Po-Mu-Scape

07/07/2017

07/07/2017

Transit Oriented Development (TOD) is rapidly sweeping the nation, especially in the tri-state area, with the creation of exciting and desirable places to live, work, shop, and dine, as well as affording recreational and cultural activities.

07/05/2017

06/08/2017

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04/07/2017

12/17/2016

Dad wanted Fred to follow in his footsteps in Medicine. But Fred didn't like hospitals. All through elementary school, Dad had bought Fred toy medical gifts, in an effort to persuade him toward a career in Medicine. Fred received microscopes and stethoscopes as presents. He received toy bags full of toy test tubes and toy glass specimen slides. He got telescopes as gifts. Fred liked playing around in his Dad's office, with his Dad's real medical equipment - when his Dad wasn't looking, of course. Fred especially liked the fake skeleton hanging in the corner of his Dad's office. You could see every bone and vertebrae. And he really liked looking at all the cool pictures of body parts, and human systems, in his Dad's library full of thick, grey, hard cover medical books. Fred was fascinated with the design of the human body. But he liked buildings better. Buildings didn't bleed. The pickled, bottled, baby animal embryos that Fred had seen at the High School science lab, during that field trip to Dad's school, had sickened Fred. The sight turned Fred off to a career in medicine, right there on the spot. Dad was a tough act to follow. Dad was a Chiropractor, with an Ivy League Master's Degree. He was a New York City Public School teacher, weekdays, and practiced medicine at his home office in the evenings and on weekends. But Fred didn't want to be a Doctor - or a teacher either. Fred wanted to be an Architect, even though no one in the immediate - or extended - family had ever done so before. There were building contractors in the family, but no architectural designers. And Fred had even made it into Architecture, once. He had graduated from the University of Miami School of Architecture. And he had gotten a job in the field, once, too - before Mom died. He wondered if Mom could ever forgive him for his Failure, after she was gone. He knew what Dad would say. Fred poured out the contents of another bottle onto Main Street's sidewalk. He placed it into his plastic bag. Recycling is a part of the Sustainable Green economy, he convinced himself. He paused. He looked down Main Street. The street was run down, old and weary. There was talk on the street of a proposed downtown revitalization. The few existing aesthetic improvements along the downtown streetscape were fighting a thus far losing effort toward the overall beautification of the street. But the city still held hope. And If there was hope for a street like Main Street, New Rochelle - Fred convinced himself - then, there was still hope for him, too.

12/17/2016

Dad had wanted Fred to follow in his footsteps in Medicine. But Fred didn't like hospitals. All through elementary school, Dad had bought Fred toy medical gifts, in an effort to persuade him toward a career in Medicine. Fred received microscopes and stethoscopes as presents. He received toy bags full of toy test tubes and toy glass specimen slides. He got telescopes as gifts. Fred liked playing around in his Dad's office, with his Dad's real medical equipment - when his Dad wasn't looking, of course. Fred especially liked the fake skeleton hanging in the corner of his Dad's office. You could see every bone and vertebrae. And he really liked looking at all the cool pictures of body parts, and human systems, in his Dad's library full of thick, grey, hard cover medical books. Fred was fascinated with the design of the human body. But he liked buildings better. Buildings didn't bleed. The pickled, bottled, baby animal embryos that Fred had seen at the High School science lab, during that field trip to Dad's school, had sickened Fred. The sight turned Fred off to a career in medicine, right there on the spot. Dad was a tough act to follow. Dad was a Chiropractor, with an Ivy League Master's Degree. He was a New York City Public School teacher, weekdays, and practiced medicine at his home office in the evenings and on weekends. But Fred didn't want to be a Doctor - or a teacher either. Fred wanted to be an Architect, even though no one in the immediate - or extended - family had ever done so before. There were building contractors in the family, but no architectural designers. And Fred had even made it into Architecture, once. He had graduated from the University of Miami School of Architecture. And he had gotten a job in the field, once, too - before Mom died. He wondered if Mom could ever forgive him for his Failure, after she was gone. He knew what Dad would say. Fred poured out the contents of another bottle onto Main Street's sidewalk. He placed it into his plastic bag. Recycling is a part of the Sustainable Green economy, he convinced himself. He paused. He looked down Main Street. The street was run down, old and weary. There was talk on the street of a proposed downtown revitalization. The few existing aesthetic improvements along the downtown streetscape were fighting a thus far losing effort toward the overall beautification of the street. But the city still held hope. And If there was hope for a street like Main Street, New Rochelle - Fred convinced himself - then, there was still hope for him, too.

12/17/2016

But Dad was gone now. Mom too. In a way, Fred was glad the last things his parents had seen of him were signs of hope and promise. Dad definitely wouldn't, but maybe Mom would understand. He pulled out a bottle and placed it into his black, plastic, 30 gal. garbage bag. Dad wouldn't accept any excuses for failure. Mom didn't either. But Mom wouldn't keep telling you about how they didn't have money for cake and how cornbread, with a little syrup, was their dessert. They had both grown up dirt poor in Alabama, during the Great Depression. And they had made it - so we kids should too, was the concept. They had endured the segregation of the South; and Dad, World War Two. With a passion for the Bible, along with the pursuit of education, his parents had made it out of the South. They had made it to Harlem in the 1950's, and then to Queens in the 1960's. Then one snowy day during elementary school, his Mother had dragged him along with her to a place upstate. The place was different from where they had lived in Springfield Gardens, Queens. The houses upstate were bigger than the ones off the corner of Merrick and Springfield Boulevards; especially the house Mom was shopping for. And the city sounded strange too: New Rochelle.

12/17/2016

The hawk landed on Main Street. Fred thought about his old hat he had lost in the wind. It was old and torn - but warm. Thirty years ago he might have caught it. He pulled up the collar of his ragged, too well worn overcoat. Sometimes Fred wondered why he hadn't stayed in Miami after graduating from The U. "He liked the seasons in New York", he had always told himself, "Miami was just too hot." But it was on nights like this when he most remembered Coral Gables, Florida. He remembered the palm trees of Florida. He remembered the sand. He remembered that restaurant on the water - the Rusty Pelican - he had taken Gloria to, his first month at The U. As he searched through a garbage can, near Division Street, he thought of his Dad, and how mad he would be, if he ever found out that he had spent his school money - Dad's school money - to impress a woman. Then he thought about how mad Dad would be, too, if he saw him - right now.

11/05/2016

My impression of a sunset over New Rochelle, NY.

11/04/2016

11/01/2016

Purple Wave