Screens

 

The Big Apple is home to countless subterranean Metro stations. Descend the stairs to any and you’ll behold another Wonder of the World - one node of a ‘mycelia mesh’ of iron rails which for a couple of bucks are capable of transporting subway cars to all points in this mega-city. Aside from being awestruck by the sheer complexity of this 24/7/365 functioning network, down there you never know what or who you’ll encounter. 

Perhaps it’ll be an uber-talented busker who with a lucky break could easily be above ground entertaining on Broadway or in Carnegie Hall. If it’s not a performer you’re marveling at, there’s always the default of laying back to savor some prime people watching as hordes of all stripes disgorge from and then cram into the arriving cars.  

But one thing you’ll rarely encounter is a rider with eyes not laser locked  on a screen.

That’s why, while recently waiting for the 181st Street downtown A-train, I was captivated by a nattily dressed gent, who may not even own a phone, smart or otherwise, deeply engaged with his newspaper - yes, a news-PAPER!  

OK you say, reading in subways is not deemed atypical for folks of a certain age, but how about the outlier sight of a commuting GenZer with one hand strap-hanging while reading a book in her other hand, and turning pages ! That’s precious.

Next time you make use of public transportation, glance at fellow travelers. It’s a safe bet almost all will be immersed in their screens. The phenomenon is universal, and not confined to NYC. 

Where is this trend inexorably going, and what are the implications? I was shocked to get a glimpse of what that future might be. I first sensed it last fall grabbing some ‘chill time’ hiking around Walden Pond, a serene oasis in nearby Concord MA. 

The Pond is where transcendentalist writer/philosopher Henry David Thoreau spent two years living a spartan life communing 

with nature. That’s why my communing experience was shattered upon seeing the prominent sculpture of the poet ‘enhanced’ with a prop casting him in a ‘comment about our world’ pose. 

Is Thoreau demonstrating who we’re becoming? Is it also conceivable that if he were here now he too would have sipped the Kool-aid and succumbed to the addition of the screen? 

Another visionary, sculptor Federico Clapis, offered his answer. To get it I first had to travel part way around the world to the MoCo Museum in Amsterdam. 

Federico’s answer is an ominous, ‘Yes’.

Mr. Clapis envisions a frightening endpoint of the constant attachment to our phone screens. He sees it resulting in our digital personae, not our human relationships and interpersonal skills, defining us and becoming dominant in the genes of our species.

He fears we will lose that which makes us warm-blooded, empathetic human beings. He fears we will become our screens. Federico may be on to something.

Perhaps he remembered an episode from his early Bible classes. It’s the story of Lot’s wife, who despite admonition looks the wrong way as she flees the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah and is immediately turned into a pillar of salt, effectively stone.

If we continue on the current path of ‘looking the wrong way’, i.e., overdosing on screens, will we too turn into stone. 

Will you?

images © David Greenfield

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The Organ Recital

Preamble:

When the idea for this blog first popped into my head, I was feeling fine. No cold, flu, Covid, not even a sniffle. My daily focus was on all the Eveready Bunny energized stuff I could do each day. Then, dreaded symptoms of a ‘cold’ unceremoniously descended, blossomed, and lasted far too long. The theme no longer seemed right. It only applies to those not dealing with matters of health. If you don’t have your health, you don't have anything. Regaining it becomes Job #1, the work is 24/7, and all consuming. That said, feel free to read on.

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Shoulders, knees, hips, and

shoulders knees, hips.

Now move deeper. 

Visualize your heart as it beats, 

slide down to the kidneys, 

cruise through your colon, 

then roll down each vertebra of your spine.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, this is not an anatomy lesson, nor set of yoga routines for a full body holistic workout. Yoga produces a feeling of invigoration. What I outlined does not. They’re actually bullet points of body part afflictions serving as conversation starters for too many folks in my age demographic. Many comically call this ‘The Organ Recital’. The performance however is not to be confused with uplifting symphony hall-type musical entertainment. 

During these ‘Organ Recitals’ every conversant typically has a story to contribute, and some levity does usually infuse the discourse. But at its core the conversation is a downer. 

It doesn’t have to be this way. 

Why?

The answer my friend is not blowing in the wind. I found it searching for something which I now can’t remember. What I did discover was a well-worn dusty file box tucked away in the corner of a seldomly used bookcase. Eureka! Within were dozens of letters, postcards, even telegrams from times long ago and places far away, a virtual treasure trove of memorabilia. 

Postmarks were from a time when members of today’s ‘recital demographic’ were fresh faced young adults exploring the world and staking out next steps in life. Unlike Pandora’s Box of mythology, opening this box did not unleash curses, but rather a cure - a motivational GPS for today. 

Consider …..

Recently hobnobbing at an exhibit reception, my wife and I overheard a guest mentioning she found her 70s to be the most exciting time of her life. 

 

What, no ‘recital’, just excitement? 

We had to break into the conversation and discover her secret sauce. Unfortunately the opportunity slipped away before closing time. The gallery owner, an accomplished professional photographer who knew the woman well and had the key, proceeded to unlock the secret to her excitement. 

Like his ‘excited with 70s guest’, he too was of the same demographic and was finding fresh ways to remain engaged and energized. He recounted how back in the day he was regularly in the air crisscrossing the globe on assignment. When that no longer was his cup of tea, he set up a stylish Cambridge photography gallery, continuing to keep his finger on the pulse of the profession.

Aha! We discovered the sauce recipe - no exotic ingredients, no magic potions. Everyone can make some and no two sauces will be the same.  

stock photo

The Recipe:

Look past the ‘organ recital’ half-empty water glass to refocus on all the new possibilities in the half-full part, then dive in. Maybe your cup of tea is travel, or learning, or volunteering to repair the world, or whatever. In fact, maybe it’s actually something you’re already doing in your Chapter II Life. Just do it with a different mindset, and don’t leave it on the dark side of the road where the recital is playing. 

Which leads me to this concluding story ….

Pickleball is my court game now. It used to be tennis. Back then, I was in an active mens doubles group. One guy, Charlie, had to drop out at a summer’s start due to an eye injury. When he surprisingly reappeared toward season’s end, fellow players wanted to hear his story. Charlie, kind of a free spirit always quick with a touch of wit, recounted the following: “50 may be the new 30, and 60 may be the new 40,  but 70 is definitely  the new 90!” 

Charlie’s stand up monologue was chuckle-worthy at the time, but going forward it won’t be my mantra. To make the 70s the most exciting of times, I’m sticking with a Shakespearean view, ’the world is my oyster’. There are pearls out there. You too can join the hunt.

photos © David Greenfield

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Lifting the Fog

 

‘She was always just there - at piano recitals, every holiday, and every graduation ceremony. She was a pillar of my life, a constant I took for granted as young people tend to do. I didn’t start to fully understand or appreciate her until my youthful fog lifted’. 

words of tribute from JP, her youngest granddaughter, when the family gathered to be with one another and bid a last farewell. 

JP and her 'pillar'

‘…. until my youthful fog lifted …..’ 

Recently at her service, there was no shortage of heartfelt, heartwarming words offered. But JP’s words stuck, like the jingle in your head that won’t quit, akin to a meteorologic fog descending to blanket the earth and  refusing to dissipate. 

Lifting the fog to fully understand and appreciate what we have is such a good and valuable action. Unfortunately it is often not done or done too late. As 2025 begins, lifting the fog has an even greater imperative. More on this later … 

For now, who was the pillar?

She was born Rachel Faust in the Polish town Przeworsk in 1927 - don’t bother trying to pronounce the name, it takes years of dedicated, tongue-twisting practice. Born Rachel, she lived part of her life as Helena Krokos, the illegitimate daughter of a cousin’s Catholic housekeeper.  

Rachel owes her long life to Ms. Krokos whose birth certificate she was more than fortunate to obtain in 1943. The document allowed her to pose as a non-Jew and survive deportations and certain death in Nazi occupied Eastern Europe. Then for the next eighty years she was Helen Gruenfeld, wife to Martin, another Holocaust survivor with a fancy dance step complemented by an unquenchable spark for life. They fell in love at a post-war Displaced Persons camp in Austria.  

She was beautiful, elegant, strong, intelligent, brave, and loving. Always impeccably dressed, she worked and drove until her nineties, read voraciously and ... she was untouchable in head to head Scrabble matches. 

She was the matriarch, my aunt, and now the last of our family’s survivor generation. JP’s older sister expressed it best, ‘we are who we are because she was who she was’. May her life be as a blessing.

Now, back into the fog and lifting it for 2025 …..

 

Realizing I’m not speaking for everyone, I know I share the same whole body emotional deflation as a large cohort, those who worked tirelessly throughout the 2024 election season to achieve a forward vision for the country and the world different from that of the incoming administration. 

© Marek Bennett 2024

We were in shock as the votes were tallied. There were no exit ramps for a different outcome paved by either hanging chads or ‘found’ boxes of ballots. It was clear we lost. What previously had been unimaginable had just become reality for the next four years. A dense, seemingly impenetrable fog of dread enveloped us. We became immobilized. How could we move forward?

Then the fog lifted.

The way forward for now is embracing what JP realized about her grandma Helen when her youthful fog lifted. It may feel formulaic, but appreciate all that you have, and do it now. Start with the inner circle of family then gradually widen the circle. End in reengaging with the many struggles to repair our world. There'll be plenty for you to do later.

As Yogi said, “it ain’t over until it’s over”. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

all non vintage images © David Greenfield