happy halloween. . .

Typecasting?

. . .happy All Hallow's Eve, Wiccan new year (Samhain), Diwali, Day of the Dead and otherwise potent holidays I don't know about. To the thinning of the veil!

tilting at windmills

My guess is that one of these days this Staten Island-cum-Jersey girl will bow to the inevitable and move to Rhode Island in a cottage by the sea. It seems to be where she feels at home. Tnx, Doro, for a fun time hanging out and doing not much of anything but yakking! No island tours—but we did go to see the new, still nonfunctional, windmills.

the voter

The voter, with granddaughters Eva and Madison (whose birthday is today)

"Do you think maybe once you're over ninety you aren't allowed to vote?"
    "No, Mom, you can vote until you die."
    "I let my passport expire. Do you think that's a problem?"
    "No. You don't have to have a passport to vote. You're a registered voter."
    And so began the crusade to get my mother, who lives in Mexico, an absentee ballot. She voted in the primary (for Bernie) and has followed the election very closely and passionately. But the Maine town clerk who used to take care of everything had retired, and we were at a standstill. In the event, I got her her ballot request, emailed her the ballot, and she managed to get her printer working to print it out. Phew. She did not feel equal, however, to emailing the ballot in. "I just mailed it, Claude. I couldn't deal."

bill in nyc

Artist Bill Dugan poses in my portrait chair at the Goose in Missouri.

Bill and Carla visited from Missouri. Bill was highly resistant, picturing himself as a Crocodile Dundee. (I'm familiar with the syndrome—my brother Chris does the same thing.) I wish I’d saved Bill’s email from his first day in New York, when he went to the ballet and boasted that he did not fall asleep and wondered why the women ran around on their toes and the men did not. I got wise thereafter. In his own words:

Carla and Bill soak their country feet. photo by Dugan

we made it to the Met & Guginhyme. rain mist all day, lines everwhere.  Got a chicken and vegies at Z's.  Used the crisper in the fridge to soak my feet in epson salts, it cleaned up well, ...just kiding, bought a tub at basic plus...kinda like heaven in stuff for life. Tiimes sq and MOMA tomorrow. . .Whitney, Hight line, and White Horse, back to the apt after tour of Zabar's.  See ya tonite or in am.

Carla bones up on Block island on the way over.

Off we went to Block Island for a week, Bill bearing the foot bath. Then He and Carla returned to the dreaded city for a night.

 . . .Made to the 15D.  FedX stuff, Zbars chicken supper, got some whiskey, smoked cigars on the park bench, heading out in the am...what more is life about

 Home again. I have never been sure whether Bill's spelling mistakes are schtik or not. I don't think I will ever know.

. . .Got a desk for the mouseum, moved it in, took the van to shop for shocks, ran around town, going to Chicago for friends 70 BD & 30 wedding anniversery.  Got home, nap 30 mn and brushoged 3.5 hrs...  Sitting on ice pack on back and taking brown medicine..later bill

elaine

Elaine Rivera loved people: “Two eyes a nose and a mouth—and all so different!” She loved all kinds of people, from the flower lady in her Bronx neighborhood to the political operatives she covered as a classic New York City beat reporter. Well, that isn’t exactly true. She didn’t love intolerant people—was, in fact, downright intolerant of them. And despite (or maybe because of) her brief marriage and series of long-term lovers, she had her reservations when it came to men. Notably, however, she remained close with almost every one of her exes.

    I met her when she was working at Time magazine on stories like the crash of TWA Flight 800 and the police shooting of Amadou Diallo, and, less typically, covering celebrities like Christina Aguillera and John F.  Kennedy Jr.  Usually she was a crusader for the underdog, the poor, the victims of racism and hatred. And she really, really cared. She went to the Washington Post after Time, but DC was a bad fit. "I am so outta Virginia, baby. I'm never living in the south again—they can just kiss my Puerto Rican ass," she crowed as she drove back to the home of her heart. She resettled near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, and worked as a political reporter for WNYC, leaving to take a journalism chair at Lehman College. The latter moves, trailing many scarves and bags, were particularly astonishing because Elaine’s major bugaboos were technology and bureaucracy.  “This job is kicking my ass,” she would say, no matter which job it was. Now I wonder if the reason she was so exhausted was the liver disease she must have had for years. The only exception, which her more recent journalist friends got very tired of hearing about, was her golden era as a staff reporter for almost a decade at New York Newsday. One wonders what time she had to get to work there, for Elaine was never a morning person.

    Elaine was a party person. She always brought the party hats, whether it was a birthday party—which she adored—or New Year’s or Fourth of July. Confetti, sparklers, flags, balloons, bought at the 99-cent store. Her stories, too, made her the life of the party. One favorite was about the time she was staying over at a friend’s apartment and, mistaking the hall door for the bathroom door, locked herself out of the apartment nude in the middle of the night. Wrapping herself in a rug, she got on the elevator to go downstairs to call her friend, who had slept through the pounding on his door. The elevator got stuck in the lobby. Elaine pressed the emergency button and a woman over the intercom said there was nothing she could do. Elaine, of course, asked her name. “Tookie, Tookie, I’m begging you!” wailed Elaine. “Please call my friend. I’m standing in the lobby in the middle of the night in a rug!”

     Elaine loved being surrounded by celebration and friends, of whom she had an inordinate number. She was always trying to mix them, with varying degrees of success. Well, we’re mixed now, along with her devastated family from Cleveland, in love and in loss.

 

rainbow lining

It's going to take most of my energy to keep warm over the next week or so. But there are compensations. . .

auction 2:00!

 Today is the day when Hannah goes live on Facebook with Wear Your Music's auction of a Paul McCartney guitar string bracelet. Here at two o'clock. If you are not on Facebook, sign up!

In other news, Hannah will be converting her Providence office into a popup shop for her several businesses. Inquire for hours. All welcome.

waves upon waves

Could not resist another picture of the waves in front of the house—breaking right on the dune.
Meanwhile, there is a lot of catchup and roundup.
Jamie lost a new friend and neighbor in France, photographer Louis Stettner. His obit in the NYT.
A rather funny video about Casa de la Noche, the former bordello we stay in when in San Miguel. The video does not do it justice.
My pianist brother Ben debuts a new jazz record made with a principal cellist of the Berlin Symphony. You cane hear portions on Facebook.
The photographer Lynn Johnson has done a podcast about how caring she is on No Filter. I have not listened to it, but you may wish to.
The photographer Donna Ferrato has done a video with Time magazine on the importance of photography. Associated article here.
The Block Island Times has done a story about how the ferry aided in the Hudson River rescue of the downed plane. I believe it played itself in the movie Sully.
An interview in PDN of photographer Mark Peterson, whose instagram pix of the political campaigns I have much admired.
And don't forget Hannah's live Facebook auction of a Paul McCartney guitar string bracelet this Thursday!

this is today

Indian summer arrives. I mean, Native American Summer.

I have been remiss.
Way remiss.
There are reasons, which I will go into, mainly involving travelling and socializing.
So how can I make it up to you?
Shall I start from when I began being remiss and move forward in time?
Or shall I start from today and go backwards in time?
There's a lot I've skipped no matter which way I do it.
But I've got to get back to today so I can get to tomorrow.

happy birthday, ed!

Ed today

 This is my friend Ed, he of the maniacal laugh and blazing blue eyes and mind that runs too fast for his mouth. Happy birthday! Have I told you lately. . .

Ed back in the day