MY BLOCK IS AGAIN TODAY A MOVIE SET

ANOTHER THEN AND NOW

This is the east side corner of 7th Avenue and 19th Street, and the subway entrance that was there so long ago is still there and visible in both pictures. 

THE ANCESTORS FROM MINSK

 I celebrate my family tree... and look forward to the next family reunion. This photo was taken in about 1916... my father is the child sitting on the step between his two brothers and he is looking back at his aunt. 

A THEN AND NOW

This is a composed "then and now..." with WALKER TOWER in the distance, which at one time was New York Telephone:

THE SHADES OF CONTEMPLATION

“One by one they were all becoming shades. 

Better pass boldly into that other world, 

in the full glory of some passion, than fade 

and wither dismally with age.”

-- James Joyce, THE DEAD

HERE COMES THE BRIDE

 Steph and Herm

A LETTER OF APPRECIATION TO A TEACHER FROM A PARENT

 

ROAD TRIPS

THE REVIEWS ARE IN

 

THE VALLEY

REST IN PEACE... TOO MANY GONE TOO SOON

I lost too many. And not a day goes by that I do not remember all these friends who left me with huge empty spaces and no choice but to advance and move forward without them. I miss all of them.

Ellen and Bette, gone way too young. 

Nick... a sad loss. I miss his great musical talents.

Bernie, my BC! We sure had so many laughs together. There were so many inside jokes... I still have the letters you sent me... even the one from Diamond Head!

Betty O. you always were there for every show and I miss our great dinners at Zinno!

Annie B. you were a great comic and I was glad to call you a "friend."

Susan S.! We were colleagues for a decade. We were in Miami togther. You left too early. 

Marilyn K. you were my neighbor for 40 years... 

Rhea, Ellen and Eileen... cousins who I will always miss.

Phyllis! I think I miss you the most. It is hard to lose a friend I spoke to every day and who I knew since I was 10 years old.

Joan! We traveled together... to Charleston, San Antonio, and St. Louis. 

Rhoda... we met at a Frank Sinatra forum and then talked constantly about the good old days. 

Jack! OMG Jack! How many times did I visit you down at the Jersey Shore and then Red Bank? 

Frances! You were my morning phone call for ears. Rest in Peace, there was not a mean bone in your body.

Sue! I have so much regret. I should have done more. I think of you every day. I remember Los Angeles and all the laughs. Remember all those eggs benedict and Sunday in the Park With George?

Lou... we had a good secret.

Jerry... I know you loved me. You stayed in touch with me through 2 marriages. We met in Orlando... You were uch a sweet soul.

Roz.. my consiglieré. how did you pass so early?

And Nell.... my dear Nell. All the late night phone calls, all the conversations, losing you hit hard. 

And now my Rogeré.... I know you are in heaven talking "sense" to anybody who will listen. We spoke on Thursday and on Monday I got the call you passed on Saturday. I went into shock... 

There are others like Maxine and Gail and Ellen... 

Life seems empty without all my friends near me, friends who were in my life for decades. 

Will I ever see them again?

"His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." --- James Joyce, THE DEAD

 

TWO TIMES TWO AND ONE