why i should not have a truck

Traveling with me is a nightmare. Everything you see in the photograph above has been transported by me in my truck—most recently the flowered couch that used to be Barb's that I moved to the NYC apartment, took the covers off, bought material in Providence, transported it and the covers to Missouri to be copied by an upholsterer, back to to NYC and then by ferry, couch and covers (left), to Block Island.

the best shower in the world 2.0

For a while if you googled the best shower in the world, you got this one at Claudia's Surf City. Then Hannah's Hideaway came in with competition here. And then indoors here.
  But now there is no competition. You saw what the indoor shower was looking like (open wall, leak) at Claudia's. This is the outdoor shower. Sigh. 

not summer yet

Rodman's Hollow shad bloom

It's barely spring. We're talking daffodils and forsythia. And shad, a subtle greenish white flower on drifts of rounded mounded bushes. So beautiful.
Unlike the inside and porches of my houses, which are a freaking disaster area.

CSC tool bloom

vintage shampoo

 Does shampoo, like fine wine, age well?
   When we went to take out some wall to find the source of a leak in one of the four showers I have to make sure work (not to mention six toilets and eight sinks and three bathtubs), I found an unopened bottle of St. Ives Extra Shine shampoo.
   I had to think to figure out how it happened. Someone must have put it on the top of the shower stall before I put up the beadboard, and it fell down between the studs. That was around 12 years ago.
  Has this shampoo (with jojoba!) become valuable?

interweb

Now with internet! Sort of! Molasseslike!


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Location:Off line

Morning light

Houses for sale or rent
Rooms to let ten percent
No phone, no gas, no pets
I ain't got no internet.


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why he photographs

Mom praying to dad, on my first first visit to his niche, after graduating from university, in 1992. Because of the long distance and amount of time it would have taken for me to return for his funeral, the family decided that I should not rush back.

Tay Kay Chin, a photographer acquaintance from Singapore, writes about why he took pictures of his mothers decline and death over the past months. His mother was bemused. "Sometimes, she got a little embarrassed and puzzled with my ever-presence with my camera," he says. "But she would laugh and tell others, 'Look at him, good also take, bad also take. Don't know take so many pictures for what.'"
This is his answer to the "for what."

My father passed away Feb 17, 1992, when I was in my final semester at the University of Missouri-Columbia. 

   Because I had just returned home the Christmas before to visit him, and the new semester was already in full swing, the family decided that I need not come back to Singapore for the funeral. This was a decision that would haunt Mom for many years, despite my saying many many times that it was okay.

   I first found out Dad was dying around Oct/Nov 1991. My second sister had called from Singapore to ask me to return home during the fall holiday. Just one semester away from graduating, I told her I would rather wait till summer 1992 as I wanted to save the family some money.

   "You need to come back because Dad is very sick," I was told.

   By early December, I was home, with many many rolls of black and white film.

   Deeply influenced by Eugene Richards's documentation of his late wife who lost a battle against cancer, and Michael Lutzky's essay about his dad, I was determined that I needed and could photograph my ill father.

   By late December, when I returned to Columbia, Missouri, I had not shot a single frame.

   I just could not.

   It was just too painful.

   Sadly, by the time I had returned to Singapore, Dad's condition has deteriorated to a really horrible state. Already very skinny, my old man was left with just skin and bones. 

  But that was not the only sad scene.
   Every day, I would watch as my Grandma, Dad's ageing mother, used a sharp pen to poke at the base of his legs. The pain in his stomach had gotten so bad that in order for him to feel less painful, Grandma had to inflict pain elsewhere so that he could forget about his real suffering.

   Grandma was by then in her late 70s, but she was, in comparison, in much better shape than her beloved son.

   Outside his room, Mom was constantly busy. She was always busy talking on the phone to friends or relatives, chasing every possible lead to a cure for Dad's cancer, or she would be busy cooking for him. Or she would be talking to holy men who claimed to be able to fix Dad's problems.

   It was not a pretty sight at all, and I couldn't even bring myself to make a photograph. Not once.

   I got to spend a bit of time with Dad during the short visit, in which he would tell me the one thing that I never forgot in my life, "Whatever you do, just try to be the best in the world."

   I had brought home some clippings of my works and articles about me from the USA to cheer him up. My proud Dad would show them to friends and relatives who visited.

   I remember taking him once to his doctor's appointment. Carrying him on my back down two flights of stairs, I realized how light he had become. I also remember wanting to beat up the doctor who asked me, without examining Dad, if I already knew he was suffering from a terminal disease.

   Of course I did, but shouldn't a doctor look again in case of a miracle, instead of just writing him off?

   I don't remember now if I left Singapore that December, I was still harboring hope that Dad would live till mid-1992 for me to graduate and come home for good, but I certainly remember how I learned about his death.

   On Feb 17, 1992, my phone in the bedroom rang in the wee hours and that triggered the answering machine in the living room. I was about to mute the machine when I heard my then brother-in-law asking my then wife, "Does he know his Dad has passed away?"

   I think it was about 5am, and that message never left my mind for days. In fact, it did not leave me for decades.

   That day happened to be first day of the Pictures of the Year contest judging and I had signed up to be a volunteer.

   Sleepless after the call, I left the apartment early to be at the judging venue, keeping myself busy by moving tables and chairs.

   I also remember telling every one that I met that day, "My Dad just passed away."

   It was only days later that I finally broke down and cried like a baby.

   By August that year, I had graduated, divorced and returned to Singapore to start work. I remember vividly Mom's cries, even before I reached our door.

   "Your papa is gone, your papa is gone."

   That afternoon, I went to pay respect to Dad for the first time and made the picture above.

   For years, Mom would still tell me how she had regretted her decision not to bring me home. I told her many many times I never blamed her, but she blamed herself.

   Making pictures of Mom during her three months struggle was not the most 'natural' thing for me. I didn't start photographing her till a few days after her first diagnosis.

   During her last long stay in SGH, and in and out of ICU, I also stopped making pictures for two weeks.

   n many ways, I had to force myself to do it.

   Many times, I just felt like I should stop photographing totally.

   So I don't always know why I did what I did.

   I am pretty sure I wanted some images to remember her. I am also very certain I wanted to show the world how brave she was. I am fairly certain that I have convinced myself that I have a duty to do that. But duty to whom? To what? What could I possibly achieve with my photographs of Mom and my family?

   I am very sure a big part of me says, "you are a photojournalist, a documentary photographer, you teach photojournalism, you encourage your students to make intimate pictures of their family, so you should not be a hypocrite and exempt your own loved ones from the focus of your lens."

   What I am more certain about is that my family loves me, and wanted to give me a chance to 'experience' what I missed back in 1991-1992.

   During the past few days, I have wondered why I had not requested my family to make pictures of my Dad's final days.

   I wondered if I would feel better if had seen pictures of his funeral, and if that would make his death more real, more immediate.

   Perhaps, perhaps not.

   What I feel most comforted these few months is that fact that I had the chance to care for one of my parents, something that plagued me for many years after Dad's passing. That Mom need no longer feel sorry for not letting me see Dad in his last moments because through her, I managed to get glimpses of that, regardless how different it might have been.

   Whether I made pictures or not should not have really mattered.

cinco de mayo

Cinco de Mayo 2010

Cinco de Mayo, 2015

 Truly, we made the arrangement to meet at the Mexican sidewalk cafe in midtown Manhattan before realizing that it was the Cinco de Mayo. Which it appears is a spring holiday (with pagan origins, of course) pretty much all over the world. But there we were again, five years later, at the old stand. There was Ed, and Pinks, and Ivy—an old pal joining for the first time—and me. And a beautiful day and one of the old waiters. The only difference was the addition of a few pounds and everybody playing with their phones.

and now for something completely different

 We went from classic/restrained and more appropriate for Hannah's decor to funky and functional for Claudia's (and for dogs). Thanks to Pinks for the couch!
And thanks to Carla in Missouri for the stitchery!
And, on Thursday, thanks to Hector for helping me carry it out again. . .

And Happy Cinco de Mayo!

home

home

homeless

My second spring this year. I bet the bums are really glad that spring is finally here.

to the rescue

She saw the overturned car and screeched to the side of the highway.
   She helped the two out of the car and checked their vitals. I talked to 911.
   The man was in pajamas.
   The woman whispered to Lynn, "He did it on purpose."
  
   When the EMTs, the fire department and the cops got there, Lynn told them what the girl had said.
   She wanted to make sure that several people, male and female,  superiors and underlings, heard it, in case someone wanted to suppress the truth.
   Which was that people will do anything for love.
    Even try to kill themselves and their beloveds.

And in other news, I am now home safe in NYC.

what's in the truck?

Clue: No dog.

a quarter mile apart

The goatherd's spread

Just down the road.

hummers back

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Location:Up on the roof

forlorn

Sad dog watches me pack the truck.
BTW, our Everest friends and crew are unharmed and helping with rescue.

dog needs home

No Name outside the Goose

RIP YoYo

There used to be a town dog here. She was called, variously, Smiley and YoYo. She had originally been taken in by the local vet, but she wouldn't stay with anyone. She was fat and happy roaming from house to house, visiting and playing with her dog friends. For years, she seemed to sense when I was arriving and lie on my doorstep waiting for me. More about Yo.
  This year there is a new town dog, whose personality is very different. People feed her too, but she doesn't want to be free. She wants to belong to somebody. She gazes into your eyes and says, "Let me into your heart. I need a hearth and home." If you sit outside she will lie under your feet, hoping.
   Yesterday I was returning from the PO and saw her alongside the road, about four miles from town, headed away. Perhaps she had given up on Thomasville. I thought she would be safer there than wandering along the highway, so I stopped in the middle of the macadam. No small thing on a road with no verge.
   "Cmon, get in!" I opened the door. She ran across the highway and looked in, but she would not get in.
   I went down the road a little further, and she ran after the truck. I stopped again and opened the door. I did not dare get out of the truck for fear of a logging truck barreling through right at the narrow bridge.
   She hesitated. She would not jump in. I whistled; I cajoled. Nope.
   As I pulled away, she chased after the truck again. I don't know if she made it back to town. Perhaps I'll find out today. The cafe is open, and she likes to hang around outside, looking at the customers and asking, "Does anyone need a dog?"

earth day roundup

In honor of Earth Day, a brilliant technology to turn salt water into fresh with a couple of clay pots and the sun.
A number of contests for you artist types:
Female screenwriters over 40 have until June 1 to enter a lab funded by Meryl Streep.
Mark Twain humor writing contest—not sure why the kid's prize is less than the adult's. Enter by July 10.
Nature photography awards from Lens Culture. Enter now! Submissions accepted til April 30.
And you have until May 15 to submit your photographs of insects for the entomolological society's calendar.
AND  In case you missed it, the fabulous high diving giraffes video.
Just for fun, a viral Singaporean spoof "I am so stunned like vegetable."

bird in hand

Frank to the rescue

 The red-winged blackbird dive bombed from the sky and lay on the patio, stunned. The dogs leapt for it, but Frank was faster. He took the bird, gasping with distress and shock, in his hands and held it gently until it came to its senses, gathered its strength and flew up into the sky.
  In other bird news, a grackle struts his courtship display on the lawn, and a lone hummingbird appears at the feeder. Spring is here in the Ozarks, though it was in the 40s last night.

Leaning to fly?

jammin'

Life is an adventure. You can get up at 3 ayem and be in Dallas by midday, still in your jammies! Fly well, y'all!

no pix, tnx

The final select

No passport pictures! No! No!

"No! No! No! No!"
It is a bad day to have your picture made.
You are a pro at being photographed, but today is not the day.
Sadly, today is the deadline to get your passport photo. All that is required is to sit in front of a white background and have your eyes open.
But some days that just doesn't seem to be in the cards.
Your teeth hurt.
You have a cold.
You are out of sorts—at least as long as that camera is looking at you.
 Smile! Click.
Buen viaje!

the way home

OK, the roundup.
Daughter Hannah has a new website whose strings are you wearing where you can post selfies with guitar string bracelets. Profits are donated to various charities.  You can see which ones on the site too.
 Stepmother (hah!), Jan Jenner, has published a new edition of her biology text Beyond Race: Human Biological Diversity. It comes very apropos, as it shows that, as far as genomics are concerned, race is an artificial distinction. Put paid to questions about evolution immediately, before we elect a Republican to the White House! Order for your classroom today!
Yes, I'm on my liberal high horse bigtime these days! Almost 10 percent of Americans have severe anger issues and access to guns, according to recent studies.
And speaking of anger issues, on a lighter note (ha!) "Woman Stabs Roommate for Refusing to Stop Listening to Eagles." One might think she is from the Ozarks, but she isn't.
In a different demographic entirely, photog pal Derek Hudson has published a short book about  Millenium Britain, from lower to upper crust. I am planning to buy it here.  What's hanging me up is the pound thing.
A brilliant tumblr site called  Gluten Free Museum depicts what works of art from Van Gogh to Warhol would look like without wheat or products that contain that contaminant. I am still waiting for the "Bubba Richard's Gluten-Free Call-In Radio Show." Sigh. Sorry. That isn't very PC.

quail eggs and morels

Earthy There is nothing better than a morel lightly floured and sauteed in butter. For info about how to find your own check this out. There is also nothing better than a boiled quail egg dipped in mustard sauce unless it is a raw quail egg atop sushi. The problem with boiled quail eggs, though, is that peeling them is even more impossible than peeling a very fresh hen's egg. Don't talk to me about hacks like baking soda, ice water, shaking in a glass, blowing out from the top. If it's fresh, it's near impossible! If you have a foolproof method, please weigh in. PS This would be the perfect inland spring meal with the addition of some fiddlehead ferns.

well. . .

Well, thanks to Drew (with new well, rear), a friend who operated as electrician and plumber rolled into one, the new well is hooked up, and I have had actual showers. I am sure my friends are thankful to Drew as well. The new well produces more water than the old one, and the new pressure tank and jet pump transmit it. The shallow "drove pipe" well is a country thing. I do not drink the water, though plenty do, because my well is only around 19 feet deep and largely ground or river water. But the water is plentiful and recharges quickly, and I can now run all taps simultaneously. And wash in the shower rather than the river! So all is well.

farmers' market

Yes, they're a couple of yupster kids. But, hey, they have great taste!

water over the bridge

Down at "The Slab" the Middle Fork river is flowing over the road at the low water bridge. The water is clear and beautiful, home to suckers and crawdads and trout and water snakes. The road right now is dotted with live turtles (drivers are asked to move them to the side of the road they are headed) and dead possums and skunks. No armadillos yet. I guess those hatch later in the season.

bugged

The cleaner has been delayed. The floors are covered with wasps and the windows with ladybugs. I guess I'm going to have to suck it up and suck them up.
Immediately!
I have a roundup coming up, but first I gotta get to those bugs.

i hate my ceiling

The Worst Feature of the Goose

Every year I swear I will deal with this. And the well. My dream is to have a proper shower. I went so far as to put in a new well and buy a new pump last year, but there was failure to hookup. Now I have to have a 220 line installed for the pump. So now I need an electrician and a plumber. I also purchased several panels to see how a tin ceiling would look. It would look fine, but I proved unable to handle it well enough to install without making a mess. That requires a carpenter. "You would think that in such a depressed area people would be looking for work," says Dianne."But they're not!"
   She speaks from deep experience.

home again

I am home. However, Bear does not appear to be in residence. Nor does spring.

the big city

Can you recognize the new addition to downtown Thomasville?

winter's last supper?

It's supposed to snow tomorrow in the Iron City, but, willynilly, fever and all, I am heading west into the lunar eclipse over a blood moon. I did not bring my winter coat, as I never want to see it again, so the weather better freaking shape up! Enjoy your Seder bitter herbs, your Easter Dinners, your Chocolate Bunnies and other festivities, I am heading into the wilderness after, rather than for, Lent, living my life, as per usual, ass backwards.

pitt stop

 The ravages of an unexpected spring cold in the head (as well as the unexpected spring cold in the ambient air) encouraged me to pause in the Iron City to recuperate. I find old mill towns very exciting (see, Woonsocket, Providence) and am happy to have etched up in one of the prime examples of steel mill rehab in the nation. Home to about 300,000 souls, amazing building stock and river views, Pittsburgh, Pa., has become a hipster haven. Colleges and medical centers and museums coexist with the signage of the past.

on the road again

Spring is in the air, and I am more than ready to get out of town. I have the spring cold to go with the spring fever, but the truck is loaded and I am headed south and west. The water is on at the Goose, and all that needs doing is cleaning up the spiders. For now.

wanted: iranian art expert

Coffee house painting

A friend is interested in loaning or selling this piece of folk art. She bought it in Iran in about 2000. A coffee house painting is typically a backdrop for traveling theater companies in Iran, and apparently they have become quite valuable and collectible. The question is—to whom? She is looking for that collector because she is selling the house she bought specifically because it had a wall that would accommodate the 12-foot canvas. Also, the newlywed said, "I like it better than my wife." I had to read that sentence twice.

the car life

Those of us who live in New York City don't typically think in terms of automobiles unless we're obsessing about parking. But for people in other places, especially parents, the car is a second home. I babysat in mama's car while she had a haircut, and we had snacks, a meal, playtime and naps during that period. And then I picked up my car, which I had about forgot how to drive. Since I am departing New York, I will be living in it for the foreseeable future. But all I need is a cooler, some bananas and a bunch of stray chairs.

first rays of spring

And goldfish, naturally.

babysitting

Sorry, can't write! Rain Rain go away. Wait. It's not raining, that's just the song! Make a fort! Be a slide! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!

leaving nyc

 It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, but I'm outta there. Gotta go see the funniestgrandson and the mostwonderfulgranddaughter. And so begins the hospitality season. Dowling Intercontinental is booking fast, with cousin Avery staying there now and three others expected within the week. I will just be there for a flash now and then until—November?