Sherwood Island, Connecticut

There are few images that stay with me in my life. They are frozen pieces of pleasure that give me hope and happiness over the years. One that has remained was a brilliant spring afternoon in San Francisco with Caryl. It was within the first year we moved to California and one of the first months in the city. At the time we were living on Telegraph Hill, poor and happy. We walked to the original Cost Plus and on our way home we sat on a stairway overlooking North Beach. The air was warm and smelled of the ocean. My arm was around Caryl and all I felt was my deep love for her and pure bliss.

In California I rarely missed the East Coast. But one thing I did miss was the way the sky and Sound would meld. The water at times can be mirror-like. This photo was taken late last summer, when I was dating a man with whom I thought would be my next partner. He lives near this beach. Often we walked along the shoreline and while my mind wandered, I'd happily explore possibilities of life. Unfortunately, it was also here, that when I told him I planned to visit California in November, he decided I was a selfish man and we were not meant to remain a couple. He only divulged this to me approximately two months later in a roadside cafe in Woodbury while we finished our meal and whiskey sours. I won't miss Connecticut when I leave. But I will think of moments like this, when the water was calm and I was once again close to near perfection.

Fulton Park, lower pond

February 27, 2010

Today, as I contemplate my next step to move onward, I was invited to have lunch with my friends Sandro and Maria and their son Sam. We drove to Sandro's brother's restaurant in Wolcott and spent time discussing our recent past, work and our futures. Maria is six months' pregnant. Sandro works in Hartford, Maria for the state. Sam is three and is one of the happiest children I know.

After lunch we drove past the house where I grew up. The people who bought it are odd. They still have a vast array of Christmas display items on the front lawn. The hedge is barely pruned, the yard ignored. Across the street is an old colonial farmhouse that had been the home to Bronson Alcott, well-known educator and father to Louisa May, author of "Little Women." Unfortunately the people who now possess the property have converted a classic salt box style house into an amalgam of split level, covered in white polyvinyl chloride siding and a pine green metal roof. The trim is lavender. She is from North Carolina, the husband from Vermont. She is a wonderful vegetable gardener. She takes anti-depressants and I never saw her without a mason jar filled with whiskey and some green liquid. She would come over to my mother's house and insinuate herself into any conversation we would be having. She would not leave without some disparaging comment. She was usually barefoot when there was no snow on the ground.

My Desk Top

The black cat is from my friend Nancy. The Devil is from San Francisco, the brass plumb from my father's basement. I found the cardinal pencil in Steve's collection of things and the stone flower is from Hawaii.

Willow Street at West Main, Waterbury

We're expecting more snow, sleet, rain and slush for the remainder of the week. Black ice anyone?

A New Day

"The only constant is change." This saying has reverberated in my brain since I moved back to Connecticut, almost twelve years now. It continues to stay relevant and I must stay flexible in order to move forward. The commercial kitchen I was to use for my business is no longer available. I have had to make alterations to my plans accordingly. My focus is to now sell my house and while I wait for the sale, to continue development and research on my cookies.

I must also finish ridding myself of belongings. As with the return of the birds, I am daunted by this task. While Steve was sick, immediately after my mother's death I had to clear out her house. It took over a year and with much help from Steve, his family and friends. The basement alone took a tremendous effort and over three months. Luckily my own house is less cluttered. But it still contains an enormous amount of things and offers many questions: What is to be kept, what is to be sold and how and where and when... Ten rooms, a full attic and basement allow for unnecessary material wealth to be stored and hidden from view. I haven't fully recovered from my last push. Images of my parents' house still flood my brain. But now is the time to seize the moment and move onward.

Self Portrait, February 23, 2010

Since Steve passed away, and for the first time in my life, I have had to walk this planet alone. It's strange that the moment only occurred in the second half of my personal century, but nonetheless, it has. In retrospect the irony that the only person who can make the hurt go away is the only one who cannot astonishes. I am not alone in feeling this way. Fifty percent of those of us who remain in life lasting relationships will lose our partners. This is natural. This is life. But still it is odd for me to be alone.

Sami and Monkey have brought back, to a certain extent, my grief that had gotten easier with time. This week has been more challenging. I am reminded by their presence, souvenirs of my sense of loss. But healing is not linear and my current drop in hope and happiness has already dissipated. I will survive this backwards motion and move forward as I have these past two years.

One of the ways that has helped me continue is to photo-document myself. The challenges that present themselves when I am both subject and photographer have been interesting, and my answer is to shoot the shadows that I place on the land. I have done this in California, New Orleans, Hawaii, Paris, Maryland and New England. Documenting my ephemeral existence places me within my self described parameter: impermanence. But now I am ready to move on and as it did today, when the sun weakly shines in a late winter's morning, I am left to document only those parts of my body readily available. The shadows have moved on.

Monkey's beak

For the past year at Adria's, Monkey and Sami were free to roam and fly in the room they stayed. To have them return to their individual cages and locked in all day now seems cruel. And to have them stay in the den, where they resided before, is no longer an option. It's too cold for them in the winter and they can see me all day, which enhances their screeching. So I cleared out my dressing room and ceded it to them. They can now fly about at will. Unfortunately Monkey discovered he could hang like a bat off the closet door, even when it was closed, and chew off the moulding. His beak is very strong. To stave off further damage than the eighteen inches he chopped off and the incessant woodpecker sounds he makes at 7 am, I found a solution: I nailed a towel into the wall over the moulding so he no longer dares go near it. Let's see how long this lasts.

Fulton Park

The sky is blue. It's 35 degrees and a perfect day to go for what had been my daily walk. From home I climb up the hill, up the boulevard, to the park and down through it to go back home. I hadn't walked this route in a few weeks due to the snow and ice, but the sun was warm enough to melt a path. As I enter the park I walk around the top pond. the path leads to a small stream fed by the top pond and connecting to another further down. The water here is continually running, brisk and clear. And now, or at any time of year, debris becomes part of the visual scape. Waterbury has many hidden treasures. Some are unexpected.

Sami and Monkey return

I thought I was moving to Hawaii last year. The birds would not be able to come with me and with deep sadness, I left them with my friend Adria. Their new home would be a room with a view of the river, sunlight streaming in and amongst many other avian creatures. But as I drove away from them my heart was broken and I cried deeply. I truly felt terrible.

After a long while, my grief subsided and as I grew accustomed to my new freedom, Adria told me she was moving and that I needed to take them back. I had not moved to Hawaii. Panic ensued, in having to once again care for more beings, and in particular two four-year olds that fly and will exist for another 20 years. I had just nursed my mother and husband during their dying process. This had taken 18 months. Significant remnants of emotional exhaustion still remained within me and the birds' return frightened me in that I may fall back in near paralyzing grief.

But ultimately they are my responsibility and they returned one night, about a week ago. They immediately remembered the house and me. They've been so happy that they've only bit me three times, twice to remind me of my abandonment and once to warn me of some threat unknown to me. I modified their living situation and my behavior. A foot long strip of moulding has already been chewed by Monkey. A winter in Connecticut can be long and lonely. But it isn't now. Their brilliance astounds me.