New York State of Mind

March 7th

I came up yesterday to hear Killian's band from Western Michigan U. play at Jazz at Lincoln Center. I was so energized by being back in the city and then by the terrific concert, hearing and seeing all those talented kids have a peak experience of their lives. They had been there for three days, and there was the band set up in the Allen Room, the backdrop huge windows looking over Columbus Circle and the lights of New York City. The arrangements were tight and intricate and everyone gave their all. An old guy to my right dressed in a pin striped zoot suit with a purple shirt and fez, a former member of Manhattan Transfer, was clapping and shouting out his approval , the audience was rocking.

A recording is not even close to the power of a live performance. I couldn't stop moving with the music and realized afterward that all my neck pain and shoulder aches were gone. When the rhythm is coming up through your feet and the sounds are all around your body, you can't worry- you can't think too much- you want to dance and that's all.

I had a good talk with Killian before he had to get on a bus for a group party to end the visit. It sounded like he'd used every minute of his trip- good eating, going to MOMA, and a great experience at a Small's jazz club in the Village where Wynton Marsalis showed up to sit in with the group they'd gone to hear.

As I walked- almost ran to my parking lot, I got that New York pace back: fast walking with no effort, that thrum around me, all the possibilities, all the aliveness.These beautiful talented young people, all their lives ahead of them, aware but undeterred by the idiocies of previous generations, undeterred also by how hard it might be to make a living doing what they love. They'll find a way, make new opportunities. Thank God for them and their teachers who encourage them. And thank God for this city that sometimes even makes me feel that there's dance in the old dame yet.

Ridley Creek Park PA

March 2, 2011

It's the mud time, the path a murk of wet leaves and dog prints, the last of the snow melt. The woods is exhausted by winter, dead vines draped over broken limbs and bare trunks, like some old woman dressed in layers of capes. I can't really get lost, though I don't know the trails, since I can see the roads through the naked trees.

Nature never fails me, even when it's not the most verdant example or when I am most hungry to "get out." I still had a few minutes of real silence, and that towhee's song and the crunch of pine needles. It's a haven in the middle of development sprawl. Just since I was last there four or five years ago tracts of mushroom houses have multiplied. Mock mansions all alike, horrible toadstool houses poking out of the hillsides- all those people paying top dollar to be nowhere.

Anyway, a day outside is a gift, and I am grateful that I have it and have mobility, both physical and automotive. And I'm glad these acres have been set aside for people like me.