Month: June 2025

Sundays – Stories

My Weapons Officer aboard USS Andrew Jackson was far and away, the best Officer I ever served. Lt. Roger Kline jumped into an open Missile Hatch while we were loading Birds in Rota as I was exercising my right to bitch about – everything. Spread eagled in an open Missile Hatch, he looked at me and said “Meyer, I’m not fucking this horse, I’m just holding it for a friend”. Later, I learned he was CO of an SSN in ComSubPac. And an NJROTC Instructor in South Carolina. We made “Sand Women”on the beach in St Croix after a 79+ day Patrol, including a high speed transit from the Med. We were all, drunk. And handling Line 1 on departure, I saw him grinning atop the sail as he had the conn – shit faced and still more competent that the rest of the Ward Room.

USS Andrew Jackson SSB(N) 619 – U.S. Navy Photo

Sundays – Jazz

Recorded in 1955 & 1956, released in 1957. A MUST have! Disclaimer: If your sweetheart opens up a Christmas Gift and finds her Passport and a Paris Guide Book and you share dinner in Paris on Valentines Day, there is NO WAY to top that. And it’s okay! Bogey was right when he told Ilsa, “We’ll always have Paris”. Always.

“Chatty Cathy”

1960’s popular culture reference – my explanation at the last Cary Photographic Artists Meeting where I socialized with age appropriate (aka grey hairs). Yeah, my string got pulled. In a good way!

The Post Office delivered two CDs today from Goodwill Minneapolis. This was on one of them. And yes, I give a damn about my fellow man. Tres important! The more things change, the more they stay the same. Radio stations in 1967 refused to play due to the use of “Damn”. Imagine! Way before the current President.

Shoo!

Heard my upstairs neighbor empathically say, through blessedly open screens to fresh air after a rain cooled off the unrelenting heat of the week! She is rightfully resentful of Rabbits munching her plantings. They are gastronomically cheeky, as a lady a few apartments down, feeds them.

And having been self embarrassed at previously missing a photo opportunity by having to dive into my camera bag to find a lens, mount it and check the battery and memory card, I’ve left a ready camera near my door. Disclaimer: I tossed a piece of celery leaf from my dinner outside. It was left, ignored – I was had! And the missing piece of ear -not easy being a Rabbit! Still, we both agree on Billy Holiday.

“Faith and Begorrah”

This afternoon, I finished a fresh edit of “Nunsense”, a 2013 Cary Players production of the musical. It is near the end of all the plays I photographed for Cary Citizen. And I plan to give the finished archive to Cary Players, gratis. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about declaring spiritual free agency.

Primarily, I believe, due to cultural family inertia, I was sent to 1st Grade at a Catholic Elementary School. At that age, you believe the grown-ups, especially in 1956. Eventually I got my Catholic religious ticket punched with 1st Communion, complete with a blue suit and a big family party that funded a new bicycle! And later, Confirmation, where you’re supposed to be old enough to choose – as if I had a choice.

In about a month, I’ll be 75. And I vividly remember being hauled from the asphalt playground to meet Sister Mary Edward of the Order of The Sacred Heart. Drug dealers wish their bull dogs looked that mean. I was accused of being a “bully”, having been seen swinging back at a real bully and defending myself, like my TV Cowboy Heroes. So 2nd Grade me was made to hold out my hands, palm up while Sister Mary Edward beat them with a varnished yardstick. It was real wrong and while I didn’t have the courage to declare my spiritual free agency until late in High School, I knew. I’ve been to churches of three different faiths this year for Choral Concerts. They were wonderful.

Aha Moment

Fifteen minutes before my turned off, 225 F oven, renders portions of slow cooker pork stew (seasoned neck bones, homemade stock and all the vegetables that needed using) to go on brown rice & millet in homemade veg stock, I’ve some time to write.

Best I can remember, I cycled through 13 or 14 DSLR’s between 2007 and now. There are, 500 or 600 K clicks later, a lot of stories. But today, duh, I realized all my work had to do with intimacy. With us humans. Even my OBX photographs are about, being alone, with clarity.

This is from one of my last portrait sessions. A young woman I’d known as a young Dancer. And I got to visit with her and her Mom and give them the prints they ordered. It answered the question of why, I made photographs.

Ain’t Misbehavin’

I do not remember how or where I found this CD. Probably pawing through a bargain bin. But if you’re hiding out in A/C from a heat dome and the insanity of world news, with room temperature Bourbon and a Harp Lager, it is Oasis.

And, there is a remastered CD of “April In Paris” on the way from Goodwill Minneapolis. One more time!

Lady Day

There are some CDs’s you must have. This is one – “Billie Holiday – First Issue Great American Songbook”. And Carmen McRae “Alone, Live at The Dug”. And Etta Jones “Don’t Go to Strangers”. And Count Basie “April In Paris”. And Diana Krall “LIve in Paris”. Okay – there is a LOT more. Spiritual sunshine.

What Really Matters

Late today, in dangerous heat, I watched a U-Haul Truck unload into an empty apartment in my building. While I was tending the Clam Sauce for my Linguini. In comfortable air conditioning. A vivid reminder of life changes.

Stopped working in the Fall of 2022. And now, luxurious with time, seeing it again. School holidays were Golden Time for me. I could move a ton of lighting gear into studio for a week and schedule dancer sessions. The Artist & Dad genes in me kicked in. I was, chest beating proud of them all. Her folks know!

Studio Session, Cary Ballet Conservatory – 27 Dec 2019

Cognition

The news today included a strike by Employees of the Louvre. 45 years ago, newly discharged from the U.S.N, luck found me attending a large group (required for Ed. Majors) lecture class at the College of Charleston. The Prof was Tony Jansen . I was young and full of my salty sailor self and stupidly blew off his insight and brilliance. I was making Art, he was just talking about it! ‘Cept he knew and studied and thought a helluva lot more than I had.

And even then, the “Mona Lisa” at the Louvre had gone beyond iconic. I think it was 2007, first visit and it was a mob. Good luck actually being able to see the painting. Today, with selfies, pointless and intolerable. I do recommend the Musee D’Orsay, Wed. mornings and a Visite Pass. You’ll have about 20 minutes on the fifth floor before the selfie crowd.

Almost, Summer

Summer Solstice starts this Friday evening. Here in North Carolina, it’s been been July muggy heat, early. Saw my first Eastern Tiger Swallowtail on my Viburnum. Missed making it’s photograph mostly due to my inactivity (aka lazy old guy photographer).

Redeemed my professional embarrassment with a Bee. And today, a young Cottontail who took leisure ‘neath the shade of my Apt. Complex Landscaper Protected aforesaid Viburnum. Doves, Towhees, Chipping Sparrows – way more entertaining than any streaming service or social media app.

Reflections

This is not AI or Photoshop. Made this image of Yates Mill Pond in Nov. of 2024. It’s simply the Mill, reflected in the pond, from an observation deck opposite.

When I was making this photograph, test driving some new to me gear and working on finding my balance as a newly relocated widower, I fell into conversation with a young man sitting on a bench there. He was a young man. Younger than my sons. And regardless of my “I’m just an old guy photographer schtick”, it didn’t take long to realize he was trying to find solace from family conflict, driven by their inability to comprehend his experience of war.

So, my Dad gene kicked in and I listened. Which is, as I explained to my very young neighbor today, just the same as the woman at BJ’s Warehouse who checked me out today and lost her husband one month ago – after taking care of him with Parkinson’s and working full time. And we talked about losing a spouse. But mostly, I listened. It was, for both of us, hard reflection. And solace.

The Old Man

Recently, curating the photographs I made of the Cary Players productions for Cary Citizen, I got to thinking about this play’s author, Jean Shepherd. And the “Old Man”.

My father, my “Old Man”, disagreed violently with me, about a lot. Race was a biggie. But his ethics were impeccable.

So when he came home after a day on a hot, concrete shop floor to learn that I’d had my older brother’s Benjamin Air Rifle (previous Christmas present) confiscated by the City of Brooklyn (Ohio) Police Dept., it was not a surprise to be put in the family car after supper, to drive to Brooklyn City Hall & Police Sept..

There was a Police Sergeant at the desk . My father explained while he was there, with me behind him. The Old Man asked one question -“Did he do anything wrong?” No answered the Sergeant, but an old lady called in, concerned.

The Old Man said “Give me the BB Gun.” And it was retrieved. And we went home. And I felt safe. Like Red Ryder.

How To Pour A Beer

Dinner in stove to warm, killer good clam linguine. Dog sitting and have some time to write.

And I left the kitchen with a beer in a glass that my Mom showed me how to pour: “down the side, halfway up, in the middle”. She learned as a teenager, waiting tables in her Hungarian stepfather’s bar & restaurant, “Charlie’s Cafe”, an immigrant and workman’s saloon on Woodhill & Buckeye in east Cleveland , Ohio.

Charlie was a widower with a son, my Uncle Chuck. Married my Grandmother, Mary, a Hungarian immigrant divorcee.

Mom was 17 and waiting tables, when my 26 year old father walked in. Two weeks later, he drove her to Covington, Kentucky to get married. He swore, he was “shot down by a pair of 38’s”.

Later, with kids in a post WWII bedroom suburb, Mom worked weekend nights in a saloon near the factories, foundries and machine shops on Brookpark Road. To meet the bills. The old man hated it! She’d get $5 tips, multiple hours of current wages! Guys drinking on Fridays, after getting paid were generous with good looking waitresses!

I remember being half asleep in the backseat of a Hudson Wasp, in PJ’s, with a younger brother, to bring her home after her shift.

The minute they could get by without her tips, he forbade it. And for 54 years of marriage, till his last breath, he was wildly, completely, in love with her.

Old Guy, Musing

My first paycheck in 1965, was for 75 cents per hour, checking clothes and checking toes at a suburban, Municipal swimming pool. Aspired to be a Lifeguard, completed the required Red Cross Course but as I was not yet 16, was awarded a “Junior Lifesaving Badge”, so no Lifeguard Job. My first experience with meeting requirements but still, disqualified.

Later and wiser, I lied about my age and enrolled in a YMCA Scuba Certification Course, when it was still Tarzan requirements. Swim a mile, tread water with just arms for 20 minutes, then just legs for 20 minutes. Watched returning Vietnam Vets who could afford the gear, struggle. Took my open water qual in a Northeast Ohio quarry in February, in an ill fitting, borrowed wet suit (no money) and thought I’d never be warm, again.

Made E-7 money as an E-5 Submariner with Pro Pay and Boat Pay and FSA. And except for a year at the College of Charleston (GI Bill and VA part time job) after nine years of Canoe Club, worked. Until spring of 2010 – Lenovo, who’d purchased the IBM PC Company, my employer, made my further career, null.

From 2010, except for getting a Wake County “Certified Pool Operator” Certificate and managing our HOA’s Swimming Pool, I had an encore career as a Portrait and Dance Photographer. COVID and becoming a widower ended that, in the Fall of 2022,

So from 1968 to 2022, some 54 years, I paid my dues. Now, I’m just going to be at peace.

It Was, The Nick of Time

Perfect weather day with my newly installed Larson Brisa screen door on my apartment entrance. And playing this album (aka CD), I’m vividly reminded how good the music is.

Spent hours in a garage, at the end of a first marriage, listening to this on a cassette deck in a company car, a late 80’s Chevrolet Lumina Euro.

But in “The Nick of Time”, found someone who “opened up my heart again”. Lasted nearly 30 years, till death parted us. And as I recently told our mutual Primary Care Physician, I’m still goofy in love with her. Can’t be helped. We both, got lucky.

My Bob Seger Moment

Polaroid – in front of my first apartment. Back from my second patrol aboard a Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine. Me and my Mom in a newly purchased, well used, 1960 Corvette. Two years later, I had it right.

But that day, heading to the Menriv (Mendel Rivers) Convenience store at the Polaris Missile Facility, Atlantic, I was taking chances. Long two lane, in piney woods, looked and saw I was doing 85 MPH and maybe I should go to third gear and maybe, fourth. Mom had a NASCAR grin! Like a rock!

Recantation

Couple of posts back, I wrote “Taking a hiatus/retreat/sabbatical/down time/hiding out for awhile. Time to write, carefully. It will be a quiet time. Here and at home. Maybe, as Shirley Horn sang, September.”

I lied! True, ‘cept, like Lisa Lamont in “Signing In The Rain”, “I can’t stan it”.

Too much life going on for me to be quiet – as much as I treasure my new found quiet. And maybe, at 74, pushing 75, I’m shedding my Catholic upbringing aka “Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt and Responsibility”.

I am gonna write and edit my past work. Curated a Cary Players performance today, from May of 2011, in Jordan Hall – which pre-dates the opening of the Cary Arts Center and before it’s conversion to the Cary Fire Dept. HQ.Gallery is here: Puss In Boots, May of 2011

Lie II: Like A Rock

Early in 2005, I was abusing the family bus (aka Grand Caravan) for household hauling. Eldest son snagged an RA job at UNC Chapel Hill. So the Old Man (moi) decided we (Moi) could afford a pickup truck. Got an offer I couldn’t refuse from the very new “Internet” Sales Manager at Hendrick Chevrolet. Plus, a discount due to my younger brother’s employment at Chevrolet.

20 years on, since buying the truck, it’s moved mulch, appliances, drywall, lumber and students from UNC Chapel Hill and UNC G. And me.

It’s spent some time recently, at the mother ship Hendrick Chevrolet (aka NASCAR Garage). My last ride.