Monthly Archives: May 2018

Edvard Grieg, “Heimweh” (Homesickness)

 

https://rogersgleanings.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/12-homesick.mp3?_=1

 

Posted here is a short piano piece by the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg (1843–1907): “Heimweh” (Homesickness).

It is one of the Lyric Pieces (Norwegian: Lyriske stykker), a collection of 66 short pieces for solo piano written by Grieg over a period spanning the years 1867 to 1901 and published in ten volumes. “Heimweh” was part of Book VI, Op. 57, comprised of six pieces published in 1893.

The piece intrigues me. Besides being emotionally engaging and completely descriptive, there is the contrast between the mournful opening theme, which expresses so well the feeling of homesickness, with a brief interlude of energetic, seemingly cheerful music, followed again by the opening theme.

I realized quite a while ago when I purchased CD’s of Grieg’s complete piano music, and also of his songs, that he excels in miniature works. His music is very “pictorial.” It is anything but abstract — I guess one would say — and is the polar opposite of works by “cerebral” composers such as ______ (Bach? Stravinsky? I am sure you readers of this post can come up with better examples).

Enjoy the piece.

 

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There is an excellent article by New York Times critic Anthony Tommasini:

respect at last for grieg

“Respect at Last for Grieg?”

The New York Times

September 16, 2007

which strongly makes the case for Grieg.

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

mothers (and babies) in prison

 

re:

“Raising babies behind bars: A bold experiment in parenting and punishment is allowing children in prison. But is that a good thing?”

by Justin Jouvenal

The Washington Post

May 11, 2018

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/local/wp/2018/05/11/feature/prisons-are-allowing-mothers-to-raise-their-babies-behind-bars-but-is-the-radical-experiment-in-parenting-and-punishment-a-good-idea/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.b4e939ea676a

 

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The article notes:

Hundreds of pregnant women give birth while serving time each year. Most of them must endure the horrible experience of giving up their newborn almost immediately after the baby is born. Can you imagine how devastating emotionally this must be?

Destiny Doud, featured in the Washington Post article, is serving a 12-year sentence for bringing methamphetamine across the Illinois state line. Her daughter Jaelynn’s father is also in prison. He got a lengthy sentence for meth trafficking.

Ms. Doud and her daughter are in the Decatur Correctional Center in Illinois. Ms. Doud was allowed to participate in a Moms and Babies program at the prison, which allows some incarcerated women who give birth in custody to keep their newborn infants with them while they serve their sentences.

The children are allowed to leave the prison only to attend pediatrician appointments.

The practice of shackling pregnant women during childbirth is common in prisons, although some states have done away with it.

 

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My thoughts:

Prison is not the place for these babies. Or their mothers.

Which is not to say, if they have been incarcerated, that mothers should be separated from their babies. (Or fathers. What about them?)

Destiny Doud is a drug addict. (The article notes that she has been participating in a treatment program at the prison). She attempted to finance her addiction by selling drugs. This is NOT a horrible crime, if it is a crime, notwithstanding how society views it.

How about compulsive gambling? Sexual addiction? Alcoholism? If we are going to treat drug addicts as the lowest of the low, deserving of draconian punishment — including the unspeakable, inhuman (note that I didn’t say inhumane) practice of separating mothers from their children (and imagine what harm it does emotionally to the children), why aren’t other addicts treated the same way?

I had a neighborhood friend growing up whose mother was an alcoholic. He lived with his birth mother and a stepfather. The mother’s behavior at times was probably embarrassing to him, because she would be observed totally drunk and falling down in public.

Should she have been locked up to “teach her a lesson.” To remove a “scourge” like her from society? Depriving my friend of a parent. I guess you might say, she drank mostly in the privacy of her home and wasn’t a “rum runner.” Whereas Destiny Doud, featured in the article, was not only an addict; she was caught trying to transport drugs across state lines for the purpose of making a sale. Let’s say she had succeeded. She would have enabled other addicts to procure drugs and would have made money, which she needed to support her habit. Not edifying behavior, but was the harm done to society (or that might have been done; she was stopped and arrested) such that she should have been subjected to practically the cruelest punishment, short of a gruesome death, that a woman can be subjected to?

 

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As I argued in my post “drugs”

https://rogersgleanings.com/2017/02/23/drugs/

 

Addictions are not pretty and have harmful consequences, mostly for the individual. They can harm that person emotionally and financially and often have similar deleterious effects on one’s family and loved ones. They do minimal social harm and should not be treated as crimes. Singling out drug offenders for prosecution is wrong and harmful — to us, the public; to society, aside from the undeserved consequences for offenders. It has filled up our jails with mostly nonviolent offenders. The offenders in this horrible scenario are the prosecutors and jailers, not the supposed criminals.

 

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The following are some comments by readers of the Washington Post article:

 

And, you wonder why the “criminal justice” system can’t be reformed, if not done away with.

 

Let’s hope the reporter becomes the victim of theft then let’s see how “minor” he thinks it is. Wonder if he edited the copy the DNC sent him or filed the story verbatim.

 

Prison is exactly where these criminals should be. Prisons are expensive so they should be outsourced to Mexico.

 

Sounds like dumb solution. You don’t get special privileges for being a criminal.

 

No one is jailed for being addict. They are jailed after being found guilty of crimes.

 

Just as there is fake news there is fake research. Some goofy bleeding heart emotional marshmallow social worker fabricated research to reward junkies and pushers and other criminals so they can keep their babies in with them in prison. Never mind the harm it does to the kids and society to have criminals raising the kids.

 

— posted by Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

when a man is tired of New York …

 

“I suggested a doubt, that if I were to reside in London, the exquisite zest with which I relished it in occasional visits might go off, and I might grow tired of it. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.’ ”

— James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.

 

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Does repetition imply, mean, or equate to: Boredom? Weariness? Dullness?

By which I mean repeated experiences under known circumstances, such as what one experiences when one lives somewhere for a long time, or a lifetime.

Some people think that variety is the sine qua non. (“Been there, done that.”) They are constantly seeking excitement in new venues.

This is not necessarily, or not always, wrong.

But consider the following reflections of mine, based upon my own experience in New York City, where I have lived for nearly fifty years.

 

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I have my favorite haunts: the New York Public Library (the research library) at 42nd and Fifth; Central Park; the Staten Island Ferry; the Strand Bookstore; Grand Central Station; Carnegie Hall. I discovered these places — and also discovered how much I liked them over time — through word of mouth though my own peregrinations and repeated visits.

I know the best routes to walk. Just which ones produce the most pleasant “jaunting experience.” Which Manhattan avenue to take, for example, depending upon my mood and other circumstances. The best ways to get from Queens or Brooklyn to Manhattan by foot, with the most pleasant (and, conversely, least pleasant) avenues, neighborhoods, or bridges to walk on or through.

I know who are the most helpful reference librarians at the New York Public Library. I know that the main reading room is the place for me and have a favorite place to sit there. I know which entrance is best to use and where the elevators are.

I know the best items to choose on the menu at one of my and my wife’s favorite restaurants (which, of course, reflects my own preferences).

I know how often and at what times Staten Island ferries run.

I have other favorite places and establishments. Continually going to them works for me, and it will work for you.

 

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I first met my lifelong friend Bill Dalzell, who recently passed away, in the late 1960’s when I was employed in Manhattan. I was new to the City, and it was one of my first jobs.

Bill, like most Manhattanites, had been born and raised elsewhere. He had come to New York City in the 1950’s, at around the same age as I was when we met.

Bill absolutely loved New York. (He did, at a later age, move elsewhere.) He was always singing its praises.

The things that appealed to him about the City also appealed to me. The sense of freedom — no one watching you and (possibly) expressing disapproval of your activities; the fact that you could live alone or be alone — that it would not be considered abnormal* and you could find plenty of things to do alone and keep you interested even if you had no one else to do them with; the walkable streets; the awesome cultural resources (films, theaters, museums, and libraries).

Bill had his favorite haunts: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Thalia and Elgin movie houses, the Staten Island ferry, the automat. Years later, having lived in New York almost continuously since then, I have my own favorite places and things to do.

Bill loved to go to The Metropolitan Museum of Art on weekends. Admission was free back then. Upon arrival, he would go to the cafeteria and sit there for a couple of hours with a cup of coffee, in contemplation. Then he would visit his favorite exhibits. He said that the museum seemed like a cathedral to him and that going there was his equivalent of going to church.

He exulted over the fact that the New York Public Library’s main branch was open (then) 365 days a year, even on Christmas Day!

 

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Inner peace. Contemplation. That’s what you experience when you are comfortable somewhere (such as the Met Museum cafeteria or some other place, such as a park bench or an automat), as was the case with Bill musing over his cup of coffee; when you feel you belong. Being comfortable with the externals, from repeated experience, you can relax and not worry about them. And, in New York one often gets this feeling: that you belong there as much as anyone else. Besides a feeling of belonging, the comfort comes from knowing what to expect. And being able to anticipate pleasure, which is almost a given.

What is it about such places that makes one want to return again and again?

One thing I would assert is that it’s an automatic thing — sort of like (to use a buzzword) being on autopilot. Once you start going someplace a lot, you feel, naturally, at home there. You know how to get the most out of it. You know just what things about it you like best and how to savor and enjoy to the fullest those things.

Let’s say it’s the library. You will have your favorite divisions and rooms (in a large library like the main branch of the New York Public). You may know of certain staffers who are particularly helpful. You may like certain places to sit or even certain corridors and stairwells to use.

Say it’s the Oyster Bar Restaurant in Grand Central Station. You know which entrees you like the most and which of the available draft beers, and what they cost. You have your favorite waiters. You know where and in which room you like to be seated, and whether at a table or a counter (and then, which counter? there are more than one). You know which point of entry from the labyrinthine Grand Central Station is most convenient.

In Central Park, there are certain walkways and paths I like to take.

I know which points along the Brooklyn Bridge I like the best (the boardwalk, for example); the best ways to approach it as a pedestrian walking in Manhattan; the most fun things to do (talk with people or just observe them having a good time, which one can enjoy vicariously; take pictures; sit on a bench on the boardwalk, etc.).

The Strand Bookstore? I know where I want to browse. I know when it is open. I know how the books are arranged and in what sections.

The New York City subways? (I didn’t mention them before.) I know the best routes which involve the least hassle, the stations and lines to avoid and those that I prefer.

So, FAMILIARITY is a big factor.

As is REPETITION.

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

 

* Regarding the delicious sense of anonymity associated with living in New York — of being part of a crowd but not singled out — an experience I once had when living elsewhere seems relevant. I worked for about a year and a half at a psychiatric hospital in Stamford, Connecticut, a city not far from New York. One spring day, when walking home from work, I stopped in a park that was on my route. I sat there for a while — I think it was on a park bench — in contemplation. It was a leisurely walk home. The park was not crowded, as a New York City park usually would be, but it was not empty by any means.

A couple of days later, the head nurse on my ward said to me, “I saw you in the park the other day.” The park was about a half mile from the hospital and she had probably passed it on the way home. I could tell that her remark amounted to mild “disapproval.” She felt it was odd to see me sitting by myself in a park. If I had been with a friend or coworker, she would not have had thought anything unusual.

a modest Mother’s Day proposal

 

 

To make sure that no one feels left out.

And to build upon what Anna Jarvis started (a bogus holiday with no foundation in our cultural or religious traditions whatsoever).

What about a

Men’s Day?

Women’s Day?

Sons’ Day?

Daughters’ Day?

Children’s Day?

Toddlers’ Day?

Spouses’ Day?

Newlyweds’ Day?

Significant Others’ Day?

Best Friends’ Day?

Coworkers’ Day?

Grandparents’ Day?

Great-Grandparents’ Day?

Grandchildren’s Day?

Uncles’ Day?

Aunts’ Day?

Nephews’ and Nieces’ Day?

Cousins’ Day?

Senior Citizens’ Day?

Departed Loved Ones’ Day?

Ancestors’ Day?

Think of the commercial possibilities!

 

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 13, 2018

Carl Nielsen, “Min Jesus, lad mit Hjerte faa –” (hymn)

 

https://rogersgleanings.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/13-no-8-min-jesus-lad-mit-hjerte-faa-jesus-mine-let-my-heart-savor-fs83-8.mp3?_=2

 

The Danish composer Carl Nielsen composed all sorts of songs: from folk songs to whimsical tunes; from elegiac songs to hymns.

His symphonies are better known abroad — they have slowly gained recognition — but his song output is, in my opinion, the distinguishing feature of his oeuvre.

Posted here is a brief hymn by Nielsen: “Min Jesus, lad mit Hjerte faa –” (Jesus Mine, Let My Heart Savour …).

 

WORDS

Min Jesus, lad mit Hjerte faa
en saadan Smag paa dig,
at Nat og Dag du være maa
min Sjæl umistelig.

Da bliver Naadens Tid og Stund
mig sød og lystelig,
thi du mig kysser med din Mund
og tager hjem til dig.

Mit Hjerte i den Grav, du laa
til Paaskemorgen red,
lad, naar det aftner, Hvile faa
og smile ad sin Død!

For saa mig arme Synder hjem
med din Retfrædighed
til dit det ny Jerusalem,
til al din Herlighed!

 

A no doubt very imperfect translation generated by Google Translate is as follows:

My Jesus, let my heart go
such a taste of you,
That night and day you may be
My soul is inalienable.

Then there will be time and time of grace
me sweet and loving,
for you kiss me with your mouth
and take home to you.

My heart in the grave you lay
to Easter morning red,
let it go to sleep, let alone
and smile at his death!

For so, my poor sins are home
with your righteousness
to your new Jerusalem,
to all your glory!

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

a Carl Nielsen portfolio

 

The Danish composer Carl Nielsen (1865-1931) “is one of the most playful, life-affirming and awkward voices in twentieth-century music. His work resists easy stylistic categorization or containment, yet its melodic richness and harmonic vitality are immediately appealing and engaging. Nielsen’s symphonies, concertos and operas are an increasingly prominent feature of the international repertoire, and his songs remain perennially popular in Denmark. But his work has only rarely attracted sustained critical attention within the scholarly community; he remains arguably the most underrated composer of his international generation.”

— commentary on Amazon.com

 

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1.jpg

 

Carl Nielsen circa 1901

 

Carl Nielsen circa 1908

 

Nielsen’s childhood home (now a museum), near the city of Odense on the island of Funen. (Photograph by Roger W. Smith.)

 

Carl Nielsen statue in Copenhagen, done by his wife Anne Marie Carl-Nielsen. The statue was completed in 1939. The inscription, “REIST FOR CARL NIELSEN,” is translated as erected for Carl Nielsen. It depicts The Young Man playing Pan-pipes on a Wingless Pegasus. Nielsen’s wife said: “What I wanted to show in my figure is the forward movement, the sense of life, the fact that nothing stands still.” (Photograph by Roger W. Smith.)

Nielsen’s autobiographical memoir of his childhood on the island of Funen. It was published in Danish in 1927 as Min Fynske Barndom (My Childhood on Funen).

 

 

 

This pioneering study was first published in 1952.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This LP contained a premier recording of Nielsen’s cantata Fynsk Foraar (Springtime on Funen), conducted by the Danish conductor Mogens Wöldike.

 

Nielsen’s songs represent a major part of his oeuvre and are well known in Denmark. Most of them are unknown elsewhere.

 

— Portfolio assembled by Roger W. Smith from his collection of Nielsen materials.

   May 2018

“I Hear America Singing”

 

 

https://rogersgleanings.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/02-track-2.mp3?_=3

 

 

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I Hear America Singing

By Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

 

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In the 1970’s, when I first lived in New York, I used to frequently borrow LP records from the New York Public Library. I once borrowed an LP on the Caedmon label (a pioneer in audio recordings) of the actor Ed Begley (1901-1970) reading selections from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.

I told my poet friend Charles Pierre, a great admirer of Whitman, whose poetry influenced the former’s own book of poetry (his first), Green Vistas, about the marvelous (as I found it to be) recording.

“Who was the reader?” he asked.

“Ed Begley,” I said.

“Ed Begley,” he answered. “Oh, he’s wonderful.”

I was wondering how he knew this (when it came to Whitman).

 

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“I Hear America Singing” was the first poem by Whitman – THE poem — that got me into Whitman. I had to hear it out loud, it seemed.

Listen.

I heard the poem being read (by a different reader) on an audiotape yesterday.

It is a very short poem. Notable for:

Utter simplicity. Saying just enough to convey the meaning, profoundly, without anything else (and no extraneous references or allusions, literary or otherwise). For example: “The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing.” Just that: a girl sewing or washing. Nothing more needs to be said. (Normally, we might expect to hear “sewing a new coat,” or “washing clothes.”)

Biblical cadences and parallelism: “The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;” “the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown.” Giving the reader an exquisite sense of aesthetic satisfaction and of completion.

Parallelism achieved by the use of grammatical constructions — i.e., gerunds such as “sewing” or “washing.”

Repetition in the way one might hear in a nursery rhyme: “The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck”; “the day what belongs to the day.”

The use of adjectives that one might not expect in the context, adjectives that delight: “the delicious singing of the mother.”

A manner of stating things so that what seems simple and apparent has profound implications, and what is not said or left out is as important as what is said. For example: “the hatter singing as he stands.” This phrase invites us to “fill in the blanks” and envision the hatter standing at a workbench. Whitman tells only so much and invites the reader to complete the picture in his or her mind. It is a kind of addition by subtraction.

The poem itself sings.

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

Charles Ives, “Memories”

 

https://rogersgleanings.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/memories.mp3?_=4

 

The American composer Charles Ives (1874-1954) wrote approximately 175 songs among his ample and varied output.

Posted here is the song “Memories” (1897), which Ives composed when he was a student at Yale College.

 

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Written while still a student at Yale, the song “Memories” reflects the breadth of Ives’s personal approach to music even at an early age.

As befits the smaller, more intimate scale of chamber music, Ives brings to his songs a distillation of the same style and compositional methods evident in his large scale works.

“Memories” is comprised of two highly contrasting sections, so distinct from each other, in fact, as to constitute nearly independent songs. (The date “1897” appears at the beginning of both sections, supporting the idea of their separate origins within the same year.)

The first section (“Very Pleasant”) is a faithful evocation of the breathless anticipation of waiting for a stage performance to begin. The section is full of whimsical touches such as whistling and even rapidly declaimed tongue-twisters (“expectancy and ecstasy”). This excitement reaches a sudden halt (“Curtain!”), and we immediately move into the featured act: the performance of a slow, nostalgic melody (marked “Rather Sad”) in the style of a Victorian parlor song, the lyrics of which (in typical Ives fashion), are curious in that they do not quite make sense, but are nonetheless highly evocative of the touching and somewhat nostalgic sentiments associated with songs of this genre.

“Memories” clearly demonstrates the scope of Ives’s creative genius even when composing in the most conventional of styles.

— Library of Congress

Memories

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LYRICS

“Memories”

by Charles Ives

A. Very Pleasant

We’re sitting in the opera house;
We’re waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes;
We’re feeling pretty gay,
And well we may,
“O, Jimmy, look!” I say,
“The band is tuning up
And soon will start to play.”
We whistle and we hum,
Beat time with the drum.

We’re sitting in the opera house;
We’re waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes,
A feeling of expectancy,
A certain kind of ecstasy,
Expectancy and ecstasy… Sh’s’s’s. “Curtain!”

B. Rather Sad

From the street a strain on my ear doth fall,
A tune as threadbare as that “old red shawl,”
It is tattered, it is torn,
It shows signs of being worn,
It’s the tune my Uncle hummed from early morn,
‘Twas a common little thing and kind ‘a sweet,
But ’twas sad and seemed to slow up both his feet;
I can see him shuffling down
To the barn or to the town,
A humming.

 

— posted by Roger W. Smith

   May 2018

Did Jimmy Piersall do all the crazy things he did? (Ask Yogi.)

 

An email of mine to a friend:

 

Scott — there was an article in Saturday’s NY Times:

Maureen Dowd, ‘The Naked Truth About Trump’

“The Naked Truth About Trump”

By Maureen Dowd

The New York Times

May 5, 2018

A quote from the article:

“He needs the excitement,” says Trump biographer Michael D’Antonio. “Without the drama and the crisis and the powerful opponent, he’d be just another guy.”

D’Antonio compares Trump, who has compared himself to Babe Ruth and who once wrote a poem when he was 12 about being a baseball player — “I like to hear the crowd give cheers, so loud and noisy to my ears” — to Jimmy Piersall. Piersall, a charismatic and talented baseball player, described his emotional spiral in his memoir, “The Truth Hurts”: “Probably the best thing that happened to me was going nuts. It brought people out to the ballpark to get a look at me.”

The center fielder engaged in brawls, scuffles and pranks, once bringing a water pistol to home plate. Then one day he lost his grip; in a movie based on his life, that was depicted as him climbing up the backstop at Fenway Park.

“That may wind up happening with Trump,” D’Antonio says. “One day he might walk to Marine One stark naked and we’ll all just say: ‘This is the end. It has finally happened.’”

 

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I read Fear Strikes Out in high school and wrote a book report on it. I saw the movie.

I “met” Piersall once at an event held somewhere such as a shopping center where he was signing autographs and saw him play.

The incidents where he “went crazy” were in the early 1950’s and I do not remember them.

However, I am certain that he never climbed up a backstop, as I do recall seeing Anthony Perkins do in the film.

 

— Roger W. Smith

   May 7, 2018

cityscapes

 

Observed a father and his daughter in a Dunkin’ Donuts a little before six this morning.

They looked so in sync and happy to be together. You don’t see that in public so often.

The father looked to be in his thirties and had a neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing a T-shirt. He was drinking a large coffee. When he left, he put on a black quilted jacket with a hood.

The girl, who also had a drink, had black hair (like her father) and was wearing a jersey and slacks, both of the same material (cotton or flannel?), both red. She was animated and was happily chattering away. I would guess she was around seven years old. Her legs were dangling; her feet didn’t reach the floor.

The father would break into a laugh. He was giving his daughter his full attention. You could sense how much they were enjoying each other’s company.

When they got up to leave, I almost felt disappointed — they had made the place especially cheerful. The father zipped up her coat. It was light blue polyester. She was clutching a rag doll.

I watched them through the big plate glass windows as they left and turned a corner, chattering away, and disappeared from sight.

They were like two best friends.

—  Roger W. Smith

    May 6, 2018