Ten minutes from here

On Thursday and Friday last week I tried walking ten minutes in all four directions from one starting point (38th and Market, Philadelphia), and then taking a picture of whatever I found in each spot.

Going north, I found a sign outside the Roman Catholic cathedral that has been de-sanctified and turned into apartments.

I'd love to see those apartments.

I didn't get very far in my ten minutes, because I was stopped by an older woman who asked for fifty cents. She was a nice, grandmotherly-looking sort of woman, and I gave her a dollar. I usually don't contribute to panhandlers, mainly because there are so many. How do you choose which one to help? But I admit I'm more open to the older women.

As I was opening my wallet, she continued to talk. She was on her way to the doctor's and she was thirsty, and needed to buy a soda. Her story reminded me of something I have noticed about panhandlers - they all have a story, and they often tell it whether it appears that you are going to contribute or not. Sometimes the story is about losing a job, or having a car break down, or not eating in three days. These stories may or may not be true, but I suppose they at least began with the truth. And yet the panhandlers seem to cling to their stories long past the expiration date, and seem compelled to repeat them whether useful or not.

For example, there is the 51-year-old Veteran of Market Street. He has stopped me at least four times over the past eight years, and I've seen him talking to other people, too. Each time he begins with the same story: "Excuse me, I'm a 51-year-old Veteran and I'm trying to get to the VA Hospital."

The thing is, he's been 51 for at least eight years now. The years go by, but the story never changes. I think he may have had some luck with it once, and now sees no reason to update it. Also, he seems completely unaware that he is telling the story to the same people day after day.

Well, you don't get to be in that situation unless you have some pretty serious problems. He probably is a veteran, and he was 51 at some point, and I think that he really does need to be in a hospital - so it's not such a bad story, after all.

My next trip is south, and what do I find after walking for ten minutes?

It's the VA Hospital! I didn't even realize it was so close. Suddenly the 51-year-old Veteran of Market Street seems even sadder.

Right across the street from the VA Hospital is the Penn School of Veterinary Medicine.

The vets are directly across the street from the vets - ha ha.

My next trip is east, and I pretty much know where I'll be after ten minutes, since this is the route I walk most days to get to the train station.

I'm at the Paul Peck Center. It's a Victorian building designed by Frank Furness, and on the National Register of historic buildings.

A very, very different kind of modern space has been added to the Center.

And the spring flowers are in bloom.

So I say good-bye, see you later this afternoon, and head off to finish the fourth leg of this project, ten minutes' walk west of 38th and Market.

About six minutes into the walk I remember that when I first began working at this location, I was advised never to walk west of 40th Street after 5:00. Well, this is the middle of the day, but even so I begin to wonder if this is very wise.

The area isn't so terrible, although at the ten-minute mark I do see one of those abandoned row houses that plague this city.

At least, I think it's abandoned.

It crosses my mind that folks might not want a crazy old white lady walking around taking pictures in their 'hood. No matter how upbeat they are feeling at the moment.

So I head back. I do notice one scary face.

Yikes!

Oh - it's just one of the Pep Boys.

And so ends the set of 10-minute excursions.

Silent Night

Haddonfield First Presbyterian Church
Haddonfield, NJ
December 24, 2007

Neil, his sister, and I attend the candlelight Christmas service in Haddonfield. This is an old congregation, with a history dating back to 1721 – only 23 years after the country’s first Presbyterian church was established in Philadelphia. This congregation, though, dates its official founding in the late 1800s, after the Civil War.

The current sanctuary was built in 1906; parents grieving the loss of their son gave the funds as a memorial. They must have been fairly well off; the place is magnificent. It includes three large stained-glass Tiffany windows, a circular half-domed apse, and two side pulpits with a central altar table.

The service begins at 10:00 pm, and I estimate that there are perhaps 600 people attending. The sanctuary looks lovely, with candles, poinsettias, two large Christmas trees, and bell ringers standing against the walls. Lots of good music from the choir and the bell choir.

The meditation, “Out of the Depth,” is delivered by senior pastor Bill Getman. He notes that Mary’s labor brought peace to the world, and that peace is always born of travail.
The lights are dimmed, and the congregants’ candles are lit. This is such a pretty service.

Now, of course, we sing “Silent Night” – I have sung it often this year, but this is the one best time for this particular hymn. When the congregational singing ends, there is a brief violin solo.

And a benediction, and we walk out into the chilly December night.

Places along the tracks

The Cira Centre (next to the 30th Street train station) is often pretty good looking.

Here's what it was reflecting this afternoon:

Of course, Philadelphia is not all tall, shiny buildings. No city is. From the train you can see plenty of rowhouses, and of course the ones closest to the tracks are not the typically the nicest.

But I bet some nice people live there. And a few not so nice. Just like anywhere.

Fourth Sunday of Advent, 2007

First Presbyterian Church
Haddon Heights, NJ
December 23, 2007

I’m going to church pretty often lately. This is the sixth time this month, and there are at least two more services to go. (Actually, I know quite a few people, not in ministry or anything like that, who go to church more often than this.)

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Advent, and I choose a church in my denomination, The Presbyterian Church (USA). It’s another pretty sanctuary, with white and pale blue walls, and a lovely large stained glass window. I estimate that there are about 110 or so people here, in a sanctuary that would seat about 250. The front of the church features an abundance of poinsettias, lots of candles, the Advent wreath – it looks very nice. It’s common in churches to purchase poinsettias at Christmas to decorate the sanctuary in honor or in memory of family members, and then to take them home after the Christmas service.
The Cherub Choir is surprisingly good – you can actually hear the words they are singing. They wear smocks with large blue bows – very cute.

The pastor, Lynne Manilla, delivers a meditation about Joseph, the forgotten figure of the Christmas story. She notes that he has a small, nonspeaking role in the story, but a huge impact nonetheless, and talks about our relatively obscure roles in the larger scheme of things.

It’s all fine. The main thing I note is that there is definitely some holiday excitement in the air. These people want to be about their holiday business, and while they are very happy to be here and to be wishing all their friends and neighbors a merry Christmas, everyone is also anxious to get back home, or to begin their holiday travels. As soon as the service ends, there is what I can only describe as a bustle – an actual bustle – in the air, as people sort of explode in a burst of greeting and hugging and laughing and well wishing.

It makes me miss having a church family. I feel oddly close to all these strangers – they are so darn Presbyterian, so much my kind of people – and yet strangers. In many ways this is the service at which I feel most a stranger myself, perhaps because everything about this holiday service is so familiar. This used to be me.

Five minutes from here

Today was much cooler, and extremely windy, but I didn't realize that when I decided to try something during my lunch hour that I have thought about doing for a long time.

I first had this idea when I lived in Haddon Township, New Jersey. I realized then that I could walk ten minutes from our front door and, depending on which direction I chose, end up in a small town, a suburban neighborhood, a strip mall, a lovely park with a lake and sidewalks, or one of the only old growth forests on the East Coast. It seemed sort of fantastic, how drastically the environment changed in such a short distance. I thought I would do a series of timed walks in various directions and take a photo of wherever I happened to be at the end of a predetermined amount of time.

If I were an artist,perhaps I would be an aleatory one.

So today I decided to try this during lunch. Starting at the corner of 38th and Market, I would walk five minutes in each direction (north, south, east, and west), and take a photo or two of whatever I found in each spot. That way I would get a good 40-minute walk for exercise, and have an excuse for wandering around.

So, five minutes north and what do I see?

An old cabbage plant (I think) in front of a bank.

Five minutes back to the starting point, and then five minutes south. The Wharton School of Business, and a yin/yang picture in one of the windows, which I never would have noticed without the camera.

Also, Penn students on their way to class, I presume. See how unexpected the change in temperature was? Some people wearing coats, some coatless.

Five minutes back to the starting point, and then five minutes east. Now I'm in food truck territory. Below you can see the lunch crowd in front of Chewy's Lunch Truck.

Also, this spot is pretty close to the big gold face in front of the Monell Chemical Senses Center.

Five minutes back to the starting point, and then five minutes west. A street vendor is selling handbags. At the end of the day he packs everything up into the white van parked behind the table, and goes home.

What you can't see in these pictures is that it was so windy that I saw little old ladies walking down the street clutching each other to avoid being blown down, and so cold and windy that I had a bit of an earache when I was done.

I think I'll try this again, with two 10-minute walks in two directions on consecutive days, and then four 20-minute walks on four consecutive days.

But I'll wait for the weather to change.

From Arles to Philadelphia in one afternoon

So - once again the weekend is almost over, and what did I do?

Shopping. I took a photo of the drop-dead gorgeous pansies outside the grocery store, but set my heart against buying them. This year it will be all impatiens in front - the cheapest and most reliable way to get lots of color. (And impatiens are quite lovely, too.)

After shopping, I ground my own beef from chuck and sirloin, and stocked up the freezer. Now that we have a food processor, I can do all kinds of stuff like this that I never did before - homemade ground beef! (I follow Alton Brown's tips on how to do this.)

Weekend chores, yadda yadda. This is the week in between classes for my online teaching, and I am prepping for a new class next quarter.

Sunday morning, and off to the Philadelphia Museum of Art for the Van Gogh exhibit. You are not allowed to take pictures inside the exhibit, so here is one in the lobby.

I cannot adequately convey how fantastic this exhibit is. These painting are heartbreakingly beautiful. I believe this may be the best art exhibit I have ever seen.

Art critic Robert Hughes has tried to put something of the power of this work into words. For example, he calls the fifteen months Van Gogh spent in Arles (many of the works in this exhibit are from that period) a "rhapsodic outpouring of creative energy."

Then we had just enough time to drive to Broad Street, park, and share a plate of nachos at the Perch Pub. (Philadelphia is full of good places to eat, but I seem to always go back to Perch Pub.)

The Sunday brunch drink specials are $5 - Neil had a very spicy Bloody Mary and I had a pear Bellini.

Darn great lunch for less than $25.00.

Next we walked over to the Academy of Music and saw the musical Fela!

We should have read the story before we went, because the main character is Nigerian, and although it is almost all in English, we both had a very hard time understanding his accent. We got the gist of most of the play, but with a few rather comical misunderstandings (which we figured out later).

The actress who played Fela's mother, Melanie Marshall, has an exquisite, powerful voice. Her big solo in the second act was a high point of the production for me.

And on the way back to the car, we stopped by the home of the birth of The Philadelphia Sound to snap a photo.

This is the beauty of buying season tickets - we wouldn't normally make the effort to go see one individual show. There are always so many reasons why we are too busy that weekend, can't afford it, etc. But since we bought season tickets for our anniversary last year, we made darn sure that we attended every single show, even ones we knew nothing about - and I'm really glad we did.

Ganache

Another warm, warm day - although the prediction is for cooler, rainy weather this weekend.

But I had to get out and about at noon.

A new food truck on our street! Delicias! (See me reflected in the side of the truck?)

The menu looks interesting.

But there is another truck I've always wanted to try, too.

This is the day to see what the Cupcake Lady has to offer.

I chose vanilla with chocolate ganache.

I have to say that it really wasn't a fantastic cupcake - it seemed pretty ordinary. The ganache frosting was pretty darn good, though. I had to look it up to see what it is. Sounds fairly easy to make - heated cream mixed with chocolate, basically.

One more thing I saw this afternoon - the spring flowers at Drexel. Drexel's colors are blue and gold, so early spring is a very good time for them to express school spirit florally.

Odd angles of the living room

A service for the longest night

Haddonfield United Methodist Church
Haddonfield, New Jersey
December 22, 2007


Now that the days are turning warm and long and sunny, I am catching up on my Church Visiting series – and posting about the longest night. Not exactly in synch, but I might as well buckle down and finish the series – after all, it was the original impetus for the blog.

A longest night service is also known as a Blue Christmas service. I’m not sure where and when these started, but they have been around for a while. Nevertheless, this is the first time I’ve been to one.

The idea is to have a special service for people who want or need to express sadness during the holidays. Many have lost a loved one since the previous Christmas – this will be their first Christmas without that person. But you don’t have to be experiencing some kind of fairly recent loss; everyone knows that Christmas can be a time of depression and sorrow. Pastors probably know that a bit too well. So someone decided to have a service especially for people who are sad, hurt, angry and depressed during this dark, cold season when most of the rest of the world seems to be urging you to party and be happy. It’s not a bad idea.

I have been to Haddonfield Methodist once before during this year of Visiting Churches; in fact, it was one of my earliest visits. Much of the construction that was going on last March has been completed, but it’s a little hard to see the results as I enter the dim chapel, which is filled with votive candles and little Christmas trees. It’s very pretty.

There is a reasonably large group of attendees – perhaps sixty or so. After the lighting of the Advent Wreath, the Lesson (John 1: 1-9), and a hymn, Rev. Kathleen Bohren-Morris stands up for a personal reflection.

It’s very sad. She has suffered a lot, and she has known others who have suffered similarly.

The Litany of Healing begins. After each line, the congregation repeats the response: Healing Spirit, set us free. This is what we pray to be set free from:

From our wearisome pain
From the sharp sword of agony
From burdens too great to bear in love for others
From guilt and regret about times past
From fearful memories and fear for the future
From the grip of compulsions and addictions
From pride, greed, and bitterness
From illusion, lying, and pretense
From the depths of despair

Well, that covers a lot of ground.

There is a moment of silence, and then three readers offer words of comfort, and a man sings a solo, “I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry.”

I think this is the end, but it turns out that the main part of the service is just beginning. People come up to the altar, mention a name of a person or persons they are grieving for, and light a candle.

Up to this point I had actually been feeling fairly content, in spite of the sorrowful theme. I didn’t come here because I am particularly sad; I just wanted to experience a Blue Christmas service. However, as people come up and say the names of people they are missing, I begin to feel very moved indeed. I don’t know any of these people, and most of them say nothing more than a name, but I find this ritual extremely touching. I decide to go up to the altar, where I say my parents’ names out loud and light a candle.

I don’t think about them every day, and I haven’t said their names out loud in years, probably. My father died in a car crash when I was seven, and my mother died of cancer almost twenty-five years ago. Suddenly, I am very sad, but also kind of happy to have done this. It’s odd.

I return to my seat in the pews, and then anyone who wants to comes forward and kneels to receive the laying-on-of-hands for healing. There is a final prayer, we sing “Silent Night”, there is a closing blessing, and we walk out into the dark in silence.

This is a pretty good kind of service, this longest night service.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

I know, I know, everyone is agog about the incredible weather. Walking to the train station after work, looking at the handy time and weather information that scrolls across the top of the PECO building - 72 degrees!

The students at Penn and Drexel are walking around in shorts, sleeveless shirts, and flip-flops already.

The trees and flowers bloomed, seemingly overnight.

Truth be told, I would rather have a month of 60 degree days - my favorite weather is in the mid-sixties, with a slight breeze, spring or fall.

But I would be a fool not to enjoy this, unseasonable as it is!

Time knit up the ravelled sleeve of care again

Busy, busy day at work. Then met friends after work at Perch Pub. Then spent two hours sitting in the train station, because all trains were stopped due to electrical problems. Gaah.

Home to answer student emails.

And so to bed. Long day, good day.

Very ready for bed.

We like trees

My son from New York, Chris, called yesterday to say hello from Princeton - he was visiting a friend having a birthday. And he wanted to revisit a park we visited a lot when we lived in Princeton, but he couldn't recall the name.

Ah, Marquand Park. One of the best parks ever, with the most magnificent trees. My children remember it well (the place, not the name) because of the old, gnarled, interesting trees - perfect for exploring.

I found one photo from those years (mid-eighties). My daughter and younger son (you can barely see the top of his head) are in this photo.

I emailed the photo to Chris and apologized that I couldn't find a photo of our favorite park that also included him.

So today he emailed me some photos of him in Marquand Park.

E-mail is amazing. The Internet is amazing. Life is amazing.

UPDATED: Chris called again. He has the opportunity to spend a week next summer sailing the Mediterranean with the friend from Princeton. This guy must be the world's greatest friend - what an adventure that would be! I told him, in no uncertain terms, to go for it by all means.

Green bagel

For the multicultural, multi-ethnic hungry folks among us.

This tray of breakfast goodies was available yesterday at work.

'Tis the season

for removing trees and branches. For the third Thursday in a row, a tree service is working at or near my house. Today it's a tree across the street from our house.

And the poor doomed tree is already budding.

Not too many tears for the tree, though. Trees don't really coexist all that well with septic lines, foundations, power lines, and homes. They must be kept in check.

Long books

“I find all books too long.” — Voltaire

“One always tends to overpraise a long book because one has got through it.” — E.M. Forster

“A big book is a big nuisance.” — Callimachus



I have enjoyed reading many, many long books, and I intend to read many more.
 
Nevertheless, I like these quotations.

Fear knocked at the door

My full-time job and two part-time jobs all collided yesterday. I went into Philadelphia to work. At four-thirty I boarded a train for Wilmington, to attend a board meeting of the group for which I write. The spreadsheet of grades on the final assignment in the online class I teach was due tonight.

Having now returned from Philadelphia and Wilmington, emailed the spreadsheet, answered all student emails, and breathed a great sigh of relief, I will take a moment to look at some of the not inconsiderable pleasures of the previous 24 or so hours.

Last night I slept here:

I ate scallops and arugula on a bed of lobster polenta:

Today I listened to many wise and funny and kind people speak.

This evening I had a Pimm's Cup (two, actually):

And ate wonderful appetizers:

Curried deviled eggs on the slate on the left, and golden pickled beets, goat cheese, olive tapenade, and buttery toasts on the right.

And had fish and chips:

This was at Dandelion, the Stephen Starr British gastropub in Philadelphia.