Friday, November 15, 2013

High school writing

I continue to go weekly to Manhattan Bridges, a high school on the West side midtown of Manhattan, as a volunteer to help kids wi5h writing essays for their college applications. At the risk of repeating myself, I like this school because it houses immigrant kids from Latin America, and few enough that they don't get lost. The majority seems to come from the Dominican Republic; I've met some from Ecuador and Mexico as well. Some have been here for years, but most seem to have arrived in the last 3-4 years, many without good English or any English, many from a family with divorced parents, in which case a mother or father may remain in the native country. Though they dress well, these kids are just about none rich. Given that what they write are personal essays, to open a window on themselves, remarkable stories emerge. One I heard this week was from a girl who had just given birth to a baby daughter only a couple of months ago--and here she was back in school and looking hardly different from other seniors. Her family wanted her to abort the child; she was resolved to keep the baby, and did. So many bumpy tales! Some kids in that school impress as industrious and up to the challenge of writing (not easy to begin with) in a language not their first. And some hang their heads and more or less stay awake. Not so different from teenagers everywhere. I've preached that as long as they're willing to work, I'm willing to help. Nothing in my life today--not even my own writing--gives me as much satisfaction as the day I spend at Bridges, especially when I see a light clearly turning on. Those kids are deserving.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Leaves changing

"Autumn in New York" goes the song that evokes a mood perfect for the season--lovely, melodic, a touch sad. The jackets have come out of the closet and gotten buttoned. Scarves welcomed around the neck. Soon gloves too--or already in use. It's not like any other season, a time both exciting for what happens in the city and melancholy for the days that have shortened. The sun shoots its rays only around corners, sends warmth but intermittently and not to be depended on. Yesterday a friend invited me to an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, and I planned to leave early enough to take the 5th Avenue bus, a rare event. I boarded at 77th Street and for twenty-five blocks was dazzled by the colors in Central Park. That park which is so well cared for rewards the city with outrageous bursts of yellow and orange and brown leaves--not much green left at all. I wanted everyone to see them, knowing their show will close soon. This was happening in New York City, not Vermont Vermont not needed.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Birthdays

November brings Scorpio time and clusters of birthdays unlike any other season. (Why do I know so many Scorpios??) It's a brisk time, fall here for sure, time turned back an hour and very early sunsets. For me the month is happy and somewhat melancholy, since mine is one of the Scorpio birthdays. If you weren't watching time passing, you're thrown a clear reminder. My great nephew Jeremy was born a few days from mine on the calendar, just as I was turning 60. So I will always know how old he is--me less 60. That's a substantial gap, but he's smart and good and if I'm glad of that marker with anyone, I'm glad it's he. My niece Elissa's birthday is also a few days from mine. She isn't 60 years younger--thank goodness--but younger enough that I remain (by her choice) "Uncle" Stanley. It's a loving title, makes one think there should be an Uncle's Day. It's great that birthdays come--and go--hut do they have to come so fast? In a week I'll mark off another year. I remember when I was in college that friends and I used to have a symbolic calendar burning party at the end of each month. We actually celebrated time going by? Were we nuts?

Monday, October 28, 2013

Writing help

I write, and though not officially a writing teacher, I help others do the same. They fall into two groups, age opposites. At the older end are some seniors who gather on Friday mornings at a neighborhood center on Manhattan's East Side, and who come to write a "memoir." This collective has gone on for a couple of years, writing under the most elastic definition of memoir--most anything about their lives. None of the people are professional writers, but all have gotten bitten by the bug, writing short pieces for their children or grandchildren, or just themselves. Everyone reads aloud, and offers friendly criticism. They have clearly improved. The other group are high school seniors whom I try to guide in writing personal essays for college applications. These are not wealthy private school kids; they're from immigrant families, mostly Latin American (and often undocumented). They are destined mostly for city or state universities--some quite good. They face the double challenge of writing--who ever thought that was easy--and in a language not their first. I warn them that they almost certainly won't get the work right the first time, and they moan and finally get into the groove, some at least. If they persist, produced come strikingly good stories. The teacher has gotten his pay. On a tax return nothing to declare but satisfaction.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Frick collection

The Frick collection on Fifth Avenue grows ever more incomparable. It boasts paintings of Vermeer, Rembrandt, Hals and others on loan for a few months from The Hague in the Netherlands. If you're a member you waltz in; if not, you need a timed reservation and pay a steep entrance fee. But it's an exhibit you don't want to miss...gorgeous.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Examples for volunteering

Years ago my friend Len Graivier, a pediatric surgeon in Dallas, was asked to help on the March of Dimes. He did that for a long time and was joined by his wife Pauline who went on to be nationally recognized in the organization. Len died last year but Pauline has continued with M.O.D. and the two are being honored this week with a major fundraising event in Dallas. They set an example for me as people generous with time and energy and smarts, supporting an organization that continued long after the initial concern with polio ended.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Brooklyn Historical Society

On Saturday I went to Pierrepont Street in Brooklyn Heights to the Brooklyn Historical Society for a lovely program of vocal music of Benjamin Britten. The late 1800's building is grand, of the sort certainly not built today, with plenty to see and a library open part of the week. Worth the visit, it deserves to be known outside Brooklyn.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Al Hirschfeld Drawings

Anyone who's lived in NY for the past half century (plus plenty of others) knows the line drawings of Al Hirschfeld, who recorded with his wry and astute pen persons from the world of theater and music and film, but mostly theater. Week afrer week, they would appear on the front page of the Sunday NY Times arts section, and bring to life people you wanted to "see" of that time. They were witty and sharp and went on seemingly without end. Hirschfeld lived almost a hundred years, and the NY Public Library has just opened an exhibit of his work in their Lincoln Center branch. I met Mr.Hirschfeld about 15 years ago and asked for his autograph to give to my niece Elissa who, growing up, would sit with me and search the artist's drawings in the Sunday paper, searching for the "Nina" (his daughter) whose name was always planted somewhere in the work. There is a plaque on the front of the house on 95th St. between Park and Lexington where Hirschfeld lived and worked. He famously drew in a barber's chair on the top floor, a chair part of the new exhibition. It's a wonderful exhibit at the library--joyous, nostalgic. Not to miss.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Great book (not mine!)

Early this year I heard of a new gay men's book club that meets once a month in the East Village in Manhattan. Would that survive, I wondered? Enough gay readers to meet seemed like a long shot to skeptical me. But there are, and the club does survive. We gather in the art gallery of Jon Tomlinson. Jon is the shepherd of the group, and I've told him that he must send out strong positive vibes, because every month a core of 10-12 men attend with smart, thoughtful comments on the book chosen the previous month that they really have read. The books are gay-themed and not. I like the discussions, the comradarie and the obligation to finish a book in time for the meeting. (There was one Communist-era Russian novel that I couldn't "do" and confessed my stopping halfway through.) This month's book is "Necessary Errors," a new, first novel by Caleb Crain, published by Penguin Books. It focuses on a young gay American who goes to Prague in 1990, just after the end of Communism, his exploration of the city, his romances and attachment to a group of five or six other expatriates from different countries. Crain is a gay man who lives in Brooklyn (says Google), and he is a superb writer. The New Yorker gave the book a great review, so mine is less notable, but I add my kudos and hope the book captures lots of prizes.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Long time not here

The year 2010 last post? Ay!! It's now October 2013, walking is slower but brain is still working. I've celebrated an 80th birthday and soon it will be 81. The book referred to in 2010, "Ten Ways to Your Cat's Happiness," came out that year, makinq No. 5 for me. In print in the next couple of months will be my sixth book, "Life Up Close, A Memoir." For it I've reverted to non-fiction and included 23 essays, some old, some newer, several published in magazines. The chapters are fairly numerous but the lengths fairly short. It will contain a dozen or so photos, mostly old, and a terrific cover by Daniel Gabrielli, a talented designer. Publisher will be Dog Ear Publishing. I won't wait another three years to be back here.
 

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