I spent many years of my younger life nurturing a healthy crush for Frank Sinatra. Now, as I have just finished watching "Guys and Dolls", I feel it safe to conclude that Sinatra was a skinny nerd who could sing and that I was always destined to love Marlon Brando.
This morning I headed downtown to pick up a painting for Chris, then spent the day at St. Paul's chapel across the street (where Alexander Hamilton is buried) and also walked down two blocks to the previous site of the World Trade Center. The chapel was wonderful, surrounded by a large and beautiful cemetery. This photo is of a sculpture that sits in the main entrance to the cemetery. On 9/11 the debris from the Trade Center knocked down a large sycamore tree in the surrounding yard, but in such a way that nothing else was damaged. It reminded me of the vascular system...I returned home in a sort of daze, as the site of the 9/11 tragedy threw me for a loop. Forever will I remember where I was when that incident really hit me, how Christine and I cried together and how I wondered if my family knew anyone involved.
On the subway this afternoon there was one person alive, and it was most certainly not I. His name was Steve, a homeless man who "does not dance, sing or tell jokes" but who sold newspapers. Steve called me Sister and told us all that it took a lot of courage for a grown man like him to stand up and ask for help. I felt, well, I don't know how I felt....like hugging Steve? Like running as far from that subway as I could run? Symbolic interactionism: Meanings, our meanings, develop with our interaction with objects. Therefore, my meaning or definition of the NY subway is developing through these series of interactions...and where do I come out? I have decided that I must react to this draw into the subway duldrums, I cannot bear this heavy feeling much longer without reaction. Where is my stainless steel body?