September 8th - 10th

September 8, 2005

I’m in New Jersey! I flew from Portland yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon and had a long but painless journey. Brother Bradley and family were kind enough to put me up on Tuesday night, and we had a fun evening. I won at three-way cribbage and then we spent the rest of the evening solving some difficult riddles the kids had gotten at school. Fun stuff. Bradley dropped me at the airport bright and early, and by 7:45 I was climbing to 30,000 feet. I made it half-way through Cormac McCarthy’s new novel, No Country for Old Men, five hours had passed, and then we were descending into Newark. Fifteen minutes later, I was in a rental car and driving up the New Jersey Turnpike and contrasting the filthy salt marshes with the pristine Rogue River. And there was Manhattan staring from across the river like a gang of thugs, but a sort of welcome gang of thugs, one you might want to join someday. Then I was pulling up to the house of a friend and former colleague, who has put me up in the posh third-floor suite of her house. Most cozy quarters and fine company.

Today I found a new abode! As hoped for, I landed the bungalow up in New York just north of the Jersey border. It’s a cute little place, about the size of the Oregon cabin, and will be perfect for the Gary/Gus duo until I find myself a real house. There’s a den, an office, a breakfast nook, a bedroom, and another room where I’ll keep clothes, etc. And it’s in a nice location. Feels woodsy, but close to shops, malls, highways, a dog park. I also got to see Sharen. She was getting her Mini fixed and I picked her up at the Mini dealer and together we poured on the charm with the 90-year-old landlady at the bungalow and persuaded her to let me have the dog. Here’s the place:

Much relieved at having gotten the place I wanted, and so quickly, too, I suggested Thai food at our old favorite place. (My bungalow is ten minutes from there!). It was the best meal I’ve had in six months! Sharen and I caught up a lot and had some laughs, then I dropped her back at the Mini dealer. I’ll see her tomorrow in Manhattan, where I’m also planning to meet my friend Peter and my sister and her kids. The plan is to visit the Cezanne/Pissarro exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. I’m also going to a gallery opening tonight: Martin Mull’s paintings. Should be fun. Martin Mull, by the way, is the actor who starred in “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” on TV and in many movies.

The Martin Mull opening was hopping! Twentieth Street, nay, all of Chelsea, was swarming with people, a bit scary but exciting for this longtime hermit. Apparently it’s the week when all the galleries start having openings; thus the crowds. Walking to the gallery, I passed David Byrne (of Talking Heads fame). I always see celebs in New York! Some kid walking by confirmed the sighting, when he looked at me, nodded, and said, “Yeah, that was David Byrne. Pretty cool.” Roz and I went in the gallery, got some drinks, and started checking out Mull’s large, lovely paintings. Almost all of it depicts scenes from the 1950s era, but unlikely scenes full of wonder and deep emotion. Many draw upon Mull’s own upbringing. Around almost all of them he painted frames imitating ‘50s style wallpaper, as though you’re gazing through a house window into the scene. Very nice touch. We checked out about five paintings and then Roz ran into her high school friend, whose son owns the gallery. Like a docent, Lynne took us around and told us lots of great details about each painting, most of it based on stuff Mull had told her or her son. For instance, for the following painting Mull painted the view from Steve Martin’s back deck at his home in Hollywood. The boy holding the cat is Mull, and the sheep a memory of farm life. Steve Martin bought the painting.

This next one is one that Lynne and her husband bought. I think it was my favorite out of all of them. I like the quintessential Midwestern feel of that house and the sheer desperation on the face of the swimmer, the feeling that he’s fighting for his life to escape this scene, this flood, this dreary life.


Here are two more. I felt weird about photographing the paintings, so I quit after these.


But I did get a shot of Martin Mull:


The photos make the gallery look empty, but it wasn’t. It was packed. I took the pictures later, as the crowd started to thin out and there was an open view of the paintings. They’re all done in oils, and appear almost photographic, as though he merged multiple photos together. But they’re all brushed by hand. He’s a technically skilled painter, to say the least. Worth seeing.

Here’s a shot of the gallery next door as we were heading back to the car. Darkness teeming with New York’s bountiful beautiful people:


Stopped at Ben & Jerry’s in Englewood on the way back, and was glad to see a former student there managing the place. Even as a sophomore, Brad had a full beard. He’s a genius with his own theater company. I don’t expect he’ll be managing Ben & Jerry’s long. He gave us a discount, of course. Good man.


September 10, 2005

I spent all of yesterday in Manhattan. First stop: the Cohen residence, 43rd Street. When I got there only Ezra and his friend Dale were home. Barbara and the girls were at Food Emporium. So the boys and I decided to trick the girls and have me hide. I sat cross-legged on a bench among all the girls’ dolls in the corner of the big living room and posed completely still. Barbara and the girls came home and Lucy looked right at me and didn’t see me. Barbara glanced my way and nearly had a heart attack. We boys, of course, had a good laugh.

An hour later I drove downtown to Greenwich Village to see Peter Marcus, a poet friend I met two years ago at Bard College. He lives in a great neighborhood, and so we walked around looking at more of New York’s bountiful beautiful people. Fashion models were teeming in the streets, all there for the big fall fashion shows. Peter and I had delicious Mexican food for lunch, and then coffee and chai tea at a café.

Around 3:30 I took a subway up to midtown to meet the Cohens at MOMA. The new MOMA (which typically charges $20 to get in but is free on Friday afternoons) was fabulous. And the Cezanne and Pissarro paintings blew me away. The two painters were friends and collaborators for many years, often painting the same scenes side by side. The curator did a fine job of grouping the similar paintings, or the paintings that spoke to one another. The museum was packed, of course, since it was free. But after two days in NYC—overstuffed subway cars, gallery crowds, elevators—I’d gotten a bit more used to the proximity and abundance of my fellow man.

Then it was back down to Peter’s place on Horatio Street, where he was working on a new long poem, an elegy to his uncle, who committed suicide this past summer by jumping off the roof of his apartment building in New York. It was a moving draft, and I had him read it alouod. An hour later Sharen arrived and the three of us took a cab to Peter’s favorite sushi place. We had a feast. It was the best sushi I’ve ever had. And lots of it. Then we walked around the East Village, making our way to Rice Dreams, a great rice pudding joint. By that time we were all pooped and we took a cab back to Peter’s neighborhood. I gave Sharen a ride to her car on 33rd, and zoomed back to New Jersey feeling glad to have had a nice bite out of the Big Apple.

I may head back to Manhattan this morning to meet the Cohens at their street sale. The whole block of 43rd Street will be having a huge outdoor sale today. Tonight it’s dinner with several colleagues at a Vietnamese restaurant in Englewood. I’m sure getting a good dose of tasty food and good company while I’m here in civilization.

As fun as it’s been, I can’t wait to fetch Gussie from the kennel on Sunday evening (I find myself looking for him beside me) and get back to the redolent peace of the Dutch Henry Homestead and my daily writing routine.