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I
admit this photo hasn't much to do with gender identity or any related issue. I took it on Point Lookout, one of the places to which I rode my bike last week.
But
somehow it seems right for a Sunday afternoon in summer. And I suppose
it has something like composition and a balance of tones in it. Even
if it doesn't, I hope you like it.
Parisians
and psychotherapists disappear for the month of August. Sometimes I
think of myself as a Parisian in spirit,even though I haven't been in
eight years, but I have no illusions of being a psychotherapist. So
what's my excuse for being somewhat conspicuously absent this month?
Well,
I've managed to be busy with other things, including writing projects.
Hopefully they'll remunerate me; for now I find them rewarding. And,
frankly, when I haven't been doing those things--or riding or playing
with my cats--I've felt drained, spiritually and emotionally exhausted.
The pastor of the church I started attending a few months ago says I'm
healing. She's right.
Still,
I've managed, in the past week, to ride to Point Lookout (Nothing like a
few hours riding Arielle to make me feel lithe!) and to take a few
shorter rides--and to record a few things along the way.
I'll start with something I saw on my way home from some volunteer work:
Sometimes
I think archaeology is the step between destruction and forgetfulness.
At least, that's how things seem to work in New York. Sometimes, when a
building is torn down, a long-concealed sign, like the one in the
photo, is revealed.
What
particularly intrigued me was the bottom inscription: "Separate
Waiting room for women." Talk about a relic! My undergraduate college
went co-ed only four years before I enrolled in it. And, boys and girls
entered my Catholic elementary school through separate entrances: a
practice that was abandoned a couple of years after my family moved
away.
Given
that I lived as a male until ten years ago, it's hard for me not to
wonder and imagine what my life would have been like had I entered
through the girls' and women's doors. Of course, had I lived in such a
world, I would not have attended the college from which I graduated. In
fact, I might not have attended any college at all.
In those times, I probably would not have witnessed this:
The
stretch of Brooklyn waterfront between the Brooklyn and Manhattan
Bridges has been turned into a lovely park. Not long ago, it was
off-limits, as the neighborhood around it--DUMBO--still consisted of
functioning and recently-ceased manufacturing and warehousing. This
stretch of waterfront, like so much of the rest of New York's
shorelines, was used in various ways by those industries. In fact, most
New Yorkers had little or no inclination to spend any time by the
water, as it was associated with rough trades and characters. Fifth
Avenue became Manhattan's most-desired address in part because, of all
of the island's avenues, it is furthest from the East and Hudson Rivers.
Ah, but some things don't change:
That's one reason why I--and Arielle and, on occasion, Tosca--like to take a spin to Point Lookout.
The other night we had a "super full moon." Higher-than-normal tides usually come with it. What that means is that when the tides recede, they leave even more sandbars exposed than are usually seen when the tide is out.
These above photo, and the ones that follow, come from Point Lookout, where I rode yesterday.
It seemed that everyone there was happy. Why wouldn't they be? The overcast sky opened to bright sunshine, and everything seemed so peaceful. I pedalled into some wind on my way out there, but that meant an easier ride home.
Isn't that what everybody wants?
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