Foggy Morning in Manhattan

These were images I made while riding the ferry into New York from New Jersey last Thursday.  It has been too long since I spent a day making images. Hope you enjoy.

Deep Fog (March 2021)

Ferry Arriving (March 2021)

NYC Skyline (March 2021)

Approaching Manhattan (March 2021)

Midtown (March 2021)

Hudson River and Statue of Liberty (March 2021)

Pier (March 2021)

Hudson River Shoreline (March 2021)

c

Hoboken Clock Tower (March 2021)

Hoboken Clock Tower from High Line (March 2021)

#SOL21 - 5 years Later

The Atlantic, early morning

I. 

During the first week Rob was back home after 50 days in the hospital, I continued to try to save his life. It wasn’t until the Hospice nurse gently reminded that I no longer needed to check his oxygen level, that I  startled and then began to see how hopeless such an act was.  There would soon come a time when my husband no longer breathed. I carry with me the knowledge that I could not save Rob from so early a death.  I carry it imprinted on my bones like a too sad Braille reader who has lost faith in method. Great loss is a way of being in the world and so is the necessary healing. Loss and healing remain special knowledge that has translated into empathy for others. 

At first the replay of Rob's death ran like a movie I could not turn off.  Now I cannot recall the specifics of his death--not certainly with the clarity I once did.  Then slowly memories of earlier times with Rob began to replace the scene of death. I can recall the first time I dreamt of him and not his death. In the dream we are in Scotland. It is just a second of Rob at the shoreline of a loch with his long hair tied back and it is moving as he laughs at something our child had said. 

Now, five years later, the memories of the days leading up to his death are more lone photographs of scenes of darkened faces lit by a flash.  

II.

I want to tell you five years later that loss and healing are tidy matters, but they are not. Both inform how I live. Now what saddens me most is seeing all the life that has happened in these last five years and knowing Rob missed it all. I am now older than Rob. I have lived on this planet longer than he did or ever will.  All of this makes me feel for each of the 520,000 people who have died this year from COVID 19 and their families. 

"How do you live in an age of bewilderment, when the old stories have collapsed and no new story has yet emerged to replace them?" asks Yuval Noah Harari. 

You live.
It is that simple and that complicated. 
Live.

5 NYC Metro Area Masks: Notes from the Pandemic

Free Verse Mask 

A few NYC Metro masks to brighten all of us as we practice social distancing. These are my designs and are sold through Redbubble. 

Redbubble is partnering with Heart to Heart International to donate a blank cloth mask for every mask sold on Redbubble. Heart to Heart works with volunteers, partners, and donors who make healthcare more accessible. They have launched international, domestic, and local responses to COVID-19. Donated masks will be given to people who are in line for drive-through testing before they get to the testing station. They will also be used in hospitals and clinics for non-frontline workers, including administrative staff and hospital workers who are delivering food to patients

Liberty and the Fire Boat

The Metro Area Mask

Counting Mask 

Heart and Soul Mask 

5 New Face Masks: Notes from the Pandemic

Batik Moon Mask 

A few new masks to brighten all of us as we practice social distancing. These are my designs and are sold through Redbubble. 

Redbubble is partnering with Heart to Heart International to donate a blank cloth mask for every mask sold on Redbubble. Heart to Heart works with volunteers, partners, and donors who make healthcare more accessible. They have launched international, domestic, and local responses to COVID-19. Donated masks will be given to people who are in line for drive-through testing before they get to the testing station. They will also be used in hospitals and clinics for non-frontline workers, including administrative staff and hospital workers who are delivering food to patients.

Love Letters Mask

#19 Mask

Kilauea Volcano I Mask

March Mask

Product Details

• Masks are two-layered and made of 100% brushed woven polyester.
• The over-ear elastic straps hold the mask for a snug fit over mouth and nose
• Masks are one size and will fit most adults
• 7.25" x 4.6" / 18.5 x 11.5 cm

Care and Use

• Machine wash hot after each use and tumble dry
• Cloth face masks should NOT be used as surgical masks, personal protective equipment, or N-95 respirators
• Adult use only and should not be placed on young children younger than 2 years of age, anyone who has trouble breathing, or is unconscious, incapacitated or otherwise unable to remove the cover without assistance

4 New Face Masks: Notes from the Pandemic

After the Suburbs Mask

I designed some face masks this weekend. These are not for medical workers, but for those of us socially distancing. They are sold through Red Bubble. Click the link under each to purchase. I hope they bring joy.

Note: Redbubble is partnering with Heart to Heart International to donate a blank cloth mask for every mask sold on Redbubble. Heart to Heart works with volunteers, partners, and donors who make healthcare more accessible. They have launched international, domestic, and local responses to COVID-19. Donated masks will be given to people who are in line for drive-through testing before they get to the testing station. They will also be used in hospitals and clinics for non-frontline workers, including administrative staff and hospital workers who are delivering food to patients.

A Time for Governing Mask 

Live Brilliantly Mask

Woman Warrior Mask

#PoetryBreak: Sometimes David Whyte

David Whyte: “Sometimes” from This Human Moment on Vimeo.

Craving the Familiar: Notes from the Pandemic

From my side yard. 

I.

An acre of land surrounded the house where I lived. Every garden on that land was one that I planted. By now I would have had some pots of herbs growing inside and I would have had them ready to go outside soon. I would have had some containers of vegetables started too. Delicate green shoots pushed up through that loamy dirt. Fragrant. Stems that would thicken. Later there would be tomatoes.

The side patio was slate and lined with wide, curved garden beds. A bird bath Rob and I bought years ago in Maine sat in a small garden of hydrangeas. A copper bath birds came to swim and splash in. The many Mother Day plants I received are still growing in those many gardens.

Astilbe.
Butterfly bushes.
Crocuses.
Daffodils.
Delphinium.
Hostas.
Hydrangeas.
Lavender.
Peony.
Shasta daisies.
Tulips.

Nothing says miracle like a perennial.

Surrounding the side and back lawns were trees thick enough for bears and deer to roam, home to any number of uncounted birds. My back deck was large and comfortable. I painted there. Served family meals there. Listened to and watched birds wing from branch to branch, tree to tree. I spent every season outside there. Even in winter, Rob cleared the path of snow to the grill. Even in winter as it snowed, I would photograph from that deck, aiming the lens of my camera towards the woods.

II.

This is the first spring in the new place I live and it is industrial in design. No real gardens. A small slice of lawn, overly planned. Antiseptic. What was I thinking when I moved here?

III.

A need arises within me as I finish the 6th week of staying home. This pandemic has me craving the familiar.

The way the third stair from the top creaked.
The way birds made nests on the light fixtures.
How light settled and silvered the leaves of old growth trees.
The way I knew a storm was coming by hearing the birds grow industrious.
The hum of the generator as it tested itself every Sunday morning.
The way silence settled like an old friend each evening.

Nothing says safety like home.