Watertown, MA. October, 2016

When my recent neighbor, a nanny from Argentina, was walking down the block with her two charges, she saw some items on the sidewalk with a sign that said "Free." She came running back to me to ask what that meant. I repeatedly told her "libre," but she just couldn't fathom that someone would put items out on the sidewalk for others to take. Once I persuaded her that this was often the case hereabouts, she called the children's mother to ask if she could bring home a rather large Minnie Mouse doll that the young girl had taken a shine to, as illustrated in this photo. They left Mickey on the sidewalk.

Istanbul. June, 2007

The busy intersections at either end of the Galata Bridge can be difficult to maneuver if you try to do so above ground. Fortunately, city planners have provided underground walkways for pedestrians and (less fortunately) filled them with specialty shops such as this one. I was astounded the first time I saw it, coming around a corner in the jam-packed tunnel, through the labyrinth and around impromptu vendors who’d set up their small folding tables wherever they pleased. Nothing impromptu about this popular gun market though, always crowded no matter what time of day I happened to pass by. What I found most surprising, I think, was the boldness of it all. No attempt to cover up what would be much more clandestine in the US of A. Instead, men and teens inspected merchandise, weighed the pieces in their hands, inspected workmanship, took practice aim. Much in the same careful way that their mothers, wives and girlfriends might determine the ripeness of a melon in the nearby fruit market. The repetitive precision of the heat on display impressed me, too. Don’t you think Andy Warhol would have liked it?

Gloucester, MA. April, 2011

Waking up in Gloucester can be a great pleasure. Especially at this time of year when early morning fogs often envelop the town. “Fog at 7, sun by 11,” the sailors say, and I found that to be true as Rocky Neck, seen here, emerged Brigadoon-like from the mists on this Easter morning. By the time Memorial Day arrives, most of the beautiful fogs are gone, replaced, alas, by the “summer people” who, as Jay complains, “have no sense of urgency are unfamiliar with local ways.” Here’s my complaint by way of a story: As I was running along East Main Street on the Saturday morning of that holiday weekend this year, I stumbled, fell forward onto the pavement, my cap and sunglasses flying, and I wound up on my back in the middle of the road, stunned and breathless for a moment. No one stopped to help me. No one. The cars continued to drive by as I fell, as I lay there, turning ever so slightly to avoid me, on their way to their summer homes. How long is it until Labor Day?

New York, NY. December, 2006

Is Rosa Mexicano still open? This limited chain of Mexican restaurants used to be a good choice in Union Square when Chef Roberto Santibañez was at the helm. (He’s since moved on to open his own place, Fonda, which, frequent readers of this blog will know, I think is sensational and easily merits a quick trip to Brooklyn.) One of the things that I liked best about the earlier restaurant was “Más Clavadistas,” the fountain/sculpture that dominated the main dining room -- a cascading, vertical wall of water, illuminated in saturated pink and blue and dotted with the repeated sculptural image of a man diving through space over and over again. Who needs to go to Acapulco to see these fabled cliff divers when they look so beautiful right here in midtown Manhattan?

Watertown, MA. September, 2015

Autumn is my favorite season and it's almost here. Time to indulge in those hearty fall flowers, chrysanthemums. An array seen here on my front steps during an autumn past.

Amalfi, Italy. October, 1984

I’ve always admired busdrivers able to maneuver difficult turns in tight spaces. In Harvard Square, in Manhattan, or here among the many hairpins along the Amalfi coast. (I took this photo looking straight down from my window seat on the bus. Yikes!) The local bus from Sorrento to Amalfi carried not only tourists like me (and like the British matron who kept saying, “I fancy an Orange Crush,”) but also many schoolchildren on their way home. (It functioned, I learned, as the official schoolbus.) As we tried to make a tight squeeze through a tiny town square, it soon became evident that there was no way past an illegally parked car. The busdriver got out, went into a nearby store, then a bank, and eventually emerged with a woman, the car’s owner, who prepared to move her car to the cheers of the kids chanting, “Brava, Signora Fiat Uno!” A skillful maneuver, a memorable moment.

Madrid. October, 2009

When traveling in Europe, I’m always drawn to the many city billboards. Especially if they are layered, ripped, half peeled off, turning the whole into an accidental collage worthy of Kurt Schwitters. Why don’t we have billboards like these in the United States? Yes, we have some. But nothing that even approaches the volume that one sees in Madrid, Zurich, Istanbul, Lisbon, Rome. I love that they continue to be an effective and sometimes beautiful means of communication in a world that’s gone personal-device-crazy. I remember throughout Italy the art-like death notices pasted up all around the different neighborhoods, alerting friends and extended family to a loved one’s passing. Galleries, concert halls, you name it, they’re all there with their visuals, waiting for you at the next corner, sometimes hanging around for years as more and more are pasted on top of them. Calendars, diaries in their own way.