Love Store Mix

I think there's a chance that Bollywood music will turn me into the dancing maniac I was meant to be. I hope so because I'm not going to the gym. I hate the gym. Ricky at Krupa, a deli known by locals as the Love Store because of the kindness of the proprietors and abundant multi-denominational religious iconography, has agreed to make a custom dance CD for me. It will cost 5 dollars and hopefully it will give me eternal life, tighten all the lady cushioning that seems so fond of me these days, or let me Krupa myself into the next dimension. I used to wonder why the store was called Krupa, assuming the Indian family that runs it bought it from a Polish or Russian family. Little did I know, Krupa means bliss and is some kind of Hindu holy water. More about Krupa...

Heart Work

I suppose a boy jumping over dynamite works out to be fairly resonant though not so sweet Valentine's imagery. Go boy go! (boy by my older daughter)

stratigraphy

The Sunday breakfast strata...a little warm up for the Grand Canyon. Stale bread reconstituted among layers of sauteed onions, mushrooms, cheddar cheese, eggs and milk. Fun to assemble the night before, amazing to smell while baking the next morning, scandalously puffed and golden when removed from the oven, but best of all to share with excellent and extremely rodent-friendly company, in this case my blog pal from up North, the Brooklyn Bachelor, and the charming and amusing OHS, who told a surprising tale of pedicures aided by toe-nibbling fish. Maybe in Sedona?

Howard St. Silhouettes

Is the sap sweetening behind the buds?

hardcore

The hands of St. Francis, from a portrait that hangs up on the hill at Bishop Ford.

On Doyers St.

Thursday

A while ago I took a photo of the sanctuary of St. Francis Xavier on 17th St. in Manhattan, at the time the apse was blocked by tall scaffolding evocative of that spirit of religious reform that never rests, it always seems to take hold of someone who finds himself unable to find God in what is presented to him as Godly.

Is it true that when St. Francis lived there were moments when the man with a passion for poverty and its attendant spiritual ecstasies regretted the order that he'd formed, knowing what becomes of orders, how susceptible they are to the corruptions of greed and power. Did anyone in Western religious tradition ever embody the principle of "poor in spirit' better? Hierarchical organizations are never poor in spirit, are they? There's often a complex, an agenda, always a desperate grab and an arrogance that muffles the sweet, fierce and altogether contradictory whispers of the living God. But I suppose Francis proved that the spirit of the order comes down to the character of the leadership.

overlays

wide and open

That's 4th Ave and Baltic in 1911. The horse team can't get the cart out of the mud because the pipe is too heavy. I guess they needed some elephants. This shot hangs at the 5th Avenue Diner where I had a BLT yesterday and watched the waitress contain her patience with the middle schoolers out for what is called something like non-contained lunch who congregated around one of the booths. I believe the policy there is that the kids can stay as long as they are paying for something. Other places don't allow them in.

Down the street a shop owner makes loads of top-notch mac & cheese to sell to the preteens every day for lunch, at very affordable prices. A line of youngsters blocks the entrance to her shop every weekday at lunch but she doesn't turn them away. Calcium and protein for lengthening bones and developing brains. She's my hero.

white on white

How many distinct whites could Van Gogh articulate, anyway...never mind, yesterday I came across this passage in Nachmanovitch's Free Play, a trustworthy book on the creative process. He begins the chapter "Sex and Vioins" (!) with this...

"I am always between two currents of thought; first the material difficulties, turning round and round and round to make a living; and second, the study of color. I am always hoping to make a discovery here, to express the feelings of two lovers by a marriage of two complementary colors, their mingling and their opposition, the mysterious vibrations of kindred tones. To express the thought behind a brow by the radiance of a bright tone against a somber background. To express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul by a sunset glow. " ~Van Gogh

Among whites, I imagine, there are the tiniest fluctuations that can constitute a landscape of difference. Smilla's sense of snow.

Cans in Stores

The best thing I've seen since Bruce's Yams.

Missing and Returned

In Kensington, odd semi-attached. Took me far too long to figure out what was missing. I think the flags threw me off.

On the line at Foodtown while waiting for the Post Office to open I listened to Summer in the City playing over the sound system while the morning sun blared through the windows. hotter than a match head....It was difficult to decide what part of those lyrics are the best, and also very hard to keep from dancing in the aisle.

On the line at the Kensington PO, once it opened at 9:30, I listened to the only attendant available having a hard time explaining PO policy to a person who wanted to send a package without postage. Everyone else listened too. It got a little intense. When it was my turn at the window the woman was very nice to me even though I am obviously a crazy person, especially at the Post Office.

In the afternoon my daughter's clarinet, which she left on a city bus, was returned to us by a woman who lives on 15th St. As soon as she got off the bus with the instrument she found a pay phone to call and let us know she'd found it, so we wouldn't have to worry an extra second. It was amazing to watch the despair melt away from my daughter's face when the call came. Thanks Rita!

winter whats

I found the Chrysler Building sweater walking down Propsect Ave., it needs mending under the arms but it's still better than anything I could afford to buy.

she was bored

so she casted her fingers

Talk about a birthright

Can you imagine a world where mainstream medicine is so arrogant that new born babies are inadvertantly denied the very blood nature intended for them? Of course you can, this is it! My mother Judy Mercer's motivation to research the effects of delayed cord clamping was inspired by the common practice of cutting a baby's umbilical cord before all of the blood cycling through the placenta has found its way to the child. Why would anyone do something so unfathomable as deny a baby its very own birth blood? Well, I asked our former pediatrician, who was once head of neonatalogy, who responded "we thought babies' blood was bad for babies, it's too thick." Another practitioner told me similar nonsense. How could anyone think a baby's blood would be bad for it? The blood bank business is another danger to babies. Parents, in fear of "what might happen" deny there babies up to half of their blood, blood they need to fully saturate and stimulate their lungs and brains and every other vital organ. My mother was recently at a birth where 5 oz. of the a baby's beautiful blood had been banked, just in case. Fear is often vampiric.

In recognizing the need for study of these trends in childbirth, NIH funds the research my mother conducts at The Hospital for Women and Infants in Rhode Island where she monitors the effects of delayed cord clamping in preterm infants. Many other researchers around the world have grown interested in this question so my mother is one in a community of very thoughtful practitioners and scientists restoring a great deal of wisdom to the birth process. It's sensible to let the umbilical cord stop pulsing before it's cut. That's the body's signal that the baby's good to go. Patience please. Below, an excerpt from an interview with my moms from Science and Sensibility.

In 1975, I vividly remember reading Frederick Leboyer’s book Birth Without Violence in which he advocates not cutting the umbilical cord until the infant has successfully completed her transition between her two worlds – the fetal world of water and placental respiration and the neonatal world of air and breathing. He says “For a few minutes the baby straddles two worlds…then, slowly, slowly she can cross the threshold from one to the other peacefully and easily with safety…as long as we don’t interfere [by premature clamping of the cord].” I adopted the practice of delaying cord clamping to ensure a more gentle birth and have used it for more than 30 years.

I had an epiphany at a home birth in 1979. An infant was born very rapidly with the cord 2 and 1/2 times around his neck. He was as pale as the white sheet his mother had on her bed and limp and breathless. I was very afraid that I would not be able to resuscitate him. I placed him on the bed and immediately unwrapped the cord from around his neck and dried and stimulated him with no response. His heart rate was well over 100 and the cord was pulsating vigorously. I noticed that his color was changing from the pale white to pink as his body gained the blood back into it. His heart rate was always over 100. In about 1 and 1/2 minutes, he flexed his extremities, opened his eyes and took a gentle breath. He looked at us like “What is the fuss?” and never cried. I tried as hard as I could to get him to cry as I believed at that time that he should do but I could not get him to. He nursed very well and was a normal child at one year of age when I last saw him.

Blood for babies, OK, Brooklyn? OK, Brooklyn hospitals? What better gift for future generations. Now back to our regular nonsense programming here at Brooklynometry...

river of life

In the box with the Mercury Mysteries was a 1976 edition of The How and Why Wonder Book of The Human Body published by Grosset and Dunlap. In case you have concerns about the plate above, rest assured, it was approved of by Oakes A. White of the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Now there's an arborial name.

So I'm not sure I understand how this diagram works but it looks like the midpoint where all the blue turns to red is something like a jubilee zone. A magnification would certainly reveal drunk fish flipping in the currents.

Flash Flood

I heard the warnings on the radio like everyone else and maybe they too wondered where in Brooklyn flash floods occur. I don't think the watershed in Prospect Park gathers enough water to cause a torrent in the ravine, but maybe it's happened. The real danger Monday was falling into the sky by stepping in a puddle, or becoming hypnotized by the upside down worlds framed in liquid mirrors because it is easy to tell those worlds are a lot wilder than this one.

the windows

Last spring the Anthropologie windows were all about bees and hives. This year they've strung them with garlands of plastic flowers cut from water blottles. The cascading blossoms work especially nicely on the 17th St. side of the store, I've never seen something so sharp-edged look so sweet. Around the corner the dense tangles of flowers in the 5 Ave. windows seem a little wounded. I've seen cozier tangles.

Leaping Sheep?

This afternoon we saw the kinds of clouds that really do look like animals. My son objected to my call here, to him, it was obviously a rabbit. I suppose he's right. Then he called my attention to another cloud that was supposed to look like a monster and I happened to sight what I took for a Coopers Hawk or Merlin. Slightly larger than a pigeon, neater than a red tail, but still pale and reddish.

Murder makes me nervous

Another Mercury Mystery I came across on 10th Avenue Saturday night, this one published in 1946. It costs ten cents more than the '35 offering. I looked for a passage I'd feel inspired to excerpt but came up with nothing. I think I'm spoiled by the image of a pillow cooked in butter. Just think of all the things one can cook in butter! Dryer lint, the stray socks, my camera...

Mercury Mystery

Published in 1935, found among other treasures in a box on 10th Avenue. Seems promising, it begins "When I opened my eyes I was sure they were going to fall out of my head and start rolling across the floor like a couple of marbles. The pillow felt as if it had been cooked in butter. I looked at the time. It was only eight o'clock, and I knew that if I could sleep four or fives hours more I might get over the notion I was going to die. But my head was full of worms, those mean little gnawing worms that you can hear gnawing their way through a tree-trunk or through your head when you've been drinking as much as we had drunk the night before. We had had everything, all the way from Scotch to Pernod and back with way stations of Amer Picon and, for no valid reason, some Danziger Goldwasser."

I came across a section that reflects our noble town "'I remembered there was a fellow in Brooklyn got taken to the hospital one night. Someone had shot him in the rear end. He claimed he had been standing on a street corner minding his own business when a car came along and somebody stuck a rod out of it and shot this guy in the hinie.' Danny put back the last of the suits. "We'll we'd about made up our minds that somebody had mistaken this poor dope for somebody else when we thought to look at his pants. There wasn't any bullet-hole in them. So he must have gone out to stand on that street corner, minding his own business, without any pants on. Or maybe he'd been minding somebody else's business when he got shot, without any pants on."

Later the characters get crafty. "Danny poured the plaster of Paris into a hollow he had made in the robe out of my car. Then he took some water and made a paste. He poured this plaster of Paris into the foot-tracks that he had hardened with shellac on the clay of the beach. When he had finished he had a set of little plaster feet, all clear and fine, with the wrinkled and bunions showing on them. Then he picked them up one by one, picking up the feet as if he had been God."


A pillow cooked in butter? Who could ask for more in a mystery?? But there IS more in the The Hangover Murders I gather, or it wouldn't have become the basis for the 1935 film Remember Last Night.

The Monster who Swallowed Everything

My son Russell was very excited about this book he brought home a book from school, How Many Spots Does a Leopard Have? by Julius Lester. He insisted that I not delay in reading it with him. One story is called The Monster Who Swallowed Everything, in which a monster the size of mountain consumed village after village, houses, people, dogs and all. It was hard to read it without thinking of what certain kinds of corporations do to this nation as they rule this country by influence. Insurance companies for instance, in supporting the status quo, what kind of autonomy and freedoms have they swallowed in their greed?

Is there a website that rates corporations according to the degree to which they protect the people and ecosystems of this Republic in a proactive, sustainable, generous and respectful manner? A trustworthy watchdog organization is even more essential now that the court has ruled against the people in favor of the wealthy. It's an old pattern, the governing body demonstrating that it is less inclined to empower the people most in need while handing out gifts to those already well off, all the while eagerly identifying itself with (a disemboweled) Christianity.

fencing accident

circuit

Last legs?

The old caloric double oven in our kitchen. Who knows how old it is.

It has problems, the ovens don't bake things evenly, the pilots go out easily, it's internally grimy beyond rehabilitation, but man is it cool. Certain parties are bent on seeing it replaced very very soon. But I can't let go. I think.

I saw the new things at Sears. What gives me the creeps more than anything: the digital components. Do they really add anything besides opportunities for repair? What should I do?

beach glass

A break in programing

...to enjoy the sloth Weather Hare met in Costa Rica. You must take a sloth break.

Reflection

I guess it's no surprise that many are hostile to Jung, he provided much to irritate. For instance, the idea that we project our shadow onto the world where it gives that special aura of annoyance to all the things that get under our skin. Anyway these are a difficult few days, marked, from my perspective, with endless shadow play of projection, hypocrites accusing others of hypocrisy, control freaks accusing others of being controlling, the selfish accusing others of selfishness, people taking inspiration from eastern philosophers accusing others of orientalism. The moments when one turns the lens on oneself, with acceptance, seem rare and sacred, no wonder, its a really hard thing to do. So while many would love to expunge Jung from their consciousness, here's another thing they might like to forget as fast as they can, Buddha: To straighten the crooked, you must first do a harder thing...straighten yourself. Or for those who prefer the flavor of the Occident: Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye. Matthew 7:5

Kings Plaza 6 Theaters Closed

Hoping to take the young ones to a movie while at Kings Plaza by special request we were surprised to find the theaters shuttered, for good. A security guard told me they shut the doors two weeks ago and are constructing a Best Buy to fill the space. At Cinema Treasures commenters provide a window into the history of the Kings Plaza 6. One writes:

"Since I was the one who posted this theater originally to Cinema Treasures (I'm also gena2), it only seems appropriate that I be the one to post of its demise. I heard a very strong rumor that this theater will be gone soon, and in its place there will be a Best Buy (like we really need that). It saddens me greatly, as this theater (like the Kingsway, the Marboro, and the Georgetown Twin) was one of my childhood theaters. My late grandmother took me here to see Rocky 3, though I'm sure she was slightly disturbed that her six year old granddaughter wanted to see it. (I liked the theme song.) My last memory of going here, is seeing "What's Love Got to Do With It?" about the life of Tina Turner. During all the scenes in which Tina was getting beat up by Ike, a man near me was yelling "Go get her Ike! Beat her up BUT GOOD!' It was at this point that I realized I could no longer patronize this theater. The moviegoers were just too insane. But I'll miss it. Thinking of going one more time for old time's sake."

I wonder if she went, and what the people were like. I can't endorse defining the crowd by its most obnoxious member, as that is a heinous mistake I notice I make too often, but I do enjoy her memories of the theater.

tell me it ain't so

What? Closing a family shelter down because of Eminent Domain? On MLK day no less? Ya bullies! More at FIB.