Category: Aging

Alan Mark Ulick, Died Yesterday


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I gave him the pictures, an outdated family genealogical history done by cousins Jerry Winter and Herb Sumliner (in which he is named) and shot this image, along with a few others.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.

 

 

 

What Now

Now what? I always wanted to make a contribution. Now, all I can do is survive. Can’t go out. Cannot volunteer. Don’t have all that much money to donate. I just have to not get sick, er sicker. I have been reading and writing, wondering what the meaning of life is. A lifetime learner, what will my knowledge mean to anyone other than me?

Duckman Tilts Left

I don’t gamble and I cannot play sports. I have problems with the political process, having been killed by the system, a condition that bars me from commenting and having my thoughts considered. I have basic health care and maybe just enough money to make it. My cancer doctor says my immune system is working, but I am not prepared to test it. Not going to a gym or a night club. But I do miss museums, watching people who know more or less than I do about art, look at framed images, sculptures and whatever they call the rest. So I wonder.

Having A Future

So, time flies when you are having a good time, eh. Not that cooped up, but enough to stop the analysis of the past. It will never change and whatever story I have to tell will remain in my head. I don’t have to wonder if I will survive this, I may. But little difference will come of it. My CLL limits my life expectancy anyway. Much I didn’t do because of my limitations. On to filling the rest of the time with who knows what, except that fame and fortune have escaped me. Keep in mind, it’s a cromulent world.

Cora Duckman

My Mother died. She had a heart attack as I was being savaged by the Mayor and Governor. NO support from my colleagues, the little family I had and no defense from my superiors. To this day, the story still hasn’t been told.

I wasn’t with her when she died. My father died when I was a kid. I wasn’t with him either.

Lorin Duckman, 72

I turned 72, which was a good thing and a not so good thing. As to the former, I am alive; as to the latter I have CLL, a blood disorder that isn’t lymphoma or leukemia, but what it is requires me to take pills everyday and be fearful of falling or catching a cold.

I have a marriage that thrives, even though I didn’t support us as planned or become the man we both wanted me to be. I cannot shake the past and don’t have much of a productive future planned. My photography comes second to my wife, so for those two things, I don’t want for attention, assignments or affection.

I read, shoot pictures, travel and volunteer. The images I make at the Soup Kitchen of Boynton Beach are printed and handed out. I have been given a wall that needs to be filled. People leave stuff at our door which I deliver and I beg for diapers (4s and 5s), along with donations of money, clothes and household goods.

Nothing can be done to ease my pain or fix the story. No one knows what happened to me, except a select few and I am not important enough to find out the truth. Not saying I was perfect, just not so imperfect to have been the subject of judicial and political torture. Few friends, none close, and few relatives, none close. Not so bad as long as I  live.

Not Walden Woods

Not exactly Walden Woods, but I can go there to think. Eliminating urban stimulus encourages creativity. I can also practice my skills photographing myself, since not that many people want to have portraits made. Very buggy and humid today at Loxahatchee. Not too many people, which is understandable and not too many birds, either.

Day In My Life

Blood day at the cancer center. Not fun, but came away with better numbers than last month. I am learning the vocabulary. This is how some cancer survivors talk. I don’t know what most of the numbers/letters mean, but the more I have in the normal range the better.

On the wall, near the bathroom is a magazine rack. Cannot imagine toilet reading at a Cancer Care Center, though I know most of us who take the pills or inject the poison have bowel problems. The magazine offerings range from what to do if you have bladder cancer to “Car and Driver.”

Now, who would leave a magazine about buying a high priced car in a waiting room at a cancer care center? Not a patient. We don’t think long term. A Dr who can afford one? Perhaps an heir in waiting?