Photography Thinks
Hadn’t seen him around since election day. Just sitting in Battery Park, I asked what he was up to? “Looking for a wife,” he said.
I reminded him of our last meeting when he said he was the “laziest man in Burlington.” “Oh, I had a job. worked in St. Joseph’s Cemetery. Once saw a cop have sex with a woman in a car.”
“So what upset you more, the cop not working or the sex?”
“The sex.” He better not tell this to whomever he attracks to be his date for the day.
Every new year has to be a better year or else why live them. Someone asked how I was doing this moring at Shul: “Healthy, happy and I have a wonderful wife. What could be bad?”
Dangerous place, the street. One minute the person you drink with is your friend; the next thing you know, he’s kicking the shit out of your wife. So, you jump on her back to protect her and the person keeps kicking. He gets your eye and your brain, what’s left of it. Now you cannot think or see and you haven’t got a place to live.
Sounds romantic. Sleeping under the stars. No alarms to wake up to, unless it’s the police. No rent. No expenses. No utilities. No bathrooms to clean. Throw your clothes away and get new ones, err, old ones, but new to you ones. Free medical care. Could be a life for the young, for a while. Hipdom. When you pass 50, it’s a drag. And you could be hurt.
I got the hearsay medical report. No need to share it, except to say both receive top drawer care. She’s sleeping on a chair in his room while receiving treatment. No one at the hospital looks askance at them because of their social status and impermanent roots. All just want them to be well. While I visited, an occupational therapist asked him where he lived, checking on his awareness of time and place, “… in the woods,” he replied. Posted these images to let people who have access to computers see how their doing. Others who don’t live in the hood of Burlington and who have less sensitivity or sympathy for those without much who do, perhaps this will send you to the food bank or your checkbook.
No idea who did it or why. Doesn’t matter right now. A fight can be just a side glance or a comment away. Can’t ask how the day went. They all are pretty much the same, just staying alive. Can’t really ask about the family, most don’t have one or how’s the new car drive, no one has one of those either.
The community shares the pain. I heard about this tragedy while walking in City Hall Park. That’s where it happened. People have concerns for Maggie and Dave. They have some problems, but live their lives for one another. You may not understand their love for each other, but it’s palpable when you are around them.
Nothing to do but pray or shake your head, if that’s what you do when you cannot understand earth people’s inhumanity to one another, pray for the survivors here and pray it won’t happen again. But it will.
Out for a walk this morning, I ran into Scotty coming down North Avenue. “Where did you sleep last night,” I asked? “In my usual spot down at the cemetary, on the porch.” I guess I’d call it a quiet room with a view.
Virginia live at Birchwood, an assisted living and more facility in Burlington. Ken lives in town on his own, for how long nobody knows. They have been a couple for ten years. Without each other, they don’t have anyone.
They met at Bill’s Diner in Winooski. She waited tables; her husband table hopped. Had kids, none of whom have anything to do with her. Lost one in a car accident. Then she bartended. They lost contact for a lifetime and then found one another. She has social skills, not yet lost in her pressing dementia, and a powerful look and smile. Doesn’t keep time or space like the rest of us. Has trouble walking and talking. Only complaints revolved around the diet at the facility and that she cannot do what she used to do, like drive or live in a nice place by herself.
Not sure she felt the cameras presence, but her head turned and her expressions changed in tune to my directions. She expressed her love for her man over and over, in kind and loving tones. When shown his pictures in the back of the camera, the few I thought worthy, she said “that’s the man I love.”
He and I have discussed this shoot for three years. Just didn’t work out. He takes her from the facility for a few days, caring for her at his place. The people there call him when she has some problems. He worked for years carrying stuff, shaping up, inserting at the Free Press. Has a sweet disposition that covers up a ton of pain. His back disintegrated, resulting in major spinal surgery. He lost his ability to walk and talk, which he struggles to recover. Walks with a walker; has trouble lifting his arm; cannot stand for long periods or walk quickly.
He found her after a long hiatus. Not sure why they didn’t marry; probably some SS reason. Spiritually, they seem as one. When he finishes her sentences, it’s to keep her connected, not to show how he has taken over her mind, but to stay in contact. His love for her gives him reason to live.
So, she has dates which cause distress. A birthday and an anniversary when her Dad died. Comforted for a while at the Salvation Army, someone dropped a dime, causing the Army to cast her out. She’s back on the street again. She wants a relationship that lasts, fueled by love. She searches for self worth. She knows she can do it. But she doesn’t know how. Where will she stay? At what cost?
Photo shoot and workshop at Camp Gan, Chabad Burlington VT. Two point and shoots, two counsellors/three campers with a list of items hidden around the Chabad. Some call it a scavenger hunt. Two groups. They took pictures. Then we shot portaits. Everone got to be a model, photographer and assistant. We tried to teach a lesson about our symbols, our people and the light.
The future of World Judaism.
Out early. Not much movement. The sun didn’t appear. No peek through for the breakwater. Overrun with water, the birds barely have a place to sit, at least from where I stand. Too humid for comfort, air also has some sediment from a fire which burns in my eyes. Cannot drink my coffee. Out of here.
Kids at Camp Gan cannot figure out what to do. Supposed to go on a boat ride. No way to challenge the lightning or rain. What to do?
Kelly sits on Cherry St, moved from Main. People complain she has a place to live and doesn’t need to beg. Its her job. But she sits in the sun, dressed well, courteous to a fault. Not many who don’t know her or can pass her by. Misses Paul.
Richard stays sober until he doesn’t. Hasn’t had to go back to treatment. Hangs out near Lowe’s and Hannafords. Ramp out of order for him. Ruggededly handsome. Lives nearby in the woods, somewhere.
Don’t have his name. He has mine. Struggling. Living in the woods. Hasn’t smoked in a while. Sweet and kind. Has friends.
A musician. Used to play a horn. Lost his teeth. Never saw him before. James Harvey, he calls himself. Been around here longer than I have. Has a brown dog. Looking to pick himself up and play again in the fall.
Ed Larrabee. Met him at the beach. He ventured to North Beach to escape the craziness on Church Street. Has a heritage he can be proud of. No place to live but he knew where he was going to crash tonight. Has a book about the Middle East which he wants to read, but he fears he doesn’t know enough to make it worthwhile. Understands people, but not injustice. Exudes self-confidence and personal strength.
Don’t ask me how any of them arrived in a place where I can picture them. And, they don’t ask me why I am in their midst.