flanerie

"the photographic shot is one of my sketchpads"
Henri Cartier-Bresson compared his camera to an artist's sketch book. I remember these words at the beginning of another summer and how many summer days I've had in my long life, the season of the first time of my existence. How many beaches and bathing suits, sandy walks, sun tans and waves breaking on shore? Inevitably, I wonder how many more I'll have -- and muse about how photographs end up being all that's left of a time and place.

This one is from the early 1920's. My mother (the pretty one on the right) with her brothers, sister, friends. The young man on the far left (wearing that improbable bathing cap) would become my father more than two decades later. In their bathing costumes they spent summers on the Bronx beaches of Throggs Neck and for as long as I can remember my mother reminisced wistfully about those days.

This may have been the only time of her long life when she felt joy and freedom. Beautiful, young, she bobbed her hair, drove a Tin Lizzie, was sought after by handsome young men and hadn't yet stepped into what was for her a paralyzing role. Marriage, children, not enough education, caregiver to her parents, a life mired in quotidian details. She was rarely happy when I knew her and there was often a faraway look in her eyes. Not uncommon among women of her era and milieu.

In my life I've erroneously stumbled onto some of the same paths my mother took. The difference is that I know I don't have to continue walking them -- thanks to the Feminist movement of the1970's when my eyes were opened once and for all. Thanks to something inside of me that has been described by Buddhists as a river of longing and by others as a refusal to accept things as they are.

what I am looking for, above all else, is to be attentive to life
          Henry Cartier-Bresson

ways of running

Sometimes lately I don't know if I'm coming or going. Albuquerque, Taos, east coast, Taos, Albuquerque....

It's been one hell of a ride since the beginning of the year. Not all stressful or bad but stress comes from many directions and circumstances - even good ones. We were in Albuquerque for Ron's treatments for a couple of days last week and this week. My current bout of vertigo I attribute to three flights in one day in crowded airports and planes and then a three hour journey in an old van back to Taos from the airport, sans luggage. Or maybe I'm dramatizing that inconvenient day because I hated it so much. I'd had a good week back east and felt calm and peaceful inside. The weather was perfect, there were walks, writing, reading, good food, in congenial company.

I remembered that when I assisted at weeklong retreats in Taos we told everyone "when you leave here you will feel a peace inside that will be shattered by traveling and landing back in your regular busy life. Don't expect those closest to you to understand so try to ease into it rather than plunge." Good advice. I remembered, I tried -- but was unsuccessful. I reap the consequences now by feeling unbalanced.

One cholla plant was in bloom when I walked in heat of late afternoon in Albuquerque. A delicate flower amidst thorns and with a short life. Somewhat like humans. And yesterday, walking in the park, looking for signs for the future (I do that sometimes) this is what I saw. 

A friend said, "don't curse the darkness, light a candle."
I answered, "I am the candle"
But what if I'm just smoke?

learning new perspectives

Three weeks since I wrote anything on this blog. Hope some of you are still out there reading this.  It's been a challenge to juggle Ron's medical care (he's doing well) and my own creative life that came to a halt. I needed time away so in between his two appointments in Albuquerque I took off and went back east for a week. There was a nurse/helper who came in for a few days to help him until he decided he didn't need help. Family and friends phoned and visited so I felt fairly secure that he'd be alright. I felt a twinge of guilt before leaving, until someone who knows about caregivers said, "think about when you're on a plane and the flight attendant says, if there's an emergency, put your own oxygen mask on first, before trying to help others." That resonated with me and I put on my metaphorical mask and left. It was the best gift I could have given myself.

The weather was perfect and I did lots of walking, writing, eating. Met some new people and stayed in a comfortable place. I came back with a new perspective even though traveling yesterday was a huge and very long, drag. I was rerouted from Newark to Chicago to Dallas to Albuquerque where I had to wait two hours for the Taos shuttle to bring me home in an ancient van with a very casual driver! Very Taos! I got home late and without my one piece of checked luggage that still hasn't turned up today. Next trip I'll pack lighter and carry just an under-seat bag. I hate all that business of people shoving their over-stuffed bags into overhead bins (which I can't reach anyway). It takes so long now to deplane that I once missed a connection because of it.

it's here, it's here!
Just before I left, the book my essay is in, as well as photos (one on the cover, lower left) arrived. It was published in England by Solis Press and I missed the first book launch in Ireland at end of May. I'd really been planning to go, but life is what happens when you're making other plans.

My lengthy essay is called Spirit Socks and is about the related history of sock knitting in Taos as a valuable trade item with Mexico in the mid-1800's -- and my own experience kitting socks in the very place where the "factory" existed. There will be a USA launch at Wellesley College sometime this summer or fall and I hope to make it to that one. Meanwhile, you can learn more about the book on Amazon or directly from the publisher. I feel quite proud to be included in this collection that also includes human rights activists and scholars. Check it out.

Everything desireable is here already in abundance.
And the sea. The dark thing is hardly visible
in the leaves, under the sheen. We sleep easily
So I bring no sad stories to warn the heart.
            Linda Gregg
            (excerpt from A Dark Thing Inside the Day)