A Story For Today: 2 Degrees and Counting…

Pretty White Gloves

He sits on a folded-over cardboard box, slightly off-balance and without any visible sign of support other than the granite wall of the bank behind him and the few coins in the paper cup he shakes at each passerby.       major

Does he realize it is 4 degrees above zero, or minus 25 degrees if you factor in the wind that blows through the city and his bones with little concern for statistics? Does he notice the thick cumulous lifeforms that escape from his mouth in shapes that shift and evanesce like the opportunities that once populated his life?

Can he even distinguish the usual numbing effect of the cheap alcohol from the cruel and indifferent carress of this biting alien chill?

Too many questions, he would tell you, if he cared to say anything. But his tongue sits in silence behind crusted chapped lips and chattering teeth while half-shut eyes follow pedestrians fleeing from the bitter cold and his outstretched cup.

His gaze falls upon the hand holding the cup as if it were some foreign element in his personal inventory. Surprised at first to find it uncovered and exposed, especially in weather this frigid, he now recalls that someone at the shelter had stolen his gloves and left in their place the only option he still has in much abundance.

Acquiescence.

Examining the hand, and the exposed fingers encircling the Seven-Eleven coffee cup, he smiles in amused perplexity, murmuring to himself, “White gloves.”

Lifting his hand for closer inspection, he adds, “Pretty white gloves.”

An image of his daughter . . . Elissa, he thinks her name was . Yes, Elissa!, he recalls. An image of Elissa rises up in his mind, from a photograph taken when she was ten and beautifully adorned in a new Easter outfit: black shoes, frilly lavender dress and hat and, yes, pretty white gloves. The photo once sat on a table in his living room, but he couldn’t tell you what happened to it, nor to the table or the living room, for that matter. They were just gone. Swept away in the same tide that pulled out all the moorings from his life, and everything else that had been tethered to them.

The last time he’d seen Elissa she was crying, though he no longer remembers why. Must have been something he’d done or said; that much he knows.

“Pretty white gloves,” he repeats, staring at his hand.

He recalls the white gloves from his Marine dress uniform. At most he wore them five times: at his graduation from officer’s training school, at an armed services ball in Trenton, New Jersey, and for three military funerals. There was never a need for dress gloves in Viet Nam. They would have never stayed white anyway; not with all the blood that stained his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see a policeman walking towards him and instinctively hides his cup, some vestige of half-remembered pride causing him to avert his gaze from the man’s eyes at the same time.

“We need to get you inside, buddy,” the officer says. “You’ll die of cold, you stay out here.”

Moments later, a second police officer, this one a woman, steps up to join them.

“That’s the Major,” she tells her colleague. To the seated figure she offers a smile.

“You coming with us, Major?”

“Go away,” he answers, looking up as he leans further against the cold granite wall. “Don’t need you. Don’t need no one.”

“Can’t leave you out here,” the first officer says. “We’ve got orders to bring you and everyone else in.”

“Leave me alone!” the seated man shouts, gesturing with his hands as if he could push them both away.

“Oh shit,” the female officer says under her billowing breath. To her partner she whispers, “His hands. Look at his hands.”

Quickly recognizing the waxy whiteness for what it is, the officer shrugs, “Guess we’re a little late.”

To the man on the sidewalk, he offers, “That’s frost bite, buddy.”

“No,” the seated man protests. He holds up both hands, numb and strange as they now feel and offers a knowing smile of explanation.

Just like the marine officer he once was, just like the sweet innocent daughter he once knew, just llike the young man grown suddenly old on a frozen sidewalk, his hands are beautiful and special in a way these strangers will never understand.

“White gloves,”he insists proudly.

“Pretty white gloves.”

This story comes to mind on days like today when the temperature drops precipitously and an unknown number of the homeless are put through nature’s own meat grinder. On days like today we need to find some way to help those far less fortunate than ourselves. As they say, there but for fortune…     

 

 

 

On This Island In Space

I believe we have much to be hopeful about as we celebrate Earth Day, 2020, though on the surface of things it may appear otherwise.earth

I believe more and more of us are learning to look beyond the surface of things, however, and what we see is more meaningful to the life of our global community than today’s news, tonight’s sports scores or tomorrow’s weather.

I believe we have been brought here—to this lifetime, this moment in time, this island in space—to accomplish something. Each of us on our own separate mission that somehow relates, through the unfathomable meshing of the Universe’s gears, to the greater purposes of life.

I believe we are singers in a chorus whose combined song has the power to lift darkness from the face of the land, if we would only awaken to the true song within each of us.

I believe we are all journeying on the same road, leading up the same mountain, to the same summit. The only difference is some of us have been traveling longer and have learned to avoid obstacles that delay and ensnare travelers with less experience.

I believe suffering and pain have purpose in our lives, often forcing us to grow into stronger, better human beings and to explore horizons that would never have called to us otherwise. I have seen parents who have lost children find meaning in their lives by dedicating themselves to protecting and enriching the lives of other people’s children. I have seen victims use their victimhood to alert and save others from the same tragedies. Such is the serendipitous alchemy of disaster and despair.

I believe the greatest obstacles to happiness are those inner demons that keep us isolated from each other, whether they be hunger or avarice, fear of our neighbors, envy or rank malice. Once we allow ourselves to separate from the rest of mankind, we act like creatures deafened by the volume of our own petty desires. No longer able to hear the cries of others. No longer affected by the tides of calamity or misery that uproot those around us.

I believe we live in a world where noise and movement too easily overwhelm thoughtfulness and purpose. From the earliest age we are taught to fill the spaces in our lives with sound, activity or moving images, as if a quiet home or a quiet mind were unwelcome oddities. As we progress on our life’s journey, I believe we will learn to welcome these spaces rather than fill them, to drink from them rather than run from them, to make room for them in our lives as we would any healing or sustaining nourishment.

I believe we are learning to overcome superficial differences between ourselves and others, no longer allowing diversity to automatically breed fear and distrust. I can’t say if we’ve become more tolerant because the global media web has shrunken our planet, or because fear, lies and ignorance inevitably shrivel under the constant glare of media attention. Whatever the reason, the veils and superstitions that have fueled intolerance across millennia, sending countless soldiers off to countless wars, are now being lifted. The arc of the universe, I believe, is bending towards justice and brotherhood as more and more travelers make their way up the mountain.

I believe we have been brought here—to this lifetime, this moment in time, this island in space—to accomplish something. Each of us on our own separate mission that somehow relates, through the unfathomable meshing of the Universe’s gears, to the greater purposes of life.

I believe one of the reasons I am here—in this lifetime, on this island in space—is to open my heart and reveal what I find through my writing.

And I believe this was written for you.

——————————————————-
I came across this essay written over ten years ago and felt its message was not only timeless but also impeccably timed for today in light of the singular combination of suffering, dislocation and privation brought about by the global pandemic. Not to mention our own government’s stagnation and loss of direction. It’s message of hope is no less strident or believable in light of these events, but perhaps more urgently needed. And so, dear friends, I am sharing it, once again, with you.

Glimpses of the Heart

Somewhere long ago, he hid his heart on the moon.

And afterwards, through the years, he watched it come and go in phases. Sometimes full, more often waxing or waning. But always more distant than he could understand.moon

Those who weren’t close to him—acquaintances, colleagues, even friends—could never see the true image of his emotions. To them he offered the idea instead of the reality, like a photo cleverly hung to mask the moon’s disappearance. To them the lunar sky always seemed full even if clouds sometimes passed overhead to filter the light.

But for those he loved, for whom pretense was too heavy a cloak to wear, he let the waxing and the waning of his feelings serve as a true source of illumination. They could never understand—as he couldn’t himself— this painful rising and falling of light and love, why sometimes the moon was full and other times it was only a sliver in the night sky.

If he had the wisdom to see through space he’d know that he’d hidden his heart on the moon as a legacy to his father. And that within the crater where his strongbox was hidden lay another heart that had once significantly lightened and darkened his world. He’d know he’d been taught the mechanics of love as though an automatic switch regularly turned love on and off to keep it from overheating. He’d know that the heart learns its lessons from pain, passing them intact from one generation to the next. And that one day if the cycle isn’t broken the moon will grow dark and heavy, over-populated with hidden hearts.

Somewhere long ago he hid his heart on the moon. Near where his father and his father’s father had once hidden theirs.

And one day if he doesn’t make the journey to retrieve his hidden self, his children will go off to hide their own treasures where darkness falls in a consistent ritual.

On a cold barren planet.

A million miles away.

Casting My Votes for Cambridge City Council

Who I’m Voting For On Tuesday…

First, to save time and energy, let me present my ABH voting list (Anybody But Him/Her) and simply remark I believe it’s time we take down the curtains and remove the old furniture from the council chamber. In other words, it’s time to let in some light and create space for new faces and new ideas.city hall

My Anybody But Him/Her list starts with the usual cast of suspects, the council members that have spent much too much time on the starting team without scoring any points. In other words, to someone like myself who’s gravely concerned with Cambridge’s lemming-like run off the development cliff, these folks repeatedly vote yes to practically any up-zoning petition that comes their way. They give lip service to caring about families and the economically disadvantaged, but they don’t care enough to question whether they’re actually contributing to the roaring fires of gentrification that are driving out those on the middle and lower runs of Cambridge’s economic ladder. Misters Maher, Reeves, Cheung and Toomey, as well as Ms. Denise Simmons, all deserve our thanks for their many contributions, but also a long, perhaps permanent, vacation from the City Council, in my humble estimation. Sorry, but there it is.

Which means I do support the re-election of two current council members, Minka vanBeuzekom and Craig Kelley, both of whom have shown the courage of their convictions many times in council chambers, Minka’s most valiantly when she stood up to the bullying of fellow council members to vote No on the MIT 26-acre Grand Giveaway.

So, the question now arises, who amongst the crowded field of new candidates most deserves our single-digit numbered votes? First I would have to list Dennis Carlone who has already scored three endorsements (including one from the Cambridge Residents Alliance, of which I am a member) as the only candidate with a background in urban planning. Given the mad scramble to build 14-16-and 18-story apartment towers in Central Square, Dennis’ background and convictions would bring a critical contribution to any discussion about the future of our city. After Dennis come the following, though not in any prescribed order: Kristen von Hoffman, James Williamson, Gary Mello and Nadeem Mazen, all of whom appear worthy of our votes. I apologize for most likely missing other worthy candidates, but there are just too many for me to juggle without dropping a few on the floor. Alone among the crowded field, I believe only Dennis Carlone and Gary Mello have made a point of rejecting donations from developers, a critical decision when some of your most important upcoming council votes will most likely concern those very same developers. Also, it should be mentioned that Dennis Benzan, alone among many, seemed to be the Golden Child in raising money for his campaign. Good thing or bad thing? You decide. Only If Dennis had any more signs around the city we might consider re-christening Cambridge as Benzanville.

Anyway, in two days you, I and our fellow citizens will either make history or fall into the trap of sending the same old faces back to clean up the mess they’ve been making for the last four, twelve or 24 years.

I don’t know about you, but that’s a mistake I’ve made for the last time.

Cambridge Residents Alliance Endorses Dennis Carlone for Cambridge City Council

The following notice was sent out by the Cambridge Residents Alliance:
DENNIS CARLONE FOR CITY COUNCIL!

Dear Friends,

The Cambridge Residents Alliance has endorsed Dennis Carlone for City Council and we are writing to ask that you give him your #1 vote on Tuesday Nov. 5. Among a crowded field that includes other worthy candidates, we believe that Dennis stands out as the truly exceptional choice. His presence in this race comes at a crucial time for our city.Dennis

Cambridge is at a tipping point. The city faces more than 18 million square feet of recent and possible new development. More development has been approved in the past two years than was built in the previous twenty. If all plans come to pass, they will bring tens of thousands of additional car trips per day and transit trips per day into our city—with no significant improvements on the horizon for our already congested streets, intersections, subway cars and buses.

Dennis is an urban planner and architect who has worked with the city for more than 30 years. He was responsible for the East Cambridge Waterfront / Lechmere Canal redevelopment, a billion-dollar project that reclaimed 40 acres of polluted, formerly industrial land. In that project as in all others, he worked closely with the neighborhood, incorporating its needs and goals into the plans.

In fact, listening to and respecting the neighborhoods is at the very heart of Dennis’s approach to city planning. He believes current development in Cambridge is unbalanced, with too much emphasis on commercial building and not enough on residential. He is concerned about noise and light pollution, about proposals for huge glass towers that would be environmentally unsound and inappropriately placed in lower-lying residential neighborhoods. He is disturbed that people with less means are being pushed out of our neighborhoods by rapidly rising rents. He believes MIT should house its graduate students and post-docs. Dennis has declined to accept contributions from real estate interests.

While there are other able candidates running for City Council, we feel that it is essential to have Dennis’s expertise on the Council. Decisions made in the next few years will determine whether we retain the kind of economic and racial and age diversity that made Cambridge the city we love, or whether it becomes solely a high-tech, wealthy mecca. Dennis Carlone will help us chart a course that’s true to our values.

Please forward this message to family and friends, with your own personal note. And if you can, volunteer for the Carlone campaign! See contact information below. Dennis is not as well known as some of the incumbents. Every volunteer in these last few days can make a difference! Thank you!

—The Cambridge Residents Alliance

To contact the Dennis Carlone Campaign, call 617-682-0657 or email: [email protected]. Be sure to leave all your contact information and the volunteer coordinator, Sue Kennedy, will get back to you. Or visit campaign headquarters at 426 Broadway across from the Cambridge Public Library.

Cambridge Residents Alliance
http://www.cambridgeresidentsalliance.org/