Wednesday, January 31, 2007

"Strings" by Judy Buskirk



My postings about friends of mine who passed on last year resonated with a number of readers. An artist friend of mine, Judy Buskirk sent this story to me:

"The passing of friends, especially art friends, is so meaningful to us.

I met a young woman named "Vita" many years ago when her mother wanted us to meet, after she read an article in the local paper about my illustrating children's books. Vita was a talented high school student, very frail, afflicted with what I would learn at her memorial, Marfan's disease. She showed me her portfolio and jewelry creations, all very impressive.

Over several years, we corresponded. She invited me to become a member of the Peninsula Art League, which I finally did this summer. When I worked for Daniel Smith, I hired her as an assistant, and she drove to my home after her classes at Tacoma Community College. We would work side by side and chat. It was about this time that she withdrew from the public, probably because of the response she received at TCC, since she looked different from others and wasn't very mobile.

I guess she decided to live life more privately then, and simply enjoy a delayed adolescence with her many friends, going on shopping sprees, having costume parties, most everything involving pizza.
She continued to grow in her artwork, and money she earned from sales went to her Foundation, which she created years ago to aid high school students who showed talent in the arts.

She died in November of this year, at 24. I did attend her memorial, and learned so much about this surprising young woman. Along with a slide presentation of her hilarious adventures with friends and family, many spoke of her life. What an honor it was to have known her. How strange it is how one meets the "important people" in one's life. In Chaos theory, there are "strange attractors". An example is that central point where a pendulum crosses after moving in a non-repeating figure eight.

And "Vita" means "life"."

Monday, January 29, 2007

Black Beret

I can't tell you how many mysterious and wonderful things I have found during my walks. Last winter, nearly a year ago, I found a lovely black beret on the sidewalk. I picked it up and took it home. Instead of being made of felt, the beret is actually knit in a fine, tight garter stitch. The shaping is made with "decreases" that form swirls which end in a small circle of stitches at the top of the hat. I bet at one time there was a button or stem decorating those stitches.

I can tell that the beret was much loved because it has been mended in three places. But whoever repaired it couldn't sew very well. The mending stitches are noticeably ragged and made with thread that doesn't match - dark grey instead of black.

I could have just left the hat there on the sidewalk, but I had the idea that no one else would take care of it as well as I would. I didn't need another hat to wear. In fact, when I got home I put it on the head of one of my teddy bears and it has been sitting there ever since. I also hoped that somehow I would find its owner. I thought of putting up a "Found" sign but never did.

Well, this morning as I was finishing up my walk I passed an elderly gentleman who was wearing what seemed to be a fairly new black beret. Immediately I thought of the beret I had at home. Was it his? Should I stop him and ask him? Would he think I was crazy? I just kept walking. Next time I see him, I may say something. I've seen him before and will see him again.

But, if it is your beret, let me know and I will return it to you.

My Sixth Sense



Here is a snapshot of my view this morning. The blue-grey color in the photo is actually from this morning's frozen fog. Fog that kept the sidewalks coated with ice. Fog that caused horns from invisible ferries to blast us with noise.

My regular walks by the beach do a lot more than keep me in shape physcially. In addition, they help me develop my sixth sense. It's not something I have to work at. If I do the walks, it just happens.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Rob Whitesides Woo



My brother-in-law, shamanistic musician Rob Whitesides Woo.

Barbara and her cattle dog Casey



Here is a photo of my walking friend Barbara. For many years I would see her down on the beach while walking her own little sheltie "Tillie." At the same time she would walk her neighbor's dog "Star," another larger sheltie. Those dogs were so mellow that it was easy for her to handle two at once.

Now that Tillie has passed on, Barbara has a new cattle dog named Casey. Casey is very sweet, beautiful and frisky.

It appears that Barbara, like me, gets out walking every day regardless of the weather. Today is bitterly cold, although the snow has retreated.

This morning Barbara and I were the only walkers to be seen on the beach.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

SNOW AGAIN




I can't remember a time when we have been so continously inconvenienced by the snow. Yes, it is beautiful, but.............

The kids are home from school again today. Because of last week's storm, the weekend, yesterday's holiday and today's "Snow Day," they have been off for six days. It's like the Christmas break never ended.

No walk this morning. The footing is just too treacherous. Last week's snow has turned to slippery ice and is hidden under this morning's accumulation.

"LOVE"



This is one of those unexpected and mysterious moments that often occurs during my walks. I never know how these things appear, why they are there or who creates them.

Because of the location of the shells on the seawall and the orientation of the sidewalk where I was standing, I couldn't get a good angle for a photo. I had to take the photo upside down, but I knew I could rotate it in Photoshop. I did the best I could and I'm sure you get the idea.

I assume the shells got swept away in the high tide later in the day but the message didn't.

The Bird Man of Alki Beach




This isn't a very good photo, but it was the best I could do. I have started to carry a camera phone on my walks in order to capture moments that up until now I have only described in words. Carrying a real camera has always seemed like too muoch of a hassle while I am doing my morning walks. But I have always carried my cell phone. Now that technology has improved to the point where the phones have cameras built into them, taking photos is more doable. The only catch is that the quality isn't that good. It's still pretty cool.

While I did want to get a photo of the Bird Man, I didn't want to ask him to pose. He seems to want no contact with people. So I tried to see if I could use my cell phone camera to secretly photograph him.

I have seen the Bird Man for several years now but know nothing about who he is. What I do know is that he is always alone and never talks to anyone. He walks along the beach with a little pouch of bird seen slung over his shoulder. Whenever the birds see him coming they start to swirl around in the air - following him as he walks. They perch on his shoulder, arms and hands. This cloud of birds moves along the beach as the Bird Man walks over to his usual bird feeding spot. When he is done visiting with the birds, the Bird Man dumps out his pouch of seed, leaving a pile of seeds and a crowd of happy birds.

Yesterday was the first day I noticed that the pigeons are now flying in pairs. Perhaps a subtle, first sign that Spring will again follow Winter this year.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Saramay's Passing/Uncle Bill's Passing

On the morning of December 27, 2006 a memorial service was held for my cousin Saramay Sandoval in Tucson Arizona. As our way of participating, my friend Daphne Barbee (of Honolulu, Hawaii) and I went out to Lincoln Park in Seattle and put bouquets of flowers in the water.




















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UNCLE BILL'S PASSING

I didn't know my Uncle Bill very well. But we had struck up a correspondence in the last year that I really enjoyed. I especially liked his sense of humor, exuberance and range of interests. He sure could tell a good story.

One of the last mailings I received from him was a "recycled" Thanksgiving card. The greeting and note from the previous sender had been blocked out with "whiteout" - a lot of it!

It was a joke between us. Last summer I had sent him a card because I thought he would enjoy the painting of the Pike Place Market on the front. Unfortunately, on the inside of the card was a "Merry Christmas" wish - and this particular day happened to be the middle of July. I just crossed out the "Merry Christmas," wrote a quick note and mailed the card out. I never thought anything of it.

Imagine my surprise when Bill responded with delight that I had discovered a way for him to recycle all the cards other people had sent him and to save him money at the same time. I began receiving previously used cards from him with all the original writings whited out. I have to admit, I thought it was pretty original of him. And I didn't mind at all being the recipient of "used" cards.

It's a small thing but in all the letters I received from him I don't think he ever crossed out a mistake. Even recently he always used white out to correct his errors.

I was having difficulty reading Bill's handwriting as his eyesight deteriorated. But I really appreciated the effort he made to write to me anyway. I didn't really care that I couldn't understand everything. I looked forward to his little stories and quirky comments. I have saved what I got from him - all of it. And I will keep it in my files. I don't get many letters these days, since everyone seems to use email. There is something so tangible and personal about receiving a piece of writing in someone's own hand.

Uncle Bill spent his career as an engineer after he graduated from Stanford but took up painting later in life. He worked hard at it and became pretty good. I wish he and I could have had more conversations about painting. I'm sure they would have been interesting. He sent me a photo of one. I will see if I can dig it out of my files and post it.

I will miss my Uncle Bill and I will miss his letters.


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BABY SEAL


I saw the baby seal on my walk in the rain early this morning. Unfortunately, it was dead. It's body was rolling in the incoming surf. It must have died recently because his little body was still limp. Dogprints in the sand.

The experience made me sick. My reaction reminds me once again how emotionally raw I am.

Well, the Seattle Parks Department can now take down all the pedestrian barriers, warning tape and informational signs about not disturbing the seals that have been up these past weeks.

That little seal hung in there for nearly 2 months. I guess we all thought that he was old enough now that he was going to make it on its own. Fortunately or not, that little stretch of beach had become his "safe spot." But in reality the beach is in an area that is so heavily utilized by pedestrians and dogs that it was only a matter of time before "something" happened. It really wasn't a safe place. In the end, I'm not sure our protecting him really helped.

______________________________
"Red Braille"

A while ago my eye doctor told me I would be blind in three years. He said I had an unusual type of glaucoma that wasn't treatable. "Come back in a year and we will see how things are going." He was very matter of fact and cold. Not at all comforting or supportive. He didn't seem to care about the enormity of his statements to me. He certianly must have understood the consequences of what he was saying because it was his job to take care of people's vision. So the only conclusion I could come to was that he didn't really care.

I spent a year trying to figure out how I was going to live the rest of my life without my eyesight. Of course, being a visual artist, my sight was the sense I relied on the most to do my work. And every day I was aware that my vision was deteriorating. I tried to be grateful for every day that I could see anything at all.

When I went back a year later for my check up they had me sit in front of a large white disc. Every time I saw a small light flicker I was to press a button. Little lights blinked on and off all over the disc. I wasn't worried so much about the lights I could see as much as the ones I was sure I couldn't.

Sitting in the waiting room was agony. The past year had been agony. And I had mostly suffered in silence. The thought of going blind was so horrific that I had been unable to share it with anyone.

I passed the vision test with flying colors. Or, I should say my eyes did. It had all been some kind of terrible misdiagnosis. A year long nightmare. The doctor never apologized for scaring me. Come back in five years he said.

Well, I now suspect that that eye doctor is a sociopath. I wonder how many other people he has scared like that. I've been mistreated by enough professionals now to know that such behavior really isn't all that unusual.

But the experience did motivate me to think about what it would be like to learn how to read in Braille. It would have helped me read even though I wouldn't have been able to see paintings any more.

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MY FRIEND BRIAN


Another one of my friends died this week. Brian was a "walking friend." I never knew his last name or that much about him. But I would see him walking the beach in the afternoons when most other people were at work. He was much older than I was, and retired. He was always so well dressed - often in a proper wool sweater and a shirt with button down collar. When I first met him many years ago he was what I would call dapper. I use that term because it fits his Irish personality.

Brian grew up in Ireland. He loved to tell me stories about riding his bicycle for an entire day across the Irish countryside just to watch a special soccer match. Then, he and his friends would ride back home to a hot bowl of soup. I don't think Brian was well off when he was young. But it sounds like he had fun.

At some point - I don't know when - he moved to the New York area - where he worked, married and raised a family. After retirement, he followed his boys out to Seattle.

Many times I would encounter him walking with his wife Mary. Mary didn't have a very good memory and never knew who I was. She also had very beautiful and very sensitive "Irish" skin. So she couldn't stay out long. Brian seemed very devoted to her and was always proud to introduce her to me. Over the years we talked about his work, his boys and his dogs. These conversations always occurred when we bumped into each other during walks. Frankly, Brian talked a lot and even though I was very interested, it often got to be a bit much. It was hard to disengage because he was so enthusiastic. He seemed to be so grateful to have someone who would listen to him.

I found out about Brian's death from the newspaper's obituary page. I hadn't seem him for maybe two years and had been wondering what had happened to him. I wouldn't have noticed the announcement at all except that I spotted his face looking out from the page along with all the other people who had died.

I guess Brian had been living up at St. Vincent's old folks home because that is where they held his memorial service yesterday.

I thought for a while that I might go up and attend his service, although his family wouldn't know who in the heck I was. I decided to go for a walk along the beach instead - in Brian's honor. His obituary said that the one thing Brian really liked to do every day was to take his six mile walk along the beach. I could attest to that. And since that was the only way I ever knew Brian, taking a walk seemed like the most respectful thing I could do.
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FRANCINE PORAD

My dear friend, poet and artist, Francine Porad passed away last week. Francine wanted to be remembered first an always as a committed wife and mother of her six children.

In addition to her family activities, Francine was an internationally renowned haiku poet and painter. She was funny, brilliant and prolific. She was my mentor and confidante. I am so grateful that I had a chance to hear her stories. In the past few years Francine and I would get together for lunch and a good chat. I would pick her up at her apartment and we would head to the nearby California Pizza restaurant. Over tortilla soup she and I would share stories of our lives. I told her things I never trusted with anyone else. She told me things about herself that I never suspected.

Often, after we ate, we would go back to her apartment where we would eat candy and she would show me her work. Up until the end she was still painting and entering shows. We would talk about what paintings she should exhibit and how to frame them. The week she passed away she was scheduled to exhibit a painting in our Women Painters of Washington Annual Membership Show.

I met Francine over 25 years ago when we were both on the Board of tne Northwest Watercolor Society. At the time, I was a new painter who was trying to master the techniques of traditional watercolor. Francine, who had been painting far longer than me, expressed a more adventurous and experimental viewpoint. Her paintings were abstract, vibrant and energetic. She was the lone voice encouraging our group to enlist show jurors who would be open to accepting nontraditional paintings into our shows.

While I wasn't yet ready for abstract work myself, I listened to Francine's encouragement to think in new ways and to stretch my vision. Over time and with her urging, my natural curiosity and willingness to take risks led my work into new areas.

There is nothing more important to me than a good friendship. But developing a friendship takes time. And I don't seem to have much of it these days. However, I will never regret the many days I took off to drive to visit my friend Francine.

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WALKING FRIENDS (DON)

September 21, 2006, 9:51pm
My "walking friends" are people I have seen for years early in the morning during my walks along the beach. By now I know most of their names - at least the friendly ones. There are still one or two who refuse to look me in the eye or who scowl suspiciously.

This morning I ran into my walking friend Don at Loreen's Bubble Tea/Espresso stand. Our paths cross maybe once a month, but sometimes it is a much longer time between our chats. By then I have forgotten his name as well as his dog's name. He's forgotten my name too.

Don was a motorcycle cop for many years until he was injured in a major traffic accident and had to go on disability. Nowadays his chief activity is walking his dog and being friendly. Don says he lost half his brain in the accident - the bad half that was mean and angry.

Every time I talk to him he explains that he has lost his memory. That he can't remember people or names any more. That he can't remember me either. So we go through the same routine of reintroducing ourselves and commiserating about our poor memories. I always call his dog "the one who is a character in that Fraser TV series." And he says, "yes, Kelsey." Then he asks my dog's name again.

Today he made an interesting observation. He said he never lies anymore. He realizes there is no point. Since he can't remember what he tells people, he can never keep his stories straight. Don may have a bad memory, but he is not dumb.

He also said that he has never been happier in his life. He doesn't worry any more about anything. He can't remember what he is supposed to worry about.

And, today, like at the end of every one of our conversations, he reminds me that the next time I see him he won't know who I am.

He says that with a big smile. I love seeing Don in the morning.

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BABY SEAL

September 21 paintings and doings
I experience something new every morning when I walk the beach, even though I take the same route day after day.

Right now, part of the beach has been blocked off by the Parks Department to protect a baby seal who has been resting on the sand during high tide. Many people don't know that the mother seals leave their babies on the beach while they hunt. The babies are protected from hungry sea lions in the water who are ready to pounce while the mother seals are distracted hunting for breakfast. That strategy works fine in the wild where there are no people to interfere. Here in Seattle, however, when walkers see a baby seal on the beach, they think it is stranded and try to rescue it. They don't know that if a baby seal is touched by a human, the mother will abandon it.

So, whenever a "stranded baby seal" is reported, the Parks Department comes out and puts up barricades and signs to keep people out.

The past week I have been peering over the bulkhead railing looking for the baby seal who has been happily rolling around or flapping his flippers. Unfortunately, this morning, what I saw was fresh human footprints in the sand, a flipper trail, and no baby seal. Well, I can speculate as to what happened I guess.

I'm learning that my speculations are almost always wrong.

As of April 15, 2007, I have moved my Alki Beach Walks posts to a new blog "Alki Beach Walks"