About the time my son was born, 10 years ago now, I succumbed to family pressure to do something about my mother. That something was to move her out of her home in Fresno, where she had lived since coming to America 42 years before, and bring her to live here in the Bay Area. I’ll never know whether it was the right thing to do. There probably is no fact of the matter that would make it right or wrong. It was just one possible thread rather than another.
Four years ago, we moved mother again. This time, from independence in her apartment to dependence and supervision in a board and care home.
During the subsequent dissolving of an internally coherent jumble of artifacts and ephemera, I endeavored to document each particle, every trivial item, every talisman of personal narrative, before casting it into nothingness.
Occasionally, some string is needed to secure a package, or truss a chicken, or tie the current moment to a memory. And to another. And another still. But for some, there is no need anymore. Not now. Untied, memories spill to the floor and are lost. Those that remain come and go as they wish, masquerading as experiences, unstuck in time.
White Front closed its doors in 1975.
Well, the original shot was just not sitting right with me. I cropped it a bit. I feel better now. At least for the moment.
Five or so families from our Cub Scout pack went on a snow trip today to Iron Mountain Sno-Park. There was plenty of snow despite the lack of precipitation over the last month or two, and everyone had a blast. Especially me, since the “Sno-Park” is located on the site of an abandoned ski resort. This is my first interior shot.
More photos of bristlecone pines taken with wrong settings on the camera.
As I was going through the photos from the trip, I got to a group that looked like decent landscape shots, except that the exposure, color, and sharpness were randomly off. I was advancing through them and trying to make weird adjustments that seemed like they should not be necessary for this kind of shot. Finally it dawned on me: they were all shot from the passenger’s seat through the windshield as we drove along. I had totally forgotten about shooting these. At least I don’t have to worry that the D300 was suddenly going bad on me.
This mid-century motel in the middle of Bishop almost exhibits what seems to be “Danish googie” styling. Shown here with “motel postcard” processing for even more effect.
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