity you can imagine. A tiny place, packed with good will, human effort, and artistry. What could be sweeter.
I am especially thankful today for kind people, pants with soft elastic at the waist, New York City, cooks, artists, and books, medical workers, soldiers who will deliver the vaccines to the states, election workers and officials who respected the process that makes this complicated country special.
For girls and boys between 8 and 13 who embrace every experience that comes their way (before the craziness of teenagedom). These books are poignant and fun and speak to our universal dreams.
Brown Girl Dreaming - Alison Woodson
National Book and Newberry Award winner A memoir in poems about growing up as an African-American kid in the l960s and l970s. Vivid, just beautiful!
Letters from Cuba -Ruth Behar
Pure Belpré Award. A Jewish girl of 12 escapes Poland to join her dad in Cuba and help bring the rest of her family across the ocean before the start of WWII. Told in letters by the girl that ring so authentic to me. The author also features characters from other diverse groups in Cuba.
New Kid - Jerry Craft
Won the Newberry and many other awards. This is a graphic novel, protagonist is a boy starting seventh grade in a new school where there’s little diversity, as he struggles to fit in. I haven’t read this one yet but sent it as a gift to one of my grandsons.
Small businesses are struggling to survive. If you live in the US and have access to a local bookstore, I encourage you to buy from them..
I wish you resilience and joy in December.
What are you thankful for today?
We go about our lives singly or in pairs as in the Ark--especially in the cities of the world—and I am with my pair, self-sequestered (not sick).
Read moreWhen we are kids we’re protagonists in a one person play as we measure up against the world. Everything is vivid; feelings are fierce. This is pure gold for writers.
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We are vulnerable. Let’s celebrate this fact of life. The hurt, the anger, the noticing, the love. It’s never about perfection. Perfection covers up all the interesting things about being human.
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It's summertime and many of you are easing up on obligations, unwinding at the beach, and reading those books you never have time for. I wonder what you are reading...
Me. I'm staying close to home but trying to take advantage of the wonders of NYC: mostly jazz for me but also the easy pace of the city in the dog days of summer. As a break from writing, I take myself outside to the garden to weed. The weeds are loving the rain.
Last Sunday I heard a wonderful jazz vocalist and Grammy winner, Catherine Russell. This was at Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola in the Time Warner Building, small tables café style, giant glass window looking out onto the blaze of lights on 59th Street. I must get to Minton's club in Harlem before the summer ends.
Here are some books that have captivated me:
By Sally Koslow, Another Side of Paradise. F. Scott Fitzgerald's love affair with Hollywood gossip columnist Sheilah Graham. Hollywood 1930s. The story is told in Sheilah Graham's voice, beautifully re-imagined by the author. I learned some curious and essential things about Fitzgerald and the challenges to the famous who must live up to greatness. Sheilah is fascinating in her own right and has her own secrets.
Very different. Non-fiction. The Line Becomes a River by Francisco Cantú, is a soulful book about the lives of migrants who try to cross and recross the Mexico-US border. The author is a second generation immigrant American who takes a job with the Border Patrol in New Mexico and later in West Texas. This is an intimate, exquisite book. It has opened up my own thinking. I am still discovering how.
I just finished the novel, Asymmetry, by Lisa Halliday, and it is still settling in my head. There are two--what appear to be very different stories--in the book: a love relationship between a famous, older writer and a young woman, and the story of an Iraqi-American family, the isolation of one of it's members in a holding cell in Heathrow Airport. One reviewer said, rightly, that Halliday takes us "down rabbit holes to unknown places." I remain fascinated...
A little bit about Diego. I interviewed Diego some months ago. He's a storyboard illustrator, fleshes out stories created by advertising, movie, and television writers. He is LGBT and POC (gay and person of color). He talked to me about issues of identity, where he feels he fits and doesn't fit. Diego is un Puertorriqueño, lives in NYC, explained to me reasons--as he sees them--for the economic collapse and distress in Puerto Rico where his family still lives. I'll be publishing Diego's story in two parts. You'll see Soy/Somos:Diego in September, when we will all have a little more energy to ponder.
Enjoy the dog days of summer.