I’m getting ready to run this morning. I look outside and the streets are full of fog. Whitish gray light in these morning hours. Everything is still and quiet.
I can hear, can feel, the sound of a fog horn blowing. Now two. Low rumbling fog horns from the bay and the East River – the atmosphere and the sound could be from 100 years ago.
This is the City, even if only rarely experienced these days.

What’s the difference between walking to work in New York City on Wednesday, August 8th and swimming?
Swimming is pleasant!
My gosh, the humidity and heat after the storms this morning where horrendous. You get wet not because of rain or sweat, but simply because of the humidity in the air. I found out once I finally got to work that there was a tornado warning for Brooklyn until 7:45 am. In Brooklyn? There was a lot of thunder and lightening and lots of rain, but a tornado in Brooklyn?
Of course, the amount of rain that came down in such a short period of time flooded a lot of the subway tunnels. This is not the beginning of a pleasant day in the City.

On Tuesday, two days ago, we had to evacuate our building. This was not a drill, however, but the real thing. As we made our way to the common meeting spot, we found out way we had to leave. There was an unattended suitcase left on the sidewalk in front of the building. The police evacuated about a three block radius around the suspect suitcase.
We spent about an hour or a bit less and it all ended up to be much ado about nothing. As one of the cops said when asked what was going on, “New York post 911.” I guess they do have to be vigilant. When, however, we honestly come to the point when all of “normal” life is disrupted and our responses and reactions are borne of paranoia, free, and distrust they have won.
I recently heard a guy, an expert in something or another, talking about our reaction to terror threats. He said that our best response would be to get back to normal as quickly as possible after an attack. “Terror” as a weapon of choice would soon stop being an effective way to force opponents to bend to terrorists’ demands.
We will not win this thing through force, no matter what the neo-hawks on Capital Hill or the White House seem to insist upon. Diplomacy will not stop this sort of thing, either, although in the long run it is the best path to pursue. The “true believers in the cause” will stop at nothing. If, however, they realize that terrorism will not force a society, a people, a system into submission, they will turn to other means (perhaps more terrible, perhaps for civilized).
In the City, we played our little part this week. To what end?

It is 68 degrees this morning and the humidity is so high (and thick) that I’m sweating! Yuck.
So, I was on the subway going home last night and a new crop of people came into the car. I was sitting and reading and noticed a youngish woman caring a couple things. I looked up and thought, “Is she pregnant?” Well, being the chivalrous person that I am, I would certainly give up my seat to a pregnant woman! I started to get up and she said, “No, I’m not pregnant.” Ouch!
I am amazed at the number of Russians in this country (or at least in New York City). I think back and remember growing up in the midst of the Cold War with the Soviet Union. I think about the fall of Communism and the rise of the various republics that made up the Soviet Union, and then there is (or was) the East Block, the Iron Curtain, and can’t remember what the “alliance” was actually called.
What must these people think? Here they are living and working in their formerly sworn enemies and amongst the capital pigs. Of course, I’m thinking of the truly devoted Marxist/Leninists who still protest in Russian and call for the return of a Communist Russia. The place I get my hair cut is run by Russians, as are a number of other hair cutting places.
I remember stepping into the grand plaza in East Berlin right as the Wall was falling. This was the equivalent to West Berlin’s main plaza and there was no comparison. I know of East Berliners who first stepped into West Berlin when the whole in the Wall finally appeared and saw first-hand the vast differences between the two societies. They were shocked to see that the reports of Western prosperity were true, after being told time and again that it was all Western propaganda. They realized their whole system was a lie and their government deceived them from the beginning.
Now, the try to come to the West, even as the Russian rulers are stepping back from democratic systems. Where will it all end, I wonder?

I was walking through Red Hook on Saturday to a new garden center on the tip of the Island called, Liberty Sunset. Why Liberty Sunset? Because the place has an incredible view of The Statue of Liberty and sunsets, that’s why. Anyway, this place is incredible (don’t think typical suburban garden center). So, I first walked to my new favorite little cubbyhole restaurant for a bit of brunch (if brunch can be had at 2:00 pm, rather than just having breakfast at 2:00 pm).
Oh wait, it wasn’t at the restaurant. Okay, so next I walk to the garden place that is owned by a couple people, one of whom is from Hungary. Since he is from Hungary, his partner told me on their grand-opening, he is really into hospitality. At a certain time on the weekends, they fire up the incredible grill in their amazing kitchen that is part of a huge warehouse room where they have waterfalls and grow lights and photography space and an enormous table in the midst of pots and scattered plant projects that was salvaged from some place, but is a horizontal slice from an ancient Redwood. They have like twenty chairs around this table. Mind you, this isn’t the tourist destination kind of disneyfied mega-garden center. This is the place of work of some unique people! So, since the Hungarian co-owner is really into hospitality, they cook up some food and open some bottles of wine and invite anyone shopping or looking around to have a snake (or a meal, depending on how hungry you are). People just grab some stuff (the day I was there it was Hungarian specialties of sausages, and the like). I didn’t eat, but thanked the other co-owner when she offered me some food and wine.
That’s hospitality!
But, it wasn’t at the garden center, either. This building used to be a warehouse. Red Hook is a port area of Brooklyn. The very modern Queen Mary II docks there now whenever it sails into New York City. I can see the smoke stacks from my living room window, and pretty much the whole thing when I’m on the roof. On one of my few runs these days, I ran through Red Hook and down by the dock to see the Queen Mary II in all its glory. (A bunch of us from General saw it sail up the Hudson on its maiden voyage along with a few thousand other people standing along the river at 6:00 am.) Anyway, I ran down by the docks and noticed a ton of police everywhere. I guess to guard against potential terrorist attacks. No problem. Well, until I ran down a deserted road that dead-ended on the bay and gave an incredible view of the front of the ship. I don’t think they trusted me. A cop car followed me all the way, sat there while I look at the boat and the Statue of Liberty, and then while I ran away.
Okay, so this garden center is in the warehouse building along with a few other business whose proprietors seem to be equally unique (don’t think hippy type, but just industrious, do your own thing, live a good life, hip-cool kind of people who are at stages in their lives where they can afford to do this kind of thing). Around the corner of the building is a Key-lime pie bakery. The most authentic key-lime pies in New York, its truck proclaims. After my breakfast at 2:00 pm, a nice little personal key-lime pie was in order. Refreshing on a hot, sunny day, before buying pots at the garden center. It was here that I saw it.
One of the owners of the garden center, I guess (I think they are all in cahoots with each other) fired up a new waterfall into a huge above ground custom built wooden pool that will be used for marsh plants right outside the door of the pie place; so one of the owners had on a t-shirt that had printed on the back P.E.T.A. I thought, great, it figures that one of this crew was a PETA member. But wait, I read on.
P.E.T.A, for this guy, meant, “People who Eat Tasty Animals!” I had to crack up. The shirt was from some b-b-q place in the South. Eating my little, personal key-lime pie, I thought, “This guy fits in perfectly with a garden center that serves up sausages and wine to his customers.” That’s the kind of place I would like to work. “People who Eat Tasty Animals.” Just too funny.

Here is a nice review of Into Great Silence from the Washington Post.
I was talking to some seminarians last week who went to see the movie. The movie has been held over three times now. Anyway, they said in a full theater the movie started – silence. Silence continued. And more silence. When the movie ended and as everyone filed out, suddenly someone realized as they were talking to a friend who was to see the next showing that…. wait for it…. wait for it… the theater never played the soundtrack!
The entire theater sat through the whole movie in shear and utter silence – nothing. Well, you can imagine, especially after reading the review from the Post, that the theater goers were a bit upset. They complained to the manager. They requested compensation. The manager basically said, “If all of you sat through an entire movie with no sound and didn’t tell anyone, you’re all idiots and don’t deserve a refund!”
Now, generally, I would agree. However, this movie is entitled “Into Great Silence” and it was playing in arguably the most “art-house” theater in New York City. It is not unreasonable to think a silent movie was simply an artistic trick.
Too funny.

After getting off the subway and walking to my coffee & pastry place before work, I saw a black car-service pull up to the curb. New York car-service cars are almost always black, Ford, and have darkened windows.
A man and a woman step out, dressed in jeans. They embrace for a good bit, kiss, and continue.
He gets back into the car and she hurries off with shoulder bags and a pony-tail. As the car slowly pulls away back into traffic, it comes up beside her.
Her head turns, oh so slightly, as she glances back to the car and her beloved within. She probably could not see within, but I suspect he turned his head, perhaps ever so slightly, to see one last time his beloved.
A romantic notion, I know. But, why not? Day-in-and-day-out, we pass through this world. We perceive and we believe. Love, real love, still abounds.

It is 11:44 and Jody Foster is coming to the podium. I look out the window and huge snow flakes are falling. Looking out the window, looking at this side of St. Paul’s, across the street to Guido’s Funeral Home, and looking down the street at the steeple of the Roman Catholic Church, it really is magical.
There is something about a snow fall in the city.

I walked out of the Rectory this morning and onto Carroll St. and there it was, snow coving tree limbs, gates, banisters, cars, and it was wonderful. The snow was falling very lightly, almost done. The snow didn’t really accumulate on the sidewalks or streets, but just enough to give the streetscape a nice snowy, winter feel. The air was still, brisk but not cold. The sky was gray and the “air” was just a bit misty, but not really foggy. Anyway, it was very nice.
Getting out of the subway at 42nd St., I noticed how quiet the station seemed to be. I don’t think I ever remember that kind of quiet in such a busy station. No other trains were there at that moment. No sound of equipment humming or screeching, just still quite. The faint sound of the conductor’s voice announcing “the next stop is Rockefeller Center” could barely be heard. It was the kind of quite that in New York you only “hear” in large stone churches or when a heavy snow is falling.