Photography Thinks
When I attended Penn, I saw him play many times. Gave the usher a dollar and he let me sit in a box on first base side. No one went to games. A few times I think he smiled over at me. I cheered when he hit, caught and just stood around fixing the dirt.
Take a walk in the woods. Avoid street noise. Support local preserves. We go to Loxahatchee. Just amazing how few people walk in the swamp, err the Everglades.
So, Sharon stepped wrong going for a backhand. Tendonitis. Me, flipper fingers. Podiatrist wrapped her foot. Hand doctor put me out, cut and sutured. Seems like we are always at one doctor’s office or another. What would we do without health care? What do others do?
A chance for the great democratic process to succeed. Kammy will be the next President. I still hope for fewer wars, fewer prisons and more affordable homes. People with health care and a place to live don’t kill, rape or rob.
The political disappearances of Trump and Rudy plus possible indictments could empower people to become involved.
Sharon and Theodore have a birthday, today. I love both of them. The only present she asked for was a BIDEN victory.
So, now we don’t even have a pool to swim in until everyone who came in contact with a covid positive neighbor are tested. One person stops residents of 1,000 homes from enjoying the amenities. Person remains anonymous, nameless. We don’t know male, female, republican, democrat.
No pickle ball, not that I play. The covid positive talked to someone who played so that got closed, too. Many here avoid masks anyway.
Tennis courts, clubhouse, everything, including bocce, shuffleboard and basketball. No problem getting a parking space, because no one is using any of the recreational, educational, creative or entertainment venues.
A chaise is available at appropriate social distancing, but the pool deck cannot be accessed. I’d say we were in hell; temp over 100 degrees, global warming caused and many here are Republicans. Good thing I don’t need medical care, because the hospitals are filled, their staffs overworked. Death rates climb. Don’t worry about us, Publix remains open. Total Wine delivers.
My cousin, Alan Ulick, the son of my Father’s sister Gert died in his home yesterday. His marital partner of 25 or so years, Harry Small, was at his bedside. I think he was 83. Very Sad.
On the wall in my gallery hangs a picture of his Mother and my Father when they were kids. I had a second image and decided to look him up and give it to him, along with a picture of our Grandmother, Hannah Duckman, after whom my Brother, Henry Hannah, and his Daughter, Hannah are named. This image was made in 1921.
Other than a brief meeting, a few minutes or less, in 1954, when he was a teenager and I was a kid, we had never seen or spoken to one another. This past winter, Google found him living nearby in Hollywood FL.
I called. We spoke. Alan and Harry came to our home for lunch. I learned about him. He learned about me from the internet (no time to explain), plus I told him the little family history there is of the remaining Duckman family.
I gave him the pictures, an outdated family genealogical history done by cousins Jerry Winter and Herb Sumliner (in which he is named) and shot this image, along with a few others. We hugged and they left.
We agreed we would get together again, but his illness and treatments prevented it. I would have liked knowing him better.
So, I got fucked for calling Nancy Mukasey Rothenberg, Princess Nancy. She was absent from court, often, planning her wedding, leaving her cases unprepared, I was told. It was a Jewish insult, according the Commissar Stern, a term abhorred by Jewish girls/women, though none I knew. Sharon never got her Prince, like Nancy did, she got me. What Sharon does well, like some Jewish women, is she orders in. And in this time of Corona, that is a skill devoutly to be wished. We are still married, despite Nancy’s efforts to cause otherwise. Is she?
When you visit a Concentration Camp, your mind wants to see the people who perished there, hear their cries and question the ones who allowed the holocaust to happen. Learning that a guard has been convicted may bring some relief, but not much, and certainly no sympathy.
The guards entered here, through these gates. The camp sat in a residential area. It was more a work camp, than a death camp. But when you could not work, you died. The neighbors denied its existence, despite the smells.
The prisoners entered in cattle cars on a specially built track.
They slept in these bunks.
Peed and shit in these toilets set behind barbed wire.
When they were no longer useful, 50,ooo were gassed in this crematorium.
Some were just hung, to make an example of the penalty for laziness or not following the rules.
We mourn them, today, and everyday. Nothing will erase the horror.
Goya, portrait painter to the Spanish Court. He knew nothing about beans. If he did, he would fart uncontrollably knowing his name is being used to create a financial fortune for a man who thinks Trump should be reelected.