Mexican

I was born in 1948 around the time of massive civil rights activates, too early to really do much good for me. In Texas at that time I was a second-class citizen. The real civil right came 20 years later, but by that time I’d about had given up and moved north. Years of racial bias had taken a toll on me and my spirit, it was all around me and I didn’t care for it one bit. As a child I heard a lot of unflattering comments about German, Polish, and Blacks. Out on the street I had to face the ugly comments about me, about not being smart enough, dirty and lazy, I didn’t care for that characterization either.

When I was about nine a cousin of mine and I snuck away from the family gathering we were having at a local park. We went to the swimming pool that we weren’t allowed in because we were Mexican. We stood at the chain link fence and watched all the other white kids splashing and playing in the water. That was my first real introduction to racism and exclusion. I remember standing their being kept out and not welcomed at all. A few years later when I was old enough to ride the bus and go to the movies on my own. One of my rituals was to go to The Coney Island Hot Dog stand, and get a dog or two. One day one of the counter-men asked me, in Spanish if I was Mexican or Black. I spoke little Spanish, but I told him clearly I was Mexican; I started getting the best dogs then.

Still later in high school, which started in 1963, around the time went Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, I remember going to wood-shop where we were listening to the radio about the killing. A kid there said it better not be a black man that had killed him, but he was looking at me. I was only one of a few Mexicans the school had, there was only one black guy. I got along in school pretty well but I kept my head down and made a much smaller target. I didn’t do well, the lower ¾ of my class, but I was bored not ignorant. Living up to expatiation's I guess, the only thing that most teachers figure I was good at was my hands some I was channeled into a blue-collar mentality.

Finally in 1968 civil rights came to San Antonio in a big way, the powers that be had to make a choice to get Federal Spend for their worlds fair. Suddenly things began to change even if ever so slowly. To get Federal Appropriations they were forced to treat us better, but under the surface things didn’t change that much. We won recognition for our race, for our ethnicity though the city had capalized on that for years, next best place to Mexico was their thinking. Fiesta was a big party that’s held every year in April-May. It’s origins are rooted in the bias that we endured, Mexican house-hold help was used to celebrate the Anglo’s win over Mexico in the war for independence. To the victors goes history as the saying goes, but now our history is slowly coming out.
On PBS, American Experience the other night part of the story of how our civil right were won by Carlos Cadena among other of the civil right movement. Mr. Cadena was our Thurgood Marshall although less well know, and it’s well past time that the part he played is told. “A Class Apart” is the story of that brave struggle. Had those people not won we, as a class of people would have been lost forever had the forces of prejudice won. There have been lots of shows recently on PBS celebrating Hispanic Heritage month. I just wish I had been taught in school when it was happing, I would have been prouder of myself and of my class then, it almost came too late to do much good, but the tale needed to be told.

Not Much

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Woodstock

Toward the end of the summer in 1969 I was in the great state of Maine staying at Acadia National Park. That was the summer of Woodstock the festival of Rock and Roll, mud, and love. I however was nice and toasty warm in my little van up in Maine and the festival didn’t appeal to me because it was rainy and cool so I passed. As I was walking through camp one morning I spotted some kids my age who’s tent had gotten sopping wet because they hadn’t trenched around it and the rain had really come down the night before. They were also starving and I’d had some soup left over from the group camp for the kids that I held the night before. Over the soup they told me about Woodstock and invited me to come with them but I was really too comfortable to venture back into New York state.

Let me backup a minute and tell you I was camping out in Maine because I was on a tour of the north-east and Maine was my last stop. It had been a great tour and I was learning a lot about me and the country. It was my twenty-first year and was the longest I had ever been away from home and the furthest I’d ever been. Just bumming around and having a great time with nowhere particular to be. Just a kid on my first trip away from home, meeting people and getting used to who I might be. I had gone east from Texas all along IH-10 then up the east coast, avoiding New York City and had gone to Providence Rhode Island then my travels had taken me north. I was writing poetry, full of angst and heartbreak which was appropriate for the times, for me and the country.

I had read Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley” the summer before and fell in love with Charley, Steinbeck and the country. I was a little unsure about the country to tell you the truth but I was willing to learn. I had learned about staying at State Park’s (the only place that was safe from being hassled) and now I was interested to learn all about National Parks. Kids, that the first and most important thing to know about the National Park System and friendly adults. On my first day in Maine I walked down to the shore-line to watch the waves crash onto the rocks. One wave was strong enough to wash pasted me and to loosen my shoes grip on the rock and I started sliding into the ocean. I had no way to stop my downward slide but a friendly hand was offered and I was saved. Another kid and his girlfriend had seen what was happening to me and he became my new best friend. A few day later I got the idea to have a cook-out and invite all the kids from around the camp to my campsite for music and food. A lot of the adults volunteered some onions, potato and stuff to cook and some beer for the older kids and we spent the day making a big pot of soup for all.

After all the kids had went home (back to camp) one father came and chased his kids home and sat and talked for hours it seemed. He’s brought some beer and we sat there until the early hours talking about life, having kids and the responsibilities of adulthood. He was the first of many men who told me that their lives and dreams were over once the kids arrived, they sounded so sad and lonely. I was the first chance they had to tell the stories of what they’d lost in their hurry to grow-up and to be adults. That had a profound effect on me and I took their story’s of lose to heart. The dad and I became friends for the time we had and I was invited on day trips and became the recipient of their left over food when they left. In fact I became such a regular feature of the park and the campfires that I really didn’t have to worry about food for the remainder of my stay. I was living a charmed existence except for not calling home to check in and my mother was getting frantic. But I was twenty-one and I was having the time of my life and couldn’t be bothered.

Death Panel

I’m not about to get into the end of life debate now roiling the country. Instead I’ll tell you about my plans and the way one person feels. I want to have that talk with my doctor, in fact I’ve already signed a living will. I’m not willing to saddle anyone else with that responsibility or to leave it up to anyone to decide for me. If there’s not a shred of hope for my recovery I want to be made as comfortable as possible and let me get on to the next phase. Personally I feel that we have the responsibility to make room for other’s yet to come. Like an actor on the stage we owe it to ourselves to know the time to make a graceful exit.

I am sixty-one years of age, still young and vital, still with dreams and desires yet to fulfill. Though my time is running short there is no end to my drive to make this as full a life as possible. I feel as though I survived my stroke for a reason and I’d like to share my story with as many people who will listen. I’d like to bring some comfort and some hope to the people who share my illness. There seems to be no end to my art as well, I still have the desire to express myself and there are still some image I want to create. I still have that urge to communicate though my photographs, to tell stories of love and loss; the fleetingness of time and beauty. There are many thing I have left to share while there is still time and the space in my heart.

I came into this world with my own mind-set and no one could change that even though they tried. Like mercury you could push me into a corner but somehow I’d slip out around your fingers. I had my way of doing things and living my life by my rules when I could and even when I couldn’t I’d find a way. I was always looking to be a character when I grew up and I guess I’ve realized that goal. I’m very satisfied with my life up until now and I see no reasons to change in mid-stride. There are those who think I’m too old to be creative, too old to be of use as well. But as long as I have my mind, I can function and feel of use I intent to survive as long as I want. That’s the key to me, wanting to survive. When I feel the time is ripe and life holds no further interest for me I’ll take my marbles with me and play no more. That’s my right as well as my duty as I see it

I watched my father as he ran to the doctor’s every time he sneeze or felt an ache or pain. Of course it was a social occasion as well to access those who had survived in his circle of friends. I’ve seen other people who’s life has been long and they come to their doctor to complain and are surprised when they get pills. Doctors are supposed to do something to try and ease pain or discomfort, that’s their nature and their duty. If you don’t complain you don’t get pills is the way I see it. I don’t even want medication for sexual dysfunction, I’m not dying for an orgasm. I figure that at the age I am it’s a normal part of life, especially after surviving a stroke so I’m content to be my age. For me it’s a quality of life issue rather than the quantity of that life. I see no reason to have my life extended if I don’t get any quality. There are now expensive options to extend your life an extra six months or nine months but where’s the quality in that? If you’re young enough to have children or there maybe a cure fine but why put off the inevitable. All this talk of “death panels” simply clouds the issues, how to exit this life with dignity and grace. I do not wish to suffer and drag my existence out longer than I have to, it’s not right for the people I love and care about. I remind you that this is just my perceptive, some may agree with me and some will not. It’s simply my decision.

Hot Air

From my mid-thirty’s to my early fifties I was really involved in Hot Air Ballooning, both as crew-chief and as a beginning pilot. I was lucky enough to travel from the one end Florida on interstate 10 clear though to the California end. I was very in demand as a crew-chief getting not only the prettiest but the smartest crew I could find. I traveled with different commercial ballooning outfits to events countrywide making the pilots look good in front of their clients and the general public. At one event in California for a major brokerage house once we had the balloon set up I organized the crowds into a manageable line helping the women get in the balloon without worrying about the fact that they were wearing skirts. Because I was working freelance I could generally get the time free and it was one of the way’s I could make good money and could perfect my competitive skills as well.

Once I helped crew for the Disney Balloon Team and their “Mickey Mouse” balloon. Most of the balloon people in San Antonio were there and it was a big deal to crew for the balloon. I and my friend George Maxfield made up one team the idea of which was to follow the balloon as it made it’s way over town and then to be the first team to be on site as the balloon landed and help with the deflation. George and I followed that balloon with me as the spotter and George driving, we followed that balloon through town and out to countryside were it was beginning it’s descent. Because I knew the area pretty well I knew that the pilot was having to make quick decisions on the best place to land a thee-story balloon. I though that this looked like the likeliest place but all the other teams decide to go on further. I screamed for George to turn in here and my heart was in my throat at the thought of being wrong but as we rounded a corner I was so happy to see the balloon beginning to lay over and we were the only team there to help them. I got a major kick out of that moment of pride as we watched the other teams drive up moments later, but we were number one and all without benefit of a radio! Bye the way, did I mention that I’m very competitive.

George and I traveled together sometime and we became great friend’s, it didn’t matter to me that he was older and had a son my age. Chasing after a balloon early in the morning brings you closer to someone and traveling together make you tight. I had about four pilots who were giving me lessons on piloting a balloon, each had a special skill that they brought to flying. George was my favorite and he was nice enough to give me more time in the balloon than anyone. One morning after we had gotten the balloon inflated I was pilot in command and it was my job to take off and land. It was a great morning and I had a great launch, we even flew close enough to pick leaves out of the tops of trees as we made our accent. We were about twenty minutes into our flight and everything was going so smoothly then I spotted an airfield and decided to try a touch and go. I checked with George and he said give it a shot. Now a touch and go is really that, you bring the balloon down, touch the airfield and go off again. To have any control over the balloon you heat the air to rise and let some air out to bring it down. Sounds simple but it take great finesse to do the job right.

So I let some air out of the balloon and countered with a short blast of heated air to begin my descent, the airfield was still a ways away and I was right on course and we were descending well. I let out some more air, bringing the balloon to within about thirty feet of the ground then I felt a cool breeze in my face and we began to drop like a rock. Just as I began to burn George yelled burn which meant to put hot air in the balloon. We kept dropping like a rock, George yelled burn again two more times and we kept dropping. As we fell to with in feet of the ground I turned to George and told him how sorry I was as he yelled burn aging. We got down to within inches of the ground before the heat reached to top of the balloon and we started to rise. Let me make two points here, an older balloon is more porous than a newer balloon. It leaks more air so it can take longer for the heat to cause the balloon to rise. Also the joy of ballooning is there is no sensation of air around you because you move with the wind, so feeling cool air is very unusual. I immediately turned over command to my friend George because I realized that this was very tricky air we were in and I was really spooked. So on we flew looking for a good place to land.

Exactly the same thing happen at least two more times as we tried to land, we’d get a cool breeze in our face’s and the balloon would drop again and we hit hard then the heat would get to the top of the balloon and we’d rise again. Once went we hit hard enough that the balloon went over far enough to touch the ground and drag us a few yards and as it rose I saw a tree dead ahead. Well we hit that tree about two third of the way up and then the heat in the envelope lifted or ripped us up through the tree limbs and George yelled to get down. I ducked to the bottom of the basket as my friend laid over me but he was looking up at the balloon to see if it was getting ripped to shreds. And then we hit the ground again as George said fuck it we’re down and pulled to top out of the balloon so we stayed on the ground. As we crawled out of the basket and surveyed the groove we plowed into the field George told me he had to pee and I told him that I already had. Then we had to walk about a mile to the road to find our chase-crew to cart the balloon out. By happenstance that ended up being the last time I was pilot in command. I went on to fly many more times, even in Colorado at Thanksgivings before ballooning lost it’s draw for me. I meet a lot of terrific people and got to know them well and I’m grateful for their companionship so early in the morning.

Cutting Room Floor

My grand debut was not to be, I sort of ended up on the cutting room floor but not quite. I’m still supposed to be on the website and You Tube so my plan was kind of derailed unfortunately. However the presentation went on with Jill Bolte Taylor as the keynote speaker and it turned out to be a wonderful event. Ms. Taylor is a very dramatic speaker and is so very knowledgeable about the human brain. So much of her talk I felt was aimed at me and helped me to understand what exactly happen to me although we had different types of strokes. Her’s was a bleeder caused by a malformation whereas mine was a blockage, a piece of plaque broke lose and caused my damage.

She spent a lot of time on the brain’s anatomy and brain function, she gave a tour of the brain and how each hemisphere works in relation to the other. Too much information to pass on here so I’ll just pass on the things at struck me as important. First the brain is very plastic in it’s ability to heal, to find different pathway around the obstruction. The brain is very social in it’s inner reactions, it loves to communicate. It’s this communication between each individual parts of the brain and with each sphere that makes up the sum total of who we are and the way we think and act. It is the very essence of who we are and what we are as unique individuals in this universe of ours. When we have a stroke or any brain injury one of the hemisphere of our brain ceases to function, our conversation with ourselves fall silent and as a result we are lost in our own brain’s.

None of this I knew before my stroke, only vague ideas that I was able to develop after the event and as I went along in the dark. I knew that I wasn’t happy in my present condition. I had a life that I loved and a lifestyle that was full of promise. I wasn’t willing to just give that up without a fight. I wasn’t content to become handicapped and live out the rest of my life that way. Instinctively I knew that returning to the life I knew was what I needed, to get back into the routine of my every day life. I had built over the years a pattern to my life that was a once familiar and comfortable to me. I had my friend, business acquaintance and a career that I enjoyed and got great pleasure in. I just couldn’t give that life up without trying my best to get it back. You know what they say, you never miss anything till it’s gone.

So that’s what I concentrated on, the patterns of life, my routines of life I had developed over decades. Jill Bolte Taylor invested my idea’s of those routines with value and explained the physiology of what I accomplished. She gave me depth to my experiences with my brain and allowed me to follow the rational explanation of the how’s and why’s of what I did. The brain is a very interesting organ, it’s ability to heal, it’s ability to communicate, it’s very ability to interpret who we are as a human being is as unique as we are. Everyone of us is a unique individual in the universe and should be respected.

Cutting Room Floor

I sort of ended up on the cutting room floor, not really but it feels that way. My segment got cut from the show and they’re using a man who went through the whole process with them. This is the one year anniversary and they want to showcase someone who was a success in their program. I’ll still be on there website and I get a page on YouTube, I’m still invited to the festivities with Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor. She is the woman who was doing research on the human brain and had a stroke and now she does lectures on her visions of god among other thing having to do with the brain. She even gave a talk on Ted.com that you should listen to.

My other news is more positive because it has to do with my future. The lady I’ve been telling you about has had it with the company and is now ready to go out on her own. She had given them until August to buckle down and get something accomplished but nothing positive has happened. She now sees what I’ve been telling her about the partners and there lack of vision and hard work. They’d rather follow unproductive paths than stick to the project at hand. Along with no vision they have no money and can’t generate the confidence to get any. Of course I had to tell her that my vision of the company had to be seen through the filter of my not have being pay yet for my expenses. I also told her that the company was being foolish by my having access to all the images that no patent has been filed for yet. If I wanted to I could steal the idea right out from under them and all for a hundred dollars.

So now that she is getting her business started and I’m going to give her the portions of film that shows her in meeting and holding discussions. Since I’m not getting paid I chose to use my talents to help her get a website going and help her get established. No real money right now but further down the line it should be well worth my time. Everyone I know is in some form of dire circumstances, either they have lost their jobs and are looking for new opportunities. The whole landscape has changed and not for the better in some ways. That’s the way it is in a new world we are facing, survive and change or don’t. The world doesn’t give a damn it just’s keeps turning on and on. That’s what I was talking about in last post with my talk of gumption. Life doesn’t stand still for no one and only the strongest survive. You have to go out there and make a new life and reinvent yourself for the age you find yourself in.

I’m facing a number of obstacles from some of the choices I made in my life. Many are the consequences of my stroke and the lingering effect of it. I don’t feel I am able to hold down a full time job, I haven’t the stamina for it. But I can play the game and give advice that might helpful and surly won’t hurt. I’ve been asked to sit on her board once she has set that part of her business. In the meantime I can help with the website, I can photograph her rise in business and be a trusted advisor. I aim to reinvent myself and to make myself a new life that I can work at until I am able to work no more for real. I don’t aim to be a dinosaur till the very end of my creative life and that’s somewhere in the dim future.

Gumption

Today I’d like to talk about gumption, as you know the definition is shrewd initiative and resourcefulness . Like my project I need gumption to make this project work, if one way fails, try another and see how that goes. That’s the first lesson that I learned in dealing with my stroke by the way but more on that later. The lady I’m dealing with certainly has the gumption to get this project moving in the right direction. She’s consumed with the passion of her arguments and a desire to move mountains in her drive to reach the goals she has set, no doubt in my mind about that. She doesn’t need steering in any way, shape or form; she needs ideas to try on and see how they fit and she can use my contacts. It’s a good fit for me to be a sounding-board for her to bounce ideas and frustrations off of. This Friday is the deadline she set for things to improve and to get rolling in the right direction and if not then she’s open to my suggestions.

August 04 is the first anniversary for the Stoke Center of San Antonio, and my testimonial is set to debut. I’m really looking forwards to this event and I’m going to try to parlay that into opportunities for me as well. I don’t know yet how I’ll work that magic but I’ll just take the event as it happens and see. I’m eager to help people who’ve had a stroke or a brain injury to get started on the path to whatever recovery is possible for them. I understand that many are injured beyond repair but I feel all can be helped. You know that school yard chant that it take one to know one, I know that by being their in their shoes I can bring them some comfort and some hope. Whether they take that help or not is up to them but if they’re willing to get better I can show them what they can accomplish with hard work and the proper mind-set. The opportunities are there for the taking if you want them it only lack the shrewd initiative and the resourcefulness to bring them to fruition.

This is a chance to reset my career goals into something that will bring me joy and will help a number of people to benefit from my knowledge and experiences. I’ll still be able to use my photography skills and maybe even a book in the works. But the idea is to be of help or comfort a maximum number of people possible. When you have a life changing event and you are really at a loss for what to do it helps if you have some guidance for what to expect and what your chances are. Again, I realize that there are many people unable or unwilling to get better. Too many find the exercises too hard or too silly to make the effort to recover. Or they find the attention they’re getting too irresistible and willingly give in instead of fighting for their future and the freedom of movement. There’s no comfort for them, I’m only willing to help the fighters to survive and to get well or better. Whatever they’re capable of I’m willing to help in they’re time of need but you have to be willing to get well yourself before anyone can help you.
This is my goal for the foreseeable future, I’m not willing to give up yet or to be stuck in a dead in job, it’s no way to live out my life even if I’m over sixty. I’ve got a lot of years left in me and I’m very positive about life and making the best of the years I have left.

Vada

I forgot to mention Vada in my post the other day. She is a terrific model very positive and playful. I enjoy working with her and I've got to get her back in front of my camera soon. If you're in the College Station area give her a chance, she's a very nice girl.

Twenty One

Forty years ago tonight men landed on the moon. Forty years ago I was a twenty-one year old kid touring around the North-East briefly staying in Newport Rhode Island for the Folk Festival. It was the event of my lifetime, Joan Baez, Rambling Jack Elliot and Doug Kershaw were among the performers I saw in person. The moon landing was just part of the show as far as I was concerned, another young kid was perched atop a VW Micro Bus holding an umbrella over a B&W television broadcasting the moon-walk live. I remember like it was yesterday, in fact it was a yesterday long ago.

Milling through the crowd of other young people, making friend for as long as the show lasted, sharing cigarettes and all manner of mind altering stuff like reality. After the show I’d drove my own Micro Bus back to the campground I was staying at, really a State Park that didn’t allow overnight visitors. I’d made friends with the park caretaker over coffee one morning and he told the State Trooper I was OK and the deal was set. My only other night time companions were some other kids like me but with camping equipment. That night I returned to find some bikers having a party a few tables away from me. They had an interest in my bus and the person that was staying inside and I decided to grab the bull by the horns and went over to visit.

They got very tense as I walked up and introduced myself and told them about the State Trooper that came through to check on me and my van. I told them that they could have the party but it was way better to have it away from me down in the corner where the trooper didn’t check. They were so happy to have avoided any type of confrontation with me and to be warned of the cop that they gave me some beers and thanked me. As I got back into my van, thinking how nice they turned out to be I saw the lights from the trooper car. I had a nice quiet night enjoying my beers and the peace and quiet of the night and the night entertainment. Not the least of which was the trooper protect me.

I could tell you of the whole week I spent in Rode Island, the girl I met along the seawall or the lovely night she spent with me or the romantic predawn swim we had in the fresh ocean’s water. But I want to tell you about coffee instead, coffee is the great equalizer to the traveler. Every morning I’d get up and put a pot of coffee on to brew. People seldom bother a man waiting for his morning brew no matter how officious they are. And offering a cup of fresh brewed is the way to anyone’s heart and their companionship. Life unfold over coffee and it’s somehow wrong to tell a lie so early in the morning. And of course being a young fresh face kid on an adventure helped my cause immensely. Never once did I realize how impossibly young and naive I was that summer. I was involved in the adventure of my still young lifetime and nothing would deter me from my quest.

Project

Life is that which happens to us while we are busy planning our futures. My project is taking a lot longer than I had expected, in fact it might not ever get off the ground. The problem is the management team is floundering around from project to project letting there attention get scatter like so many leaves in the wind. The main man has a perfectly good project under wraps but lacks the vision to bring his project to fruition and that is so sad. It’s not like this is rocket science, he’s done the hardest part and that to think up the idea and build a prototype. But he lacks the vison to see his project through and has filled his life with people who also lack the vision or experience to guide him beyond their own selfish needs. So the whole project is going to fall by the wayside for lack of direction.

I wouldn’t mind so much but this is a green project that will help a lot of people in their moment of need and beyond. Emergency Housing in a new a different way that FEMA is in dire need of done in a new a different way. None of the Formaldehyde fumes and a pop-together wall structure that can be put together in different configurations quickly and can be shipped by air or rail. Now a woman involved with the project is a real go getter and really sharp, she got my attention very quickly and has potential. She has the vision and see’s the potential that the other lack but I fear she is getting discouraged by the lack of control at the top. I’d like to be part of her team if she has the gumption to put one together and take over the hard work on getting the grants, doing the governments paperwork and all the headache involved with getting a new project off the ground. As I say she has experience and I think has the drive. Certainly her background in solar work and knowledge of the working of the government give her a leg-up so we’ll see. Stay tuned as the adventure continues and see if this can be part of my new life. Only time will tell.

On the other hand I went to the Second Saturday Art festivities the other night and had a blasts. All sort of wonderful art on display with all the artist in attendance to talk up their work and give it depth. Really got my creative juices flowing to get back into the game but I don’t know if it’s really time yet. No one seems to be buying art or anything else right now and the gallery owner isn’t doing any cartwheels as of late. But it gave me a feel for the life again and maybe soon the timing will be right for a return. But it was a young crowd and I didn’t see any buyer type there only people looking to have a good time and maybe that’s what it’s all about now. Everybody is crying the blues but still people are shooting and models are working and traveling so things can’t be that bad can they now.

Crotch Shot

I’d like to thank Dr. Lightness for her informative post on taboos and the crotch shots. I want to say a word or two about the crotch shot and my conflicted views on them also. I think they can be an invasion of privacy and should be used in an artistic and limited way. Plus as a man they call for an amazing amount of trust by the ladies involved. I have posted one of my shots here on my blog but you can’t see who she is and I would never tell, again I think it’s a matter of keeping her privacy intact. As I said in my blog I wanted for my model to be almost androgynous rather than a female who was built more sensuously. I had a statement that I want to make and I didn’t want to take away from that message. As you can see by the image posted here I got the shot I wanted for the Gallery Lombardi Erotica Show and it got a goodly viewing. I invited my model to show her how the work was shown and in what context because it was her first time to be in a show.

Another shot I did with a girl, and I do mean girl as she was twenty when we shot, I asked her permission to have her squat. I explained how the sun was positioned and how the shadows would fall and I ask her if I could shoot a polaroid first. Then I explained how I wasn’t sure how much detail I was going to get in the final print but I told her how I would protect her privacy. She allowed me to shoot and you’ll have to take my word it was a wonderful image. Because you can see who she is I’ll never post it again to protect her privacy. I feel I owe that to my models.

Let me say a word here about my models, at a minimum they are eighteen, my preference is for them to be at least in their mid-twenty’s or older. I believe you need some age to prepare yourself to model nude . In your early to mid-twenties you’ve had so time to live and get some experience under you’re belt. You have a better idea of who you are and where your place is. Your brain is more mature and you make better decisions mostly. One model I worked with was eighteen and I noticed her because her had a portfolio that was all nudes and not very good one at that. So by agreeing to work with me I was able to provide a little common sense to her attitude to modeling.

This is the way I prefer to work, it may seem a little convoluted but considering how I sometimes work with very young models who haven’t considered the ramifications of shooting nudes yet. I feel I owe them the respect they show to me and my artistic endeavors. Have I always felt that way, no but I too am a work in progress and I do learn from my mistakes and I try to do better. I’m not the same person I was before my stroke, I have slowed down and had a chance to think about things and a better way to relate to my subjects now. There was a time that I was caught up in that drive to make my mark and to get attention as an artist no matter what the cost. But my stroke gave me a chance to get my feet firmly underneath me and to consider my limits and my priorities. Now I’m ready to begin the hunt anew with a more generous spirit and revised goals. I’ve learned to live in my skin a little better and I’ve learned to be more loving.

So a convoluted way of shooting and thinking. yes but a much fairer way of thinking. I have many shots I can’t use because of my models sensibilities. But I have many more shots that are equally special because of the level of trust that my models and I share and you can’t beat that.

Shower

There were fun times in my therapy, I had to make them happen to keep myself sane. My therapists made an easy target because I worked with them everyday and we built up quite a rapport . I’d been on the main floor about a week, my catheter had been taken out and I was getting used to the wheelchair. I was beginning to get comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable with my situation and I was beginning to smell. You’d think that that would be the least of my problems but you’d be wrong. One weekend while waiting for breakfast to be distributed I was wheeling myself down the hall looking for the linen closet. When at last I found it I quickly grabbed some towels and took them back to my room. Then I waited until rounds had been done, breakfast trays had been collected and the nurses had settled into their morning routine. Then I close my door, collected my towels and wheeled myself into the bathroom.

I’d spent the day before checking out the shower, how it worked and how the bench fold ed down from the wall. The only thing left was to get myself maneuvered from the wheelchair onto the shower bench. Never for a moment did I think of removing the side of my wheelchair to make things easier, instead I locked the chair down and lifted myself onto the edge of the bench and then maneuvered, with only one hand working, I got myself onto the middle of the bench. When the water was just right I began my wonderful shower, maybe the best shower of my adult life and soaped myself well. With that one hand I got every part I could reach and then some. Then I took the time to dry myself and then I was stuck. With only one side of my body working and that side towards the inside corner of the shower stall I really had to figure my way out and without tipping over. But somehow I managed to get back into my wheelchair and I felt so good for having accomplish the task of getting myself clean. The next day the nurse asked me if I wanted to have a shower and I though why not and promptly got into trouble. This time I couldn’t stop myself from tipping over onto my bad side and almost fell off the bench and to the floor. I was shocked into realizing how precarious my state was and now I was very leery of taking a shower at all.

A few day later it was posted on my wall that I’d be learning the next day how to get into the shower stall and could finally take a shower but I’d be accompanied by a therapist. Somehow the idea of being “accompanied” by a twenty-four old therapist didn’t sound attractive in the least. My therapist was a lovely girl I’d come to rely on to help me with my exercises and we’d gotten close. So dressed she showed me how to pull up the side of my wheelchair and how best to maneuver myself to the bench. I practiced two or three time til I had the thing down pat and then we were ready for my shower. It wasn’t the way I’d envisioned at all but boy was it intimate; I had to strip bare ass naked under her too watchful gaze and get myself situated and she pointed out what I was doing right and wrong. She was so concerned that I’d topple over and she didn’t want that to happen to me. I was grateful but I was resentful too that I had to have her watch me while I took my shower like a child but hey, when you’re in the condition I was in you take all the help you can get.

But..., but I was determined to get back at her somehow and I got my chance when my friend Lorri came to take me home from the hospital. She had to go through training with me so she’d know the right way to handle me, to learn what I knew but had a tendency to forget. So when Lorri show up I introduced her to my therapist as the girl who watched me shower! And then I sat back and laughed as my therapist blushed and explained the how’s and wherefore before Lorri told her she was a nurse too and had seen so many bare assess that she couldn’t count. It was almost as good as the shower.

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My friend Traci

Exercises

After my formal therapy was over I was at a loss for what exercises I could do. For the past eighteen months I had a set routine that I executed every other day, now I was unsure what to do. I really felt a type of rejection and a emptiness in my soul and in my life. I had a nice graduation from therapy and a even nicer certificate to commemorate my having survived hours of every know torture to humans, some they had to work at thinking up. I decided that since I was going off to visit my friend in the northeast I’d let myself rest and catchup on myself. After all that therapy I needed the time to think and get organize for my trip. I had a full list of exercises I could and was supposed to do but I couldn’t get interested in them for some reason, they just didn’t feel right.

By the time I left I was ready for a change of scenery and a change to my lifestyle too; I was ready for some togetherness. We started by taking long drives in the country to acquaint myself with the territory, north and south, east and west; where I was in relation to where I was now living. Long lovely drives into the countryside seeing places I never been before but would see again. I was so happy to be away from the heat of Texas and away from therapy and my doctors and the routine of my life. Letting my friend show me her part of the world, the little wonders she’d know for a lifetime and could now share them with me, the little nooks and crannies of her hometown and beyond. But my aliments followed me and tortured me just the same.

Just walking up the stairs exacerbated the pain in my hip, my buttock to be precise. I went for therapeutic massage and that did relieve my pain but it was climbing the two flight of stairs each day that really helped. I started helping my friend around her garden at first, nothing major just emptying each pail as she filled them with weeds and cuttings. Then we got to mulching dragging each bag out of the car and back to they were needed. Little by little I was getting more in toned so then I began taking longer walks. By the time fall came I was ready to try raking, just yards at a time then sit and rest, then rake a bit and rest again, I only finished the side yard but I felt like I accomplished something. I so very slowly was getting stronger and more toned, I was walking better and longer. Little by little each household chore that I did built up my strength. Balance continued to be an issue over uneven territory but a walking stick helped. Now I was learning a new routine to my day, a routine that I could follow when I returned home and for the rest of my life really. I could feel myself getting better and it was long after the eighteen months that my doctor had warn me against.
Walking at home presented a problem at first, too many loose dogs in the neighborhood. Too much stress for me to cope with on top of an already stressed system, so I stopped. At least in the neighborhood, I started walking in the park where there weren’t any dogs. The I started taking bags along on my walks and started picking up trash. Don’t laugh it was excellent exercise bending and walking, I’d do three bags each time I walk and it cleaned up the park too. I started cleaning up my apartment too, dusting the floors and washing them. It like to kill me at first but it kept me in shape and worked my muscle too. I even learned to work my arm in cleaning the mirrors in the bathroom and cleaning the tub. Worked every muscle in my body little by little..., and I never had to pay a gym either or a cleaning lady for that matter.

I’m sharing some tips I learned the hard way, never but never give up. Keep inventing ways to work out that you can learn at your own pace that mean something valuable in your life. Instead of learning to type with two fingers try to type as always, so it’s not easy, so what. Learn to push yourself to do things to try to get back to where you were before your stroke or head injury. I feel that my stroke was a landslide in my brain, all the pathways I knew over a lifetime were blocked. It wasn’t my hand or leg that was injured it was my brain. I had to relearn all those pathways I knew so well. Even if you can’t make the connection I feel the road to recovery begins with the will to survive. Each step to normalcy, each little step that you can accomplish leads to bigger steps and those steps will lead you somewhere you need to be.

B-Roll

Next week or two I’m supposed to do the B-roll of my testimonial, my fifteen minutes of fame is still two months away but I want to be ready. So I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to say and why. After I had my stroke I couldn’t think, things just came to me with no preconceive notions. By the time I was able to take my cooking class I got angry about it but didn’t quite know why. I just knew that my way out was though my strength and not by learning to be handicapped. I supposed that I knew instinctively that my muscles still worked, my hand, arm and leg weren’t damage the control for them wasn’t working correctly.

I always maintained that I had a landslide in my brain, as in any landslide the mountain that was me had collapsed and the pathway to “me” were blocked. I had to find a way to reestablish those connections again to make myself move as I used to. I needed to find a new path to me and to make that path(s) as smooth as possible; I was a child again learning to tie my shoes. The doctors weren’t much help either, the doctor is like a weather forecaster, he could tell me from his experience with others what my chances were but he couldn’t be sure one hundred percent. Nobody would know for sure until I did or did not recover. I had a lot to lose and I wasn’t prepared for that, I didn’t know any better so I just figured that I’d recover. Make no mistake it wasn’t easy or painless but it was either recover or live in a nursing home for the rest of my life. I chose recovery and I guess my stubbornness came to my rescue. I can be an obstinate son of a bitch, I want to do things the right way, my way.

So that’s what I did, I was more than willing to have help and guidance in my quest for me. But the more that I worked to get my strength back the more I knew I was on the right track for me. There were milestones along the way, markers for the progress that I was making. As each slid past I’d make up a new milestone, one’s that my therapist had to invent for me. I was a challenge for them, I forced them to think up new ways to help me and we both took pride in my progress along the way, my way back to me. Even as my progress took me past the eighteen month barrier that they had told me about I could see progress. I didn’t realize it at the time, several month would pass before I realize that I was still progressing. After almost two years and I started back to reading, my joy and pleasure was back and even my laugh was getting better but not the way I remember it. I still can’t sing, those who know me best say I never could but who know, I am hopeful.

And that’s what one desperately need hope, for the future and for the past. To get back to the old/real you. A you that you remember and are comfortable with, a you that fits your memories of you. A you you can be proud of, that you can say you made this happen. OK, so you had a stroke, a car accident, what ever it was that gave you the brain injury, you and you alone made it better, made it back to the old you. Never give up, work until it hurts and work some more. You are unique, you are the only you on the planet, there are no substitutes, know this and live life to it’s fullest. Did I mention never give up?

Birthday

Today I am officially sixty one years old and I don’t feel it. Yes I have ache and pains mostly from my stroke but I’m doing pretty well for a man my age. I must say I kinda surprised to be here, having escaped most of my follies relatively unscathed. In my youth, like all people I felt bulletproof and there weren’t many thing I didn’t try. I was really fearless or stupid, whatever you want to call it about my future. I didn’t feel the need to plan for my welfare or my health, I though I’d figure that out when I was ready. Well I’m ready now to find my way again and I have a hope for my future.

Last week I took a ride down to the sight of the new project that just fell into my lap. I was really impressed with the caliber of the people involved and with their drive and passion. They have a prototype built that has solar, wind and water build right in. Next month they plan a trip to Mexico to look at a site and make their plans to build a self-sustainable community. Very impressive in their scope and will bring a new quality of life to the local inhabitants. A totally green environment that will produce water for their crops and will recycle everything else they need. A very exciting project to be involved with. We even have on board someone to test the soil and suggest native plants that are apropos to the environment.

Of course this has tremendous commercial applications as well, they are in the process of getting the grants and funding that they need to make the technology work. That’s the point were I come into the project to document and to record there progress. I was down to photograph the prototype and the detail’s of how it was built. I shot the most important features of the construction as well as a general overview of the prototype and what features come with this particular product. Not exciting kind of shooting but eventually it should pay my bills. I’m looking for it to pay more than my bills really. I want to get back to shooting my model and creating my art. I have to find some way to sustain my art until it gets rolling and I get some regular clients. This was my plan for the future at the time I had the stroke but that event took up all the air in the room.

I was smart enough to see my age creeping up on me and at age fifty-seven I was starting to shift my work into the more artistic avenues. I could envision the time when I wouldn’t be able to keep up physically with working eight to ten hours a day at event photography. I was planning an orderly transition in life and the focus of my work. But my stroke changed my thinking overnight, I was left battling for my life instead. So many people have told me that I’m inspirational to anyone fighting my situation. Some have call my action heroic but I don’t feel that way at all. I had no choice in my fight, it was either sink or swim really. I could lay there in bed doing nothing or I could put one foot in front of another and get back the life I was used to living. The chose was stark, take it or leave it. I chose life and the pursuit of happiness. A couple of weeks ago I managed to get my testimonial recorded and in it I found a voice to speak to everyone who finds themselves in my condition. I found it important to give people hope and remind them that the doctors never know exactly what there patients are capable of overcoming in their desire to live a full and useful life again. Of course not everyone is as lucky as I am; some never recover and are left crippled for life. But that the way I feel actually, lucky. I am very lucky indeed.

Ready For My Close-up

A star is born, not really my fifteen minutes of fame have yet to start. I went the other day for my on camera testimonial and it was a fun experience. Because I have experienced the camera before and had a story to tell I was calm and relaxed. I listen to the things the editor wanted and I gave her my story from beginning to end. She was really pleased with me and the way I carried myself and the story I had to tell. I got to tell people the warning signs and not to repeat my error in waiting for so long to get help. I made sure that everyone knew that economics played a part and that I was not depressed. But I was content to let my fate be decided by nature rather than me. I have sleep apnea and I was hoping that would decide my fate and that I go quietly in my sleep. But I lived to find out there are worse fates results than death.

I awoke twice in the night and tried to go to the bathroom and fell down both times. The last time I almost went through the window then down a floor to certain death. But I would have been cut up pretty bad on my way down; I still had a desire to save myself. I guess that carried me through the whole ordeal. At least the retelling of the story wasn’t as traumatic as the event, I got a certain relief out of it. I could tell it made an impression on the woman I was telling my tale to and my description of the pre-stroke event was something she hadn’t heard before. She was so pleased that we decide to do a B-roll later of me walking in the park. For those of you who don’t know a B-roll refers to filler material so the producer can fluff out the story. It’s an interesting process and I’ll post the final result when I get a copy. So my fifteen minutes of fame hasn’t started yet and I can look forward to it with relish.

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On another note today is Memorial Day. A day of remembrance for the people who have given their lives for the freedoms we enjoy. We can debate the cause of the war, any wars for that matter. But we all should remember the men and women who have had their lives taken from them. We should remember to make the sacrifice for very good reasons and not to waste it. Remember too that we should live and let live and not force our views on one another. Too many people have given the ultimate sacrifice so we can enjoy this day. Let’s enjoy today and accept some different view to celebrate.

Happy

I’d like to break out in a chorus of “Happy Days Are Here Again” but I’ve learned better by now. The meeting went well, better than well I’d even rate it a good. I’m cautiously optimistic, seems that I’ll at least get some work out of it that I can handle. You’ll have to understand that I can’t speak of the meeting in particular, too many pieces need to come into place yet. But I can speak of what my fears were going into it besides failure on my part. I was really afraid that I wouldn’t be able to keep up or to understand the concepts that were floating around. That I wouldn’t be able to add my opinions and feeling. But the old thrill of making a difference came back to me as never before.

I was able to visualize the project and the ideas as well as I ever could and was able to make coherent comments and suggestions. Best of all I could follow ideas as they came one after another. It was thrilling to be part of the action and the actors. It was almost better than sex with none of the perspiration and trouble. I remember back when I was forty-five and working for New York Telephone and doing the Emmy’s. I had a lot of work to organize and get accomplished in a short time. I was on the phone a lot and traveling all over New York state and to Chicago where the Emmy’s are made. One of the broadcasters I was covering was WNET, the local affiliate of PBS. I almost worked out a deal at the end of my shoot that would take me to Dallas to get one of the principals. I came that close to shooting her and getting my travel paid so I could visit home but just missed out. Better that sex

So my meeting yesterday wasn’t as climatic but it did make me feel oh so good. It’s been a long time coming to reach this point where I feel comfortable with myself. A long time getting to the point where I feel able to cope with ideas and those ideas generated my own suggestions like before. I was able to forget about me and lose myself in the work and planning. I was excited by the nature of the project, the idea that it’s green technology at it’s finest and will add quality of life for a number of people. I’m ready to get started and lend my skills to this nascent project and see it grow into something I can be proud of. I haven’t lost sight of the commercial possibilities of the project either, I stand to make some good money as well. But the saying is “Catch the wave” and I meant to catch it and get a good ride out of it for as long as I can.

Economy

Well it would seem like the economy is improving, at least mine is slowly showing improving signs. At least some of my contacts are back and want to talk about things. The Dow went up and money seems to flow a little easier. Barring any new outbreaks I think it’s safe to say we’re hitting bottom at last. Don’t get too excited because it will be a long time till things are actually good again, if ever. But at least I’m seeing signs that things have stopped sliding and may just level off if the bankers don’t get their way and go back to risky investments again. I had to get on a do not contact list to stop the credit-cards offers from coming, I’d get a half dozen in a month. You know the world isn’t right when you’ve lost your business because of health issues and there still trying to sell you a credit card.

I feel like the banking institutions got themselves into trouble and brought us all along for the downhill ride. Ditto for the wall-street types with their huge rewards all for taking risk’s and having we taxpayers to save their butts. We small business types take risks each and every day we operate, we take the risks of failure as a given. But there is no one to save us from our own follies we’re just allowed to fail and it’s left to us to pick up the pieces and start again, if we can. No kindly uncle is there to pat us on the back and shake his head and say try again little one and don’t be sad. I could have used someone like that, instead my friends pitched in to help me recover for the first year and a half when I truly was going under. It was the little people who helped me and saved me from the streets.

At least that’s my take on thing and only my opinion, I am not an economist or a writer of the economy. Lin can give you a much broader picture of the economy and who when wrong and where. I’m just telling you what I see and feel going on around me. First I had to stop by the post office to buy stamps and the clerk asked me how long ago I had my picture taken on my driver-license. He told me I looked younger somehow and that compliment started my day. Then I hadn’t seen one of my friends for about a year, he was very complimentary about how I looked and remarked on how profession I seemed. Then I got the meeting I wanted with my two friends that have gotten a project into the planning stage and want to include me. So it was a good day for my ego and a better day for pocketbook issues. Now I can actually see myself getting back to shooting professionally and getting back to having models again. I have miss that part of my life so much words fail me.

So things look pretty strong in my little piece of the forest, things are getting settled and pieces of the sky aren’t crashing all around me for now. People are actually breathing easier and have things to look forward to. An improvement in people’s piece of mind’s and attitude as the dust begins to settle. I know without a doubt that the pain is going to linger awhile and lots more people are going to get hurt and I feel for them. I just thank my lucky stars that I have some good contacts, good friends that want to see me succeed with them. That I have a good reputation that people know and trust. I know that without a doubt that my friends were the key to my survival and that only the people who knew me were going to give me a chance to get back into the game.

This Old House

This is one of my early works created in 1968 or there about. I was twenty and so was the young lady. She was an early muse who’d let me try different things with her photographically. We did a lot of fashion and worked in a lot of abandoned building. We were attending college and became friend’s through a mutual acquaints. Actually another model I was working with who was more conservative. Mary was more laid back, she like us all at the time was striving to find herself and got a joy out of being photographed. So between classes and on weekends we’d find out of the way spots to do our work.

I could talk her into trying a number of different poses and tried different lighting with her most of which were available lighting. Without a reflector I might add because they hadn’t been invented yet. We were all working with flashbulbs and they were so erratic and expensive. This shot is about the only one I have left because when I left town to go explore the country I gave the shots back to her. I was such a fool then but I didn’t know better.

We were working in an old house along the river that was a favorite spot of mine. Out by the mission’s on what at that time was a pretty lonely stretch of nowhere. I was able to tempt a couple of girls out there to have them all to myself and my ideas. I look back on it now as an adult and I think how dangerous, without any means of contacting anyone. But I was young and bulletproof and so were the girls and nothing happened anyway. I got some good shots that way, working alone with the girl’s and getting a chance to know them. Thinking about it now it took a lot of trust on their part so I guess I was trustworthy then as now. But I never put the hit on my models, it was always about the work. Same as my poetry, I never use my poetry to get myself laid, after was another story altogether.

Anyway, this shot brings back a lot of memories of a time a place in my life. Almost at the beginning of my photographic life how much I’ve learned and how much I have left to learn. I wonder who I’ll have become when I’ve finished living my life.

Women

Women are wondrous creatures, they seem to have figured out the way to deal with there feeling that men never have. Even so august a woman as Margaret Thatcher is said to have needed a good cry then got on with the business of sending men to war. Women will cry when their happy, women will cry when their sad or frustrated and worst of all, women will cry when they are angry. Unlike men they don’t hold their feeling in for long and once it reach’s that teary stage be prepared for anything. I’m not making light of this ability, it’s one that I respect in it’s effect on the male population. Men have no natural defense against it and usually fail to understand it complexity but we all understand it’s effectiveness. Men through training or because of our nature tend to hold things in and hold grudges until death, our death.

I needed to get in touch with my more feminine side when I had my stroke. I needed to mourn what I had lost. I felt so alone in the hospital so completely vulnerable and broken that I had only instinct to lead me. I had to keep trying to put one foot in front of another, keep trying to move my arm so that I would have a chance at a life again. No matter how much I wanted there was no room for the sorrow I felt for me. Somehow I needed to make that time and space for me to greave. One day in speech therapy I was so frustrated by the lesson that I broke down and cry my eyes out, after I felt so relieved. My therapist let me have the time I needed and then came back to my room with me and made sure I was all right. She even changed the sheets on my bed and wished me a good evening. A small comfort but a comfort none the less.

Then during my long convalesce I started feeling so down and out, feeling of worthlessness washed over me in wave after wave. I felt like a rudderless ship bobbing in the sea. There were movies that got to me, manipulated me so ruthlessly that I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I spoke to one doctor about it and my feelings because after all the hard work I was doing I didn’t feel like I was making the progress that I wanted. I needed to feel like I was living a productive life again or at least the hope that I ever would. I was trying to walk around my neighborhood to build up my strength and to build coordination. But my anxiety and the dogs soon put a stop to that permanently so of course the answer was anti-anxiety medications. But my body and mind were on different pages, nothing I could do was working and that separation was hindering my recovery.

A couple of years into my recovery I was sitting in a café waiting for a my friend to show up for breakfast. I started sweating and I could feel my heart beating in my chest too fast. It felt like I had the flu, my legs and arms felt so heavy and I thought that I needed to get to the hospital quick. But I didn’t know how I’d get out of the café short of calling EMS to haul me out and that was just too public. So I close my eyes, breathed deeply and repeat..., slowly inhale deeply and exhale..., repeat. Ever so slowly I could feel my heart slow, the crowd noises made a pleasant hmm, slowly I went to a happy place. Not a destination or a real place but somewhere deep in my mind where I could control things..., I felt better. The heaviness I felt in arms and then my legs lifted. My heart slow and I didn’t feel so clammy, I smiled knowing I was getting this under control. I felt like the Buddha sitting in my little Mexican Café smiling, with eyes closed and in full control of what was going on in me. As I resurfaced I felt refreshed and calm, the happiness that filled me was so new and fresh. By the time my friend arrived I could tell her about my experience and I was relaxed and calm. I often use this technique to fall asleep though I enjoy the help of a sleeping pill to make sure I get the rest I need. Never let anyone fool you, we are in control of our body and minds.

Pills, lots and lots of pills

I’ve finally learned to take a pill, lots and lots of pills. I was fifty-nine when I learned to take them by the handful. I’ve also learned that there is a direct correlation between what I ingest and my health or lack thereof. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I’m coming to this realization late I confess so don’t get mad at me. I learn a lot of things at a glacial pace and I realize it and readily confess; I maybe slow but I’m certainly not very fast. The stroke had a lot to do with my current knowledge. I’m working with my doctor to fine tune my health so I certainly cannot speaking for the masses by any means.

The first thing I learned is that doctors do not know what your real condition will be. Like the weather they can only tell you what the prognosis is according to what the majority of patient have done. You are unique to them and your ability’s and desires will take you where your body decides. The doctors and nurses figured I’d never walk again, that is if I survived the stroke in the first place. I fooled them and that gave me no end of pleasure. My recovery was a test of wills, mind over body to get the results I wanted. Not to say that it was easy or pleasant, a lot of hard work and sweat went into my recovery and it surprised a number of people not only me. I was blessed with the desire to recover and I had the muscle mass and the brain power to get the job done.

When I had the stroke it felt like my arm was dislocated from the shoulder socket from just hanging there. My arm had recovered remarkably well and I felt it was finally healing. But my arm was going bad on me, a lot of pain when I moved it and reaching the mouse on the computer was excruciatingly painful. So I saw my doctor and a physical therapist and they made pronunciation on me and my arm. But that didn’t seem right to me and I kept looking for answers that would satisfy me and let me get to work on them. The therapist said something about hyper-extending and recommended therapy but to me that sounded like something I was doing and therefor was curable if only I could find out what. So I bought a wireless mouse and the pain in my arm finally cleared. Not rocket science granted but knowing my body saved me the expense and therapy.

More recently I was having a bad time with my G.I. system and even had some bleeding as a result. I asked my doctor about it, she asked me about food and if I could have had some bad water; sounded like I was living under third world conditions. She recommended a series of test beginning with my blood and ending up in a colonoscopy which I wasn’t too thrilled about. I told her I didn’t “feel” like I’d eaten something bad. But I kept looking and kept a record of when it affected me. Sure enough one day I was making coffee and I refilled the jug I keep my filter water in, I though it looked a little odd. There was a slight discoloration that turned out to be a kind of mold and the filter itself had gone way to long without replacement. I corrected that problem and my G.I. problems cleared up in about a week or so. Turns out I was living like a third world person and was being poison by my water.

Remember that you are unique and your body is unique. Know what’s going on with your body, for your sake keep records of your treatments and the problems you are having. I can’t recommend keeping a log of your blood-pressures enough. I have the utmost regards for my doctor and her abilities and I trust her with my life. But in these days of doctors being under such pressure to deliver I want mine to be a part of my health. I keep mine updated on what I think is going on with my body because I know it best. If something doesn’t feel right then it’s not. I’ve realized that my body is a high performance machine and I need to make sure it’s running as well as it can.

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From my New York Phase, I loved playing with the light

Writers

I have a new appreciation for my friends who write columns and what they go through on a week to week basis. Coming up with one story line after another is a hard way to make a living. I can see why some scan the blogs and Twitter for ideas. I recently pitch an idea about my stroke to a friend and she was so happy. At least it took the pressure off her for one more story and this one fell into her lap. I feel like it’s time to tell my story to a larger audience so I’m trying to take my story to the media. I’m talking to some interviewers for the television stations locally and see if their interested. May is National Stroke Month and my story needs to be told to give some people the hope for a more normal life. I think that by being open an honest about what happened to me and talking about what I’m able to do now will ease people’s fears. I hope to give them some answers they need to hear. At least that’s the reason I started this blog.

I stare at a blank screen with a solid blinking slash just waiting for words to pour forth. The last few days I’ve had a problem spelling words and thinking clearly. Not to worry, I’ve had the problem before and will again but it does give one pause. Like Lin I have trouble writing with a pen. Unlike her I can use the keyboard fairly well but my thinking sometimes goes astray. Words look funny to me and I’m not sure if there spelled right. I check the dictionary often and the thesaurus is my friend. I discovered that trick when I was recovering from my stroke and was learning to type again. I’d often spell the word so wrong or couldn’t think how to begin to spell it, I was lost. Rather than use a simple word I wanted to use the word I liked, nothing else would do. But how does one think of a word when one isn’t thinking clearly.

Often this blog writes itself but gets hijacked, I start off with one paragraph then I write another one that starts a chain of though that has nothing to do with the first paragraph. My last blog was like that, it didn’t quite write itself but I was thinking of things and they just came out. I’m reading Jean Auel’s series “Clan of the Cave Bear”, I’m on the forth book of the series “Plains of Passage”. The heroine remind’s me of a girlfriend I once had. The hair color and the straight forward manner, no she wasn’t a cave-women but she was strong. So when I read the book I can see her or at least I see enough of her that it take’s me back. One of my comments asked why I had written that particular piece. It dovetailed with what Dr. Lightness was thinking about another subject all together. That’s the magic in what we write and the viewer read, thought’s dovetail and mesh together. When that happens you feel a kind of cosmic rush and an overflow of magic.

Of course there the hell of writing first. You know what they say “writing is easy, you just look at the blank sheet of paper till the drops of blood break out on your forehead”. Or that’s the hell of writing for a deadline, tick tick tick. Every second, every blink of the cursor is another second lost or if your lucky gained in the quest to write the perfect piece. A piece that will touch each reader somewhere, whether it asking questions. Or amplify’s what the reader is already thinking about. I love when that cosmic connection is made and two minds meet and think alike. My blog has been the bridge that carries me far away to distant lands and minds. And somehow we meet and shake hand’s and say I know what you mean.

Women

In my younger years I could usually get the last word on any subject, except with women that is. It was a blessing when I learned that even if I won I’d really lost. That was a hard one to learn and accept with grace and good humor. But I did learn to hand them a glass of wine and apologize for being wrong, it saved a lot of time. Sting was famous for saying that he and his wife had Tantric sex for eight hours. Then when he got a little older he admitted that six hours was spent begging..., I like that one. But life goes better when you learn that whatever you did was wrong and get the apology over. Even if you don’t mean it! I’m being frivolous of course but really it’s easier and life is too short already.

Once I was traveling with my girlfriend and she had come down with a really bad cold and wouldn’t take anything for it. We finally arrived at the town were we going and to the theater. We’d barely managed to avoid a huge argument on the way down and I had decided that the best course of action was to ignore her mood and carry on. I introduced her to my friend who’s play it was and she just basically stood there and said little. I told my friend about her cold and told him his wasn’t really feeling her best and he understood. Later at the hotel when we were getting ready for bed I told my girlfriend that I though it was much better to cut our mini-vacation short as she wasn’t feeling well. That I felt bad for her because I knew she was miserable and couldn’t enjoy herself. Leaving out the part where she was making me feel miserable too. She decided to take a minimum of medication instead of trying to power through and we had a nice time after all. I think the best part of any minor illness is to be able to rub Vicks on their chest. At least it make me feel better!

The point is I made my concern for her plain and as a result I got to feel better and the trip was saved because of it. This young lady didn’t like western medicine and didn’t like taking pills. So I went along with her wishes and when they weren’t working I suggested a way to resolve the problem, I work with her instead of against her. For every problem there is a way around it if your willing to look hard enough to find it. Most times you need time to work out the problems so take some time to work out the problems. But most of the problems are something you said in haste or in anger. And most things can be solved by taking the time to discuss them and the willingness to consider both side of an argument and to be willing to talk about them.

Of course I live alone and have for the last decade, I find that it the best lifestyle for me especially as I age. I can work anytime that I feel like it and just being alone can calm me and the silence is golden. I love my music when it’s appropriate but I love silence as well. I get a great peace of mind that comes over me when I’m writing or working on ideas. A great deal of my time is spent communicating with friends and colleagues. When I’m actually shooting I have to spend a lot of time talking to people, giving directions and inter-reacting with them and I need this space of mine. It’s not the best lifestyle for all but for me it seems to make the difference I need. I spend a lot of time working out different problems I have and coming up with ideas for my shoots, different story lines that might work.

Speaking of work I seem to have gotten back into the groove. I’ve contacted my clients about work and I’ve gotten some positive results. I needed to let some time pass before I could approach them about new images. I’m also trying some new thing to help supplement my income. But it’s daunting to pitch different ideas, not something I’m use to now and it does take skill to do it well. But it’s lovely to feel in control of my future again and to have a direction that seems positive at last. In every economy some little grains of compromise seem to happen and we need to nurture them and take the time to listen to that inner voice and work with them and not against them.

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From Fiesta, The King William Fair my title is "Thinking of You"