The Corona Diaries: Day Fifty-Four

Gershwin to Queen. Now there’s a jump.

But, if you take into account my classical music background, it makes sense. When I heard Bohemian Rhapsody for the first time, I could not get enough of it. This was the era of the rock opera, after all, and Bohemian Rhapsody had the operatic trait in spades. In fact, it has been called a “mini opera,” in that it has high emotions, a complex plot, and arias, as well as a chorus.

Also, I connected with the classical-style narrative of the melody. It told a story and took me on a journey.

There’s the connection between classical and rock.

The Corona Diaries: Day Fifty-Three

 An American In Paris.

Where to even begin. To say that Gershwin would be the gateway to jazz is oversimplifying the point. Because Gershwin and Joplin both opened my eyes to the European tradition meeting the New World. However, an important point: in the 1970s it was all about access. Because I was too young to have collected LPs in the glory days of classic jazz, which my parents had not listened to, my only exposure to non-classical music was through the movies. This was before I started buying my own albums at Disc-O-Mat for $4.49 each.

An American In Paris would have been one such film where I saw the film, which also contains classical and jazz, as well. 

And then there was pianist Oscar Levant, who was in a category all by himself…  

One important point about Gershwin is that the soundtrack to Manhattan is also one of my favorite film scores ever. It is simply perfection (but I only get ten albums, so I just had to toss a coin re: An American In Paris vs. Manhattan).  

The Corona Diaries: Day Fifty-Two

In the early 1970s, my parents took me to see The Sound of Music at Radio City Music Hall. This soundtrack would become the gateway album for musical theatre and many future shows that I would passionately fall in love with such as My Fair Lady, West Side Story, and Oklahoma. It should also be mentioned that The Sound of Music became the film, with its open-air scene of the glorious Swiss Alps, that began whetting my appetite for travel. Oklahoma, with its Big-Sky-country scenes and endless blue sky, was another such film.

In my pre-pandemic world of Broadway outings, I was lucky enough to see absolutely fabulous productions of The Pajama Game, Most Happy Fella, and Guys and Dolls, with none other than Nathan Lane and Peter Gallagher.

Sigh…

The Corona Diaries: Day Fifty One

The soundtrack to The Sting changed my musical life. It became the crossover between classical and jazz, the marvelous and mysterious world that lay ahead. The following is from an essay I wrote about the experience, called Why Not?

When I was seven I saw The Sting. 

           We lived in Manhattan -- in Yorkville. The movie was playing at the UA East, on the ground floor of our apartment building. I went with my parents, and, in my memory, it was the first film I saw that was not made for children. Before, there was A Charlie Brown Christmas, then The Sound of Music.

            I loved everything about it -- the costumes, the setting (yes, I noticed them), Robert Redford and Paul Newman (who wouldn’t?) but, most of all I loved the music.

            I had never heard Ragtime – originally written for the piano, the syncopated rhythms were completely new to me. I was transported, to another place, away from the four-lane highway that was First Avenue in the 1970s. Also, there was an uplifting spirit about Ragtime – which came from the march and evolved into dance music. If I was in a bad mood, listening to Ragtime snapped me out of it. 

            Ragtime seemed to bridge the classical music my parents listened to on WQXR and jazz, which I heard in old, black-and-white movies they watched. My parents were not professional musicians but, in what spare time they had, my father played piano while my mother sang opera. Perhaps, as a way of connecting with my newfound musical tastes, my father bought the soundtrack and score to The Sting and even learned to play Solace.

            I was enamored. I especially loved The Entertainer and fantasized I could play it one day myself. I was a lazy piano student, however, and knew this would probably never happen. My father was the pianist and I would never play like him. Knowing how much was entailed in becoming a musician, he didn’t push me to become one. 

The Corona Diaries: Day Fifty

Can it be that we’ve been in lockdown for 50 days? It doesn’t seem possible.

However, onto the more joyous topic of music. My parents only listened to classical radio, on WQXR and WNCN, and on records. My father, a Juilliard-trained pianist, was particularly enamored of Schubert, Brahms, and Mendelsohn. And then there was Beethoven. He was in a whole other category.

While, for me, Tchaikovsky was somehow much more accessible, I found Beethoven complex and overwhelming. My love for him would not develop until adulthood. With the exception of the Symphony Number Six, the “Pastorale,” which I found simply sublime. As a New York City kid, the Pastorale took me to places I had never been and exposed me to sounds I could only dream of.

All these years later, it has the same effect on me. Thankfully, I’ve spent a lot of time in the country, so I can safely say I appreciate it even more. 

On some level, I’ve been collecting classical albums my whole life. If I have only two to pick, the above serve as a gateway to all the others that would come with time.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Nine

A friend asked me about the ten albums that have most influenced me. Talk about something to celebrate. Music. Ah, where to even begin…

If I had to choose the first album that I connected with -- one that, yes, belonged to my only-classical-music parents but that spoke to me, as well -- it would be Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, in B-flat minor, played by Vladimir Ashkenazy and conducted by Lorin Maazel.

Released by Decca in 1963, this recording encompasses all levels of emotion, from the most dramatic to the extremely delicate. While it is an unusual pick for a child who was not smitten with the performance bug – more on that later – it really makes sense. 

After all, doesn’t childhood encompass many different emotions? Some over the course of 20 minutes, the length of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto…

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Eight

This week I celebrate.

Because, amidst the sadness, there is much to revel in. Maya has finished university (and will, hopefully, have her graduation ceremony in November), my father has recovered from his fall last October, and spring is here.

Although we only had two days of sun sandwiched in between the rain this week, the temperature is divine and everything in Brooklyn continues to bloom. And, New York City has opened up seven miles of streets this weekend, allowing for more people to walk while socially distancing. Now Prospect Park seems wider, as more people can enjoy its glories from afar.

In New Orleans there is the tradition of the Second Line – a celebration of life and death. This week begins my Second Line – it’s time to appreciate all that is good out there. 

Even in a pandemic.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Seven

“Courage, Mademoiselle. There is always something to live for.” – Hercule Poirot ( Agatha Christie’s Peril at End House)

Poirot, in his marvelous Belgian accent, often counseled his clients to be courageous. And if there is any character who defined my children’s television childhoods it was Hercule Poirot. Maria and the girls must have watched every Poirot episode together when the girls were staying with her on the hill, and the library, in town, had them in their collection, as well.

While some of the comic moments in Poirot – think when Poirot rescues Chief Inspector Japp from his Christmas-carol-singing-in-laws in Hercule Poirot’s Christmas – are many, there is a serious side to Poirot, the one that survived Word War I, and is capable of extraordinary self-discipline, that reminds me of Maria. One of the stories Maria once told me in the dark, and terrifying days after 9/11, when I was feeling rather guilty about having brought children into the world, concerned her parents in the aftermath of World War II. When her mother complained about something that her father deemed utterly inconsequential, he would ask her, “Are you dead yet?” This was his way of asking her whether this, whatever this was, was worth complaining about. Basically, he was saying keep calm, carry on, and stop complaining. We survived the war and you have a home, clean water, and food on the table. Done.

While Maria did not ask me whether I was ‘dead yet?’, which probably would not have gone over very well, she did tell me that I have to face whatever scared me dead on, and that I had the courage to do so. I, of course, did not believe her for a minute. She also told me something I had never heard, which is that the things we fear are usually not the things that happen to us.

As the mysterious days after 9/11 turned into the agonizing months and years of U.S. entry into the Iraq War, Maria became more rooted in her principles. She railed against the political situation and reminded everyone who would listen that war was never the answer. Take it from her, she knew. And, one day, she said that she would die for these principles. In my lifetime, I had never met one person who had said this.

Now that takes courage.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Six

Maria was positively regal.

With her head held high, perfect posture, and always a great hat, she came across as a woman from another era. An image I have of her is driving us across the Manhattan Bridge to do something or other in town, perhaps take the girls to their pediatrician. As I turned and looked at her, I wondered about the incongruity of the scene with this formidable woman, in a hat and elegant earrings, driving her Lincoln Town car on the bridge, with the towers of Chinatown behind her. Maybe I thought she should be in the back seat and there should be a driver in the front?

But as stylish as Maria was she was completely down to earth. Illustrated by the fact that she once drove us to Save On Fifth, my favorite five-and-dime, and waited for us across the street while we shopped. As we came out of the store we watched as a man tried to hail Maria’s Lincoln – Town Cars such as hers, back in the day, were most often found in New York as an alternative to yellow taxi cabs.

Had she not had her family to drive home, I have no doubt that Maria would have accepted a fare from a total stranger to get him to his destination. Then she would have bought something for the girls with the money she had earned.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-FIve

“Pretty good for an Italian standby that has been sailing along under the media radar for nearly 90 years. Who are these people? “ ‘Ninety percent regulars,’ ” said my waiter. “ ‘Some people who live in the neighborhood, some people who used to live in the neighborhood. Same old faces.’ ” – Eater NY

Maria didn’t do trendy, as she liked to say, and Gene’s is not trendy.

The West Village restaurant, which has been in business since 1919, became a tradition one year when Maria and her husband, Stanley drove up for visit. I don’t know how they found out about Gene’s; perhaps Stanley knew about it, having been a Depression-era kid from Queens. Whatever its provenance, we were hooked.

As old-school Italian as it gets, Gene’s plays no music, is intimate, and has 1950s-style Venetian-scene murals on the walls. I always pictured Grace Kelly and Jimmy Stewart dropping in for a bite, when they weren’t holed up in his apartment around the corner in Rear Window. And in very Miss Lonelyhearts style, my dear friend Jonathan and I once sat at the bar and watched a woman try to fend off the advances of the man sitting next to her. We rallied against her leaving Gene’s with him, but sadly we lost.

I can’t count how many birthdays, graduations, and get-togethers with old friends we’ve had at Gene’s. I couldn’t bear to think of them not being there when we emerge from this darkness.

And then, I mustered up my courage and went on their website. Open for take-out, they were running a Go Fund Me campaign for their employees. The goal? $10,000, As of yesterday? They had raised $11, 140.

“Thank you all so much for your generous donations! We have reached the goal of $10,000, and I am in the middle of distributing to our workers. This experience has certainly been humbling, as my appreciation for everyone involved with Gene's (including patrons, and employees) has been reaffirmed so many times over. The genuine compassion and sincerity that you have shown us has been at times overwhelming.” – David Ramirez, Owner Gene’s.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Four

One of the things the fierce and formidable women of yesteryear knew how to do was sew.

My mother was a master seamstress who taught me basic sewing skills as a child. I wish I had learned more. I am working on an essay about some of my fondest childhood memories, sitting and sewing with my mother.

It took me many years to come back to sewing; not surprisingly my inspiration came from literature, and the wonderful Lucia Sartori, fashion apprentice at B. Altman, in   Adriana Trigiani’s, Lucia, Lucia. 

It began with a purchase of some beautiful straight pins that came in a box. I had no idea where I was going with this as I didn’t even own a sewing machine and had to borrow one from my daughter, who wasn’t using hers. Several years and many missteps later, I am the proud owner of a sewing machine I love dearly and have created a mock-up practice, where I buy a basic pattern and cut and sew the garment from muslin. If there is one thing my mother would have scorned, it would be the waste of good fabric. So, far, I’ve made a circle skirt and a simple dress. I tried a Vintage Vogue 1950s dress, which was something of a disaster. Story for another day. 

Recently I’ve learned to make masks, from a pattern in The New York Times. Luckily I had tons of muslin that I was going to make a mock ball gown with for a fancy affair this spring. Needless to say, that got cancelled.

The act of sewing, whether by hand or machine is grounding. I have to focus, otherwise mistakes will be made. It is also soothing. There is nothing I find more comforting than a Sunday afternoon, getting lost in the world of tissue paper patterns, bobbins and spools of thread. And I love the sound of scissors cutting across a table.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Three

One of the things Maria loved to do was take the girls to the County Fair in August. This became a time-honored tradition, one which I hope we can keep up this year.

I will never forget the first time I visited the 4H barn with the girls and saw children -- small children -- tending their animals such as goats, rabbits, or ponies. These workers helped out on their family farms and were expected to do so from a young age.

It reminded me that, by the time my mother went to work at the United Nations, she slowly taught me how to clean the house and prepare basic meals for my father and myself. At age ten, I was able to cook, clean, and go to the market to run errands.

This was expected of me and I certainly was not paid for it. An allowance? What was that?

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-Two

Is idleness the root of all evil? Maria thought so.

I had never met a woman who was more programmed in free time. There was bread to bake, and cards to make, to say nothing of gardening. 

And this applied to the children. My girls were lucky enough to spends weeks of their summer vacation at Maria’s home in the hills of Virginia. However, there was very little idle time. From the age of four, they were expected to get up and make their beds, put away their dishes after breakfast, feed the cats, help Maria with her errands, and pull weeds in the garden. And they were not paid.

Did they bristle at this? Most definitely. Did they learn how to work? Absolutely.

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty-One

Ah, those fierce formidable women of yesteryear. Is there anything they couldn’t harness? 

“Whatever you do, do not waste time, my mother once told me.” I really have no idea how it came up -- in fact I think the statement came out of nowhere. I have a vague memory that I was a young adult, but still living at home. Possibly that awkward period when you are in college but still coming home for summer vacation. But this statement, which seemingly had no justification to anyone other than my mother, has haunted me for my whole adult life. There is nothing I hate more than wasted time.

And my late mother-in-law, Maria? Well, she simply took the idea of harnessing time and turned it into an art form. Where to begin...

Her day began with boiling water to brew her pot of tea. In the meantime, she unloaded the dishwasher. Next she poured herself her first cup of tea and went into her study to quietly sit in her rocking chair. This was a time for meditation or reading spiritual material. 

When the rest of the house started rising, she would go into her bedroom to dress and put up her hair (in an updo that I could not begin to describe -- neither bun nor twist -- it was simply Maria). And the sterling silver hair implement that held it in place? All I can say is that it looked like something that only the Art Nouveau period could have come up with. 

Breakfast was a time to talk about dreams – Maria had studied dream interpretation and loved to discuss them with each person at the table. Afterwards, when dishes were done, it was time for a quick phone call and to head into town for errands. Unless it was Sunday, in which case, Maria drove to Quaker Meeting.

And the errands…suffice it to say that no one grocery store could withstand the Maria list. There had to be many. One store was for the meat, and another was for the produce. Tea and snacks from yet another. Oddly, Costco was the one store that Maria shopped at regularly. Needless to say, her cart looked like no one else’s.

After errands, it was time for lunch and rest. Maria was religious about rest. She would lie on the couch, by the window where the sun came in, and read her mail and the newspapers. At 4 PM there was tea. Then the preparations for dinner began around 5 PM, at which time she would listen to the news on NPR.

Where is this formidable woman of yesteryear when we need her? I can’t help thinking that not much would have changed in Maria’s daily schedule if she were in quarantine. A pandemic? What’s that? Oh, simply more time to read the newspaper and debate the lunacy going on in the world. 

How would this day be different from any other? 

The Corona Diaries: Day Forty

“You must be strong.” – Alla Gutoff

“You have to face whatever scares you and deal with it head on.” – Maria Prytula

“To be human is to be tested over and over, and we usually need abundant help from others.” -- Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright

What the three quotes above have in common is that these statements were made by women who survived World War II. The first two, my late mother, as well as my mother-in-law, began life in the chaos of Stalin’s Soviet Union.

Not surprisingly, there was no typical small-child complaining when I was growing up. This simply got shut down with a “Oh, yes? Are you unhappy with your warm house, clean water, plentiful food, and new clothing?”

Of course, this Keep Calm and Carry On ethos is problematic for a whole host of reasons. Humans have to express themselves. In the long run, however, I did learn how to have an attitude of gratitude. It just took a long time to get there.

What I also gained from my very imperfect upbringing is that I had the strength, even though I didn’t believe it for one minute, to survive anything that came my way. “…I do think that we are a lot tougher and more capable of moral courage than cynics suggest, and that we benefit from the survivors among us,” says Madeline Albright, “…it is in the abnormal times that we learn the most about ourselves and others.”

My late mother-in-law said “You have to face whatever scares you…” in the days after 9/11, when I truly had no idea how to navigate my new reality while parenting young children. Maria was truly a woman who faced every challenge with courage and grace.

I refer to such women as the fierce and formidable women of yesteryear.

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/12/opinion/madeleine-albright-coronavirus.html

The Corona Diaries: Day Thirty-Nine

Yesterday was a good day.

The sun came out and I took a walk to the South Slope, Fifth and Eighth. A great block; there’s the veterinarian’s office, a grocery store, Leopoldi Hardware , Ocean Fish market, and my beloved Save On Fifth. And each one was open. 

This is the kind of old New York block my late mother in law, Maria Prytula, loved. It was, and thank God, still is, basic. There’s nothing trendy here, which Maria could not stand about gentrifying New York, and everything is immediately identifiable. I like to keep things simple and I want to know that I can get my milk, eggs and bread at a grocery store and aspirin, stockings and a steno pad at Save On Fifth. Park Slope, and indeed all of New York, is crawling with retail spaces that you cannot identify the mission of. Places with names that tell you nothing about what the business does, with a chic mirror and chair seen through the window. If you couldn’t figure out what this kind of establishment did before the pandemic, you certainly can’t figure it out now, as the place is shuttered, like all the others. 

Yet the block on Fifth and Eighth was teeming with activity yesterday afternoon. Everyone was distancing as best they could and the folks at the front of the store were wearing the plastic shields over their faces. “Have you been open this whole time?” I asked the man behind the counter. “Yes, the whole time,” he said. Turns out I was calling before they opened (to be fair, they had no voice mail message, proving how truly old school they are).

Oh, did my mood improve. They had elastic for mask making, clear garbage bags for recycling, and Scotch tape for collage. I never buy candy anymore yet yesterday, I even threw in a Werther’s Toffee for the heck of it.

Okay, they were out of Vitamin C. But so is everyone else, so I’ll happily forgive them for that.

The Corona Diaries: Day Thirty-Eight

Signs of life.

A walk down Sixth Avenue. I hear someone practicing the flute from an upper window. Note to self: write essay on the New York rear window sounds of yesteryear — the musician rehearsing. My destination: Ocean Fish Market, to see if they are open. I hold out no hope. And then, on this bright and sunny spring day, I discover that not only is the market open, but that my beloved Save On Fifth, my mini Five-and-Dime, the store I’ve shopped at since I moved to the Slope in 1987, with its lovely owners always greeting me from the counter, is open. The price of admission? That I wear my mask. 

Done. 

The Corona Diaries: Day Thirty-Seven

“Among the intangible losses: A vast network of cherished spaces that sociologists refer to as “third places” — those beloved destinations between home and work where ideas are exchanged, relationships are forged, and communities are strengthened. Think cafes. Bars. Bookstores.” – Jennifer Senior, The New York Times

And my list continues…

The gift shop at the Tenement Museum

The hair counter at C. O. Bigelow Chemists

The bird sanctuary at Jamaica Bay

The Good Humor cart at the John Jay pool

The Webster branch of the New York Public Library

The tiny antique shop on East 78th Street  

The following article is both hopeful and heartbreaking…

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/19/opinion/small-business-coronavirus.html

The Corona Diaries: Day Thirty-Six

Today it is dark…in the middle of the afternoon. It is raining and there are high winds. 

Later, the sun comes out and, as I walk the dog, I hear a small child having a screaming meltdown.

I can’t imagine what this is like for parents of small children…

The Corona Diaries: Day Thirty-Five

Today’s destination: the mailbox. Across town.

I needed to mail a letter and I needed to get some exercise. So, I walked for forty-five minutes to a mailbox in a completely different part of the neighborhood. I’m going to need to do more of this to shake things up.

Here are more of my favorite New York destinations:

The boardwalk at Jacob Riis Park

Tacos in the Rockaways

Carvel cones on the beach

The East River and Carl Schurz Park

The Café Sabarsky at the Neue Gallery

Window shopping at Ralph Lauren 

The fountain at Columbus Circle