Tuesday, January 23, 2018

23/Serial

Thinking about the Village—Greenwich Village—brings a flood of memories. It's where I was conceived, and where I always felt I belonged. Prowling little shops filled with hand-mades . . . experiencing jazz for the first time and many times after that . . . endless nights at Gerde's Folk City . . . Washington Square, with its haunting spontaneous harmonies, unkempt brilliant old men playing chess . . . hippies playing Go. And the crowning glory of my overdeveloped sense of mischief: the night we crashed an NYU Jewish fraternity toga party.
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7 comments:

  1. Indigo BuntingJanuary 23, 2018 at 12:22 PM

    I do hope there is photographic evidence.

    ReplyDelete
  2. HelenJanuary 23, 2018 at 4:06 PM

    Oh, I sense the impending arrival of another fabulous tale. I'm going to don a white sheet and pour a glass of Manischewitz and settle in for a good read.

    ReplyDelete
  3. MaliJanuary 23, 2018 at 5:13 PM

    I love your tales of NY. Your life was so very different from mine!

    ReplyDelete
  4. SabineJanuary 24, 2018 at 5:19 AM

    My life is so dull

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. SusanJanuary 24, 2018 at 5:30 AM

      You played by the river in cute braids. I didn't do that.

      Delete

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