(Sicilian Sand Beetle, Colonna Pizzuta Beach)
(Ari soaks in one last Sicilian sunset in Marzamemi.)
Yesterday Daniela and I visited Vendicari, a nature preserve. The walk through the now parched marsh led to the beach and the stone carapace of a three-hundred year old "tonnara," a site into which fishermen would herd tuna and trap them.
I arrived yesterday, and joined the rest of the family. Daniela and the kids are sporting a deep terracotta hue. They gave me an opportunity to catch up. Today was a warm Mediterranean Sunday, and Sicily reminded me of other islands with their unique customs, faces, architecture, and oddities. It feels so familiar...timeless in a way.
(If you want to view the slideshow, click here.)
It was a dark and grainy night...photographically speaking. How it ended up that way, I'm not exactly sure. Perhaps it was the hours I spent at the pub with other fans before the game and my affinity for the graininess of Guinness draught. Perhaps it was the compulsion to change the textures and experiment a bit...to reflect the upcoming noise at the Stadium. I vaguely remember taking a deep breath, adjusting the ISO setting to 3200 and then heading to the nearest Metro Station. Two stops later, we arrived at RFK Stadium to watch the US Men's National Team play Honduras. The National team played well, and fans on both sides provided much of the entertainment.
A few months ago, I planned an early morning weekend visit to the steps behind the Lincoln Memorial, and Ari volunteered to tag along. We sat on the steps and watched the crew teams row along the Potomac. We talked and we took pictures. I saw that his shadow was taller than mine, and I couldn't resist musing about the omen and its interpretations. Click. After about an hour, he gave me the look , "Are we done?" So, we headed to our favorite bagel shop for breakfast.
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(Click anywhere on the picture for your own close-up.)
Most of my workday includes sitting under fluorescent lights and walking over synthetic carpets. Today, the artificiality of such labor induced an urge to take a long lunch. So, I walked around the US Botanic Garden just a few blocks away. Cellulose curves. Fibered forms. Colored chaos. Festive furrows. I decided to alternate between multicolor and monochrome, a tale of a tour, told in ten pictures.
Saturday, we enjoyed leafy Thai lunch, and then headed into DC to watch a soccer double-header. The Washington Freedom played first, and we cheered the women on against their Chicago rivals, the Red Stars. 0-0 was the final result, a sleepy 90 minutes of play.
They spent the entire day setting the stage and framing the café context, and hours later parents and other family members returned to snap their fingers in approval. Bongo drums and lava lamps conjured images from the past. Tonight, a new generation of poetic hipsters cycled through the stage in their own words, tracing beats laid down by Kerouac and Ginsburg decades ago. After a few click-clicks of the lens, here's a set of visual stanzas...snap-snap.
I recognized a few of the faces from last year's ride, and enjoyed many new ones. Here are some of my favorites:
She began to paint again after keeping the canvas at bay for over a decade. It was a delight to meander through her projections...
Every year in May, thousands of law enforcement professionals descend for a week of ceremonies in DC. Legions of cops, in all shapes and sizes, on motorcycles and in antique cars, some with tattoos, some with kilts...they, their friends and family, all gather to pay tribute to lives lost in the line of duty. There are cycling events, motorcycle formations, and antique police car parades throughout town and the surrounding suburbs. At scheduled times, vigils and memorial services interrupt the frenzy.
In the afternoon and into the evenings, bagpiper cops in kilts travel the nearby bars and visit the giant beer tent near the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. They play their dirges as they enter. We turn and stop, raising our cups, bottles and cans. The pipes rest, and we toast. We drink because they can't. We drink to celebrate their bravery. Cheers to you and to those no longer with us.
After fulfilling nuclear family obligations, we met up with the rest (well, most of) the clan.
Miniature mermaids, of varying hues, watched over the cocktails last night as neighbors gathered at a recently finished patio-scape. They transformed their yard into a magical watering hole, and we gathered for a few hours to barter, and banter. We soaked our feet, and our lips. We waxed nostalgia under the full moon...reminiscing about our day in the sun.
The moment I walk out of the dentist's office is the most satisfying...the artificial mint-flavored foam-fluoride taste lingers for a few more minutes, but I savor the exit knowing that this is the moment furthest in time from my next encounter with alien overhead lamps, sinewy metal scrapers, a spittoon that resembles a Georgia O'Keefe-inspired urinal design, fluorescent blue polish grit, and lectures about flossing.
Dangling legs added a bit of color to whitewashed concrete.
The girls eyed the latest fashions and played around with the pink poseurs.
Before heading into the movie theater, they found time to create a few still frames of their own.
Today, I indulged in a long lunch and walked across the Hill to the Senate side for some sushi. (The Dirksen office building cafeteria has a sushi stand, and the prices are ridiculously low. It is one of the Hill's best kept secrets.) On the way back, I walked through a sea of Segways sashaying behind the Capitol...a group of French-speaking tourists warming up for their guided procession.
I walked past the sign, but the words stayed with me...this evening's rain drops percolating in tandem with derivative musings. The sign, a fluorescent beacon marooned in a frenzy of impassivity, was out of place. Peering to the right of the bike trail and then to the left...I saw not a trace of activity, useful or otherwise.
Her first assignment will be a bit more familiar, and she will definitely make use of every item in her diplomatic tool box...as relatives and friends scramble, look into the future...and plan their visits.
Congratulations Sis'!
So, I went for a walk in search of color,
and found some, in unexpected places....
Today was a late day at the office, a consequence of frantically attempting to meet erratically imposed deadlines. While working well past dinner time, my blackberry vibrated. It was Ari calling, "Papa...when are you coming home? ...At what time?" I tried to explain that I would be home later tonight, but that I could not tell him exactly when. The disappointment in his voice was strident.
A light rain dusted the deck, disturbed the reflection of leafless trees floating in puddles. The weekend was a mass of gray skies and damp airs...the meteorological incarnation of a large manatee. For a few brief moments on Sunday afternoon, we found warmth with family and other flavors. My brother grilled homemade bison sausage, and other savory delicacies. He is a chef by training, an artist of the palate. You probably think I'm exaggerating, but the flavors he conjured were as delicate as childhood memories of the Island, as refreshing as a fleeting tropical downpour, and as syncretic as Santeria and Spanglish.
He smoked, then grilled, then glazed ribs with his homemade guava chipotle BBQ sauce. This sauce was thick and dark like tamarind syrup. Plenty of sauce remained...so, I drenched my portion of grilled meats with the enthusiasm of a piraguero serving up his last shavings of ice. We ate, and laughed, and celebrated a nephew's birthday. The raindrops marched down from the clouds...slowly, in an orderly fashion, disciplined...much like a colony of water ants. The air was still damp, and crisp. Grey skies were now dark. But that didn't bother me now. The guava flavors had long since crafted more vibrant reflections in the puddles of memory.
