I'm sitting here feeling like a dried-up hazelnut.

I know, the sun is shining and it's a perfect day outside, but I am feeling old and useless. Sixty-seven years old, and as I survey my past in this city, I see no movement forward.

I was born at 909 Bridge St. Have you been down that street lately? I lived on Goose Hill, the real Italian section in this city. That is, until the city, in its wisdom, decided to move Correll's to North Jay and put up a huge Street Facade (and I use the word facade here in its proper usage, i.e. fake -- pretense -- not real) and call that "Little Italy."

Growing up, I went to Franklin Elementary School, now a condo, and ate lunch several times a week at Correll's in a big, dark booth, hot meatball sandwiches and french fries. Honeyland Pharmacy had an old-fashioned soda fountain, and you could buy chocolate-covered frozen bananas on a stick there. I learned to swim at Steinmetz Park (no swimming there anymore) and walked there daily on my own. I rode my bike down the Raymond Street hill, and in the fall families would walk the streets in the evening, kicking through the fallen leaves and meeting their neighbors. As a child, my mother always worked, and I wore a house key around my neck, as did many other children, but there were always neighbors around in case of an emergency.

Sometimes, we took a big old pot and drove to Petta's (yes, that Petta's), a simple, white-framed building with a take-out window and some eat-in capacity. If you brought a pot, you could have it filled with spaghetti and sausage, at a price of course, and then go home and eat take-out, but not take-out as we now know it. Real home-cooked food.

In the summer, 4th of July fireworks at Central Park. A much simpler location than today, swimming in summer, ice skating to loud-speaker music in the winter.

Union College was not fenced in, I walked through it all the time with my friends hoping we'd be noticed by those sophisticated college boys! Movie theaters were everywhere, including Crane Street and Van Vranken Avenue. Matinees were de rigour on Saturday double features, serials and preview, not to mention cartoons.

I stop by the BowTie from time to time but it is depressingly empty. Sometimes on Friday evenings I drop in just to get their popcorn (now, there's an improvement. Their popcorn is outstanding!!). Ask my kids.

As a kid, there was always somewhere to go, something to do like hanging over the fence at Yates School to watch the Little League game. In that era, Schenectady produced award-winning professional players.

Outdoor dances at Steinmetz Park. This is still a good idea. Why can't we, as a city, offer Saturday night block parties and dances?

Now it's kids with guns and knives and I guess the entertainment is watching the corner fights. Last Friday, with a car full of teenage boys, I got to pull over and call 911 on Albany Street, right in front of Zaid's. One singled out to fight alone, and then three others came out to challenge him. When he realized it was about to be 3-on-1, he took off running. The group of three pulled out a gun, jumped into a car and started chasing him. While talking to 911, I saw a police car go by, no lights or sirens, and I told 911 "There's a police car now." "Oh no," she said, "He's probably on another call. We have to dispatch someone else."

So nothing came of anything; no one was caught and they lived to fight another day. Or did they? I know that young boy will come up against his attackers again, that is, if he hasn't already. I remember George constantly beaten, ever knifed, until he came back with a gun and shot the wrong person. Sixteen years old, in jail, another life gone, ruined. Is anyone out there paying attention?

Speaking of people who pay attention... I witnessed a great man leaving Schenectady on Saturday. He did not wear a suit, he usually needed a haircut and wore hi-top sneakers. For those of you in the know, it was Dr. Karpowitz. No fanfare, no politicians, no fancy dinner. A picnic in the park with all those patients, young and old, able and disabled, insured and penniless. They came on foot, many of them, just to let this man know how much they loved him. Some were grandparents whose children and now grandchildren were cared for by this simple man. And cared for is the the right words. The emotions and deep feelings passed between doctor and child were full of trust and caring.

I saw children with Down's Syndrome, a 34-year-old with a permanent breathing apparatus, and pushed in a wheel-able bed, who did not speak, but came wearing Dr. Karpowitz-cloned sneakers, and her mother spoke eloquently of this man's support for this family, who in the face of dissent said, "If you want to keep this child home, I will help in every way I can. You can do it, I will help." I see a man who can not be replaced, can not be duplicated. All the money Schenectady receives form its various resources cannot come close to bringing a resource such as this to our community. Adieu, my friend. Adieu.

Summer is closing in and we are getting ready for QUEST cookouts and recreation. We will do what we can with what we have, food for all and some sort of water recreation. All are welcome and invited.

I see this as a time for reflection around our little lawn, and conversation about a neighborhood in pain and mourning its children. We hope to produce small sections of "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enough." Maybe some street theater followed by conversation and, as usual, food.

Sharing a meal is a way to bring all of us together and loosen our tongues and dig deeply into our feelings and grief.

Let us not forget those children who died this year and those who suffered terrible losses and those who are incarcerated. The stories of bravery in our neighborhoods are legion. Someone sent me a comment on my last blog which says it all, or at least a big chunk of it. Personal commitment and courage, taking in and raising another's child is a heroic act. I am humbled by this woman's compassion.

This is our world. Every person, animal, and plant. This is our given responsibility as human beings. Not to use or abuse as we please. There are no choices here; we must tend our gardens, whether it be plants or people. There are no others to take our responsibility from us. Andre Solomon says, citing scientific evidence, that "repeated bout of untreated despondency actually changes brain physiology."

The New York Times said something similar about living in violent neighborhoods.

Let me go on to quote Alastair MacIntyre, "It is marvelous," he says, "to observe how often the self-proclaimed defenders of the right and the good do not seem to have noticed (in themselves) the vices of pomposity, exaggeration and self-righteousness."

"The water in living wells
does not stagnate.
The more you tear from your heart,
the more of it you keep."