God calls us to live in Peace. Not in Angst.
Aint that america were someting to see baby
Aint that america, home of the free
Catholic Bishops are blasting that he is a poor choice to be a keynote speaker at Notre Dame. He's the President of the United States for crying out loud.
And the Left is blaming O'Reilly and Beck for inciting violence because they discuss the state of our nation. As if every single person you watch on the IDIOT BOX isn't moaning and groaning about our economic affairs?
Ugh, I love mankind but we all need a swift kick in the ass. Breathe in through the nose....
Every day in more ways I am designating New York City as its own entity. An Eccentric Republic...
You would think with all of the aggressive activity, purposeful pushing, and collective cacophony of sounds, it would be hard to snag a nature moment. Quite the contrary.
There are 1,700 parks in New York City. And they stand out like a palm tree in the desert.
In the midst of running errands through Greenwich Village today, I stumbled into the perfect picture of a 55 degree Spring Day in Washington Square Park where thousands of faces, all from different backgrounds had flocked to the 10 acres of green space to dwell.
The park is named for the first President of the United States, George Washington who was inaugurated in New York City. Once a burial ground, turned public gallows, from beatniks hangout with the likes Kerouac and Dylan to a drug dealing haven for vagrants and misfits, WSP has seen some excitement in its day. ( Not your suburban playground!)
Today was no different. I first noticed the budding tulip trees blushing against the brick and asphalt and the cherry blossoms littering the sidewalks. In my admiration of spring unfolding, I was nearly knocked off my boots by a man wearing massive 1970's headphones singing John Cougar's, "Little Pink Houses" at the top of his lungs. Dodging the dancer, I observed closely two middle aged Rastafarian's debating over a keen chess move one had just performed and a large group of Asians applauding the break dancing boogaloo boys who were spinning on their heads with nothing but worn bandannas separating their skull from the sidewalk. I sauntered past the intense boccee players and NYU students to the northeast corner to find a piece of warm bench under the arch. As I ate my packed sandwich and fumbled with the Arts section of the NY Times, I took in the sounds of an amazing jazz quintet harmonizing their horn sounds and bass rhythms as couples danced arm in arm in front of the trumpet case full of dollar bills.
Now where are the bohemians with my special dessert?
A blessed lunch hour indeed. Full of free peace.
Oh but aint that america for you and me
Aint that america were someting to see baby
Aint that america, home of the free
Little pink houses for you and me.
How you living?
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