Living in coronavirusworld 257: Officially spring. It's been. a year.

 3/22

African dance class

It’s officially spring now. The weather has turned sunny and warm. Again.  And it’s been a year living in coronavirusworld. People are outside. My neighbors are putting their lawn chairs out on the sidewalk, getting ready for a warm night on the street of music and drinks and  talk. It’s been many months. 

A year ago, there was a sense of dawning apocalypse as everything radically shut down and what was was taken away from us. And day by day we began to adjust. Plotting daily just how to live. As Calamity Jane said in “Deadwood”: “Every day takes figuring out all over again how to fucking live.” And so we did.

As the weather warmed, walks became important. Getting out of the houses we were confined to in the peak days in quarantine lockdown.  I walked slowly and looked intently. Noticing for the first time the subtle changes day to day as new flowers blossomed forth in Central Park. Noting daily the life in Morningside and Central. Turtles. An egret. Ducks. Swans. A feral cat. Pizza eating  squirrels.  I came to understand the marvelous and unnecessary diversity of being and that each  creature was in its own way, perfect, doing precisely what it was meant to do. And coming to accept that I, in my imperfection, was somehow perfect too.

In Central Park, I saw the field hospital spring to life. And in the air cleared of helicopters and planes and streets cleared of traffic, I heard the birds sing again as new species arrived every day. I was with  only one other human being. We set aside the pain of our separation and became walking partners. 

I set rituals to give the amorphous time boundaries. Coffee outside one cafe on Monday mornings…until it closed its doors forever…and organizing my week.  ZOOM Bible studies on Mondays. Tacos on Tuesday. A virtual open mic on Fridays to replace the one we lost. The Morningside farmers’ market on Saturday mornings with coffee. Newspaper, pastry and latte at the Venezuelan coffee shop every Sunday. 

Enthusiastically set out to create a cultural life. Became a regular attendee of the National Theatre of London. And others. Steady consumption of Shakespeare. Set out to experience Wagner’s “Ring Cycle” with the Metropolitan Opera. And survived. 

Watched regular parts of my life turned into ZOOM. With its alienation and intimacy. Learned how to produce ZOOM concerts, stream them live onto Facebook and even how to import videos. Ran my own “Lockdown Showcase” series under the “Grateful Distancing Stay at Home Tour of 2020.” And wrote enough songs for a 2020 EP.

Stood with nurses demonstrating for adequate PPE. Followed the Black Lives Matter marches through the streets of my Harlem neighborhood. Intently followed the primaries and the election that wouldn’t end breathing in relief at the outcome as the neighborhood exploded with celebration.

Committed to writing each day, trying to mark the subtle daily changes and signs of resistance as we created a way to live. Saw my numbers go up again.

Agonized as my mother in her assisted care facility found her life reduced to that of an incarcerated prisoner with one supervised 15 minute visit behind glass a week and then quarantine solitary confinement after any doctor’s visit or other outside visit. 

Experienced the deaths of three people in three weeks as many continued to deny the reality of the virus. Learned to live in a mask.

Learned the adventure and pleasure of eating dinner outside at 30’ temperatures. (-1C).

As time ground on, that initial excitement began to wane. Could only watch so many plays. And tired of daily writing  and saw the readership  numbers ago down again, never learning why so many readers in Italy were following me. 

As Rusted Root once sang, “Won’t ya come along, Babylon, ‘cause we’re living in a land of virtual reality…”

Milica at the Composers Conordance concert

Times Square

the parrot

After five weeks of virtual “Low key Chamber Concerts” my new music classical friends hold a live concert in a rehearsal studio near Times Square. With an audience of 10. Walking home, I see the life of Times Square…break dancers, action heroes and Sesame Street hustlers,  a giant panda, an evangelical born again Christian Korean youth choir, a giant live snake and a snow white parrot.  We are still here. Stretching out. Stepping into the sun again.

Sunday, Morningside is filled with people and picnics and birthday parties and fathers playing catch and white women learning African dance. 

Entering into a new netherworld, not locked down but not what was and not knowing what will be as we feel our way forward.

It’s officially spring now.

 

Living in coronavirusworld 222: Building the Blessed City

 12/3

72nd Street Subway Station, Yoko Ono

Go to 72nd Street to visit my doctor. It took over three months to get an appointment for my annual check up. Maybe more, it’s hard to remember. I’m used to seeing him in normal work clothes but in coronavirus world, he’s wearing blue medical scrubs, a mask and full face shield. It feels strange. I get tested and am happy to learn that after five months, I still have Covid antibodies. 

 

                                                ****

The Interfaith Assembly holds a virtual “gala” honoring “Builders of the Blessed City.” As expected, the tightly planned one hour schedule slides over to an hour and a half. A subtext of the night is that three honorees have all been related to the controversy over housing homeless men in a boutique hotel, the Lucerne, in the Upper West Side. The old school liberal elite community rose up in arms to try and drive the men out and the “progressive” mayor DiBlasio quickly caved. But another group of local residents, One Heart Upper West Side, just as quickly came out and organized in support of the men.

Larry Wood, of Goddard Riverside, the neighborhood “settlement” house, is here to introduce one of the honorees. He worked to bring Goddard’s resources to the men and even had a day program set up but the mayor’s stalling closed off that possibility. Larry introduced Manhattan Borough President and former Upper West Side City Council member Gale Brewer, long time homeless advocate, showed up in person and brought the power of her office to the struggle. She helped find legal advocacy for the residents as the court battle waged back and forth. The removal of the men was forestalled at least three times and the mayor pushed back every time. A third honoree was Peter Cook of the New York State Council of Churches who was able to bring the faith community together to support the men in various ways.  Gale and Larry were happy to announce that the latest legal appeal was granted and the men will not be removed. (At least for now.) Meanwhile the hope is that enough funding can be brought together to purchase one of the boutique hotels devastated by the pandemic. 

The final honoree is one of the residents,Shams (Da Homeless Hero) DaBaron who has become  the public face…and voice…of the residents. He tells his story of childhood abuse and homelessness from teen age years until now. And what he has learned through this process. Most importantly that you can fight city hall. Through organizing. He is also living proof that we can be allies but we should never think of ourselves as speaking for those who have no voice. The work is to enable and empower people to speak for themselves and to stand with them. That above all is the beauty and power of this night. And why I have supported the Assembly, founded in 1985, since my arrival ten years later. It's the only organization I know that goes beyond the usual basic needs meeting for people who are homeless and works for transformation of the individual and society. And actually succeeds. (https://www.iahh.org)

But the work at the moment is nearly overwhelming.  The number of homeless is now a record 60,000. My friend and colleague Father Clyde Kuemmerle reports that due to the pandemic, the comic devastation and coming tidal wave of evictions when the moratorium ends, the number cold reach 100,000.

I introduce my friend Rabbi Steve who sings his song “Bridge to Hope” as a final blessing. Then he and my friend “Violizzy” Taub and vocalist Esther Ready and me share music while the silent auction continues. Six years ago, Steve, Esther and I performed live at the Assembly’s fundraising event. Along with three others, it was the first iteration of my band.(

                                                              concert 201

 Tonight we do what we can with the limitations of ZOOM, sharing Lizzy’s video and poem, Esther and I teaming on “Light of the Stable” and all of us sharing “Hard Times Come Again No More.” I seem to be  struggling a bit this week, musically. But all things considered, a pretty good way to spend my birthday, 

Living in coronavirusworld: first visit to Brooklyn in over 5 months

8/27

Live Music, Industry City

After tense conversations, the professional athletes agree to return to their seasons after another two days off (Less for baseball.) In New York City, the Mets and Marlins took the field, stood in silence, hats off, for 42 seconds (Jackie Robinson’s number) then left the field with only a “Black Lives Matter” banner on home plate. This has been an unprecedented demonstration. In the past only something like 9-11 halted games.  These athletes have expressed their frustration as men and women.  And of course, nothing but derision from  the White House and calls for  more law and order. 

Of course much of the Republican convention was in direct violation of the Hatch Act which forbids the mixing  of government and politics, especially it's buildings. With dramatic  displays of flags and use of the White House  as if it were his personal property the President has essentially declared l’etat c’est mois and produced the first fascist convention in history. Still networks seek to cover it as if it were normal. He has even “joked” about “12 more years.”   We hold our collective breath but need to be organizing, 

I’ve learned of a new venue to play live music, though it’s an hour away in Brooklyn.  But I have to check it out.  It’s in a place called “Industry City” a massive complex of factories and warehouses from the early twentieth century when the Gowanus Bay had become an active part fo the shipping industry. Of course fallen into abandonment and neglect as the seventies turned into the eighties. With the toxic waste waters fo the Gowanus Canal blocks away. Between the bay and historic Greenwood Cemetery. Now in a process of rebirth. The Industry City Courtyard 5/6 is an open space ringed by artesenal food and drink businesses. They skirt many bar/restaurant regulations because they are legally agricultural outlets. The food places feature products direct from the farms. There are at least two distilleries crafting their own spirits, a brewery or two making craft beer and an ice cream creator. It doesn’t get any more Brooklyn than that. 

At one end is a stage by a place whose specialty seems to be  infusing everything with fresh ginger. The open mic, which cannot be advertised, because, per regulation music, like alcohol, can only be “incidental,” is a project of a friend of mine from Greenwich Village’s legendary “ Bitter End.”  The Bitter End has been closed since the virus hit and cannot reopen with no space for street music and no food service. It’s the last standing remnant of 1960’s Village.  The mural behind the bar shows many of  its famous performers like Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Linda Ronstadt,Woody Allen. And Bill Cosby, surrounded by recently added jail bars. It is the grail of any singer-songwriter and I had on my bucket list to get an actual paid booking at the Bitter End. I have a sense of pride in having  done that twice, having my first CD release party there and later a birthday gig. Not to mention my Rabbi friend’s high holy day services. The End is in bad shape financially with no visible way out. There’s a go fund me campaign for $100000 under way. My friend is planning a benefit. The prospects of losing the Bitter End are almost unthinkable, yet another covid19 victim. The Bitter End has got the virus, just not yet died.

So my friend has found place in this newly gentrifying corner of Brooklyn. He opens the night. I follow using his “house guitar” which he thoroughly sanitizes before passing it on to me. I put my own “mic condom”on, prepared for safe song. I’ve had a rough reentry into live music at Bar 9 with my weekly near panic attacks. I’ve got 20 minutes here. I choose my material carefully. All “safe” songs. No one here has ever heard them before. I ease into my set, notice someone nodding their head in time. The applause is warm. Someone is recording me. With each affirmation, I open up more. I feel good when I’m done. My friend appreciative I’ve made the long subway journey. As the next performer, an Asian woman with a dark side of indie sound finishes, the rain begins. Time to go back to Manhattan, Harlem, home This was my first trip to Brooklyn in over  months.