Month: February 2013

Burlington Fishing Pier Fogged In

Fog stopped the sun, but not the light, from hitting the pier. The moisture filled my nostrels and dampness coated my forehead. Near the water, two people sat and looked for the lighthouse. I came late to the show. It had crept in and was leaving.

 

Sara and Zaira.

 

The Moran Building looks better when it cannot be seen so clearly. Who knows what it will become.

I left and came back. The sun returned, too, playing tricks with the water and the mountains. Always about the light. No wind. No birds. No boats. No fishermen. I always feel a little guilty when I stand alone at the end of the pier. The city built this whole pier just for me, so I can look at the world, I tell myself. Ever changing. Ever amazing. But I really want my neighbors to see it too. Lake Champlain belongs to all of us. In the summer, it will all be different.

 

Chabad Burlington Celebrates Purim

Rabbi Raskin reads the whole Megilla.

 

A juggler entertained the crowd.

Newlyweds Draizy and Eliahu present to expand the family. They live in Crown Heights. God only knows where they will go.

 

Ruth, a beautiful biblical name and a beautiful woman, attended. She remembered the story. She lives on with the help of her friends. They love her smile. She played the piano during her life, making people hear things they never heard.

Soon to be in Boca. Have roles to play. Know how smart and beautiful they are. Could be Esters, giving of themselves to save the community, but probably will lead in a different way.

 

Eating a humantash. Keeps the tradition alive. Got to eat the food to feel the pride of the story.

Maccabees to the rescue. Not going to let them or anyone interrupt the heritage. You sorta feel the “never again” from these guys.

 

Moms to protect us. Nothing betta than a mom, eh.

 

And Elvis to entertain us.

 

 

 

 

Two Davids


David said the night would be full of fun. What he does for fun, who knows? But, though his life had different reference points than mine, his goals seem the same. If it ain’t fun, why do it? Me. I did many things I didn’t think were fun to go along or get along. He didn’t. Or, if he did, he said, at some time, enough.

This David follows a different path. Always looks unsure of where he is or where he is going. Aimless. Wandering. Sits. Stares. Rocks.

Jerry Foy Needs A Place to Live


Jerry doesn’t have a home. Feels lucky he has a place to stay. “Spoke with HUD; certificates cut back.” I don’t really understand the system, but the so-called cutbacks scheduled for a few days from now cannot mean more housing or social welfare for those unable to care for themselves.

Confined to wheelchair, he parked himself outside a State store. No way to tell what he got from passer bys on their way to buy happy juice. He seemed resigned to doing all he could do to make it.

Bitterly cold out there. He just sat. “You still takin pictures?” I brought my book over to him. Just some recents. “I know him,” he said of Larry’s image, “old-timer.” Knew Karl, the poet, also. Does that mean something I don’t really appreciate? He’s saying that they are making it and so can I.

I see these guys so irregularly. When I do, it makes my day to know they live. Living hand to mouth. I have never done that.

He stays at the shelter on North Street. Looking for a more permanent place which may only give him shelter from the storm. Not ready to ask why he needs it or why no one else has come forward to help. No family. No friends. No social service worker. Wait until it is my turn.

Great eyes, eh!

Larry Is Sitting Still

So, Larry’s friends moved him from the camp during the cold spell. He has a foot problem from his inattention to sores and his inability to change his own clothes. They cleaned him up, raised his spirits and protected him from the elements. Maybe friends overstates the relationships. Hard to tell. The word connotes closeness. Knowing intimate details doesn’t make people close, only vulnerable. But, if you cannot be hurt, then what?

How do these guys qualify as home care attendants? No resumes in this business. You show up for duty, ready to serve. Still gotta live your life, somehow. Mishegas. Oh, how I wish they understood mishegas. I left last night to go to shul for shabbos, Matt said l’chaim. How’d he know? Who cares. I walked into the camp. Saw one of my images on the wall. Not interested, though tears came to my eyes. JFK’s image also hung on the wall.

 

 

Karl Berry Faces Life



So, my friend Karl Berry, the poet, will have hip surgery. He motors around on his scooter, stopping at Starbucks to write a few verses. MS, cataracts, arthritis and who knows what else. In two weeks, he gets his hips done.

He carries a lot in his head, translating it into poems. Writes a little like the beats, Baraka more than Ginsburg. Has a CD out with an image I shot. The pith helmet seems out of place in Burlington. He doesn’t care.

He looks a lot more like Rembrandt than Robert Frost.

 

 

Richard North Warm and Dry

Richard looks like he wants to live. Just has to deal with his smoking habit. Counting days. Not to say he didn’t always have a gleam in his eye, but some days the lids didn’t go up enough to see him. Used to control the ramp off I91. Had a camp up there until the trees were cut. Used to see him all the time on Main Street on a milk crate, layered up. I did a collage of him. Gave him a proof. He says his sister has it hanging on the wall in her home.

 

I don’t so much wonder where they have been, as much as where they are going. Free spirits don’t like structure. May be good while the temperature hovers around zero. He said he was going to the shelter. “I got a bed.”