motherlove.

Janika and Gabrielle (9 months)

***

The two of them arrive around 1pm, just as lunch is being served. Proud mommy Janika tells everyone, she's got a tooth! Her first tooth!

Women of all ages, colors, sizes crowd around mother and child. The baby, in her light purple sweatsuit, is definitely a rock star. She loves the faces surrounding her, the attention, the laughter and arms reaching out to touch her.

I'm at WDDC, otherwise known as the Women's Daytime Drop-in Center, in North Berkeley. The WDDC is a non-profit program that empowers women and children to move from the streets to a home. Not all of the women here are mothers. Some are single, older women: some homeless, some getting aid for housing. All are here for lunch and companionship.

The WDDC is an unusual place. It's a home, literally. Situated in a residential neighborhood, there's a kitchen with two volunteers cooking barbequed pork and yams, a living room with sofas and chairs and books, a dining area, and then several rooms devoted for client consultations and offices. The home is old, but still, it's a home. It feels comfortable and welcoming. Instantly upon my arrival, at least three people bid me hello and ask me if I need help. I can't tell if they're working there or the clientele.

I'm taken around and introduced to everyone. I tell them I'm there to collect stories, to listen, to take photos. I tell them I'm with Help A Mother Out, and that we help donate diapers here. Women who don't even have kids thank me for the diapers. Everyone realizes here that any assistance and outpouring of help benefits them all. Janika especially is so grateful for the diapers. She says," I haven't had to worry about diapers at all since the baby was born. Thank you!"

Some of the women are shy. They don't want to talk or have their photo taken. A couple others want me to teach them photography. We sit around the long tables while they eat their lunches and they talk about finishing school, finding new homes, getting jobs.

I will be back.

***

WDDC provides ongoing and intensive counseling, case management services, daily support groups, a comprehensive children's program, a variety of referral services, and a transitional housing program for for single-parent families.

Due to cutbacks, WDDC has had to lay off two key employees, one a counselor for the children. 

You can read more about WDDC here and more about Help A Mother Out here.

You can donate diapers online to WDDC or other Bay Area nonprofits here.


You can read more about our diaper drive and awareness raising efforts here.

Before the tickle.

I love her.

(My sister made her. Good work there.)

It's rainy and grim looking outside but this little face has made the sun shine already today.

You can see another image here.

On the Occasion of His 94th Birthday...

Grandpa on his birthday, with his girlies.

***

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family."  ~Anthony Brandt

***

Today was one of those days that I wished I had a laptop, or even a scrap of paper, for a brain dump. All those hours in the car, coming back from LA, coming back from family, from the birthday and I had so many thoughts and ideas crawling around in my head and now they've disappeared like ghosts.

With my luck, they'll wake me at 3am and then I'll try to catch them, like fireflies.

We had a lovely time. Grandpa was happy. I think we tuckered him out but in a good way that I know he won't mind.

The girlies are beautiful and must be renamed as Little Curly Girl's hair is straighter now. Princess Chubness is getting long and lean and is not really so chubby anymore. She's walking and growing little teeth and is sporting about ten thousand long eyelashes.

It's raining and I'm home.

I'm going to lie in bed and listen to it rain. Nighty nite.

The Stories of Our Lives.

"Three big things happened to me when I moved to San Francisco: I found myself; I met the love of my life; and I got breast cancer." ~ Sonia, i live here:SF

This is the second time in about two weeks that someone has emailed me their i live here:SF story to me and I've read it on my iPhone, crying, in a public place. The other person was Mike. I'm so touched how beautiful (and beautifully written) some of these stories are, and then so blown away by what people want to share with me, and you, by proxy.

I really don't know much, if anything, about my subjects. I like to be in the dark. I don't really want their stories to influence how I take pictures of them. I did know that Sonia had had breast cancer. I didn't know anything else about her life.

Her story is a beautiful San Francisco love story. Read it, share it with your friends. Leave a comment for Sonia on i live here:SF (she'll like that), and then find someone you love and TELL THEM you love them. Or hug them or kiss them — I don't care. Just be with someone YOU love.

Sonia's story can be found here.

***

ps.: I wanted to thank all of you who commented on my recent post about Julie & Julia (you know, the post where I actually wrote something and didn't immediately send you to another website.)

I keep meaning to come back to you here and share another story. I have a few in the hopper of my mind. But like all things last week, something else inevitably comes first. And then there are other stories that are so much better than what I was going to say, like Sonia's, that I just have to let them get in the front of the line.

How do you measure a year in the life?

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.
525,600 minutes: How do you measure,
measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.

~ From "Seasons of Love", RENT

***

Like other parts of my life, the Grove now brings me full circle. Just as I say that when I am in San Francisco I am alive, the same holds true for the Grove.

What the Grove embodies is that inexplicable but unmistakable reason why I live in San Francisco. When I am in the Grove I am alive.

I know the City has flaws and challenges and its own problems, but this City has more of one thing than any other city I have ever been to – heroes.

~ Mike Shriver

***

Something has been accelerating lately... a cosmic push that's led me to some eye-opening and life-changing meetings. I can't describe it exactly but some of the people that have been meeting me, many of whom will appear soon on i live here:SF are filling me with appreciation and awe.

There's been a concentration of happenings — I don't know what else to call them exactly — of people who have entered my life and awareness, almost en masse. These meetings bring into question my supposed belief that there are no coincidences, that we place too much importance on things happening for a reason. That we ascribe importance to random events that really are only random events, but our need to believe in a universal something makes us yearn for a design, a plan.

***

Only a couple of weeks ago did I meet Mike. Perhaps it's the new camera, but when I have it around my neck, people come over and talk to me. It's like part of my uniform now.

So I'm in Dolores Park, on my way to meet someone I've never met for a photo shoot, as is my way. ;-) This slight man, wielding a larger camera than mine makes eye contact and asks me if I've ever seen the red-tailed hawk that lives in the park. I haven't. Then we get to talking: about birds, camera, being obssessed with photography, and one things leads to another and then it's like I've known Mike forever.

I have no idea how the subject of the National AIDS Memorial Grove comes up. But then it turns out that we have a mutual friend, a wonderful man named Jack Porter who helped found the Grove. So we had even more in common.

December 1 was World AIDS Day. Mike texted me to see if I could help him cover the day's events and help him take photos of the celebration, awards and speakers. Of course, I got there as soon as I could. I have photos to share that I'll be uploading soon. What I will try to relate as well is the feeling of incredible love and hope that exists today for those on the forefront of fighting AIDS and discrimination for HIV+ people. What I learned about this disease, now in the 25th year since its discovery, shook me deeply and also made my eyes fill with tears of compassion for the people who live with this illness on some level daily.

For those of us who think our lives are not affected by AIDS and never will be, it's just not true. I asked Mike to share his special SF story with us and it is a beautiful story. I hope you'll read it.

Morning Mystery

I think part of the reason I love taking photos of people is that some of them absolutely fascinate me. So many worlds to be exposed to.

Above and below are Calli. She contacted me about being part of i live here:SF way back when, in the early days. We went out for tea on a cold afternoon and she told me a lot about her life and her life studying fashion and art here in the city. And then for a bunch of different reasons we weren't able to get together to take photos.

Now all these months later, we finally did. And the wait seemed to be a very good thing. I don't think we would have achieved some of the haunting and extraordinary images that we did until now. Above is Calli in a bodystocking. She explained it as a way to disappear, when you want to be by yourself but you're surrounded by people. The look of it, and the concept fascinated me. I guess I can relate. I also learned a tiny bit about Butoh, just enough to intrigue me and make me want to learn more. As I learn, I'll share with you.

I now have a new camera. One of these photos was taken with the new one, and one with the old (which I'm now calling the Security Blanket Camera). I'm happy using both as I learn my way and how my camera influences my style and what I'm capable of capturing images of. I know I'll need more lenses to do what I want to do but already I can see the quality of photos improve from having a larger sensor. I love being able to control the depth of field, something I was never able to do before.

My mom lovingly gave me a large part of the money for the new camera for my birthday, and I subsidized it with some of the money I made at Tedda's show in September. I think I will name the body of the camera Bunny, after my mom. That seems very appropriate and special. She has told me that she would like to give me some money from my grandmother's account to pay for a lens or two. So I will call the lenses Helens or Little Helens.

I really really like the idea that my grandma, wherever she is, is helping me to see the world more beautifully.

***

You can learn more about Calli here.

Desert Hearts

Princess Chubness and her pal, Wolfie

***

It's the day I leave Las Vegas, and now I wish I was just arriving. The perfect, identical suburbs, the wide open barren places and the crazy confabulation of "entertainment" in this town leave me feeling lonely.

But nestled in amongst all of this are pure and sweet hearts. You see two of them here.

It may be nice to be an Auntie (Mame or otherwise), because you avoid the crying, the diapers, the sleep deprivation. However, you miss the giggles, the hugs, the clutching, furtive steps to try to walk, the joy in seeing other people love you for just being you.

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending part of it in an airport by myself, headed home to the city I love. But I'll be leaving a part of my heart behind in this desert, because a tiny girl has stolen it with her chubby hands and won't give it back.

Sometimes it takes so little...

...to make a person happy.

Sometimes I wonder why it is so hard for those of us who have so much?

Meet Chewie, Little Fluff and Patricia.

If you are around Polk Street @ California, you might see them on the corner. Give them a dollar or two if you can. Stop and pet the cats for a moment. They love company and a kind word.

More later but I'm so dog tired. I wish I had someone who could take dictation and type my blog for me. Any takers?

***

Long story very very short, I was in a boutique today with someone who will be featured in i live here:SF very soon. She said to the boutique owner that I'm a photographer and the woman said, "Hey, you want to have a show here?"

Just like that.

Could it really be that easy?

Yes. I guess it can.

More on that too if there's something to tell.

saying goodbye in our way.

My three girls together: my sister, Little Curly Girl, and Little Helen.

***

I never thought I'd laugh as often as I cried. But I did laugh. We all did.

We laughed a lot. We told stories. We still burst into tears at different times, depending on the person, but it wasn't all crying all the time.

When my mom and I went to the funeral home to iron out the details for the service, we couldn't help abhorring the depressing Muzak playing throughout the dim blandness. We resolved to bring our own tunes, music that Little Helen liked. We brought Harry James, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw.

Before the service, Little Curly Girl wanted to dance. So I picked her up and put her on my hip, and we danced to Glenn Miller's "In the Mood."

LCG giggled as we danced and whispered in my ear: "Dip me." She likes to be dipped.

"Which way, front or back?" I asked. We dipped both ways.

Little Curly Girl went up to the coffin a few times, sometimes with her mom and once with me. She said to me, "I want to see her inside." I told her we can't do that but that Grammy's resting in there. LCG looks at me all serious and says, "I'm pretty sad that Grammy died." Nods her head. "I'm pretty sad," she repeats solemnly.

I said, "I understand. I'm pretty sad, too."

***

During the service, the rabbi had all of us go around the room and say who we were and perhaps share a story or memory about Little Helen. I really did not think I could do it. I was one of the last people to have their turn, and everyone kept saying, "Well, I met Helen through..." to start their story.

When it was my turn to speak, still not sure what I would say, it came to me... I said, "I met Helen through my mom." And got a room full of laughter. So then I could tell my story, too.

***

I didn't realize how long it's been since I really could remember my grandma in her good and sweet humor, her chubbiness, her funny way and how I used to tease her. When someone's sick for a long time, you can only focus on what is immediately in front of you and it's hard to keep it happy. I was so glad to recover the lady that I loved so well, through our shared stories, through our shared laughter last week.

A friend said to me, funerals are for the living. I didn't really understand what he meant until now, but it's true. That togetherness is what makes the loss and sadness bearable. It doesn't make it go away but it makes you realize that you will go on, and that others care.

***

One of my favorite songs is Kitty Kallen singing "It's Been a Long, Long Time." It just about killed me when I heard it played at the service, but when I got home today, I realized I wanted to play it here in this post. I found some old photos of Little Helen, ones that I had forgotten I had, photos of when she was young and voluptuous and lovely and newly married, and perhaps she danced to or sang this song.

Of course I cried my eyes out just putting these photos to music, but it also felt so right and sweet that I'm glad I did. And it is such a perfect song.

Three Months Ago Today

Three months ago today, my life changed in a way I never would have expected it to.

Three months ago today, a young mother struggling to fight back the tears as people walked past her on their way home (home, to their homes) as she held up a sign written in colored marker and decorated with some glittery stickers that her beautiful seven-year old little girl gave her, a sign pleading for enough money to pay for that night's shelter: she and her young family stood cold and crying on a cold afternoon sidewalk in the canyon of tall banks and glass windowed buildings on a cold and windy street in San Francisco.

Three months ago today, my life intersected with these lives and this little family became my conscience and my sadness, my hope and my passion.

It seems like forever ago but it was only three months ago.

How lives can change in such a short time.

***

For those of you who have been following this story and the updates since Day One, thank you.

For those of you who listened to Adam's podcast and shared your comments and thoughts, thank you.

For those of you who took the time to repost or retweet the original story and the updates, sometimes as many times as I did, thank you.

For those of you who wrote K a note or a letter, even though you had never met her and never will, and gave her hope and let her know you cared about her and her family, thank you. She received each and every one of your letters.

For those of you who found you could donate some money, thank you. For those of you who donated a little refrigerator, clothes and diapers, food and toiletries, adorable stuffed animals, and a beautiful writing journal, thank you.

For those of you who didn't give up on this little family, thank you.

***

You and they have given me the proof that people are good and kind and want to be so.

That might be the greatest gift of all.

"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come." ~ Anne Lamott

***

UPDATE: It's funny to have an update to a post that hasn't been published yet, but I got this information after I had written the text above, but before I was ready to hit Publish Post.

It's too perfect, too wonderful and oh so real.

K called me. Her apartment is almost ready.

She and the kids will be moving into their new home on August 4.

On August 4, they will no longer be homeless.
Her son will have his own room, and hopefully he will get a football comforter for his new bed.
Her daughter will have her own room to decorate with all of the Hannah Montana and High School Musical posters that four new walls can handle.
The baby will have a crib, finally. He has never slept in one.
K will have her own room, her own bed.
Her own life.

If you're shedding a tear while you're reading this, you're in good company and I think that this is the best kind of crying.

I will be seeing K today and we are going to start putting together a wish list for the new house. I will keep you posted on that because I know some of you might like to help with donations of house-things.

This update seems to be the best sort of way to end a post that already had an ending, but wouldn't you know it, life just goes and surprises you like that sometimes.

This is the real world.

Dear Governor Schwarzenegger,

Thank you for cutting this family's welfare check from $683 to $580 a month for a family of four.

They don't really need that extra $103 anyway.

Not even this little guy.

***

I just wanted to thank you, dear readers, for your continued support of K and the kids. K has been sick with a summer flu (just after the baby had it) and while she was sick, I told her how you all continue to step up and help to keep them afloat until August.

I could just hear the relief in her voice.

Today she gave me a letter to transcribe to give to you all, which is at the bottom of this email.

But first, a little treat.

***

I had a bit of extra money in my wallet so I thought it would be fun to have dinner at Chevy's.

Lots of baskets of chips later, and lots of laughs and fun, we ate ourselves silly. I, for one, will not be eating anything tomorrow. The kids interrupt each other constantly to tell me something new and exciting: "Auntie Julie, guess what happened..." "Auntie Julie, we saw spider monkeys at the zoo yesterday..." "Auntie Julie, I can do my times tables up to 12s..." "Auntie Julie, Auntie Julie!"

How I love to hear that. They never stop making me smile.

***

And now here is K's note to all of you...

"To my Guardian Angels–

Hello everyone, My name is Kelaya.

You all just don't know how much of an impact you have had on my family. The kids are so greatful [sic]. Words can't even express my gratitude.

You all helped save my life. Each and every one of you, I am in tears right now as I write this thank you note. I also wanna thank God for such wonderful and careing people. You all did not know me or my children but still you helped us. I think of you all as my family.

Thank you all for believeing in me. All the emails that you sent to me made me feel a lot better about my situation and [kept me] strong. I would read them over and over just about every day once the kids were at school and the baby was asleep. My life was so hard before I new [sic] you all.

Thanks for easing the pain. We Love you guys so much. Big Hugs and Kisses from K and kids.

ps.: Can I read some more inspiring emails from you all? Please you guys are awesome!!!"

***

And with that, I hope you feel proud of yourselves. Those of you who helped in all the ways you could. Of course, we'd still appreciate any donations you can make, friends you can share this with, or emails you can write.

Mostly, I want you to know that these people are real. They have hope and laughter and life because you care. And so I add my thanks to theirs and my hugs and kisses, too.

xoxo

Sharing Pride 2009

Here's a small selection of the photos I took yesterday at Pride. You can see the entire set here although I'll probably add a few more photos over time as I finish working on them.

It's colorful and happy and riotous and I love a good excuse to see people dressed up and having fun.

The families, the parents, the friends and loved ones... that is also what I see.

I hope you can see the good spirits and joy shining through the recent disappointments (President Obama, when will you step up and do what's right?).

I walk away with optimism and hope even though the path to acceptance is not an easy one, even though there's no reason why it couldn't be.

It's hard to understand why we still need to raise the issue of fairness, civil rights and tolerance in this country, which obviously has such a long way to go yet holds itself up as a model for the rest of the world.

Just one more image to really ponder...

Bless their hearts. Really and truly.

doppler effect

–Noun. Physics. Change in the apparent frequency of a wave as observer and source move toward or away from each other.

***

If there is an invisible part of you (your other heart, not the physical one composed of bits of matter: bosons and leptons and strange quarks), that unscientific yet very real heart still may be broken in a thousand little pieces but held together somehow (like a shattered windshield) as you rush towards what is now inevitable, can the compression of the movement before you hold those pieces together? Is that how you are able to put on your brave face?


And then, only upon receding from the situation, as the distance grows between you and what you bear witness to, that the little shards start to fall and the broken structure fails? And then you can cry behind your large dark sunglasses?

Can any wave be subject to the doppler effect? Even a wave of emotion?

As much as I love the physics of the universe (with my base, miniscule grasp of the science), there is no theorem to cope with grief, regret, loss.

***

Approaching and receding from a personal event horizon.

I took photos from my seat on the train, coming and going from the visit to Little Helen. I brought a book but could not concentrate on it, although it's a book I'm enjoying very much: Jane Jacobs' The Death and Life of Great American Cities. And after obsessively checking my email on my iPhone, I had run the battery down to almost nothing, putting an end to that activity.

So all I could do was take photos out the windows.

Trains take us around the underbellies and backsides of things, to places that we normally cannot see and have no access to.


Having the camera on continuous shooting mode, hearing the click click click click in rapid procession, ticking off the world going by in bite-sized pieces, that made things feel more manageable. Just hearing the sound of the shutter was good.

You probably cannot tell from this photo, but the plane is Air France. I felt a pang of solidarity and goodwill seeing that takeoff from my train's seat, thinking Good for you, you got back on the horse, Air France. Safe travels and go go go!

Go Greyhound and leave the driving to us!

Where the wrecks go

{The Boy: Do you want to talk about it?}
{Me: No. (cries)}

Can you read the sign? I didn't realize what it said until just now.
There is Help.
1.800.Suicide
So people don't jump in front of moving trains.

So those are things you see while riding the train.

***

Yesterday Little Helen turned 91.
June 24, 1918 is her birthday.

The hospice nurse came. And these lovely people from the assisted living center brought a piece of birthday cake she cannot eat but we put it in the freezer anyway in the hope that she can have a taste sometime in future. They sang. I am convinced that people from the Philippines are the nicest people in the world. My mom and I looked around the room, the defensive thing you do with your eyes so that you don't cry in front of others when you're supposed to be looking happy.

Little Helen is home now, for a little while.
I guess, in truth, all of us are home, for a little while.

I write these things down because I don't know how to say them out loud. And then when I do, I feel like I understand an infinitesimally tiny amount more than I did a moment ago. Only it's never enough. And then the understanding is gone again, so fleeting, just like the tracery of a quark's trails.

the best of friends

Patti and Ginny

***

The more pictures I take, the more I learn. Or perhaps the more pictures I take, the more I see and then wish to see beyond even that.

Today a friend who is a painter said that she wanted to take me to a photography exhibit with her because, as a painter, she knows how to look at a painting but thinks she does not know how to look at a photograph. That made me nervous because I am not sure I know how to look at a photograph either.

All I know how to do is look at what I want to see.

***

I've been very focused on taking pictures of people because I learn so much. I learn about lighting and angles of the face. I try to figure out how I can capture a person in the way I think I understand them to be and then sometimes am rewarded when the subject likes what I have done.

Up until now, I've also been very focused on capturing the individual in relationship to a place, but not to another being.

That's a whole new ball of wax. Taking a photo of a relationship. I had never thought about that before.

***

"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet." ~ Colette

I have known Patti (the human in the photo above) for over two years. Maybe it's been three, I can't remember. We met on the tango dance floor. She was the first woman I'd ever danced with and is a very special dance partner to me. I wish that the tango community at large appreciated her as much as I do.

In getting to know Patti more outside of tango, I can easily say that she is probably one of the kindest and most sensitive, empathetic people I have ever met. Her heart knows no bounds. When I first wrote about K and the kids, she was one of the very first people to step forward with a donation (probably much more than she could afford but so very much needed), an incredibly honest letter of support and a continued interest that did not abate after the initial novelty of K's story on my blog wore off for some readers.

But that's just how Patti is.

Patti has a new girl in her life, Ginny the kitty. I finally met Ginny last week after hearing about her for a while. Ginny needed a special friend in the way only someone like Patti could be, and for this little kitty, there could be no better angel.

I hope you will read about Patti and Ginny. I think you will find that their combined stories, along with this most lovely set of photos, is the very essence of what it means to care and love, no matter the outcome.

This was the first photo shoot that made me cry when I edited it. It was so beautiful, knowing their story, that I could not help it. But the tears were so worth it. I'm truly grateful that Patti and Ginny wanted to share their stories with me, and with you, too.

clocks are ticking

We become aware of the void as we fill it.
~ Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943

***

tick tock tick tock
45 days away

good news:
In 45 days or less, K and the kids will be in a new apartment.
That is going to happen.
In the meantime, I've been concerned that we might run out of money before then, but now it looks like something even better might happen, and soon, to help...
K might be getting a little part-time job!
This will be an extraordinary help until the right place to live comes her way, and then maybe we won't need to worry so much about running out of money.
She will find out about the job next week.
The news made us hug each other with excitement.

tick tock tick tock
6 months away

bad news:
Little Helen's doctors have spoken.
She will go home to hospice care.
They will make her as comfortable as possible.
Her birthday is next week.

***

All of this time
of what will happen in this many days,
this many months
is making me a little crazy

***

I went grocery shopping.
I loaded up my tote bags with fresh herbs, not having any idea what I will do with them.

I just wanted to smell them.

I bought huge baskets of the most gorgeous ripe strawberries you've ever seen.
I bought a Chinese tea-smoked duck just so I could have the pleasure of watching the old man chop it up with his cleaver, his hands covered in shiny grease.

The smell was intoxicating.

Then I bought some roast pork just so I could see him chop it up, too.

I know this sounds silly.

I inhaled the crisp smell of the fresh mint getting crushed against my arm all the way home.
I still don't know what else I'm going to do with it.
Maybe I'll make some Moroccan mint tea.
But smelling it made me feel better.

***

The rose is for Little Helen.
I took this a few weeks ago, when I was sad and made myself go outside and take pictures, just because I had to go outside.

I didn't realize at the time I had taken this photo for her.

The rose is not perfect
but it is beautiful
because
it
is

My Bunny

"Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that suppose to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing." ~ Toni Morrison, Beloved

***

My mother in high school.
Isn't she pretty?

Mom and me.

***

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I started calling my mom Bunny. I do call her Mommy too, but somehow Bunny (like as a cute bunny rabbit, not a WASP-y Bunny from the country club set) is what sounds right.

I have thought a lot about mothers lately. And the children they love. As you might have noticed.

Not being a mother myself, I still feel a mom-ness coming out in me when I am with K and her kids.

I think if it wasn't for my Bunny, I wouldn't even know how to go about helping K at all.

***

My Bunny is the person who made me who I am today.

Boy, am I grateful.

Thank you, Mommy. Thank you, Bunny.

I love you for eternity.

xoxo

a sea change

sea change
n.

1. A change caused by the sea: "Of his bones are coral made:/Those are pearls that were his eyes:/Nothing of him that doth fade,/But doth suffer a sea change" (Shakespeare).
2. A marked transformation: "The script suffered considerable sea changes, particularly in structure" (Harold Pinter).

***

1.	a striking change, as in appearance, often for the better.

2.	any major transformation or alteration.

***

at the Palace of Fine Arts
lingering memories from the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition

Last night I went to sleep much too late. It must have been an exceptionally foggy night because the fog horn moans were much longer and deeper than I remember them sounding. Even being so many blocks away from the ocean, it made me wonder and appreciate 1. how loud those horns must be to the people that live closer to them, and 2. how many maritime disasters were averted over the years by the sounds of these horns, hidden in the fog but providing a necessary warning to those who might stray into harm's way.

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When I was a little girl, I had a Viewmaster-- you know, that plastic gadget that you insert a reel of slides in and look through the eyeholes. My favorite reel was the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and aside from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, my favorite Wonder was the Lighthouse at Alexandria.

With its height, its fire and reflective mirrors, that lighthouse not only marked an incredible achievement in engineering but also provided an invaluable alert to avoid danger and destruction and loss of life.

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Fog horns and lighthouses. Keeping strange travelers safe from harm.

***

I just have to tell you that things are better today with K and the kids. I know you were worried and so was I, and despite the fact that I won't say more about the past few days, you should know now that the sun is shining and we are back on track.

Last night, as I laid in bed and listened to the fog horns, I thought about the phrase a sea change and pondered what exactly it meant. Truly, meeting K and the kids has provided the basis for an alchemical change in me, how I see the world around me, what my opinions are about people and their nature, how I see this city from a different vantage point and perhaps how cities in general function or do not.

All of these things are good. I think some of you were worried that in my efforts to help K, that I am not taking care of myself or am putting her welfare above my own. Yes, and no. As a hedonist and selfish person, I'll never fully be able to not consider my own happiness. However, my happiness is surely linked to others and I don't find that to be a bad state of affairs. What you might read here, whether it is frustration, sadness, anger, hope or love, is true and real.

I would rather write something abrasive and honest because I have experienced it, then not to write it at all. Those who can take it and understand will stick with me, and those who can't won't, and that's fine too.

But those lighthouses and fog horns are real. We all need to see them and listen to them. For this one little family living on the edges of a world that doesn't see them, there are many many others who also need help. I think we need to start small.

I think we can all be fog horns and lighthouses in ourselves. Even if it is to guide one other person, we can do that.

xoxo

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