we buried my sister

My sweet sister Caren passed on, in those early evening hours on Sunday.  Caren's partner, Gabrielle, my daughter Becca, and my niece Keelie all were in attendance at her bedside, at her home. She died peacefully - on her daughter Keelie's birthday - waiting and wanting to celebrate as a mother, that important birth date of her only child.

As this was to be a "natural" burial (within 36 hours, no embalming and being buried on her neighbor's property) - I arrived in East Blue Hill, Maine in less than 24 hours.

My sister's kind friends (and there were many) like Richard and Veronica, who put me up in there guest room - and Veronica who offered to let me sleep with her own personal teddy bear - made me smile and helped with the tears.

Up early the next morning, I volunteered to help dig at the grave site just up the hill. And, I gathered as many shovels as possible for the attendees to fill the grave. At the top, in a cold drizzle, I found a young 'local' man,  J. D. "the stutterer" (the way he introduced himself) already near the needed six foot depth.  My job, as always told to me for years by my 'sis' the carpenter, "square it up - smooth it out - and make it beautiful".

My other job, to take a picture of J.D. - and J.D. to take a picture of me.

Caren and Gabrielle's many, many friends contributed to the occasion. Some built her a simple pine box - some decorated it. Some washed her hair and dressed her in red pajamas with socks, some came to help lay her out - and covered her out on the porch.  Pulling back that cover, I had my quiet time with her - held her hand and kissed and hugged her goodbye.

A cold and rainy day brought everyone out - her old, old friends - her ex-lovers, a smattering of  family and tearfully - the towns people. A quiet steel drum accompanied Caren up that long Clayfield Road. And those that walked behind, carried their own personal shovels.

Gabrielle remarkably read some Yiddish poems and sang a few Yiddish songs. And some 'hooped' and 'hollered' in celebration. Some were quiet and some were solemn.  Keelie, Caren's daughter smiled a lot in her own quiet way and was comforted by many. When I held her, she shivered from inside, from that cold grey sky.

The following day, I left Maine - when it started to snow - in an unusual soft way.

An annual Christmas tree ordeal

Every year, it's an ordeal.  For over thirty years, my wife has always wanted a bigger and better tree. Some years requiring cutting off two foot off of the base.  And, about forty dollars worth of tree.

Well, this year was no different. We bought a ten and half foot tree for a nine and a half foot ceiling. With no one to help to get it inside, or off the roof of the truck  - I called a buddy of mine Josh, to 'really' give me some needed help. Tried to stand it up - but no luck - to tall. Got the chain saw out and cut another 6 inches off the base and soon after, I made another needed call, to a buddy promising to come by and re-drill the base one more time.  But, the bit did not fit the drill - so for now, an overlarge tree now lays naked on our floor.

Always in the end, a more than beautiful and overly decorated tree - so much so, it usually stays up until Easter. And me yearly, during the beginning of the procedure - just trying to find the tree base in storage, becomes more than enough of an annual holiday ordeal.

Christmas Parties

At parties, always a strange occurrence - meeting people that you've never met. Or, unlikely to meet.

This year, Sandy became a board member for our neighborhood association. And, for their annual Christmas Party, we ended up somewhere where I have not been, in probably 45 years.

A very long time ago, I lived with my father for a short period, on an old houseboat docked there - and I distinctly remember this yacht club "burgee" (flag).  My father even flew this on the top of his fore-mast, on the schooner "Rambler".  But, the times have indeed changed.

And, last year's Christmas party, with Sandy's cohorts and fellow agents at the boss's house.

Girls Gone Bad - (real estate agents daughters outside filling a bowl and texting).  And, more than likely, this party will be repeated again, tomorrow night - where and when, some things will never change.

church

Was riding with my guys Sunday afternoon, up near Withlacoochee in northern Hernando County.  Stopped for a smoke in the tiny rural town of Istachatta, just as Sunday Services were ending.  The 'Southern Baptist' tradition of social get-togethers, bible reading and just enjoying each others company over a 'potluck' meal, still takes place here every Sunday - outside on a covered porch.

old family friends, sharing ...

Hadn't seen Ulla in many a moon.  Ulla - and my wild & beautiful step-mother, Jo-Ann (wildly known around town, as the "Indian Princess"), were best buddies / friends during my short teenage years.

Well, I ran into Ulla the other other day and she invited me over to share - photos, stories and some of their bad behavior.  Back in the early '60's, JoAnn and a partner had just opened the first Lilly Pulitzer shop on the west coast of Florida - and Ulla, had just recently arrived from Sweden, young and innocent. They worked, played and internationally "jet-setted" together - until my step-mother JoAnn, died in 1968.

Ulla's refrigerator.

And a beautiful young Ulla, modeling Lilly Pulitzer's first daring bikini. (1965)

my refrigerator

Talked to my sister today, tough one.

Made me feel real sad, even though that is not what she would want.

neighborhood

Our, down the street neighbor's, new outdoor-indoor tennis court being built. Pretty serious.

Used to play a lot of tennis when I was kid - grew out of it - grew to hate it.  Not because of the ball & racquet part, but from the competitiveness and the people associated with it.  And today, for whatever quirky reason, I still have my old wooden racquet from all those years - that's now rotting in the shed.

High School friends

Hope to see Paul today - at a memorial for an old Sarasota character. We're always reminiscing.

A couple years back, Paul stopped by and wanted me to take some close-up shots for his mother's birthday gift - printed to fit into a tiny 3" x 5" frame.  Ironically he and I share the same birth date and a strong interest in our troubled past.

40th anniversary

Coming up on my 40th year with this special Gandolfi camera.  England, Brasil, Bolivia, Cuba and my own backyard.

Thanksgiving at the "Sally"

A teenager's leaf pasted on the dining room wall at the Salvation Army's turkey dinner.

wedding receptions

Rarely get invited to weddings anymore. And rarely asked to photograph them - for reasons only I know.

But, got invited to a reception last night - for a very sweet and fun-loving couple who were close to my two youngest boys growing up - the couple, Jack and Misty Smith.

"Come - and if you have a camera, that would be great".

The Crescent Club

This place is as old as my family. Used to hang out there with the parents when I was kid - when there was a dredged canal and an old rowdy 'horseshoe pit' out back. The back lot is now for parking, but the original building is still goin' strong.

My visits always remind me of an old buddy who passed this year. A great writer and a southern gentleman with soul. It was always his place - when living or visiting in town.  In fact, he wrote about it frequently. The Crescent Club had that type of character.  I miss David T. Warner.  And, I miss him sitting there.

Circus heroes (and there are many).

Been spending a lot time on the phone with my sister lately. We talk a little about everything - including our family - mother and father. One of my mother's all-time heroes was Franz Unus, the great acrobat and a dazzling performer. Got a chance to spend some time with him back in '87 - and I told him of my mother's crush and hero-worship.  And, It made him smile.

(an excerpt from Bob Plunket, writer - from the magazine article that we covered)

"Unus had one sensational trick, never duplicated -- he stood on one finger. In tails, white tie, and top hat, he balanced his entire body (never removing the hat) on the forefinger of his right hand. After the war, Ringling brought him to the U.S., where he was a star attraction until 1960. His fame was enormous. He appeared on the cover of Life and was praised in print by Hemingway".

A family's hero - Franz Unus

parties

The always important footwear.

And, something always exciting at parties - our new grand-daughter.

runnin' like a champ

New pick-up coil and intake rubbers for the "Bonnie".

Just left 'my boys' on the outskirts of town. Kinda' sad though, as they were off to St. Pete for an all day - all night "Sake Bomb" street gig.

Sandy wanted me to stay home. And instead, go to her client's birthday party - where the inevitable conversation would be -  the intrigues of real estate.   Always trying to be a good husband.

Chalk Festival

Trying to do my best while staying on the wire.

Unlike "Nik" - don't look down.

early voting

My wife decided that she wanted to vote early. So her and I (and the dog) drove over to the local library where the early voting was being held. Huge crowd and a long line.

Pulled into a parking spot along side this random 'set-up'. Sandy got into the line and I thought, with nobody there but this table and an empty chair in front of this decked-out car, what a great shot to pose Knuckles in. Instead, Knuckles refused and started barking at the damn chair which attracted some attention. The car's owner comes over and asks me what's goin' on. Embarrassed, I told him "what a great set-up you've got going here". "Can I take your photo?" Sure he says, "let me get some more volunteers".

 Man, did I ever come close to gettin' busted. Frank (far right) even asked me to e-mail him the photo, which I promptly did, after shaking his hand at least three more times.

Hurricane Sandy

Fall 'antlers' on my truck.

(edit note); I published this when the hurricane ran up the Florida coast - before "Hurricane Sandy's" disastrous landfall in the northeast.

'Down East' Maine

The outline profile of Maine reminded me of my pup, Knuckles - his nose - that of 'Down East' Maine.

My sister Caren, and her partner Gabrielle, have lived year round in the town of East Blue Hill, for more than half of their years. Their home, tucked away in the woods and up a dirt road, is surrounded by small farms and a cast of Maine characters. I slept in their guest room, while my sis's portrait hung just above me, and accordingly, made me feel comfortable and at home. For the better part of the week, I jumped onto their outside chores, and helped to "winterize" their seasonal homestead. And just as important, to stand alongside my sister, while helping her complete the construction of her new envisioned - "woods bridge".

Like myself, Caren likes a daily newspaper. But, her paper is delivered two miles away, which is dropped off daily, inside a little green box down at the 'town' road. For Caren to retrieve this paper easily, during the snowed-in winter months, she has designed a new 'woods' path.  And now, with her bridge complete, and built over that babbling brook - she will be able to use her fast and slick cross-country skis, to collect her daily newspaper.

Caren and I heading out, dressed for the bridge construction.

Their neighbors

Robert Long's trailer. 'Gramma' Long spent her entire life in this four room cabin.

Down the road, farmer 'Kat' now lives alone. A hard working woman who recently lost her husband. 

Kat's favorite "layers" - "Red Stars"

Gabrielle - a true outdoors woman.

Gabrielle behind the wheel and paddling hard in her "Old Town" - heading up into a western wind and a strong, out-going tide.  McHeard Cove.

Kaylah, and her best buddy Victoria. 

I met Kaylah (my daughter-in-law), and Vic after a short distance drive to Kaylah's family summer cabin. From there, we went for a long walk with the dogs, in a place called Wonderland. Acadia National Park.

 

Two day road trip.

My sis Caren, and I headed out northeast, for Eastport, Maine. The furthest U. S. eastern port - and bordering the Canadian province of New Brunswick. A lot of back road driving up and down many
an isolated peninsula.

A deer's perspective of the late fall, wild growing Rose-hip.

The 'witch' of Eastport. His boat's name was "Iffy" - and he didn't mind being called that as well. The stick like effigies were strategicly placed all along his hillside property, overlooking a desolated cove. 

Iffy, "They help protect me from all those evil spirits". 

Eastport, Maine
  
Eastport could be described as Maine's version of the 'old wild west'. Historically, as the closest port to Europe, and during it's hey day, Eastport saw quite a few characters. My night out on the down, and wearing my Stetson, I was asked if I was off one of the docked ships - since one had recently taken on a shipload of calves for the European market. Inside a rough and tumble bar, I met and hung out with "Raw Pony" - an activist from the Passamaquoddy tribe. We buddied up and exchanged phone numbers and smoked a lot of cigarettes.

Lubec, Maine

The tides reach 27 feet a day. Four tides daily - ebb & flow. One inch a minute, five feet an hour - twice a day.

An unusual sight, not for the tides, but for the blue painted lobster boat. For most generational lobstermen, this painted color encourages un-foreseen troubles. A "Blue boat" will eventually bring bad luck and failure.

Sitting on an outgoing tide, an abandoned lobster boat in front of the local "herring" smokehouse.

Canada

Caren and I decided to cross the border into New Brunswick, so Caren needed a place to hide her stash.  We found the perfect place, where no one would look .......

Now, on a Canadian island, we sat down to eat fresh fish chowder and - "Poutine".  A delightful combination of french fries, topped with cheese curds & gravy, and served on a large platter. The eatery was serving it's final meal of the season, tomorrow - closed for the winter.  And, as I glanced around the dining room, the local 'Poutine' seemed very popular - and mostly topped off with fried fish.



My final day 

And, now back in East Blue Hill, with the chores almost complete, we finally headed out to the Bangor airport. One last stop - the recycling center, a picker's paradise - and my last view of  - 'Down East' Maine.