Sunday, July 28, 2013

The crutches were gone by late afternoon

A large bag of food. A crutch. A milk crate.
Karen comes in, soon filling the sanctuary with her piano, her voice. When she finishes, she talks some of Hawaii. And as she turns to leave, I invite her to come some Friday night and share her music. She’s aware of the limitations of our old family piano now in residence there. 
Luli comes in with her friend Jeanette to see the old Papp theatre upstairs. Hmmmm...
Ethel is wrapping up their work, ready for their summer break. I will miss them. It’s getting near the time when New York clears out for the summer. As friend by friend leaves, a sense of emptiness grows. I’m not going anywhere. And Matt and Stan and the Representatives are just moving in.
By late afternoon, the crutches are gone.
Glen surprises me by bringing by a turkey sandwich on ciabatta from the restaurant where he works in Central Park. Along with Evan who’s just breaking in on Broadway. They help RL with some set up for the open mic and then we dig into our conversation about Glen’s upcoming night of readings. Once again bringing his theatre creativity to his church.
Never know what to expect for open mic. I’m intrigued/anxious to learn that Sgt. Keith intends to bring his comedy stylings inside tonight. And it looks like the gang will be coming in too.

Christopher has appeared. And disappeared.
When I come into the chapel, a young Latino is playing guitar and soulful version of Guantanamera. Soon a young barefoot woman from California, Ariel has taken the stage. With her own personal songs. She's working on her own style, sound. I like her work. ( There is a world of young woman singer-songwriters. 
Tonight a do a set of New Mexico songs. Ariel makes a point of telling me she really liked the last one.
Ariel Eisen
Pat’s guitar friend Tim shows up late and plays some piano with RL as he closes and then eventually picks up the guitar and some long flowing Garcia licks come winding their way into the night.

Up to RL’s studio for a brief critical review. When we leave, it seems two women singers have come in and joined Marc and his friend. As the one from Atlanta begins Killing me softly with his song.... my night is over.

Stomach tied in knots thinking about tomorrow.

Back from a successful day at Presbytery. At least the apartment deal is moving forward. We’ve got a contract to sign. One piece....fitting into place. A step, that’s all. And not done yet.
Don’t like the looks of the steps. Guy sprawled out. Large wet area. Joe tells me he’s just washed down everything with bleach. But this configuration has gone on too long. No movement. Time for a change.
Stephen and I on the Staten Island ferry on our way to the Presbytery meeting

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