Living in coronavirustime 157: sometimes I don't want to go back

9/3

Harlem gargoyle

baeball, 

The stadiums are empty this year for Major League Baseball.  In St.Louis, there’s a Budweiser bar right outside the stadium wall. It’s got a deck that overlooks the ballpark. The Budweiser Deck is selling seats at tables where you can watch the games for $100 (with food and drink specials included.) I write a friend, a journalist in Pittsburgh, that I halfway considered flying to St.Louis and getting a seat on the  deck to watch our Pittsburgh Pirates play against the Cardinals. But then I decided that would be, well, cheating.  This virtual season is a kind of fast. My friend responds that she keeps forgetting to  turn  the games on. Just doesn’t feel real, she says. What does? I say back. I hearya, she says.

At lunch I learn that the Department of Education has finally reached an agreement with the teachers' union. The start of school will be set back 10 days. After that, not much more is clear. For specialty teachers, like reading and language, eg, can they enter a class room to take a child for their special services? Can she have  more than one student at a time? What are the protocols for safe teaching? 

Someone has posted pictures of George Floyd on the St.John’s Cathedral immigration justice mural along Cathedral Parkway (110th Street.)  

George Floyd on 110th 

Go to visit my friend Beppe on his roof. When I enter his apartment, he sprays the soles of my shoes. Kind of shrugs. Well, its a kind of ritual now, he says. I have brought a fifth of artesanal rye whiskey from upstate I found at the farmers' market. Perfect for late afternoon.  We talk of our discoveries during this covid time. It’s been a kind of a gift, he says,. Yeah but it still sucks, I say.  I go over one more time my tension between observing the world and believing everything in the created order is perfect just as it is. And my belief that we must do everything we can to remove our President while there’s still time.  (Maybe everything’s perfect except for us.).  We remember what it was like at the beginning the quiet skies, the empty streets, the sense of calm and on the surface, peace. The return of the birds and the clarity of their various songs. 

Sometimes I don’t want to go back, he says. The way it was brought us here. To this crazy place. Sometimes I don’t want to go back there. (As if that will ever be possible.)I remember the people of Wuhan and the birds. The singing voices of Assisi. The pots and pans of New York City. I nod  my head. Take a sip of bourbon. Look out over the city. It’s going to rain soon. 

Living in cornavirusworld 149: Violence. Nonviolence. We've been here before

8/26

Convent Garden: an oasis

the Monarchs

Today I wear my Kansas City Monarchs hat. The last Negro league team Jackie Robinson played for before joining the Dodgers organization. It was also the team of Buck O’Neil, player and manager of the Monarchs from 1938 to 1955.  He even made a final  plate appearance for the Kansas City T-Bones of the Norrhern League in 2006 at age 94 years, 8 months and 5 days. And was the first African-American signed as a scout by the Chicago Cubs. It’s mainly  due to the Monarchs  (and Buck) that the Negro League Museum is in Kansas City.  In normal years, Major League baseball celebrates "Jackie Day" on April 15th, the anniversary of his debut.  But in coronavirusworld, they've moved it to August 28, the anniversary of Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech. 

Buck

I also talk about my “happy hour” yesterday afternoon with former Oklahoma Senator Fred Harris who I was surprised to find was still live. Harris was the Bernie before Bernie.  Hard to realize that Oklahoma actually had a democratic socialist Senator as late as 1972.  I actually was a Harris delegate at the 1976 Oklahoma Democratic caucus. Harris campaigned across the country in a Winnebago and frequently stayed at the homes of farmers and union workers. He ultimately lost to Jimmy Carter but continued to champion Native American and working people’s rights throughout his career. The talk was hosted by Jim Hightower, his former campaign manager who joked, “I made Fred what he is today, a professor at eh University of New Mexico.” He came very close to being chosen as Hubert Humphry’s running mate in 1968. Often forgotten is Humphry’s roots in the old Minnesota Farm-Labor Party. Harris reminded us of the 1917 Green Corn rebellion when wobblies, unionists, blacks and farmers came together to oppose the draft and Word War !. Senator Harris’ point was the progressive uprising we see today has roots deep in the American soil that have been buried too long. The Bernie revolution is part of a long heritage of American class struggle. Later in the conversation, Senator Harris introduced us to Teresa Leon Fernandez, whose family roots go back to the 17th century as a Nuevo Mexicana, seeking to join the progressive left caucus in congress. 

Our conversation this morning focuses on contemplation and activism but quickly moves into violence vs. non-violence, the issue of discernment . How Dietrich Bobhoeffer returned to Germany to join in a plot to kill Hitler, saying violence was wrong except when necessary. Who defines necessary? Some of us agree with a traditional reformed “Just war” theory while others are absolutists. What about Gandhi? Gandhi was reported to have said non-violence would not have stopped Hitler. I recall how Archbishop Romero came to accept violence in defense of the innocent . And Franz Fanon’s argument that violence is necessary to free the Wretched of the Earth from colonialism.  But then Robespiere…John Brown….Lenin…Mao? 

And the problematic issue of those who truly believe that abortion is murder feeling called to enter clinics with guns. 

We recall that for Martin Luther King, Jr., non-violence was a strategy that works because it drew violence for the other side and exposed its nature. I say that non-violence elicits violent response because it presents itself as morally superior to which Joel responds because non-violence is morally superior.

Gandhi believed in satyagraha, soul force. That even in the midst of violence one must hold onto the spirit of peace. 

We are constantly faced with the question so what then is possible?

What to do with Jesus’ “not peace but a sword”? Without diving immediately into self-defensive metaphor argumentation. 

Steve P speaks of Brevard Childs’ canonical criticism where the Bible is taken seriously as is, interpreting one part by the others, replacing the entire historical critical method. Sigh.

I ponder how I can occasionally look at the world of turtles, egrets, squirrels and feel that everything in creation is perfect just the way it is and at the same time see the sacredness of the everflowing stream of the people’s struggle for justice. I live with this tension, this dichotomy. 

Sam says the Gita says God and self are the same. 

True belief vs. collective belief. Facts and truth are not the same. But intriguing, even passionate conversations aside, there is no question we are collectively facing a moment of truth…..

                                                                                                   ****

where Hamilton lived before he hit Broadway

Today I decide to do the Percy Sutton Harlem 5K course. Through Sugar Hill, the old ritzy part of Harlem. Convent Garden. Past Alexander Hamilton’s home, an untouched 1802 Federalist rural home in the midst of modern Harlem. I see students in line registering  for their charter schools, receiving their supplies. Along the southern edge of the City College of New York, once known as the Harvard of the working class when every citizen of New York City was guaranteed health, housing  work and education. Then back up St. Nicholas. Tim the trombone player somehow turns up at 136th street. It’s a reminder that we’ve been here before. 

Kenosha, Wisconsin is in flames in response to yet another point blank police shooting of a Black man, Jacob Blake.  Yesterday a 17 year old self-styled member of “the militia,” inspired by his president, drove 20 miles and with an AR15 assault rifle opened fire on innocent  protestors killing two, then walked calmly past the police. 

Beginning with the Milwaukee Bucks, the NBA players, in compete despair and frustration, refuse to play their games. The WNBA, Major League Baseball and Major League Soccer soon follow. They are not just athletes, entertainers, they  are adult people with consciences.  Of course the President and his ghostly son-in-law Jared mock the players. Why is so hard to see? Moment of truth….

I finish the night by watching Anna Deveare Smith’s one-woman tour de force Twilight: Los Angeles 1992. Her docudrama exploration of the Rodney King savage police beating and subsequent rebellions. Yes, we’ve been here before. Far too many times. 

Living in Coronavirusworld 146: Normalish

8/23

The "Monkey Cup"

a bit of Venezuela un Harlem

Sunday morning is just right for a walk to my favorite coffee shop with the Sunday Times. My friends from the Monkey Cup have slowly turned their outdoor cafe into a bit of Venezuela in Harlem. The owner’s use of branches left from our recent storm encourages me as New Yorkers keep taking what’s left in the pandemic and turning it into something beautiful.  

                                                   "Love your neighbor kind of stuff"

                                                 "Me and Jesus" John McCutchen

I stop by the West Park (virtual) worship service as my friend Russ tackles the Matthew version of Peter’s confession. The center of the conversation has to do with our collective responsibility as opposed to individual salvation. How the “kingdom” is something we are creating now, nota future reward. Russ has chosen to call it “the keys to the car” as opposed the “keys to the kingdom.” What we’re given is not the end but the beginning. The keys turn the engine on, but we’ve got to do the driving, stepping on the gas, or brakes, navigating the turns. It’s good to have one of our periodic visitors from Canada join us and share what Toronto is like these days. Russ chooses as his music “That Love Your Neighbor Kind of Stuff” by Scott Anderson and “Me and Jesus” by John McCutchen.   

In our weekly family ZOOM from Berlin, my son notes with irony that Berlin developed a plan for the brothels before the schools. 

I go to visit my friend Beppe to watch the European Champion league final between Bayern Munich and Pars St. Germaine live from an empty stadium in Lisbon. So strange with recorded fan chants. Family and friends in Germany put me on the Bayern side while Beppe, and as he says, “all of Europe” cheers for PSG.  A bit disconcerting seeing all the shots of massed fans in Paris, no masks, no social distance. This is the first time Beppe has invited me into his house since the lockdown began. I do a thorough cleansing of  my shoes. And hand sanitizer. There are neatly divided personal snack servings. Nothing touched in common.  Oh, and Bayern wins 1 nil.

We are "incidental" in harmony

I go to my weekly gig at Bar 9’s outdoor set up. I learned the week of the state edict that all music must be “incidental” to the serving of food. Like alcohol, we cannot be the main attraction.  Names and times cannot be publicized. Nevertheless, as odd as it feels, I am now a regular weekly “incidental.” I remain surprised at how nervous I feel in front of live people. I went over my set all afternoon, every song until all were perfect. Then I stand in front of real people and I start a tune wrong, forget chords and lyrics. Like wtf? Is this what reopening will be like? Until my friend joins me on harmony and all is right. I’m moved that one of our Friday night “virtual” open mc regulars  has come to perform and waited to see us. “It’s so starnge to see you in real life,” he says, “I mean good, but so strange….”  Another singer is wearing high heels.  We’re used seeing her and her partner in sweats in their apartment. Step by step.

the street has the last word

We sit, in the cool of the evening. Enjoy our drinks, Our host takes an extended set of favorites. Our server is a young woman from a steel town near where I grew up. She came here to “act.” Wanted to finish out ten years. “But if what I came here for no longer exists, why stay? Why not go home? I hear Pittsburgh’s pretty cool these days…” And it is. Filling with new young techies. Blue skies now. Here, in New York City,  we enjoy the coolness. Decide to split one more wine. The twinkling lights of the outdoor cafes on both sides of the street. The quiet comfort of well loved songs. Late August.  “It feels almost normal,” says my friend. “Well, normalish…” 

Living in coronavirusworld 143: the fruit of the prayer is not in the prayer

8/19

...and it does.....

Our Underground group gathers from New York City, the Berkshires, Catskills, Maine and the Jersey Coast.  Any of us who can be away are away. Typical New York August stretched out over months. 

A lot of time is spent today talking about contemplation and….like say action. How the depths of contemplation can lead to action. 

We talk about prayer. How true prayer is more listening than speaking.  How Jesus learned things through listening. To others. And to God. That the fruit of the prayer is not in the prayer. We talked about Thomas Merton. How through prayer we find ourselves, love ourselves. How he said the one who begins in contemplation will end in revolution.  And that prayer unleashes our power. Compassion and empathy as the fruits of prayer.

We talked about the difference between chanters and shouters. 

We talked about hope. How it is not objective, it has no object, it just is. And it is, as the Bible says, not seen. (Hebrews 11:1) 

Joel says we are living in a time of cold civil war. I describe my emotional state as quiet anxiety, not helped by our current system,  our crazy electoral system in which a voter on Wyoming has 4 times the voting power as one voter in California.  Hold onto hope.

We speak of the difference between meditation, emptying of all thought,  and contemplation, single minded reflection.  And what each leads to . And commit to following up on this conversation, deeper,  next week.

a reminder

trees

Walking through Central Park, there’s a new set of banners affirming the Park’s role in  our lives.

The Presbyterian Health Education and Welfare Association continues to explore the potential collaboration between our Disabilities Network and the Black Women and Girls working  group.  Our Reproductive Options group also sees collaboration as helping to move us past pro-choice, to reproductive justice, a perspective that explores the social economic and bias pressures that push abortion rates in communities of color. 

Tonight at the Democratic Convention is Kamala Harris’ night.  Fine points of ideology and change theory aside, her story is a quintessentially American story.  Immigrant parents from Jamaica and South Asia. Meeting in a march for justice. An extended family of various colors, cultures snd spices. An American story. Our story. That alone counts for something.  As does a Presidential candidate's wife who is a teacher and believes in public education, not ending it. People who know us. Yes, that counts. 

Living in coronavirusworld 140: Harmony

8/16

Live music in a window

Sunday morning. Cool and wet. I go out to get the Sunday paper and read awhile.  At 11 I tune into the West Park streaming worship service, this week led by my friend Dion.  I am moved and impressed by his warm and personal style sharing  his own experiences and inviting others to share theirs on the scripture about how what comes out of your mouth is more important than what goes in. (Matthew 15: 10-28) Even more, I’m impressed by the  people from  Friday night’s open mic who have shown up to share at his invitation. This is something I should have done myself back when I was still pastor. Back in that other world. Bringing communities together to build community. I’m very proud of what they are doing.

This cold wet day is one for staying inside.  (As if we haven’t had enough of that.) I’ve got a music gig scheduled for later tonight that I can’t imagine will go on. I get an email and say “I’m game” and an hour or so later, I get the word, we’re on. 

When I arrive, there’s yet another configuration. The first try was rejected as an illegal use of sidewalk. The second was rejected for improper  street performance. (Hey, we kept our clothes on!). This last attempt now puts the performers inside playing to an audience outside.

It feels a bit like being in a live ZOOM window. Or like then brothels in Amsterdam, Hey sailor, want to hear a song? I’ve invited a friend to sing harmony. It looks like  there were two mics. But that was that duo’s own equipment. The host is reluctant at first, but after speaking with management relaxes and its okay.  I’m still surprised at how nervous I am in front of real live people. The dropped chord here , forgotten lyric there. And in a moment of panic, can’t remember hw to start a song that went over so well the last time. I had a careful selected and well rehearsed set. It’s all about returning to real life. I am able to recover with little notice. My friend joins me. And she sings with me in harmony! The first time in over 5 months to sing with another voice!  It feels so good.  One verse of my song goes “ You are on my mind at home while I’m playing my guitar. Kind of brings you close but how far away you are. They ask me what I miss the most, what isn’t there for me, to hear your voice  beside  me and to sing in harmony…” And we did. 

At last .....harmony.                              

      

When I finish, I remove the individual mic cover, the mic condom as it were, for safe song. 

We talk.  It still feels so odd.  Like you could walk around the corner and open a door and go through and the other BC world would still be there, having gone on as usual for the last five months.  An alternate reality where that world still exists.  Like in “Man in the High Castle,” like that.  Buy here we are. In this world. And there is harmony, once again. 

Living in coronavirusworld 139: I just want to go home

8/14

hmmm...what next?

Going to Trenton to visit my mom. Realize I haven’t seen her in person since February 22nd! Almost six months.  And that long since I’ve taken that familiar New Jersey Transit train  trip. And five months since I’ve been in Penn Station.  What I find is that same eerie emptiness I found at La Guardia.   Only a few eating places, newsstands and a drug store open. And more homeless people than I’ve ever seen laid out on the floor. My train is maybe a third full.

My sister meets me and we go to my mother’s assisted care facility. She gets one  30 minute supervised visit with two people once a week. A multi-page health form to fill out. Our chairs are at least six feet from hers. And of course masks.  And an attendant keeping a wary eye. My mom has trouble hearing, she scoots forward a little. The attendant intervenes. When she can’t hear, she lowers her mask and we tell her that doesn’t help. The thirty minutes go fast. I feel like you just got here, she says. As I get up to leave, she reaches out her hand, I give her a fist bump. The attendant immediately comes over and tells me if I do it again, I won’t be allowed back. Immediate disinfection steps taken. 

My sister and I go for lunch at a pleasant outdoor Italian restaurant. We talk about the sale of her house. It’s a common story.  In order to keep up the payments for her facility, we’ve got to liquidate all the resources she and my dad spent a lifetime building. That’s what we do here.  If my sister takes her to get a new hearing aid, she’ll have to be back in quarantine for two weeks. As we talk, I realize how like incarceration her current situation is. Kept in one room, one isolated visit to the dining room  a week, one visit with family, closely watched. Only better decor and food. And the food part, maybe not. Quarantine after a trip out is actually like solitary confinement. Which has been deemed “cruel and usually punishment.” Look, I get it.  They’ve only lost one person while over 40000 have died in nursing homes across the country. But the psychic and emotional toll of extended isolation  has not been fully recognized for the residents. Who feel like inmates, isolated, alone, cut off. This too, is deadly.

Back home, our weekly family ZOOM visit is going on. Talk about returning to school. My high school music teacher son in Berlin is upset that other schools are allowing ensembles to meet, while his is not. He does not really believe kids need this level of protection. (See New York Times, “Don’t call kids Covid spreaders”, 8/15/20) He also has an intuition that New York City may have hit the herd immunity stage. 

Register to vote. 

parties in the park

I take a walk. 115th is closed off. There’s voters registration and children’s activities like “double Dutch” jump rope going on.  The park is filled with multiple parties, the parks have become our living rooms. I watch a goose for 15 minutes, walking gingerly over the rough sidewalk. Grazing in the grass. It raises its head, listening, pondering. Only aware of its own universe. Pondering when to return to the water. Only peripherally aware of me.  I sometimes feel like that goose, wondering what’s beyond my own awareness, beyond the periphery.

Later, my mom calls. She had fallen into tears after we left. The visit only enough to stir up the emotions. Remind her of what’s missing.  I tell her that she needs to continue to believe this will pass. She’s 92. “I just want to go home” she says. 

Living in coronavirusworld 138: There's good out there

8/13

And there is....

Still here

For what it's worth, emergency vehicles are still a constant in the neighborhood. Was it always that way before and I just didn't notice?

I’ve found the hours I spent at home going through boxes of the artifacts of my life as well as just driving around Pittsburgh has stayed with me all week. I’ve kind of retreated into myself. Not intentionally but I just realized it. I have a chorus: “Roaming around the streets I’m a captive of memory…there’s a ghost around every corner…and some of them are me…” Now all I need is a song…

I come out for a late afternoon performance on the Peoples Music Network national “song swap.” I play my Black Lives Matter song, “How Long, O Lord.” Singers from New York City, upstate, the Berkshires, California, Nashville….Most of us old. Trying to keep the faith. Old folkies. One very moving song about watching Pete and Toshi’s last dance. A lot of years in the struggle represented here. Pete lives on in these songs.

boxers

I walk through Morningside. No egret. But I see the boxers, These are the  markers of my daily life:  egrets, turtles, boxers  and Tim and his trombone. 

8/14

John Lennon tree

All you need is love

This week’s “virtual 5K” is the “Brew Run” I decide to do the Central Park West Drive to Columbus Circle course. Plenty of shade. And an iced coffee at the Maine Memorial. Walking down 79th to the Gate, I see someone has created a ‘John Lennon tree.”Right in front of Gary Tracy, Optometrist, famous for making John’s glasses. It’s a reminder that during his years here, he loved the neighborhood because in our classic New York way, for us he was just another neighbor. He would sit in Cafe La Fortuna on 71st street writing songs most weekdays. Sadly skyrocketing rents and the death of the owner’s wife led to its closing in 2008. Like I said, he was a neighbor.

Late afternoon drinks with Dion and RL and Mandola Joe at the Gate. Joe sharing his latest photos of insects and flowers in Central Park. I missed these simple moment during quarantine. The outdoor cafe version of the Gate gives us back a piece of our stolen lives.

I host the West Park (virtual) Open Mic again. The community gathers, each in their own ZOOM box. Oldies, classics, originals, a capellas, Carpenters and covers. I play a song written in Yale days I intended to play at the cabaret I never made it to last night. And two songs about Pittsburgh. And another “recovered” song and a cover song. That’s what we do. Share among friends. My Dead t-shirt, a “Steal Your Face” skull with a mask, reads “We will get by. We will survive.”

Living in coronavirusworld 137: A vice presidential candidate. Latin America and Covid. And a new trombone for Tim.

8/12

America

Obviously, the  first thing our “underground” group talks about is Biden’s choice of  Kamala Harris as running mate. Joel says voting against Biden -Harris would be like voting against Bilbo Baggins and Frodo.  The Eye of Sauron is raging in the land.  Steve P maintains  that our  country would never elect a true left progressive.       

We talk about voting versus building a movement. How it's not either/or, it’s both and. We have to deal with the moment.  Russ is convened that the student loans crisis was created to occupy students and keep  them out of the streets like they were in the ’60’s. Steve P feels this is at best half true.  In either event since 1970, the cost of an eduction has tripled. He sees this as a function  of a society committed to material expansion.

The issues we are concerned about: 

* health care

* prison reform

* Student debt 

* Deployment of troops overseas and military funding.

Russ quotes Erica Chenowith’s ‘Ted Talk” where she compares the success of  non-violent movements to violent revolutions, with more success on the  side of non-violence.(https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?shva=1#search/russ%40commonsoul.com?projector=1)  For Joel this is like a kid who is given a protocol by a doctor who only half heartedly follows and then blames the doctor when it doesn’t work.  We have to compete the whole therapy. 

Steve P points out that since 1776, the US has had only 16 years without a war. The Peoples’ Republic of China, on the  other hand, has had no wars since 1949.  

Someone point out that turmoil is literally turning the soil, the moil. 

Our job requires nuance.  Much as we support the Poor Peoples’ Campaign, we realize that it has not had widespread awareness to date. We need to spread that further. (https://www.poorpeoplescampaign.org/)

Anyway we look at it, there’s work to be done,,,

                                                                                        ****

Our Central America work group gathers. 

In Honduras, a giant road sign reads ‘Where is the Money? Expressing the belief that international aid has been highjacked by those charge. International flights should begin again this weekend. The health system has collapsed. 

In Guatemala, it’s a bipolar  bounce  between tight restrictions and laissez faire. There’s a daily curfew. No public transportation. Hunger, no food. Again, here too, the question, where's the money? They speak of the pacto de corruptos, the pact of the corrupt.  Including even judicial corruption.  Covid19 as an excuse for remilitarization. States of siege declared to extend government control even where no protests are present.

In El Salvador, theres’a similar use of covid to justify military expansion. Only here, the Bukele government has less support from his supporters and the government.

In Nicaragua, the head of the Protestant Council (CEPAD) has died of Covid. There is  concern about the role of USAID as the 2021 election grows closer. Mass gatherings have finally stopped. The July  19th revolution celebration was a very circumscribed event with only  a few dignitaries invited. They try to continue as if all is normal with 70-80000 dead, many deaths listed pneumonia and not Covid 19. 

Cost Rica has does well with virus control but has growing xenophobia against people from other countries, especially Nicaraguans.  Visitors from the US are now banned. Only 500-600 cases and 11 deaths. Running out of tests. Nicaragua demands a test for those trying to return  to the country and charges $150 a test at the border. 

Dennis quickly covers South America. Brazil has 80000 deaths and 20 million infected. Chile’s privatized society has left many uncared for. Ban of transports is keeping oxygen tanks from reaching those who  need them. If you don’t have a job you're on your  own. 

In the meantime, lack of attention due to Covid has seen a return of tuberculosis. Drugs for HIV patients are deteriorating in quality and disappearing. Dengue and CICA returning.  

Somehow, with people afraid to leave the  US, remisas, dollars sent back have not drastically declined.  Deportatios have continued from the  US even with airports closed. 

Tim's new trombone

I have to go for a walk. What makes  my day, Tim has a new trombone. Praise the Lord.