http://www.flickr.com/photos/thomfalzarano/sets/72157622885260312/show/

click the picture to view the slide show

French Roast: A Big Mystery’s Brewing in the Fancy Parisian Café

French Roast is a subtle, gently humorous animated short film directed by the French filmmaker Fabrice O. Joubert.  The delightful film has been deservedly well received at film festivals around the world, culminating in receiving the Best of Show Prize at the annual Siggraph 2009.  French Roast was named last week to the short-list in the Animated Short Films category for the 82nd Annual Academy Awards.

The film is set entirely inside a small Parisian café, where a rather aloof cigar-smoking gentlemen is about to pay the check when he suddenly discovers that his wallet has disappeared.  In an attempt to stall for time, he decides to order some more coffee.  Very many cups of coffee later, with his bill quickly mounting up, he’s still rooted to the same spot in mortification, when a little old lady sitting next to him appears to have ample cash to donate to a wild looking vagrant.  Her bag is stuffed full of banknotes and looks quite inviting.  But events quickly take a turn for the worse when the police arrive.  Aside from revealing the gradual evaporation of the lead character’s unfriendly pomposity, one of the key directorial touches in the film is restricting the action very largely to one view of the café tables with a large reflecting window behind them upon which the wider action accumulates.

done

French Roast: A Big Mystery’s Brewing in the Fancy Parisian Café

Slide Show: French Roast/A Big Mystery’s Brewing in the Fancy Parisian Café

(Please Click Image to View Slide Show)

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Excerpts from my journal while touring the southern United States with new photographs and stories (itinerary). The main shows are Gaza Steadfast, Bethlehem the Holy, The Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel, and Quakers in Palestine/Israel. (I’ve completed the tour and I’m now happily at home in Cambridge Massachusetts for the foreseeable future.)

PHOTOS

VIDEOS: Crossing Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans North + a buddhist led pilgrimage: justice for immigrants

November 5, 2009, Thursday, Tallahassee Florida, in a motel room

Sitting at a small desk in a spacious motel room just around the corner from Florida State University in Tallahassee (I think I’ve finally learned how to spell it, now what does it mean?), the morning open until I board yet another bus for Pensacola (learned to spell that as well), I now write with some distraction.

One long relatively vivid dream last night, shortly before awakening: I was swimming in a fast moving stream with a woman; we were bucking the current and doing well. We bobbed up and down, for long moments underwater. Foam capped the water. I could see into the water. We approached a bridge. She called out, I’ve lost my … something, maybe glasses, a sad moment but not a tragedy.

Scene shifted. I and not her was with a family near the stream looking out on the water. A dog had gobbled something up which was prohibited and the dog now pretended to be asleep, feigning innocence.

An interpretation of the first part seems obvious, so much so that it might be inaccurate: in my life I swim against the current.

I dreaded the long bus ride between Miami and Tallahassee but it turned out to be pleasant, relaxing, meditative, allowing me to work on my computer enroute (composing advanced info for the winter session at Cambridge Center for Adult Education, remove the guns from S’s images by alteration, skillfully if I do admit myself), write my journal, all while battery charge is plummeting (no AC hookup on Greyhound), and observe the terrain along the split 4 lane highway (mostly forests of new growth and uncultivated fields, a few small towns).

Amnesty International and the local campus Mid East studies group sponsored my Gaza presentation last evening. The small auditorium was filled, close to 100 people, mostly students, but a smattering of people who’d seen it advertised either on Facebook or in the local paper (incorrectly, so we fixed that). The US House voted yesterday to support Resolution 867 rejecting the Goldstone report—a sad moment in US history—and this provided my entry point for the intro. Earlier Samah, who I’d met at lunch (along with 8 or so others, mostly students and the Arabic prof, Zeina Schlenoff {a name I failed to remember so I couldn’t refer to her directly in my gratitude expression}), gave the intro. She read from my website and I told the audience that was the first time I’d heard those words spoken aloud. They embarrass me yet cause me to feel proud. They are apt, even if possibly overblown.

I’ve worked in the words from Eric Yellin and Nomika Zion from Sderot and the general theme there of trauma and their courage in speaking out, also the radical Islamist group that Hamas apparently destroyed while I was there, and HR 867, but not yet the vote’s outcome.

The show seemed well received, with hearty applause, most remaining thru what is now 60 minutes (skipping one sequence about the Popular Achievement program), and about 2/3s remained for the conversation. Only a few walked out. The discussion wasn’t as rich as the night before, partly because of the space: spread out. And the level of awareness seemed lower. (I can access this by asking during the show who knows such and such, like about the USS Liberty or the Goldstone report, and by the remarks.)  After the discussion a young woman approached me with the words, you asked whether there were any Jews in the audience, there was one, me, and relayed to me and a small group her experience participating in Birthright, the free tour program for American Jews to imbibe the conventional narrative about Israel. She abhorred the racism expressed by others in the group—and their drinking. I wish she had spoken this to the audience. I sold a few photos for a change.

About 6 stayed to talk with me—one wanted to record all my links and organizations, another wished to know the composer’s name, others had questions about the issues, such as what role does religion play in the conflict? (My answer: a vital part of the fabric of discord, at times crucial, other times, minor. Land and resources a big part of the conflict, also differing interpretations of history, and then there is fear and hatred.)

There are snags in the upcoming schedule: empty slots mostly, and long distances between venues, exacerbated by the fact (which Dave informed me about weeks ago) that the Amtrak line between Orlando and New Orleans is closed—sorry, Katrina did it. (And 4 years later not restored, a mark of the nation’s valuation of passenger rail.) So I bus or find rides. Dave suggested I take the early morning bus from Tallahassee to Pensacola but I demurred, opting for the later 1:30 PM bus bringing me there 6 hours later. Now to arrange a ride to my accommodations, maybe a taxi.

Y is on her way west. She wrote how appreciative she was about my phone call, and how she wishes to remain connected.

I replied immediately, hoping she reads it before departing. She was on her way south, to Hartford CT to visit B, and then head west.

I am trying to put into practice a declaration I made recently that I would wean myself from my absurd dependency for attention from others, especially women, especially the current woman of my dreams. I resolve to be more independent, solitary, free, to the point of relishing being incognito.

I am not doing well. I’m grateful that Y remains actively in my life, not only writing me but participating with my family, as with Ella and Kate. Will I ever achieve the goal I’ve set for myself, and what exactly is that goal, and why has it become important to me?

I realize that in the sphere of love I might never grow up. I may be fated to remain forever an adolescent.

Should I begin blogging about this southern tour, or simply send links to photo sets with minor comment? I really don’t have the time to blog. Maybe later during my down time on tour, or when I return.

November 6, 2009, Friday, Pensacola Florida, home of L and SS, in a chilly back room

Another fairly long bus ride (6 hours, $30) from Tallahassee to Pensacola, about half of it along the Gulf Coast. Large tall elegant housing (10 stories or more, no doubt vulnerable to hurricanes), palm trees, shopping malls, a divided 4 lane highway, and then long stretches of sand. Looking for the RR tracks that no longer carry passengers between Orlando and points west, finding none, I learned later that probably Amtrak has no plans to reconstitute that line. I learned also that a hurricane preceding Katrina by a few years destroyed stretches of track. However, the tracks now function and carry freight. So much for the renewal of passenger trains in this area.

On the bus mostly black men, a few women, some small children, a few Euros like me, the bus again only about 1/3 full allowing relative spaciousness. And tho the legroom and thus the maneuvering room for operating my computer was minimal I managed to do a fair amount of work: maintain my website, prepare the first blog entry of this tour, and sundry. Too bad I couldn’t connect to the Internet at my home stay site, a signal but no connection.

Checking my email on the house computer I found a short note from X, announcing that she is leaving Monday for one month in Central America, wants to hear how the tour is going, and mentioned that a friend active on Palestinian rights is disappointed that I’m not coming to his city, Baltimore. Her words, tho brief and not particularly warm, elicit my adolescent urges. I ponder how to respond: copiously as is my habit, pithily to match her incoming message, delay till after she leaves, or not at all. My tendency is the second option—wait a few days, write something brief. She also promised to write again before beginning her trip.

Here’s what I wrote to my Levant list:

Photos—maybe a blog eventually—from my southern tour with photos from last summer’s 3 months in Palestine and Israel. Itinerary below in the footer.

http://teeksaphoto.org/RecentPhotos/2009/Florida_tour_11_3_09/index.html

So far some 20 shows in about 12 locations from North Carolina to southern Florida, mostly of Gaza Steadfast, to audiences at churches, colleges, and universities. Many Arab-Muslims attending, including a sizable proportion of people from the West Bank and Gaza. I notice that Arab-Muslim activism is on the rise. And I am horrified—I hope you are also—by the recent US House resolution passed overwhelmingly that opposes the Goldstone report about war crimes in Gaza.

We have some open dates so if you check the itinerary and can suggest local organizers to book shows, please help.

From Tallahassee Florida on my way west, eventually New Orleans, ending in Columbus Georgia for the School of the Americas Watch,

In contrast, KA directly referred to the photos, calling some of them “intense.” I sent her the originals of S with weapons, to compare with what I posted showing no guns. Is what I long for from women what I might have longed for when my mother, Pearl, was alive: validation as a competent person, a photographer?

KA:

Those anti-Muslim signs and effigies by the church in Gainesville were pretty intense.  And that entrance to the University of Southern Florida was a bit tense as well.  Yikes!  About as much fun as going to I/P talks at the Newton Public Library.

Me:

right you are: intense. life here is intense. tends to be very conservative, yet miami is distinguished by its diversity. this is precisely where i’d like to be.

however, audiences are usually cordial, never hostile, and not as challenging as i’d expected (to my chagrin—i love a fight, certain sorts of fights. after all, i am from chicago, the southside.)

more intense yet was my host in gainsville, sc, combat vet from vietnam, 2 confirmed kills, many others unconfirmed, and staunch peace and justice advocate—up to a point. i share with you in strict confidence 2 photos of him that i didn’t post, at his request. i altered them for the website. originals attached.

if i ever get to blogging my tour i will have a tortured time deciding what to share publicly about s, others as well, a recurring challenge when blogging.

from the deep south, cool weather at last,

KA:

Wow, those photos really do give one pause.  It becomes so hard to characterize people with all their complexities.

I also struggle with what not to post publicly, particularly since the victims in Palestine have their own faults.  It makes it hard to put that halo on them sometimes. 

No show last night in Pensacola because the students who were to have arranged it thru the university didn’t. So a night off, perhaps one in a long line of remaining nights. Not many bookings. One tonight in Mobile Alabama at a coffee house, then 2 on Saturday, followed by many open dates. I’m trying to arrange a long stay in Birmingham, best if with S and J, but if not perhaps thru one of their friends or by way of Couch Surfers and Hospitality Club—to which I’ve written.

Yesterday morning was mostly working in the motel room with its strong fast reliable connection, and a short walk around a gorgeous University of Florida-Pensacola campus. The weather has cooled, partly because of a new air mass but also from coastal geography.

I’ve started making videos again, inspired by what I did in what I’m calling an upscale Miami housing settlement, then the golf course, and yesterday two more: in a McDonalds when I found myself with the right light, the right position, the right moment. I simply turned the camera on, set it on a high counter facing the main counter, and let it observe. Later as the sun was setting, a second—but too late for anything useful, I deleted it—the coast thru trees. Might have been brilliant had I thought of it about 30 minutes earlier.

November 7, 2009, Saturday, Ocean Springs MS, home of D and D, in his study

One dream, and some important news from X.

The dream was clearly about her, yet in the dream the woman playing the part did not look like her. I simply knew this was X. We had joined tighter publicly in the sense that as we sat outdoors sharing a computer, looking lovingly into each others eyes, sitting close, talking softly to each other, others noticed and commented—oh, you two have joined together. Judging from the timing of her next email to me the dream might have coincided with her writing.

I have to admire her, I feel gratified and gifted by her presence in my life, I believe she is a truly extraordinary person, I love her, and yet I’m disturbed that her path now takes her away, far away. Our paths diverge even more: hers toward further studies and research, Central America, Spanish, poetry, and mine photography, Israel-Palestine, family, Quakers. Not much common ground. We’ll see: long distance relation between elder and younger, one fairly set, one emerging?

Last night I performed at the Satori (meaning enlightenment) coffee house, and performed might not be such an inapt word. The coffee house usually hosts bands; I’m a one-man band (as I wrote spontaneously to X). More people than I expected showed up (none from the crowd of youth playing cards and sipping java in the adjoining room), about 30. The Gaza show went well, most remained for a heated discussion, including a young man from Gaza who remembered how easy a family drive from Gaza to Tel Aviv was, another young Palestinian man, and a Muslim woman with family from Haifa. One woman spoke of the wavering, leisurely, lazy Arabs, while a man from Egypt referred to all Jews as greedy. I did not try to counter their claims, hoping others might (no one did).

My Pensacola hosts, S and L, were exemplary, S driving me to Mobile for the café show, after treating me to a delicious Indian buffet in the newly opened restaurant in Pensacola. I also took a short (2 hour) hike around Pensacola, mainly to the water and downtown historic district. No photos but I learned later from S that the area had suffered hurricane damage, destroying many buildings, leaving some areas shorn, others newly built upon. But with the crashed economy most of this new construction lay empty. A ghost town in the making?

I’m now in Ocean Springs Mississippi along the Gulf Coast, learning that Katrina took down some trees in D and D’s back yard, and inundated some of the neighboring buildings that were lower lying than theirs. One theme emerging in my travels is hurricane effects. Not much to photograph, but much to write about.

2 other news items: Michael C of Friends Meeting at Cambridge wrote saying the Peace and Social Concerns committee agreed to sponsor one of my slide shows at FMC. And from Warren Hoskins, co-clerk of Miami Friends meeting, a testimonial that I shamelessly sent to the Israel-Palestine group at FMC, along with Anne R, and Dave:

Skip, it [a photo of Jerusalem’s old city]  is beautiful. Thank you so much. And I’m already thinking about your next visit, so please don’t let me forget–this time, you tapped on the doors of many people, and I truly expect far more to open in the future.

Before I forget, you are also now always able to say that you were the first speaker brought to South Florida by the Quaker Peace Center of Miami Friends Meeting. As such, you set a suitably high standard for future guests to bring talks, published books or other writings, multimedia programs and projects and other works for peace and social justice to South Florida. Thank you so much for that, too. And for the Woolman quotes–by any chance do you have your excerpts in a file you could share? Very helpful to Quaker sensibilities.

LINKS:

Gulf Coast and New Orleans damage from Hurricane Katrina

Recovery along the Gulf Coast

Israeli attack on the USS Liberty

A Matter of Loaf and Death: Big Trouble at the Mill

A Matter of Loaf and Death is an award-winning, delightful clay-animated short film directed by Nick Clark, a four-time Academy Award-winning English filmmaker of stop-motion animation.  The film, starring the much-loved duo Wallace and his faithful dog Gromit, was named last week as one of 10 films to advance in the Animated Short Films category for the 82nd Annual Academy Awards.  A Matter of Loaf and Death played on BBC Television last year and was the highest-rated program of 2008 and the highest-rated non-sporting event in the United Kingdom since 2004.  In 2008, the film won the BAFTA Award for Best Short Animation and the Annie Award for Best Animated Short Subject.

A Matter of Loaf and Death is a suspenseful, romantic high-action murder mystery, with Wallace and and the ever-trusty Gromit starting a new bakery business, Top Bun.  Gromit learns that a number of bakers in town have been mysteriously disappearing, and tries to solve the case before Wallace ends up a victim himself.  The mystery involves a new love interest for Wallace, Ms. Piella Bakewell, who is a bread enthusiast and former pin-up girl for the “Bake-O-Lite” bread company, as well as, for the first time, a cute sweetheart for Gromit: Ms. Bakewell’s charming little French poodle, Fluffles.  The very urgent question now is: will Gromit be able to discover the identity of the Cereal Killer before poor Wallace ends up becoming the next ghastly victim?

done

A Matter of Loaf and Death: Big Trouble at the Mill

The full-version of A Matter of Loaf and Death can also be viewed here.

Slide Show: A Matter of Loaf and Death

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So… I now have a Youtube account. It will be fun to be able to upload some video’s to show everyone what I am up to. I have started out with a slide show of the images from my Photoshop skills book I did last Summer.

Animoto

Turn your photos & videos into pure amazing.
Animoto automatically produces beautifully orchestrated, completely unique video pieces from your photos, video clips and music. Fast, free and shockingly easy.

Create your own video slide shows Complete with music and fades. One click easy…

To View The Larger Version With Over 300 Hi Resolution Pictures from David Cox Click This Text

!!!

This is a Proshow gold slideshow made in HD as you can see below.  The stills were made by Tom and Jerry this wedding season.

Aquí solo quise combinar lo que más me gusta, el anime con lo que más me preocupa nuestro planeta, disfrútenlo y reflexionen, haciendo uso de una herrmienta muy útil, el slide show:

clic!

Click The Picture To View The Slide Show

click the picture to view the slide show

We had a great time at Cape Ann Lanes and raised money for The Open Door Pantry in the meantime! I love it when everyone wins!

Here’s my version of how it went down-
Great Time- Great People- Great Cause

Thanks go to Cathy for setting it all up and all who participated including POCA and Crystal who provided the video stream.

My groin is freaking killing!

By my calculations the score was GMG 5,767,000 to CAO 220 (or something like that)

and here is Cathy Tarr’s version-

Ditto the thanks to all the bowlers, PoCA and Crystal and photographers, and Cape Ann Lanes for having us. It was a blast!

$210.00 plus 3 shopping bags of groceries for the Food Pantry.

Team GMG knocked down 1579 pins in 21 strings.

Team CAO took out 1758 pins in 23 strings.

Team GMG Average: 75.19

Team CAO Average: 76.43 (And we looked good, too!)

Click the Picture For Thom Falzarano’s Slide Show

click the picture to view the slide show

Excerpts from my journal while touring the southern United States with new photographs and stories (itinerary). The main shows are Gaza Steadfast, Bethlehem the Holy, Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel, and Quakers in Palestine/Israel.

PHOTOS

VIDEO: South Miami Settlement

November 2, 2009, Monday, Miami Florida, guesthouse of R and RL

In one dream I was tending a child about 4 years old who seemed a conglomerate of Cid and Ella. The child, androgynous, was difficult, aggressive, and most noticeably feigned vomiting each time I tried to guide or discipline it. The suggestion was it hated me and would resist any order or suggestion from me. Its mother was present, resembling Katy, and she just seemed to sigh and express resignation.

During the night, in real life, as I moved the second pillow that elevated my head too high, I knocked over my night drinking glass filled with cold tea. It shattered, making further sleep a problem.

The nights are very warm and sticky, reminding me of Gaza.

Dinner with the family, my hosts with the guest house, revealed to me several attributes of their life: they have abundant goods and space, far from the principle of simple living espoused by Quaker testimony. For instance, when R1 told me to enter the open back door for dinner I had a choice of about 5 back doors. Their home is littered with furniture, electronics, paintings (she restores and a daughter paints), trailers, boats, wood working tools (he frames his own photos), kitchen appliances, food—and I’ve seen only one portion of their sprawling house. I shouldn’t complain: because of their largess and abundance I have use of the small cottage behind the house, plus the pool which I swam in yesterday afternoon.

R2 is a photographer, receiving some training at Rhode Island School of Design when he attended Brown University. He and I know many of the same people, such as Minor White who he took one workshop with, Henry Horenstein, Carl Chiranza, and many others. He published a book with a text by the raconteur who committed suicide, Spaulding Gray. It is in the vein of Diana Arbus, published in the early 1980s, and a strong indicator of R2’s direction: subcultures. He does large format photography, moving from film as large as 8 by 10 to a Hasselblad shooting 60 MB files. I said, I realize the ethic of bigger is best prevails in galleries and museums, but I’m still a down and dirty little guy, preferring simple means, simple results. I doubt he was happy to hear this.

He does all his own printing and framing, which is laudable but seems extraordinarily time consuming, especially the framing. Yesterday he worked hard with a young man who said he was interning.

Curiously we did not engage more deeply than this, about photography, digital, exhibiting, and the like. No connection here, opportunity missed.

Their vehicles are all monsters. They bought for a daughter a huge SUV, R1 drives a large one, I believe I counted 3 in the driveway. Maybe for their work, so much big stuff to lug around. They also seem to own much land, extending out behind the house. I might explore that today, along with the park near by and Biscayne Bay.

He has a soft raspy high voice, and seems uninterested in what I do. She is more engaging, a conservator with her own business bringing her around the country. She concentrates on small museums and private collections. She was trained at Harvard. They lived in Cambridge awhile, and for a long while in NYC. She maintains one of her studios in Manhattan where some of their family lives. She is active with the Miami Friends Meeting.

Two of their children may have split off in other directions. One son, C (odd name) graduated from Harvard Divinity School, attended Friends Meeting at Cambridge Sunday afternoon meeting, and now attends Beacon Hill Meeting, and is preparing to become a chaplain. Either a daughter or daughter in law is studying at Harvard Divinity School.

Providentially I made my Quakers in Palestine/Israel presentation on the day beginning the 50th anniversary of the building used by Miami Friends Meeting. Mine was during the meeting for learning, in which I learned that Mustafa Bourghoti’s daughter graduated from the Ramallah Friends School and may have influenced her parents toward non-violence. I’m told a relatively large group attended my session, probably because of the anniversary celebration, and I believe the show went very well. I’m learning that show intimately. Makes all the difference.

Meeting itself drew about 35 (maybe 25 attended my show), which also was said to be a large number, and most importantly it was lively and hearty with strong messages. One ended in a robust sung solo. Andrew’s girl friend/partner gave an odd message that ended in what I thought was the statement, afraid to be happy. I was prepared to add to it about people in Gaza afraid to be happy. I didn’t. And later asked her what she meant. She corrected my hearing by declaring, I said “dare to be happy.” I might have crafted a message around that assertion. Other messages were about loss, a husband, a sister, the sister endlessly suffering, as do many I’m afraid. No way out other than dying.

Meeting for worship was followed by meeting for eating and schmoozing, always fun. I was confirmed in observing that this meeting is highly politically active, compared with some. They recently opened a Quaker peace center across the street, essentially one room. From its budget they gave me a very generous honorarium, more than I’d expected (expectation = zero). Warren told me as he handed over the check, you may not receive anything from the other Miami venues (2 university shows sponsored by student groups). Before meeting several discussed the case of a woman who might be deported back to Central America, how they might help. This reminds us of the sanctuary movement in the early 1980s, protecting Central and South Americans from deportation.

Miami is ethnically diverse: not only Cubans, but many from the other Americas make this their home. And some have become affluent. For a photographer concerned about subcultures, this is Mecca. It also sprawls, and has lousy public transportation. But at least one good public school which is what brought my host here initially.

I passed a milestone: last blog and subsite entries from the Palestine/Israel summer trip posted. Now what? Photos and writing from this trip?

Kate and Joey both wrote about Halloween with the weenie ones, Cid as a pirate with a red headpiece (was it?) and Ella as a pink pig. Rex took a pass for this year. There is now discussion about a family Thanksgiving in NYC, maybe renting an apartment for the 3 families, Kate and family, Lynn and Chuck, me. Elaine also wrote with a brief update. And I’ve been in touch by phone with my cousin Bob Schiel who now is a prisoners’ advocate in an institution, reporting that he loves his job. Y leaves for her cross-country drive on Wednesday, I must write her today.

November 3, 2009, Tuesday, Miami Florida, guesthouse of R and RL

Nearly a nightmare situation last night finding the venue at the Florida Atlantic University, and finding my home site later. The ride there, coordinating with Andrew and Mohammed, took about 3 hours, passing at least 3 accidents, and returning required a cool 3.5 hrs. Admittedly the first journey was during rush hour, 3:45 to 7, but the 2nd began at 10 pm.

Partly this is my fault for assuming Mohammed who’d set up the gig knew where I’m residing (he and R had had a phone discussion), and partly his seemingly native ignorance of travel and directions. He couldn’t find his car, twice, aimed at the wrong Old Cutler Road, but luckily he and I remained calm, trying our best to laugh this ballooning debacle away. Net result was we arrived at the last minute for the show and I crawled into bed at 1:30 AM.

I resist writing details of this painful journey so I can move to the veggies of the evening: a family of 7 Palestinian women and girls attended, learning about it on Facebook at the last minute (I must remember to learn how to use Facebook more effectively for announcements.) Some had rich backgrounds, others seemed less knowledgeable but equally eager to learn. The family has roots in Bethlehem’s Aida refugee camp, knows Al Rowwad Cultural Center, knows Abed, the director, but the children had attended another summer camp in Aida, which I promised to research to see if I might volunteer someday.

Otherwise the audience was miniscule, some 5 others, in a hard to find conference room, which Susan Koppelman recently used to make a presentation about Lifesource.

A highlight of the day was biking. Upsetting my growing opinion that my host R is an introverted, self centered, uncaring guy, intent only on preparing his photo shows and being seen, as I mentioned to him yesterday that I was going for a walk in the nearby park, he responded: why don’t you borrow one of our bikes.

Great idea. I landed what he calls a “Comfort Bike,” large with a high seat and high handlebars, effective shock absorbers, many gears, and wide tires. The machine hums along. It brought me for a ride thru a golf course, something I’ve never done before, up and down rolling hills on a path used by the carts. No one shooed me away. Other than the maintenance personnel, I was alone—no golfers. Periodically I spotted white signs stuck in to the green announcing a certain synagogue along with what I presume are supporters of the golf course or an event that happened on it recently. Also a marina, apartment or condo complexes, waterways, a myriad of Florida-specific landforms that present the traditional Florida face. They challenged me to show it in some slightly or dramatically different way. Have I succeeded?

I later tried 2 other branching roads. One led me to a horticultural research station exploring sub tropical plants. Told to leave. Another to a park past a recycling center and ball field into a construction site. Told to leave. But I’d managed to choose the right path first, the golf course.

Taking advantage of the phone rate structure which does not differentiate between local and long distance calls, I phoned Y on a lark to wish her goodbye (she leaves tomorrow to drive cross country.) and Katy to just drop in. Ella said a robust hello grandpa, lighting my day considerably. At this moment Ella is really the only person intimate physically with me, an irony—and intimate only in the sense of holding hands, sitting on my lap, the sort of intimacy that is a major part of what I miss while single.

Returning from the bike ride I swam, another highlight of this 3-day drop in to South Miami. I don’t recall being in any city with more highways, more private vehicles, a more convoluted and spread out landscape. We drove endlessly yesterday and nearly always on 8 lane highways past malls. What could be uglier? Mohammed who can’t be more than 35 years old told me he remembers when one of the roads we drove on, Rt 1, the main road south, going to the Florida Keys, was mostly farms. (Is this the road Jack Kerouac took when traveling south, later to write about it in On the Road?)

A bright spot in all the driving is conversation. And since relationships are one of my favorite topics, I turned to A to ask him more about his relationship with S who sat next to him at meeting, the two of them caressing each other during the silence. Knowing each other for 10 years, sort of partners for 7, he initially suggested marriage, she demurred, saying where would we live, how would we share? She is reasonably content where she is, he where he is, not only the physical arrangements but the life styles. Which is what Y and I faced when considering living together and marrying: too different, too set. So A and S co-exist, share overnights, have a sort of commitment (again like Y and me) with a big difference about extra partner sex. One favors, one does not.

November 4, 2009, Wednesday, Orlando Florida, on the bus between Miami and Tallahassee

I begin this after an 80-minute layover in Orlando. It is now 6:30 AM.

Having slept most of the first leg of this 12 hour bus journey (which began at midnight in Miami), I am now poised for a journey across the first part of my Gulf Coast route to New Orleans. On the bus with me are about 20 others (about 1/4 full), mostly black, mostly young, a few with small children. Legroom is ample, service is decent, air is cold (I wear my mid weight fall jacket). Cost is $45, station facilities adequate (altho they closed the café within 15 minutes of me sitting down to drink my coffee and eat my yogurt with banana). I saw virtually nothing on the first portion, sailing thru the night under a full moon.

The Gaza show last evening to a class in the sociology of the Middle East (Florida International University in Miami) went exceptionally well, judging by the length and intensity of the discussion. It continued for more than one hour, with many questions, none of them hostile, most thoughtful and well articulated. Besides the usual issues raised, I learned of 2 other countries that are now united after decades of division, or once were —Germany and Yugoslavia. Another vexing question that recurs is what explains the pattern of oppressed people turning into oppressors? One answer given by the prof is that while individuals may possess historical memory, societies don’t—there is no societal memory. Evidence for this is how as nations we usually learn little from history. Vietnam into Afghanistan, Johnson into Obama. Otherwise humanity would have evolved much further than it has. So he claims.

This was a mixed crowd of about 40, standing room only (small room), mostly the class’s students, but some from outside, including about 5 young Muslim women. At the last minute (one of the virtues of slide shows) I’d inserted a photo of the local federal representative, Ileana somebody, a Cuban exile with right wings tendencies (common among that class) who’d authored House Resolution 867 opposing the Goldstone report on Gaza. It had been voted on yesterday, the day of the show. I’ve not yet heard the results. [overwhelmingly approved, meaning the US House overwhelmingly condemns the report]

I’m learning the show intimately; I’ve tailored what I say. I have nearly memorized some of the narration, and I can anticipate much better the slide sequence. A problem remains: how vividly do the visuals alone, sans words, show the politics of the issue? I’d referred to this problem while introducing the show and a young man, the only Jew present, asked me specifically about how can photography better express politics. Which launched me into a discussion about the relationship between words and pix. I believe I fail to brilliantly utilize visuals; here I need to learn technique, maybe by closer observation of the work of masters such as Smith, Lange, Selgado, and younger photographers.

To try to answer that young man I mentioned my use of portraits, photos of things only, not people, and sequence. I used the portrait of Raghda as an example, stating, some (thinking of X’s heartening response to the photo) might find this evocative of Raghda’s true nature, her suffering and struggle, while others might see merely a beautiful woman, or an exotic woman, or a Palestinian, or nothing at all. (Not stated was do you see my love for her?) Later at dinner (delicious Japanese, a treat from Mohammed to Carlos and me) I admitted my love for her. She is among the most important ties I have with Gazans, one of my dearest connections.

One way to improve my Gaza show is to deepen the portraits, concentrate on key people: Raghda, Ibrahem, Amal, Yusef, Belal, Reem, Adham, and if only I had better photos of Mohammed, how he suffers.

Who is Carlos, mentioned earlier? A young man with Venezuelan roots who we drove to the show, friend of Mohammed’s, and part of the organizing team for a group of immigrant rights’ workers who plan to walk from Miami to DC between January 1 and May 1. We discussed this extraordinary effort in the car driving to the university—and I invited him to outline the walk during the discussion. The group of 3 key organizers has contacts in national organizations, seem very knowledgeable, are all students who are going on leave for one semester. They have some financial backing, Mohammed promised to help with resources from his organization, the Islamic Council, and they risk arrest and deportation. This walk is more daring than any I’ve undertaken. I hope to stay connected, having offered Carlos the Atlanta Buddhist dojo Nipponzan Myohoji contact.

Carlos seems astute, articulate, committed, and brave, I hope I’m fair to consider him a fellow traveler. Once again, a side benefit, an important benefit of this tour, unpredictable but expected, is meeting such as Mohammed and Carlos.

I had my second bike ride, on that special bike, the Comfort bike, generously lent me by the gruff R. This time to an upscale housing development where I made videos while biking, one of my favorite modes of making visuals. I was stimulated while observing the construction of a mammoth house. Then I headed back to the Deering Bay complex and biked along the cart trail in the gulf course making video. Humming and talking to myself, I spontaneously narrated the video, much fun. This time I was warned that biking is not allowed—warned by a woman with skinny legs—in a golf course. The paradox of bikes forbidden, carts OK, once again speaks to the ethics of this country, our priorities.

No sign of my hosts all day which persuaded me to leave the minimal gift of the small portrait of the young Gazan man who’d lost his arm, blown off by an Israeli flown, US produced F-16, while the young man was playing football (soccer). As much as I appreciated and enjoyed the guest cottage, relishing my privacy, I missed the warmth that most those offering me hospitality exude. I wonder about the deep happiness of R and R, just how far it reaches. I wonder also about their own perception of their wealth and life style, especially her views, she who presumably follows a Quaker practice. Simple living? With so much?

Following the bike ride, a swim, following the swim, lunch, following lunch, a nap, following my nap, cottage cleanup and packing, following that, more computer work.

I struggle to recalibrate my system, one aspect of my essential being: less dependent on attention from women (or anyone), and more independent while working and traveling. In a practical sense this means less disappointment when no one corresponds with me, or the correspondence is fragmentary, sporadic, pithy to the point of being formulaic, and more appreciation for my solitary state of being. Why moan about loneliness and miss the pleasure and privilege of roaming the earth out of eyesight of others? Why not revel in my isolated existence? Why not more fully engage the mystery of being alone? Why not cultivate being incognito? How about becoming a present day Ambrose Bierce, who vanished from the earth and in vanishing became more visible?

It is now 7:08 AM, and I am northwest of Orlando, heading to Gainesville and then Tallahassee. This route revisits some of my earlier sites on this tour.

I inquire: am I the sort of grandpa that my father was to me, always traveling, not fulfilling family duties, missing the growing up phase of my youngers?

LINKS:

“Culture and language: for more than half a century cultural diversity has been a hallmark of Greater Miami. Today its population mix is a mirror of the Americas”

Deering Bay Yacht and Country Club

For a larger version click this text

!!!

I took a very long time last night putting together an audio slide show of fishing boat photos I’ve taken over the years.  If I were not such a perfectionist, I’m sure it would go quicker, but it’s like a mini online exhibit.  I want my best photos – and, of course, I am my own harshest critic, seriously – and I want them to be in a precise order, where no one image goes straight to another similar image.  I like contrast – close up to distant, colorful to muted, detailed to blurred, etc.

Fishing Boats

FlowerMusic

Maa

dad

Excerpts from my journal while touring the southern United States with new photographs and stories (itinerary). The main shows are Gaza Steadfast, Bethlehem the Holy, Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel, and Quakers in Palestine/Israel.

PHOTOS

October 30, 2009, Friday, Tampa Florida, home of MU, side room by kitchen

Dream: I was in Palestine with a group of western supporters of Palestinians. We were riding in a car up a steep hill, going to some sort of event. Our host told us very few visitors ever stood on this hill. Entering a tall apartment building we rode an elevator that not only rose but tilted sideways. Many others rode with us, much excitement in the air, anticipation.

And then we were marching outside, night fell, we stopped, gathered for a rally, and I might have begun photographing. Nothing much seemed to be happening so I departed, and ran into Stan. When we met I was digging out leftovers for dinner and then felt, reluctantly, I had to share them with him.

The Gaza show last night at the University of Southern Florida in Tamp had a special quality: the university is where Sami Al-Arian, the computer prof who’s suffered for his alleged funding of some Hamas organization. He is a cause celeb and I forgot to say in my intro how honored I felt by the invitation to present there. This was the site of the request for a preview of the show. The local organizations, reps of the Arab Muslim student association, thought there’d be over 400 attending, many from the local Muslim community outside the campus. They didn’t show up, so the number stood at about 80, mostly students.

The show went OK, not as exciting as on other occasions, with a very good large bright image (once we’d adjusted the resolution), and decent timing. The discussion was tough because people were spread out. The sponsoring organizations seemed pleased with the show and asked if I might return in March and present again during a 3 day long conference they plan to title, Demystifying Israel-Palestine. Of course, especially if they pay and I have the time.

MU and L brought me to a local park with boardwalks thru a swamp along a river. We spotted an alligator slowly gliding thru the still waters. A foggy morning, not the best for photography, but I tried. I finally had a chance to show L in a portrait. Later I photographed him drawing for his USS Liberty commission.

I’d like to finish this soon and speed off a letter to Y who wrote a long letter to me about her end game in Cambridge, preparing for the big move west.

October 31, 2009, Saturday, Orlando Florida, home of AC and AB, in the main room

For some reason on this tour with few exceptions I notice myself dreaming but I’m usually unable to recall much more than fragments, nothing sustained or vivid. As if thru a fogged mirror.

Orlando, with Muslim Arab students at the University of Central Florida, residing overnight with 2 young men, one the vibrant humorous gregarious AC, the other the shy quiet cute AB, and overseen by the 21 year old married soft voiced heavily black bearded YA. He and I chatted in the car yesterday after MU had delivered me to him halfway between Tampa and Orlando. I detect in YA a tendency to rightness, realness, trueness. As in the one true Muslim path. I called him on this, he said this is exactly what I’m talking about, what I’m critical of, meaning others declaring themselves the bearers of the one true way. No, YA, what I mean is that you sometimes sound like that, declaring you know the one true proper way.

He’d been discussing how the first 3 generations of Islam were somehow the most true, pure, right, and there had been an incident recently when young Muslims learned about a book written 100 or so years ago that professed to be the true Muslim path. They followed it, and were wrong in doing this. He feels many new to Islam fall into this trap, as do the fundamentalists like Osama bin Laden, acclaimed but with little knowledge of Islam.

The phrase, that is not the true path, strikes me as fundamentalist, one side professing to have special knowledge that renders their interpretation correct, all others wrong.

The Bethlehem show last night played before about 25 students, all Muslim, and 4 older folks who admitted to being parents of the youngsters. YA had chosen Bethlehem partly to appeal to Christian students. He invited various Christian groups and then was surprised that no one attended. We discussed the age-old practice of beginning planning with the disparate groups so all are invested, rather than inviting them after the planning is done.

Discussion was fairly rich with the inimitable AC, tall and handsome, quick and funny, giving me a witty intro (now let’s hear it for the hip Skip Schiel!), and later in discussion observing that one reason Christians (and others) might not wish to know what is happening to Christians in Bethlehem (and others) is because they realize they should do something about it—they are complicit.

I winced showing Bethlehem last night, because I now see many ways to simplify and shorten it, beginning with the transitions. So many of them insert black between images. Why did I do this?

YA walked me around the neighboring research park, a relatively open, untrafficed country site with winding paths. Otherwise I reside in a huge apartment condo complex near the university, near a highway endlessly streaming with traffic. Florida is marked by its heavy use of vehicles and its corresponding lack of good public transport.

Belal wrote a very short note this morning that he’d escaped Gaza. I replied and then he was off line. This is the first writing from him since he left Gaza for Turkey and advanced education, his dream of many years.

My fantasies of someone joining me for part of this tour produce some laughable scenes. Suppose Y were to join me for a few days in Orlando, to see how the tour is going. She’d probably have to sleep on the floor beside me on the bed of this bachelor pad. Or suppose X had dropped by in Tampa on her way to her assignment—the bed, together perhaps, sealing a relationship (or ruining it)?

Endless possibilities, all in my aging head. I ache in the places where I used to play, so sang the gracefully aging Leonard Cohen.

Tonight? Where will I be tonight? Miami is about all I know, riding the train there for 6 hours, spanning the width of the state.

I learned more about a recent hosting family: the mystery man and she were once married and now choose to share the house partly for economic reasons and partly out of friendship. They seem very close. They have not divorced even tho they behave as a divorced couple. This is primarily for economic reasons and to avoid deciding how to split the property like their jointly owned house. What if P and I had made a similar decision, living together in the Center Street house? I’m not sure this would have worked. And then what happens when one of us meets another intimate? As I did Y.

MU graciously toured me thru the old Cuban-Italian district of Tampa, with its cigar stores, cafes (we drank iced tea at the Columbia), bars, and perhaps a few galleries. It is called Ybor and has a light rail system connecting it with downtown. (Altho we saw no trains actually running)

Today is Halloween, I might celebrate it in a solitary secret manner. While I think about Ella, Cid, and Rex enjoying the event as kids usually do.

November 1, 2009, Sunday, Miami Florida, guesthouse of R and RL

Ensconced for several days in a guest house consisting of bedroom, toilet, small narrow kitchen, living-dining room, and entry room. Behind the main house, not yet meeting my hosts since I came in last night around 10:30 pm, Halloween, I have ultimate privacy. The neighborhood rang with singing, shouting, music. Cars littered the roadway. Children called out. It is Halloween, and I celebrate in my own manner: with delightful erotic fantasies.

The train carrying me here from Orlando was 3.5 hours late. Either it was once again stuck behind freights, explanation no. 1 from Amtrak personnel, or the train collided with something near DC, requiring replacement of the engine, explanation no. 2. No further details. Expecting a train crew in costume and masked, I was disappointed to discover no apparent celebration aboard the Silver Meteor (a laggardly meteor), train no. 97, limping south to its final destination, Miami. I can now proudly claim: I’ve ridden Amtrak between its 2 main north-south destinations on the east coast, Boston and Miami (ignoring Portland ME).

On board for some 5 hours (for a distance of about 160 miles, drive time might be 3-4 hours) I accomplished much: adding to yesterday’s journal, refining the Special Sources application, revising Gaza, Bethlehem, and Quakers (the latter I show this morning at the Miami meeting), examining the new blog entry before posting, and reading Scott’s report of his 1990 Palestine/Israel trip. Plus limited photography of the sunset spreading over a sandy plain. Florida is flat, sandy, and of course, where I am now, hot.

I know I dreamt regularly thru the night but I have no shred of memory of any dreams. I’m fairly convinced that this is because my new environment is so novel. There is much to explore, much to imagine, much to understand. Who are my hosts, what is their house like, what neighborhood am I in, who are my neighbors, can I drink the water, what exactly does my host do in the adjoining room filled with mat cutting tools, etc.

Presently the water question is a serious focus. When I arrived last night I saw no signs about water—DO NOT DRINK THE WATER!— or alternate water, so I filled my cup with tap water, drank from it during the night. This morning showering, I noticed a putrid odor to the water, then thought, oh shit, not again, am I going to get sick from the water? This morning I discovered a large opened bottle of water which I used for my coffee and I will soon meet my host and ask her, hoping she replies, no problem, it’s safe, drink away.

Since the train was delayed I mostly stayed in the Orlando house shared with AC and AB, joking mostly with the former. I worked, preparing another subsite, the last of the summer Israel-Palestine trip, along with a blog entry which I’ve yet to upload. I resisted certain temptations borne to me via the Internet—does the devil now visit us from cyberspace when we open the computer? The connection was among the fastest of this trip.

A few more details about AC: he’s from Hawarra, but he did not know his geography. This was telling: he thought he grew up in Israel. Reason? The occupation was so pervasive, soldiers everywhere, that he assumed this. His father had and has businesses, laundromat for one, gas station another, and AC worked in some of them. He lived in Palestine from the age of 4 to 14 or so, leaving in 2000 just before 2nd intifada. He studies civil engineering, thinking it will assure him a job, but he also expects not to feel satisfied by this job and seemed interested in how I’ve organized my life for supreme personal satisfaction (with some big gaps).

We debated individualism, relying only on oneself. He argued that this way no one would cheat or disappoint him. I spoke of my experience changing from much that same perspective and life mode to one that acknowledges the value of community, striving to participate fully in various communities, relying on others, and realizing they will rely on me.

He showed me a YouTube video of his brother’s summer wedding in Brooklyn, featuring dabka. I had to confess: I’m sick of dabka. And he confessed that he is a clumsy dabka dancer.

Islamic morality came up, especially concerning college “girls.” I’d inquired about a note on the fridge that said in essence, your bike is sweet, it’s like mine, we should get together and make sweet love. With name and phone number. Someone left it on AC’s big balloon tire bike. The college girls here are very loose, he claimed, always flirting. I flirt back but stop before anything further happens except for …

And here I wondered if he referred to masturbation. I muse: do devout Muslims masturbate? Is this considered against the moral code? Certainly coitus before marriage is prohibited and my sense from discussion with AC is that many observe this. But jerking off? Watching porn? I’m not sure and I’m hesitant to ask because he might then ask me, do you masturbate, do you use porn? I might equivocate, dodge the question, say something like, this is too personal for me to answer.

So I kept my big mouth shut and live without an answer.

YA brought me to the train station, we had about 30 minutes for walk and talk. (I recognized the station, remembered that I’ve arrived-departed here at least once before, once boarding a bus.) He proved himself very knowledgeable about Islam. Here’s what I learned concerning 2 big questions I’ve had: about the night journey of the prophet to Jerusalem and then lifting off to visit deities, and the connection between Ishmael and Islam. In note form:

Most believe the journey was not a death scene, nor a dream, but an actual event. Evidence? In speaking about his journey Mohamed describes in detail the environment of that day—which then correlates with historical facts.

Ishmael to Islam by way of Abraham leads Hagar (she is royalty, a gift of the pharaoh, but served as a maid) west to desert, stopped when ordered by god. She ran back and forth between hilltops looking for people. Ishmael the baby crying, kicking, uncovers water source, laughs. This is where the kaaba was built. The local people are Arabized (original Arabs were from Yemen).

Abraham almost sacrificed Ishmael in Arabia, at Arafat, not Mt Moriah in Jerusalem, tempted by devils who wished Abraham would sacrifice, which is parallel to Christ tempted by devils 3 times.

Oh, I don’t know. How much of this is historically true? How much is mythically true? How much contains stories about how to live? How much is true true, ultimately true, pointing to a truth of the universe?

LINKS:

Sami Al-Arian

Miami Friends Meeting

Quaker Center for Peace, Education and Social Justice

Ybor City (Tampa)

Islam and masturbation

!!!

These are pictures from around the area I live. This is what a Nor’ Easter is like. It’s a low pressure system, similiar to a hurricane that moves up the east coast. This nor’ easter was actually formed from remnents of the storm Ida. Congers up memories of Isabelle, another I hurricane that I survived.

I worked on two spots for the campaign (actually four, from which two were chosen) and Hammer seems to be everyone’s favorite.

..

There is hardly anything better than a fall wedding in New England, unless it is a small, intimate fall wedding in New England.

Katryne and Kevin hosted the loveliest event on October 23, and every detail echoed them, from Katryne’s signature hot pink accents everywhere (even on the guests), the black and white rocks they’ve been gathering during their courtship, the hiliarious and irrevent family and friend photos used for seating arrangements,  the game tables, the decidedly understated cake (She’s not much for frosting and he’s not much for cake. I KNOW. I think we can still be friends.) and the elegant dinner party feel they chose for their wedding.

I was so thrilled when they opted for a “first look” before the wedding—it always gives the day a more relaxed feel, and with the short days of fall, it allowed us some time for delicious photos before the ceremony. They started their day at the Providence Biltmore Hotel, a grand setting for their first look, and then the rest of the afternoon and evening was at the always stunning Roger Williams Park Casino.

To hear what this creative, original pair chose for their first dance and to see more from their beautiful day, enjoy their slide show!

Happy love, K and K!

xo, Anna

Rather than sing ‘Me and My Shadow,’  I’m singing ‘Me and my Slide Show’ these days.  I’ve created 2 news ones on MySpace.  One is of birds in flight, which I’ve always found inspires the poet in me. No suprise LET THE SHADOWS FALL BEHIND YOU opens on a bird count up north and, later, Brannagh is often gazing up at the sky trying to identify a bird from its wing markings or span. 

The second slide show is simply a collage of SHADOWS which, given the title of my debut novel, is  self-explanatory.  I have to ask Santa for a new digital camera for Christmas!

Kathy-Diane’s MYSPACE SLIDE SHOWS

Excerpts from my journal while touring the southern United States with new photographs and stories (itinerary). The main shows are Gaza Steadfast, Bethlehem the Holy, Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel, and Quakers in Palestine/Israel.

On Veteran’s Day, November 11, 2009

PHOTOS: Florida—2

VIDEO: mcdonalds florida

October 27, 2009, Tuesday, Gainesville, Florida, home of SC and S, front room:

Finally, a dream or two that seems substantial, at least I recalled major sections of one. Too often the dreams have felt piecemeal, fragmentary, chunked up, as if watching a movie while going for refreshments, the toilet, the lobby to chat with friends, and so missing much of the film.

I was with family at some special location, like a bed and breakfast. P and I avoided each other. She was telling about Bertie and Alan’s daughter Jennifer, age 16, who’d become a single mother. Alan and Bertie adopted the child to raise it. As she told this I didn’t hear properly and had to ask, who, how old, what, why? This irked her and I finally walked out.

I then sat by myself during a meal while the rest of the family ate together. I pouted, I was miserable, with a sense that I was generating a large share of my own misery. This made my misery even greater.

My hosts in Gainesville are Z and his wife of 15 years, a second marriage, C. Both are Jewish, she has family in Israel; Z has been there several times. He is perhaps best known from a movie about a group of  Vietnam War veterans who spoke out about what they were doing. He is fully disabled and I assume receives compensation. He seems not to have a job. C is a teacher, working with disabled children.

He drives fast, using 2 radar detectors. He sleeps into the late morning, staying up as late as 6 AM, thus requiring about 4 hours of sleep. He carries a licensed concealed revolver and declares that he is not a pacifist. He is 8 years my junior, joined the Marines just out of high school, the same year I became a conscientious objector. I mentioned to him as he unrolled his story that had I entered the military he and I might have met in Vietnam.

He has 2 confirmed kills from hand to hand combat, and many others not confirmed. He has 3 Purple Hearts, and was part of a squad ambushed by North Vietnamese soldiers not far from Hue. Not only wounded in Vietnam twice, but seriously wounded in the USA by a hit squad of federal agents for his political activity. He works with Veterans for Peace, and a new group founded during the Gaza assault, among other projects. His wife C seems to work much with him.

As with all my hosts and organizers I could devote my journal entirely to their stories, each fascinating in a unique way. This surveying of lives is a major part of my tour.

The Gaza show last night was held at the Civic Media Center, the CMC, which when I heard the term imagined a huge centrally located auditorium, drawing 1000s. Instead: a storefront library and meeting space, newly established, with a serviceable video set up and many many books and videos. Two groups were meeting, one a committee about outreach for the Center; most of the attendees were college age, and a few stayed for my show. Total audience count—about 20. And not a very exciting show.

One question that I must add to my show is who profits from sustaining the violence? In short, the interlocking military industries. Also raised was how to broaden the audience, a common question. Talking with Yazan about this earlier I answered, the elderly residential centers and universities and colleges broadens the audience. I could add high schools, an overlooked audience.

Z and C live in a rambling house in the country, sitting alongside 3000 acres of forest. We saw a bobcat stroll thus the woods yesterday. They have dogs, 2 of them old. Z expanded the house by adding wings and enclosing a porch and garage so that now its 10 or so rooms seem to absorb people. Fish inhabit the house, mostly from Africa, in a series of about 10 large tanks. They are in many rooms, forming a veritable many-celled aquarium. The computer room houses about 4 Macs, so many, Z explained, so that they have enough for backups and for others who use the house as an office. He promised me free software and an operating system upgrade. Z is in the enviable position of being retired and working fulltime. He is 61, seems healthy, active, energetic, committed, living a dream life of any activist. He is fully an activist.

Hearing his various dramatic stories I had the impression that he’s told these many times, often to large audiences, some in high schools and colleges. He is an able raconteur and gave me a lifting introduction last night (which did not seem to warm the small crowd).

For both this is their 2nd marriage. They’ve merged families, bringing their children from previous marriages together. However, many of the children when they married were grown. They seem to be active as grandparents. The dynamic here must be complicated.

This is a layover day because another opportunity at Gainesville evaporated when the local organizer failed to secure a room. The possibility of a mosque also fell thru so I have a day of respite in Gainesville, my first day off since beginning the tour about 10 days ago. I intend to revise the Gaza show, caption my photos, attend to the tour organizing, and possibly see what I can do at a distance about my New England tour. No wireless internet here, so I have to use his computers for my Internet access, a minor impediment.

With this relaxed day I might be able to expand my limited photography. Z promised to show me a church which is displaying hate signs against Arabs and Muslims, equating Arabs with the devil.

Leaving New Smyrna yesterday D showed me the beach. Astonishing—the tiny particles of dark gray sand, tightly packed. She explained that this is also the quality of Daytona Beach nearby and why it makes an ideal speedway. The water was cool, she says it’s clean; a few people were in the water, none swimming. Undertows are a concern, drowning some people, and New Smyrna is known as the shark capital of the world. Many bites, few serious injuries. Why? Fishers dump their trash into the ocean, attracting the sharks.

A long drive across the width of the state. I was impressed with how people-empty much of Florida is—the human population concentrates near the water. Mostly trees, many pines. 2 lane highways, nothing alongside them but the forest and sand. Very flat.

October 28, 2009, Wednesday, Gainesville, Florida home of SC and S, front room:

Dreaming: that Y and I attended a dance with many people eventually dancing together in one large circle. All held hands, and then someone declared that we would each turn right, bend over, tuck in our head, connect with the next person to make a chain, and prepare to be leaped over. A man was in front of me, I had to pack my neck against his butt, not an easy task.

Y seems to be appearing regularly in my dreams now, and as herself, not a stand in for her that is not a look-alike. In one we might have even have decided to reunite.

If this dream is indeed now recurring, it might be prompted by the couples I’ve been staying with and observing. D and D a few days ago in New Smyrna Beach, and now Z and C. As Z and I sat together at the dinner table he asked, are you still married? (one of his few questions to me, he does not seem to interested in my experiences.) I explained my situation and then thru my questions and his spontaneous disclosures he outlined his situation: informal and multifarious, admirable but not quite for me.

Z and C are married; he professes a life-long commitment between them, tho not fully monogamous. Not a bad arrangement. However, given my poor record with that form of relationship I’m not sure I would do well with this. It is most decidedly not what I’m looking for now.

They work together closely, on boards together, planning events, sending out mailings, and last night setting up and cleaning up from the peace event their organization cosponsored.

I’d say what I most miss, admire, and desire is a working partnership.

At my request, Z took me for a walk around the grounds. He and C own about 10 acres, and nearby is a plot of some 3000 acres. We discovered new fences, shocking him. No animals, but signs of armadillos—turned up ground, they’re looking for insects. Some scat, no tracks, nothing definitive, no sign of the bobcat we’d spotted the day before. Leaving the house C said, I’m going to pack a piece, you never know what we’ll find. He carried a revolver strapped to his waist, ammo pockets, GI style, on the belt. The belt or the leather holster creaked as he walked. I photographed. He told me, I can hit a man’s head at 100 yards, this is a high power 22-caliber target pistol.

He is also a wild driver, speeding down a slick (just rained) highway at night, 80 mph, two radar detectors operating. And Z and C were both stoned.

The event last night brought together a Jewish-Muslim-Christian panel for interfaith dialog about how to make peace. Absent from the discussion was the notion of justice. I mentioned this several times to different people. C explained that they wished to be non confrontative in their first session, not risk driving people out—or not attending at all. A large group showed up, around 100, and when asked to identify their orientation by standing when that worship form was announced—Christian, Muslim, Jew—I noticed about an equal division, thirds. Next to me sat a woman in her 40s that didn’t stand until the designation other faith community was called. Thinking she might be Buddhist, I learned when we broke into small groups that she was Unitarian Universalist, not thinking of herself as a Christian.

At times the questions seemed rather complex: what is your community’s notion of peace, what does your community do to foster peace, what blocks peace, does your community have people who believe their way is the only way, etc. In our groups of 3 we were to discuss the questions, appearing on a screen to remind us.

Much energy and good feeling pervaded the gathering and many expressed wishes to continue. This reminded me of the meeting in the Cambridge mosque shortly after 911—much energy, little follow-up. This group however might be different, a mix of faith communities and peace groups. Z is a key person and he doesn’t seem likely to let the event drift into some archive, never to stimulate a second program.

On the way there we stopped at a church that has put out signs demeaning Islam, claiming it is of the devil. A gallows showing a Muslim hanging a Christian main is the feature. Needless to state, this has been controversial. Someone called Z telling him about the signs, he rallied his various groups, Eve McMasters, the local Mennonite minister who I’d met last December while on tour, organized a prayer vigil at the signs that drew over 100 people. I photographed the complex of signs and gallows while a few people stood in front of the church, about 300 yards from me.

The day off allowed me finally to return to revising Gaza. I find waiting is vital for this process to work well. Waiting till after a requisite number of showings demonstrate to me what is lacking, what is repetitive, what is unclear, what is dramatic? Which slide should precede, which succeed another. Absent is any mention of Israeli Palestinians protesting the Gaza assault. Wrongly placed is the social landscape of Beit Hanoun—should come before not after the first aid class and soccer field. I’ve added 2 pix of pre-conflict Gaza, addressing the suggestion David made at Y’s about not showing enough of that period, in fact, barely mentioning it. Slowly the show grows. Will it ever become a major entity in the world of media?

Z gave me a few important computer applications—OS 10.5, Techtools, and Macripper for copying DVDs. He offered me others. He’s also given me copies of some reports and photos he’s made, one about his trip to Israel-Palestine in the 90s. In his manner, a very generous and supportive person.

October 29, 2009, Thursday, Tampa Florida, home of MU, side room by kitchen:

Shifting from Gainesville, I am now further south and west, in Tampa, on the western coast of Florida, with MU, her son L, and T. Exactly who T is and what relationship he has with the others isn’t yet clear.

Grandparents of M are from Norway, she and L look very Norwegian, and she’s visited there with the film she brings around the country and world about Sami Alerian, the computer science prof from the University of Southern Florida suffering years in prison and now under house arrest because of alleged ties with Hamas. I will make my Gaza presentation tonight at that same university, with security provided in case of protests.

L seems a remarkable character, how he looks and what he does. A recent graduate of Luther College in Iowa, he paints. Someone from the USS Liberty commissioned him to make a painting about that tragedy. He showed it to me, working in his studio converted from the garage. Working from photos of the ship, he is drawing in suffering figures with a motif that vaguely suggests Christian iconography. He explained it to me, a triangle representing the trinity, but I failed to register the subtleties. The commissioner is a Christian and at first requested more overt symbolism.

L also has a theory about the CIA influence on modernism, another theory or observation I didn’t fully follow but would like to investigate. His contention is that certain political powers in this country, notably the intelligence agencies, wished to remove political content from art and thus supported abstractionism—Jackson Pollack chief among them, and others in that school. This was effective, resulting in the creation of the Museum of Modern Art in NYC, a testament to modern art. Result: the removal of political art.

I doubt I have the theory accurately noted here, simply a notion to explore later. L’s art is clearly political and on that level we resonate.

He is handsome in an odd sort of way. High wide forehead, curvaceous mouth, and very strong muscled arms. His mother tells me as a youth he was teeny, now he works out.

T is the mystery figure. A statistician, he uses data and statistics to answer questions. He is diabetic and in the kitchen last night after my show at the United Church of Christ church near the house we chatted about how late onset diabetes can be mitigated, if not cured, by simply eating vegetarian and exercising more. He’s published a book. This method does not work for him because his diabetes is early onset. He also claims the mind can cure much of the body’s illnesses, a contention I support.

My Gaza show at the church last night drew a group of about 30 seemingly appreciative souls, many of them Muslim, most of them women. More Muslims are attending than on any of my earlier 3 tours. David Goodman and his wife Mary Jane (whose laugh is distinctive and infectious) greeted me. I’d met them last December when they hosted me. I believe they toured me around Tampa. (I could probably check in my journal, one of the many blessings of keeping my journal so religiously.) I also met Samar who’d interviewed me by phone last week for her radio station. She’s from Lyd, a destroyed Palestinian village now in Israel and told me that she recently visited her house, met the resident, and learned that one or more Palestine families continue to live in Lyd. And that the area is now infested with the drug trade.

The show went well. Quotes from Nomika Zion and Eric Yellin in Sderot are a major enhancement, adding content to the otherwise relatively straightforward images. I’ve whittled the show down to some 65 minutes which this audience at least tolerated. No one fled, all stayed for the discussion, which itself was rich. One complaint about the sound however—that it boomed or buzzed and was more distracting than beneficial. I’d noticed a strange tone to the music, thought it was the audio setting, but now have to reconsider this choice of sound.

I am coming to like the show more, to experience some pride in it, to look forward to sharing it with others. Whereas previously I was embarrassed by it, stung by earlier shows that drove people from the theater or church. Nothing is more upsetting to me than people leaving.

Rob at the local public radio station interviewed me in the studio. M thought it was a very good interview. I was impressed with his background info and how he challenged me. The interview generated 2 call-in’s, both supportive, one rambly. I felt collected and sharp. This is a chore—same chore during post show discussions—to stay focused on the remark someone offers. At times to listen beneath the surface and speak directly to the heart of the other. Especially challenging would be a hostile remark.

The drive with S to meet M was once again terrifying. He speeds. Nearing 90 mph, I questioned silently whether we’d survive. He is, in his manner, a mad man, driven mad perhaps by his war experience.

But he and his wife C are gracious. He explained further to me his attitudes and practices concerning women. A brazen fellow with much to admire, I have to wonder how that would suit me. Too complicated, too time consuming, too distracting. Rather my impulse is toward one loyal woman, a partner in multiple facets.

A brief Google chat with Katy who reports finding writing work. 2 jobs, both of them I assume high paid. Good for her.

My latest blog about Jerusalem and Ramallah has generated nearly 100 visits, almost a record. Good sign. Someone is at least sampling my writing. No comments yet.

A few more gigs are coming thru, some in southern Florida, one possibly in Memphis. We scratched the Oxford Mississippi one because of transport problems.

LINKS:

Global Actions to End Israel’s Occupation

USS Liberty

Veterans’ for Peace, Gainesville, Florida

Click The Picture To View The Slide Show