Flight to Greece

We boarded a plane at MBS bound fro Chicago after the weighing of bags and much debate over whether everyone had everything he or she should have to be equipped for a country none of us had ever visited.



The layover in Chicago seemed long, but the chance to stretch our legs before the longer portion of our journey would prove precious later and the airport was an enjoyable one to explore.

The Lufthansa flight to Munich was novel for a group that had become used to domestic American flying conditions in post 9/11 United States: We were greeted by copies of international papers to read in flight, hot towels for our faces, lap blankets, cocktails ranging from Dewar's and Capari & soda to beer and meals that were actual meals were all included as a part of our fare.



We settled each in our respective ways to read, journal or watch television (the latter chosen from a wide variety of programs available to us) as the the flight took us into the night and across the Atlantic Ocean to Munich before boarding a connecting flight into our first Greek home - Athens.



Met upon arrival by three of our new Greek Rotarian friends, we were taken to the Glyfada Hotel to rest before dinner and unpack. Our new friends and dinner itself were wonderful, so I will write of the separately as soon as time permits.

An Inherited Memory of Place

I met an individual a few summers ago (Ralph Wolpart, I think I recall him saying) who owns one of the empty buildings on Potter Street not far from the train station and the details this 80-something recalled from the time he was a grocery delivery boy on Potter Street so clear and detailed:



The distinct hot-wet smell of trains
Almost as if they drew a deep breath far, far away
And only exhaled when they came to rest
(find two people who remember that - I dare you)

People streaming in and out of storefronts
Making purhcases or deliveries
For long trips
Or a homecoming

Sounds of horse-drawn vehicles
On wood and brick pavements

The quiet that fell after the last train of the day


Ralph finished his coffee that day and shambled out leaving on the counter in front of me a gift I could almost-but-not-quite touch: A memory-like impression that the Potter Street district must have been an amazing place once.


Now it is very, very quiet as if the last train of the day somehow led to an indefinate stall that left people trickling out over the decades and now the empty windows of the stores and depot look on nothing and no one. Well, almost.


It is interesting to note that even as the city govornment of Saginaw looks upon this neighborhood as a problem to be dealt with there is a small, but very energetic, group of people who live in the few remaining "big old houses" and the friends of these residents who see the remaining commercial buildings and homes surrounded by a tree-dotted meadowland as a place of opportunity.


That opportunity only exists as long as the neighborhood also continues to do so...

Potter Street at night. Six blocks worth saving...

[a diverse life]

michigan seemed like a good opportunity
to reinvent myself
but sickness and time alone
and people who only live
on written pages or in hospital beds
taught me it was not enough
to wear a mask
in a place where I could be
not theirs
but me
and that rediscovery and restoration
were more profitable
than reinvention
and that it really made sense
to trade pieces of my life
for pieces of others
because then
suddenly
there was this crowd of people
who rested gentle fingers
on points of each other’s lives
that interested us for intensely personal reasons
so at the end of days
that left no will to go on
we knew just one thing
with perfect clarity

we could not let
our shareholders
down


SPM

Ice on the porch garland at 503 S. Jefferson Avenue.

After several starts and stutters, it seems winter is here for a while and the snow and ice are welcome additions to offset demolition and boarding-up activities in the immediate neighborhood...

[three shopping days left]

the snow falls carelessly
covering crowded streets
as people rush
frantically searching
through past conversations and
all of the objects in their world
for the one perfect thing
that brings back a moment
reminds of an interest
tells a story
to be consecrated with paper and ribbon
and handed to another
so no matter what the new year brings
in its rough hands
this object becomes a talisman
to touch
to remember
that someone else’s life
is richer
because you exist


503 s. jefferson avenue, saginaw, michigan
SPM

Cats. Birds. Snow.

“ 'Course, I'm mad about animals, but raccoons and cats become a little bit boring. I mean, for too long a time.”


“Little Edie” Bouvier Beale



The snow threatened all morning and began to come like sawdust blowing off the edge of a workbench before becoming hardened little shard then flurries of feathery clumps that began to stick to the sidewalks as we discussed house things with our neighbor.



The coming winter has been apparent for some time through a few bitterly cold nights and morning frosts and flurries and even the stray cats that abound near our intersection have begun their search for someplace warm to deliver kittens and avoid freezing.



Then – night before last – came the birds: When we got home from work in the dark it looked as if the leaves on the maples in front of our house and down the block had turned black instead of falling. When getting out of the car, the leaves took flight and circled the houses low making dissatisfied squawks before settling back into the trees…



Between the cats and the birds, the snow is a welcome change.

Last Things

There is something about the light of a Michigan autumn that is hard to describe. Everything seems older and more settled in some way and things stand out more clearly... And then - suddenly - you realize that there can not be many more such days because the canopy of red, orange and gold that filters everything is getting thin. Then a stiff wind blows all night and by morning the autumn is gone. That morning the light begins to look more blue and gray and we suddenly miss the autumn light we barely noticed was there the night before.