an old person's rant

Now this is a concert I wish I had attended. Besides the fact that Rosetta Tharpe is awesome, amazing and stupendous (and well dressed, I might add) look how civilized/respectful the people in the audience are!




Eddie and I have been on a concert-going rampage of late. (Our first concert was Loggins and Messina in Oshkosh, Wisconsin in the fall of 1972 IN THE GYM!) I wish I knew how many nights of live music we've shared since then, but trust me, it's mucho. That concert in Oshkosh was crazy and fun because everyone was high and in love and we were young and knew every word to every song being played. It was a love fest. Joints were passed up and down the rows, and we all came together and loved one another. Right now.

The last two concerts we've been to were Boss Bruce and Sir Paul. Both events were held in humongous arenas. They were slickly produced and cost lots of money to attend. I love both these guys, and they rocked it long and hard (they are 66 and 73 respectively!!!). Our seats were good. But I found myself watching the giant screens that were on either side of the stage all evening. That was mainly because everyone stood during the entire performance, and I couldn't see over/around the folks in front of me. So I had to look up most of the time at the screen, resulting in a cricked neck and this thought: couldn't I just be watching this at a movie theatre or at home? Well, you say, but then you would lose the experience of the huge sound and the pulsing of the bass and the pounding heartbeat of the drums. Well, here's where I'm going to sound like an old fart: both concerts were so loud that I was temporarily deaf for several hours afterward.

So, in this new age of concerts...

A: I hate the fact that you have to stand the whole time.
B: I dislike the fact that I end up watching the performers on a large TV screen.
C: I feel I have to choose between ear plugs or deafness, and I can't imagine paying to hear live music and wearing things in my ear to mute the sound.

But, guess what? There is something even worse happening at concerts these days, folks. CELL PHONES!! Everyone has theirs out the whole time. They are holding them up over their heads taking pictures (further obscuring the view of people behind them) or they are scrolling through the pictures they've just taken. At the McCartney concert, the guy next to me was actually texting and TALKING on his phone throughout the entire show. What? Sir Paul would sit down at the piano and play a ballad, a hush and darkness would fall over the crowd (though they still didn't sit down) and the light from this idiot's phone shown forth like a beacon in the night, his head bent over it as he pecked, scrolled and talked away. Finally, Eddie said something to him about it, and all he got in response was "F You, Man".

I love music. I love live music. I've been going to (and photographing at) concerts ever since the Supremes glamorously/majestically held court on stage at the University of Kentucky concert hall in the late 1960's. I'm going to hear my idol Bonnie Raitt tomorrow night. And we have tickets for other concerts coming up. But I think I'm done with the large venues. I'd say I'm just too old, but then I remember that so many of these performers are older than I am.

Bring back the days of Rosetta Tharpe kinds of performances!

looking at 60

Having a fun evening in Portland the night before I got sick

For my 40^th birthday, I asked my friends to dress as cowboys and cowgirls and join me at a local ranch for line dancing and bar-b-que.  I wasn’t very good at public speaking back then; in fact it terrified and practically paralyzed me. But, after a couple glasses of wine, I managed to stand on the stage and tell my friends how great it felt to be 40.  I wasn’t lying. Neither my brother-in-law nor a very close girlfriend had made it; both had died that year, and their absences weighed heavily on my mind that night. I believed I finally understood the fragility of life, and I felt grateful and happy to be alive.

Now I’m looking at 60. Yep, it’s there – just up ahead. Twelve days ahead, to be exact. And once again, I’m not going to be quiet about my big birthday.  (To be fair, it’s just not in my nature anyway. My sister can tell you that the entire year leading up to my 30^th was a fairly obnoxious one; I couldn’t stop talking about the fact that I was getting so old, blah, blah, blah.)

For many years I have suffered from vestibular migraines. They suck. Sometimes I have a nasty headache, but that’s the least of it. The worst of it is that I get vertigo. Even a short bout of vertigo knocks me out for at least two days (once I was out of commission for several weeks). I’m down for the count, in a quiet darkened room, unable to do more than get myself to the bathroom every now and then. The attacks are nearly impossible to predict, and when they occur I am always in the middle of doing something far more interesting than lying in bed feeling like I might never be able to get up again.

I just lost two days this week in Portland. I had far better things to do, of course, than lie still with a cold washcloth on my face. But it did give me a lot of time to think about turning 60.

So many things can change our perspective on life. Being sick is a big one. All I can say, on this morning of finally feeling better, is that I’m thankful for yet another reprieve and ready to grab today - and the next decade of my life – by the horns. As they say, you have no idea what tomorrow might bring. Yeah, it's trite, but oh so important to remember. 

Now pardon me while I get out of my slippers and back into my cowboy boots. With gusto.

Yee-haw!

moonwalk

I've had a soft spot for marching bands ever since Max was a member of the Trojan Marching Band in college. Those few gorgeous fall Saturdays I got to spend at the LA Memorial Coliseum watching football and listening to the band are undoubtedly some of my best memories.

Once upon a time I saw Michael Jackson (and all of his siblings) in concert. It was The Victory Tour at Arrowhead Stadium in 1984. It was one of the nights when you felt sure everything about anything was forever changed.

Where am I going, you wonder? To the Ohio State Marching Band's moonwalking tribute to MJ, of course.

got good music?

When Eddie and I got married, the things we merged that became our largest asset (we definitely had more of them than anything else) were our our album collections. In fact, one of the reasons we knew right away that we liked each other was that we shared affection for JT, Joni, Bonnie, Eric Clapton, Jethro Tull, Poco, John Prine, Loggins and Messina, Buffalo Springfield, Dylan, the Beatles, CNS&Y and Jackson Browne. In the early 70's, what else mattered but the music?

I used to buy albums (and before those - 45's) at a place called Barney Miller's. Every Saturday I would take the bus downtown, babysitting money tucked inside my wallet, and hang out among the record bins. At Barney Miller's, there was a listening both - kind of like a phone booth. Once I'd selected the albums I wanted to hear, I could go in there and give them each a listen. Grab a bunch of records, drop the needle on the vinyl and presto! you've got the perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon. 

Once I got to Kansas City, I hung out among the bins at Penny Lane. They didn't have a listening booth, but they did have Leroy. He was a sweet, hulking hippie with long thinning hair and oversized wire rims. He always wore overalls. Leroy knew my taste in music and always pointed me toward the right albums to take home.

Then came CDs, which I reluctantly started buying. Leroy would open up the ones he thought I should hear and play them on the store's sound system. My own giant listening booth.

Yesterday I decided I needed to add some new tunes to my music library, which is all neatly categorized and stored on my computer. (I've come a long way, baby.) At any rate, my shopping spree for records now consists of going to iTunes and scrolling through hundreds of releases. It's a daunting task. I can listen to snippets of songs to decide if I want to buy or not. There's a lot of clicking involved. I should have been framing photographs last night, but I went album shopping instead.

I should have been framing photographs this morning, but I went album shopping again - clicking my way through records by artists I like, then artists that iTunes thinks I might like since I liked the first artist, then artists who were favored by other consumers who also liked that first artist. It's a long trail down which to trek, and I could have spent all day with my hiking boots on. 

The funny thing is, I came up empty handed. Audio overload, I guess.

The framing awaits, and so does a good record from my tried and true music library - something I will play on my way groovy Sonos system. 

happy facts

I am sick and tried of losing my battle with a sinus infection (despite drugs), sick and tired of friends having to deal with cancer and break-ups and death, sick and tired of snow/cold weather and sick and tired of reading the news about bad people (Steubenville rapists, just to name a few).

So when I saw this silly post on a friend's Facebook page, I was delighted. Pardon me while I share these very happy facts! (Gullible is my middle name, so I hope these facts are all true. Especially the one about flamingos. I could look it up, but this morning I prefer to just believe.)

Thanks, Erica, for posting. For the rest of you, if you'd like to see the entire list of "The 30 Happiest Facts of All Time" click here.

Squirrels forgetting where they put their acorns result in thousand of new trees each year.

Some window washers at children's hospitals surprise the kids by dressing up like superheroes.

Otters hold hands while sleeping so they won't float apart.

The voice of Micky Mouse and the voice of Minnie Mouse got married in real life.

If you fake laugh long enough, you'll actually start to laugh really hard.

A group of flamingos is called a flamboyance.

When you were born, you were, for however brief an amount of time, the youngest person on the planet.

Puffins mate for life.

A chemical called oxytocin is released when people cuddle, helping to heal physical wounds.

Cows have best friends.

Alexander Graham Bell originally wanted people to greet each other on the phone by saying "ahoy!" instead of "hello!"

Blind people smile despite never having never seen someone smile before. It is just a natural human reaction.

The last man to talk on the moon, Gene Cernan, promised his daughter he'd write her initials on the moon. He did, and her initials "TDC" will probably be on the moon for tens of thousands of years.

In 1957, the BBC ran an April Fool's story about how spaghetti was growing on trees in Switzerland. So many people believed the hoax that the BBC was flooded with calls from people asking how to plant their own spaghetti tree.

explosion

Last night there was a natural gas leak, explosion and fire at JJ's, a beloved restaurant here in Kansas City. It was a cool place - locally owned and operated by Jimmy and his brother David for 27 years.

JJ's is completely gone now. Neighboring businesses, offices and homes were affected, as well. One body was found in the charred remains this morning, and three people are still in critical condition at nearby hospitals.

It's a sad, gloomy day in Kansas City.

After meeting a friend for coffee this morning, I drove as close as I could to the block where JJ's had stood. I guess I wanted to physically be part of the community that is dealing with this tragedy hands-on. I also wanted to get a picture or two to post here on the blog. Of course, the police have the whole area marked off, and there's no way to get too close right now.

As I pulled up to our condo, I saw this one lonely helicopter hovering in the sky. I had fallen asleep to its drone last night, and I can hear it even now as it circles high above the Plaza, the area where JJ's was and which is only a few blocks away.

It struck me as sad. Which is the way everyone in KC is feeling today.

overflowing

It's that time of year when we count our blessings and thank our lucky stars.

I'm grateful that my cup is overflowing. There is so much going on; my plate is full, and I'm not talkin' turkey and mashed sweet potatoes (though I am very much looking forward to both tomorrow!)

This weekend marks the first time that Joseph and Rosemary Kavulu, directors of the orphanage/school St. Mary Kevin, will be in the US since I founded Change the Truth! They flew from Uganda to Canada for their daughter's graduation from medical school. Quite a big event, and they made the ceremony with only two hours to spare! Then they flew to Seattle to visit their son and his family. That's where the story gets really good for CTT...

We are hosting a Friendraiser/Fundraiser in Seattle on Sunday. Our prized guest speakers will be Joseph and Rosemary. What an honor and rare opportunity it will be for us to be able to introduce these two amazing people to our friends and supporters. I am excited to report that board members Lynne Melcher and Carol Joseph will also be in attendance. It should truly be a great event! I will post a recap and some photos next week.

Also next week I will begin featuring the members of Team 6 here on the blog. It's a wonderful group of volunteers, all of whom are getting very pumped about their upcoming trip to Uganda. You can't believe the amount of positive energy these seven people are already generating! Stay tuned to learn all about them.

Early next month will be our CTT Fundraiser at Ten Thousand Villages. I am also hoping to put together an "open studio" at my Livestock Exchange place so that the pastel drawings I've been making can be viewed and offered for sale.

I'll be heading to the east coast in three weeks to help hurricane Sandy victims - with a group called Nechama (Jewish Response to Disaster). I'll be posting details and photos about the trip here.

Daughter Abbie continues to "grow" the baby who's nestled comfortably in that belly of hers, and I am looking forward to a great New Orleans adventure to meet said baby sometime in February.

It looks like I will be having a solo show in Kansas City in March. Wonderful news (and a lot of work)!! The show will most likely feature my new Uganda color work, as well as the Estate Sale Series. I'm thrilled about the opportunity and will fill you in soon.

And, I have been drawing long into the nights and wee hours of the mornings. I am having so much fun discovering the wonders of pastel drawing and am always curious to see what comes out of me. I'm beginning to discover some connections between the drawings and my photographs, which comes as a pleasant and warm surprise.

I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving and find many, many things for which to express your gratitude. I feel lucky to have you, my readers, still hangin' in there with me after all these years of blogging. Thank you for that! I really mean it.

wedding vows

On a lighter, brighter and more hopeful note, Eddie and I are attending a wedding this weekend in the sunny state of Florida. Eddie was asked to officiate at the wedding, and I am running around documenting it with my Hipstmatic. Fun with friends and fotography in Florida. Not a bad way to spend the weekend.

wish it was this easy

(thanks, april)

check this out!

We are on the wedding circuit these days. A friend sent me this video: I wish we'd been invited to this wedding!!!

frightening stuff

Look what greeted those who went to local synagogues for services last week in Kansas City. The Fred Phelps/Westboro Baptist Church group of protesters hoisted these signs in hopes of getting the word out about their beliefs.


Tell us how you really feel, Fred.

heroes

I have been named an everyday super hero. The award will be presented to me before 2,000 people at a gathering called “Speaking of Women’s Health” in early October. Yikes.

Although I am thrilled and extremely honored, I can think of many far more qualified people. Right off the top of my head I think of firefighters, search and rescue people and soldiers – people who put themselves in the line of fire in order to serve, protect and often save others. (By the way, my fellow award winner is a firefighter. I don’t know… firefighter, photographer… hmmm… seems like there is something wrong with this picture.) I am far from a super hero. I stole make-up a couple of times at Woolworth’s when I was a teenager; I have sworn in front of my kids; I inhaled; I have told lies; I am often lazy; I get impatient in traffic jams and have been known to yell at other drivers.

After doing some online research, I found these to be the common traits of super heroes:

"Extraordinary powers and abilities, relevant skills, and/or advanced equipment. Although superhero powers vary widely, superhuman strength, the ability to fly, enhanced senses, and the projection of energy bolts are all common. Some superheroes, such as Batman and the Question possess no superhuman powers but have mastered skills such as martial arts and forensic sciences. Many characters supplement their natural powers with a special weapon or device (e.g., Wonder Woman's lasso, Captain America's shield, Spider-Man's webbing, etc.)

A strong moral code, including a willingness to risk one’s own safety in the service of good without expectation of reward.

A motivation, such as a sense of responsibility (e.g. Spider-Man), a formal calling (e.g., Wonder Woman), a personal vendetta against criminals (e.g., Punisher, Batman), or a strong belief in justice and humanitarian service (e.g. Superman).

A secret identity that protects the superhero’s friends and family from becoming targets of his or her enemies, although many superheroes have a confidant (usually a friend or relative who has been sworn to secrecy).

A distinctive costume, often used to conceal the secret identity.

A supporting cast of recurring characters, including the hero's friends, co-workers and/or love interests, who may or may not know of the superhero's secret identity."

Yesterday I sat down in front of lights and a camera at the local public TV station to be interviewed about my super hero award. (I did not like this, was not good at it and feel a bit sick to my stomach each time I think about what I said and what I forgot to say.) My costume consisted of the usual: blue jeans and cowboy boots. No cool weapons or gear, no displays of superhuman strength. Darn. The interviewer was fabulous, though. She had done her homework and asked great questions.

The questions that have stuck in my mind have to do with this whole hero issue. I think it’s worth considering, I realized, who really are our heroes.

She asked who mine are. Immediately, I said, “My parents, my kids, my husband.” (The thing about doing interviews is you don’t really have a lot of time to mull over the questions – what comes out comes out, and you have to then be prepared to back that up.) I was surprised and informed by many of my answers yesterday, but not by that one.

She asked me, “Why them?” I simply said, “Because they hold me up.” (That takes a lot of sacrifice and strength. Maybe not lightening bolts, the ability to fly or to use special weapons, but many, many things of equal importance and coolness.)

Again, I had never really thought about it that way before. Still, I was not surprised by what came out of my mouth.

The more we talked, the more specifically I was able to define my super hero views. The conversation turned to my friend and Holocaust survivor, Bronia.

Bronia’s main goal in life has been to shed any anger, hatred, bitterness or resentment she might have developed after losing her family, being humiliated, deprived, starved, worked to the bone and nearly murdered by the Nazis when she was a young woman. She told me once that she had had no intention of being under further imprisonment once she was liberated. To harbor anger and bitterness would have cast her into a life behind bars. She vowed not to let that happen. Not only did Bronia succeed; she has also managed to teach this lesson to thousands.

Now, that’s a super hero.

a poem

Blink
by Morton Marcus

You’ve got to love life so much that you don’t want to
miss a moment of it, and pay such close attention to
whatever you’re doing that each time you blink you can
hear your eyelashes applauding what you’ve just seen.

In each eye there are more than 80 eyelashes, forty
above and forty below, like forty pairs of arms working,
80 pairs in both eyes, a whole audience clapping so loud
you can hardly bear to listen.

160 hands batter each other every time you blink.
“Bravo!” they call. “Encore! Encore!”

Paralyzed in a hospital bed, or watching the cold rain
from under a bridge—remember this.

I extend thanks to a couple of photoblogger friends for passing this poem along to me. As I explore a new city, and my senses are on high alert - especially my sense of sight - this piece keeps popping into my head.

website

I am thinking about creating a new website. If you know of someone with great website design skills who would be interested in getting paid with prints, please have him/her email me: gbfeinstein@aol.com

i’d rather have a root canal

You may have trouble believing this, but I have a fear of flying. It started shortly after I became a mom for the first time, and I’ve since learned that the same was true for many of my friends. I think I came by it naturally, though. I flew one time with my grandmother when I was a teenager, and when I got off the plane there were fingernail indentations in my arm that remained in place for several hours.

To keep from being paralyzed by this malady, I have tried various combinations of the following: hypnosis, behavior modification classes, deep breathing, drugs, alcohol, prayer and meditation. Those who have had the questionable good fortune to fly with me over the years know that when the weather gets bad and the pilot comes on the loudspeaker to warn passengers about the big “t” I hunker down in my seat and quietly begin repeating certain key phrases that I hope will help guide us safely through the storm. Of course, there have been those occasions when a sudden, loud exclamation, one that startles travelers several rows in front of and behind me and which probably should not be repeated in the company of young children, does seem to help get me through the terror.

I have often traveled by car or train instead of putting myself (and others) through the anguish.

Fully one third of air travelers’ knuckles turn white once they lift off. Fear of flying ranks right up there with fear of public speaking, fear of spiders and fear of crossing bridges.

My brother-in-law was a pilot, and, of course, he loved to fly. Unfortunately, he ran into bad weather on his descent into Kelso, Washington one morning fourteen years ago and was not able to keep the plane from going down in an old growth forest, where both he and his passenger died. A few months before that, though, convinced that he could shake me of my fear, he took me up in small plane and handed the wheel over to me, carefully explaining as we soared above Seattle each strange noise and each unexpected lunge and shudder. It was kind of exhilarating, and it kind of scared the bejeezus out of me. I admired his skills and his enthusiasm for flight, though, and to this day I think of him when I am flying and how he would want me to be brave when the air gets choppy.

Our flight today was one that involved steering around lots of thunderstorms. This meant frequent announcements to the flight attendants to take their seats, which is always the cue for me to go immediately into firm-grip-on-the-armrest mode. Needless to say, I gratefully acknowledged the goddess of aeronautics as I finally staggered off the 737. With several new gray hairs, a still slightly queasy stomach, and a good-natured husband who now has a few marks of his own on his arm, Portland, here we are.

here and there

I know, I know, you are totally confused. Yes, you are still at the right place. I think I have settled on a blog design I like. I have even added a new element: some cool blogs to visit. (Lower left corner of the menu bar.)

This is a catch-all post. Various and sundry. Potpourri. Hit or miss. Take it or leave it.

Today began with the very exciting news that my nephew’s wife is pregnant. This means come December, I will be a great aunt. (I am still trying to process that little tidbit.)

News from Kajjansi is that the children are busy making more of the banana fiber dolls to send to me in a few weeks. If you were at the Friendraiser/Fundraiser, you know that the eight we had sold out in an instant. I’ll let you know when the new ones arrive.

My book, Convergence, still has a shelf life after all this time! I realized this recently when I was prowling around Powell’s bookstore in Portland and spotted a copy of it in the photo section. Then, yesterday, Photo Eye in Santa Fe ordered a few more copies, as they had sold out. Now, if I can just find that inventory of books in my basement! (Oh, right, I forgot, that would be the pile of boxes just about my height that has taken up permanent residency in one large corner lot of the garage.)

Good news from PBS. Apparently someone there who is working on a documentary wants to use some of my photographs in the piece. I am now in the process of learning about photo usage and rights and payment and all that sort of thing.

And last, but not least, the Nelson-Atkins Museum has purchased “Boy with Ball, Kajjansi, 2007” for its photography collection. As you may recall from a previous post, the curators paid me a studio visit a few weeks ago. Guess when they got together to discuss, this was the end result; I am extremely grateful and happy about the news!

My next post will be from the Rose City, also known at Stumptown, also known as the place of our recently purchased "second home."

sheryl crow

Torrential Midwestern rains held off just long enough last night for Missouri girl Sheryl Crow and her band to finish the encore set of their concert at Starlight Theatre. I wasn’t really up for going, but some girlfriends insisted; once they got me there, they presented me with a free tenth row ticket, a VIP parking pass, a glass of pinot grigio, and a beautiful, breezy, Kansas City pre-storm evening.

These three women have been my friends for close to thirty years (one for forty) and we’ve been through all the ups and downs of life together. Crow, who is really quite politically and environmentally liberal and outspoken, has been on her own roller coaster these past couple of years, and the songs on her new CD are all about what she calls life’s “detours.” Having recently battled breast cancer, she had some astute things to say about being forced to take a different route from the one you thought was going to be ahead of you.

The four of us fifty-somethings (my friends are very close to becoming sixty-somethings) were right there rockin’ out with the best of them. We still have it, I am happy to report.

I was amazed to learn that Crow is in her mid-forties. She is one gorgeous, fit and energetic woman. (We left the concert feeling like we wanted to grow out our hair and go to the gym more.)

Anyway, it was a fantastic night under threatening and amazing skies, and I thank my friends for getting me out into it. Here’s one of Crow’s new songs, which she wrote about her breast cancer treatment. Her new album is called “Detours” and I think it’s worth checking out.

Make It Go Away
 (Radiation Song)

I stare into

Some great abyss

And calculate

The things I’d miss

If I could only

Make some sense of this



And Madam Butterfly

Resounds

Over the mothership

Her lights flashing around


I float above her and

I wonder how

To make it go away

Make it go away



I crawl into my circumstance
Lay on the table

Begging for another chance

But I was a good girl


I can’t understand how to

Make it go away

Make it go away



Sometimes
I wonder

Which hurts the worse

The thought of dying

Or reliving every hurt

Was love the illness

And disease the cure


Make it go away

update on c.

Many of you have written me to weigh in on the sad events surrounding Max’s classmate C. and want to know what is happening. All I know is what has been reported in the news, which is this: C.’s parents went to court and announced that they were unable to pay the $250,000 bail; the attorney asked that they be allowed to pay 10%. It was dropped to $150,000, but they were still unable to pay, so C. remains in jail. We saw him on the news the other night, shackled in cuffs, donning an orange prison uniform. Not a pretty sight. Nor was the clip of the dead boy’s mom clutching a photo of her son.

I was thinking back to “senior skip day” last year. Through an odd and somewhat confusing turn of events, it seemed that (at the very last minute) the time honored tradition was going to take place at C’s family farm, which is quite a long drive from Kansas City. I was not thrilled when Max informed me (aren’t I lucky to have a kid who TALKS to me?) and I quickly kicked into protective mom mode and telephoned C’s mother to get more information. She told me that while it was a long drive, there was a hospital nearby for any emergencies and besides C. would be responsible for his friends. He would NEVER drink and drive; further, he would NEVER let any of his friends drive under the influence. The lesson for all of us parents? Never say never.

Too many unpredictable confluences of events. Too much out of our control. We may think we know our kids - what they’ll do, what they’ll say, where they’ll go, and who they’ll go there with. Lord knows “trust” is what keeps us all moving forward where there are teenagers involved. But again, never say never.

I believe that just throws us off our guard and makes us look the other way.

It could be any of us in the position of asking for lowered bail, you know. It could be any of us clutching that photo, too.

fourteen years later

When Max was younger, I used to make individual portraits of his classmates on the first day of school. Each well-groomed child was brimming with excitement, dressed in his or her favorite outfit, showing off a new haircut, an extra inch or two in height, a tan from the summer sun and often a confidence that they didn’t have when school had let out in June.

One of my favorite portraits from that era was of a kid named C. When he was in first grade, he had a toothless grin, a face splattered with freckles and an untamable cowlick. He had an impossibly bright sparkle in his eyes.

Yesterday C., now a college student, turned himself in at a local police station.

Seems he had been out partying and in the wee hours of Mother’s Day had hit and killed a pedestrian who was crossing the street in our neighborhood. There were two other boys in the car with C. Who knows what happened, what was said, what went through their minds, what really happened in those few horrific seconds, but the young men drove on. They left the twenty-five year old man who was attempting to cross the street right where he was. He was pronounced dead at the scene, though we do not know yet how much later that was.

According to the news story, which just broke yesterday, the two friends who had been in the car with C. finally came forward and told the story to police. It was four or five days later. C. had no choice at this point but to put on his khaki pants, a blazer and tie, and head (with his attorney) over to the police station.

There’s a mug shot of him, looking stoic and serious, that has been shown on the local news, and I can’t help but wonder each time I see it where that little kid with the goofy grin went.

You try and you try as a parent to instill in your children the ability to make the right decisions. You have all those talks about not drinking and driving, all those talks about living up to your responsibilities even when you’ve messed up. You conjure up all the worst scenarios when they are not home yet, and it is past curfew; you have nightmares about all the ways things can go wrong. You would rather die than see your kid get into trouble or, worse yet, suffer the unbearable consequences of someone else’s kid’s horribly stupid mistakes.

And then, suddenly, for families too close to home, you see it happen. You see everything come tumbling down around them.

It’s a situation that is sad for so many reasons, and one that will have this town talking for quite awhile. I, for one, have a heavy heart for all four boys (and their families) involved. And I’ll probably pull out that picture of C. sometime soon just to remind myself who he used to be.

camp

I was really lucky as a kid to get to go to summer camp. I went to a girl’s camp in northern Wisconsin – one that has been there since the 1950’s – for two months each summer for three years. I was in my early teens. I still dream about those years, those girls, that place.

I learned, among other things, how to set up a tent, build a camp fire and cook on it, sling bows and arrows, run rapids in a canoe, tye-dye and make really good friends.

The camp is getting ready for it’s 50th reunion and has dug out of various basements, drawers and closets thousands of old photos of campers over the years. I’ve been going through them online. I want to share two of my favorites.


If you have ever been swimming with me, you know that I do this awful imitation of synchronized swimmers doing a maneuver I think is called “ballet leg.” I learned it at camp. I am most certainly not in this photo, but this is the move. Well, I could possibly be the girl second from left in the water, because that’s pretty close to what my “ballet leg” looks like. At any rate, I love the photo.

The next one sent chills down my spine when I saw it. Yes, I learned how to print in the darkroom at summer camp! And here is the very darkroom. Again, not me in the photo, but to see a picture of the place where I first dipped my fingers in the developer – well, that was a thrill!