We got back from New York yesterday afternoon and are getting back into the home routine. I downloaded lots of pictures and will post them soon. New York City was kind of a nostalgia trip for me: when I was a Paulist novice in 1990 I lived an hour west and went into the city fairly regularly. I also spent the summer of 1991 living there while I worked at the Paulist Press. Nostalgia trips are always dangerous because the place inevitably can’t live up to the selective memories, but with that caveat I have to say it was a fun trip.

The one thing we wouldn’t do again is the Empire State Building. The line to get to the 86th floor didn’t look too bad when we got in. We found out very quickly that the employ Disneyland’s “hide the line” trick. Once you purchase your (nonrefundable) ticket there are a series of lines and guards before you get into the elevator to the 80th floor. There you have your picture taken (available for purchase of course) and are told you can rent headphones. Finally after that series of lines you take an elevator up the final 6 stories to the observation desk. All told we were in line for nearly an hour.

We also had some “classic New York” experiences. When we visited Strawberry Fields in Central Park there were two guys on benches nearby. They spent the better part of our 15 minutes there yelling at each other to shut up. They both wanted the same thing but neither would let the other have the last word. During our stay we took the famous New York subway several times. One of those times was using the 1 train uptown in morning rush hour. It seemed that we were waiting on the platform for longer than usual and when the train arrived it was already crowded. Like everyone else we crowded out way in and I was wedged between so many people I couldn’t even reach a pole to grab onto. Fortunately we were only on for a few stops.

The weather in New York was what you would expect in late July and early August: HHH: hazy, hot, and humid. It was in the low 90s for most of our stay and we were grateful for New York’s legendary good drinking water. Fortunately we both prefer hot weather to cold and it didn’t stop us from doing what we had planned.

All told, it was a good trip and I hope to do it again soon.

Yesterday Nancy heard a report on the NPR show Marketplace about playpumps. We all know that large areas of the world have scarce water resources and every year about 2 million children die due to a lack of clean drinking water. In South Africa they have found a way to use childrens’ playground equipment (and energy from the children) to pump water out of the ground. You can see their home page for more information. I’ve also posted a banner on the left side of my blog. Let me know what you think.

Yesterday San Diego held the annual Gay Pride Parade and my employer, San Diego Hospice and Palliative Care sponsored a float. I’ve attended the parade before but this year I decided to march. I got my SDHPC polo shirt, my “straight but not narrow” pin, and lots of sunscreen and joined about 20 of my co-workers. The float was mostly a pickup truck driven by my friend and co-worker Allex Turner. We inflated dozens of helium balloons and tied them to the truck. We also had a large sign that I helped carry ahead of the truck. It was wonderful. All along the parade rout we were cheered by people who know our work. In addition to hospice we also do AIDS Case Management and reach out to people who are living with AIDS. That has been well received in the gay community and it was nice to be part of it. I promised that I will walk again next year and I pray I’ll be able to keep that promise.

I spent 8 1/2 hours today down at the San Diego Hall of Justice. I was invited down to be a juror for (I think) the 4th time since I’ve lived in San Diego. The one thing all these episodes have in common: I didn’t get on a jury. Today I reported at 7:45 a.m. and sat in the jury lounge until 11:30 when they told us to go to lunch and return at 1:15. Finally at 1:45 I was called to a courtroom. There were 50 of us and I drew number 37; since it was a trial for a woman charged with misdemeanor reckless driving I assumed the jury would be empaneled long before they got to me. Actually they finished with number 28 which was more than I expected but 9 short of me. I ended my day at 4:15. The good news is that I read 140 pages of my current book Einstien. It’s an excellent book but a long one and it was good to bite off a good chunk of it today.

Most people I know dread jury duty and see it as more of a bother. I have to confess that I like the experiences (even if I don’t get picked for a jury). This is one of those experiences that is a direct result of our Constitution. The framers of our Constitution went to great lengths to make certain, as much as is reasonably possible, that nobody is wrongly convicted. When someone is accused of a crime he is presumed to be innocent unless he voluntarily confesses or is found guilty by twelve of his peers. To be one of these twelve is an awesome responsibility and is rare when we look at all the other nations of the world.

I’m eligible again in one year.

I’m writing this the evening before I leave Gardner. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be back. As I told my mother I can’t imagine never coming back but at the same time I don’t know of anything that will compel my return.

This was the town my parents were born in and where they spent their childhood. They were barely adults when they left but when I was growing up this was always where we went for vacation. A few years as a pre-teen I would come up for an entire month and when I lived in Boston in the early 1980s this was the weekend/holiday getaway. My grandparents are all gone and all my uncles and aunts here are in their 80s; I’m finding my cousins harder and harder to keep in touch with and I barely know their children. There are no more funerals I’ll feel I need to return for. Simply put I don’t know if this is my last visit here.

It’s an odd sensation: I’ve never seen this town do well economically but I’ve never seen it worse than it is now. It makes me sad because I know the stories of when this was a good place. Nobody I know got rich here but it was a town where a person could work hard and make a good living for himself, where factory wages were enough to own a house and put food on the table for your family. Now the factory that was really the heart of Gardner has been converted to elderly housing. The center of town has more abandoned storefronts than anything else and most of the businesses I remember are gone. There is a feeling of quiet desperation here.

Even though I’ve never lived here, Gardner feels like the place of my roots. I know so much about this place that I feel like I could move in a fit in right away. I used to think about what it would have been like to be a priest at Holy Rosary and it was a good feeling.

But change happens. I’m aware that few members of my family live their whole lives in one place. My paternal grandparents were born in New Brunswick and died in Gardner. My father was born in Gardner and lives in Virginia. I was born in Virginia and now live in San Diego. Each generation has done better than the one before (at least economically) and is more mobile. Perhaps the cost of this is watching the old places die.

Then again, no matter what, I’ll have good memories of Gardner. And if this is the last time I visit, I can take away the satisfaction of knowing that it has been a good place for me.