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?
 

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