My latest visit to see the Wifey found me on her home turf. Normally, we meet at a location halfway between where we both live, making it easier on both of us in terms of driving distance.

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No one survives the dead, because the dead don't ask us to. The dead are dead. We think we remain, and we do - but not to the dead; they have moved on, at peace; wherever the are, and they don't need us be there. If we think we have something to survive, it is not the dead that ask us this; we choose to hang on, we mourn, and we remain alive while the dead remain dead. If the dead could ask us anything, they might ask that we live, that we don't let their death take the life away from us - there will be plenty of time for that when we're dead.

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Today I embrace the wrinkles.

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Right now I'm (taking a short break from) listening to an interview with David Mitchell - writer of 'Cloud Atlas' and other highly interesting books.

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 You guys remember that place called thisisby.us? How about Talkshoe?   This has seen daylight, but not here.  Enjoy!  

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If you have been following the news lately, then you know that where I live, in the Southeastern region of the United States, we have endured weeks of rain and floods. Highways have been shut down and schools and businesses have been closed. Many homes and vehicles have been destroyed and at last count, 8 people have died as a result. This type of thing usually happens "somewhere else" to "someone else", but this time it happened here where I live, to someone I know.

A woman I work with lost everything she had in a flood this week. I was completely shocked. This has never happened before to anyone I know. I live in a flood zone and although I saw some damage in my area, it seamed the people affected the most were people way outside the flood zones. It came so sudden and when most people realized what was about to happen, it was too late.

The woman I work with told me she got out of bed the morning of the flood and stepped into a puddle of water in her bedroom. She, along with her husband and 18 month old son escaped in a row boat and fled to her mother's house. She lost her car and everything in her house. She showed me a picture of the house across the street from hers. Only the roof could be seen. She, like a lot of people affected by the floods, did not have flood insurance. She, like many others, will have to salvage what she can, leave the rest, and move on. I keep thinking, "What if that were me and my family?"

It is much easier to empathize with someone you see everyday. Their situation becomes real to us and it can be deeply felt, unlike reading a news story that we are far removed from. Jantar posted something on Sharp Quills recently
http://sharpquills.com/index.php?option=com_myblog&show=From-evergreen-apples-through-wars-and-famine-to-Austrian-torture-cellars-Do-we-really-need-to-kn.html&Itemid=13

and in that post he had this to say:

"Can we care about the accidental death of people we've never met and would never have met, unless and until they died in a way that made it newsworthy enough to write a short article about it? Should we care? In principle, I believe we should. As a human being one should not accept that millions of fellow human beings starve to death or get butchered by their own evil regimes or get blown up in senseless wars.

And yet, all of this remains mostly abstract, for most of the time."

This is so true. Granted, the woman I work with did not die and her family is healthy and safe, but they have suffered and they will continue to suffer for quite some time. For them, things might never be the same again and assistance and aid are very limited. Although FEMA will help in some areas, Tennessee and Georgia simply don't have the necessary funding for disaster relief, so for most people, they have to rely on friends, family and strangers to take care of their immediate needs.

At times like this, I take the needs of some one I know very personally. I feel great empathy for them and I want to help them in whatever way I can. I myself have needed help many times throughout my life and I've been fortunate enough receive it from a handful of caring souls. I believe we have a moral responsibility to each other. We should not allow others to suffer in the pursuit of our own self interest, especially when we have the means to make a difference in their lives. I don't know how any one could argue that this is not just simply the right thing to do, yet we mostly don't do it. And I include Me in the We here. I don't think this comes strictly from apathy though. There are many factors involved. Sometimes we just need someone to come to us and say "Hey, man. This person could really use our help. Let's see what we can do for them." It can be as simple as that.

A company wide email was sent out saying "I was hoping that some if not all of you might be able to help her out in her time of need. I know many of you may already know someone having the same trouble and are helping them and I am sure they appreciate it, but if you could help in any way......." And that's really all it took. We took care of one of our own and we will continue to until she no longer needs it. And this generosity isn't killing us. And there is no sense of entitlement coming from the woman we are helping.

This is a very simple concept:

I observe someone suffering.

I have the means to end that suffering.

I act on what I know is right.

Someone's life is improved.

It really is that simple.

Cut the wrist to the bone
....Ill  paint you the pretty picture
With the flies that manifest
Your picture frame life

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At approximately 10:58pm EDT yesterday, a new human emerged into the World, thereby allowing me to fulfill my destiny as the Crazy Yet Fun Maiden Auntie. The Sacred Vessel (my sister-in-law) has brought forth my nephew. All parties are doing well (although my brother seems a little shaky) and I am now, officially, an aunt.

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I have been given a couple of Reader's Digest, condensed versions of books. I read everyday but I get most of my books from used stores so I'm not up on current. Are the condensed versions worth my time or will they leave me with a feeling of dissatisfaction? I somehow feel lazy even entertaining the idea of trying one. Let me know how you feel.

Last Tuesday, I wore my favorite shirt to work. A woman on the bus asked me if she could take a picture of the pinch pleats on my sleeve because she was "in fashion" and the detail fit with the line she was designing. She said, "You're inspiring new, young couture! Thank you!"  Well, well. Not all tall skinny blond girls wearing four inch black leather heels with metal insets and fly-eye Chanel sunglasses are evil after all. I rejoice.

I first acknowledged fashion at eight years old while being fitted for my costume in La Bohème. All the other girls got beautiful, frothy dresses, but by the time they got to me, they were out. I was costumed as a boy and I was mad. By the end of the fitting, though, I had fallen hard for my sailor cap, slate blue velvet knickers and matching jacket with a trim of navy blue grosgrain ribbon. I did not want to take it off. The next school year, knickers were in and I hounded my mother until she bought me a pair made of claret velveteen. I probably wore them three times a week.

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I think a lot. Sometimes it's useful, more often it's not. I am allergic to the New Age, but Buddhism is very old and smart, so I decided to try the awareness thing.  A Thinking Ban has been instituted. It requires constant vigilance. My mind-monkey mind, as they say-is agile, chatty and restless. It swings through trees, pulls tiger tails, farts around with its imaginary friends and sings show tunes.  It finds many shiny and beautiful things to grab. It is profoundly annoying.

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The Merriam-Webster Dictionary took me on a roundabout path when I looked up "obscurity". It's the "quality or state of being obscure." So what is "obscure"? I had to jump to the third definition to get to the traditional meaning: "relatively unknown". I guess it's fitting that this fate should fall on a symbol of clarity, a veritable icon of unmistakable purity of color - Kodachrome Film.

Last week Kodak announced that after 74 years of production, it will discontinue Kodachrome. As digital demand increases, sales of single-lens reflex (SLR) cameras that use film have decreased and Kodachrome now accounts for only a fraction of 1% of Kodak's total sales. Only a single lab, in Parson's Kansas, still processes the film.

Many famous photographs were shot on Kodachrome, including John F. Kennedy's assassination in 1963 (shot on 8mm).

I learned to develop film in 1973. I remember the rules about storing unexposed film in the refrigerator, checking it out to the photographers, and waiting to get the rolls back. The darkroom was my refuge. As I type this I can see the strips hanging on lines across the room, I smell fixer and I can hear myself gasp at the first time I saw an image floating before me in the sink. Magic.

I went to work in a Photography and Graphic supply house in my early 20's. I had no idea what I was doing. I ended up selling ink and paper to newspapers. I vaguely remember something about Van Dyke Brown. A lot of my recall centers around the lenses and the guys selling them in the front - and the boxes of film and the guys moving them in the back. I worked in the middle, on the order desk.

I love my digital camera now. The film I shot years ago didn't hold color. It wasn't on Kodachrome - I didn't know it should be. I'm obsessive about backing up my pictures now. Something tells me that as much as I remember, I've forgotten even more. Obscurity.

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Or, “My Summer Solstice,” by Arlecchino Zanni.

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I wrote the piece that follows in response to a writing challenge issued by my friend Amy Hickman last year on the now-defunct writing website, thisisby.us.  With Father's Day arriving tomorrow, I am reminded that this one will be the fifth consecutive one since my daddy died on January 8, 2005.  Like most such losses, it does become more bearable, more capable of being accepted, with time.  But I still miss him, and I thought that in his honor, since I won't be getting him a card or some dopey necktie again this year, that I would share the piece with all of you.  Maybe there is something in it that will speak to you.

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