Apr
03
My garage is a liminal space.Jan
02
Judy Watson and her great-granddaughter Avery Yau.
Our sweet, sweet granddaughter entered our lives on Sunday night.
Her great-grandmother — my wife’s mother — left us on Wednesday night.
Before the funeral, he is curled up in a little ball on his daughter’s bed. Outside, Saturday happens. Lawnmowers whine, trucks bang by; his subdivision is subdivided.
Dec
04
The yin and yang of popcorn. Photo illustration by Rodney Curtis
I’m popping popcorn. Standing at the stove, I slowly turn the little handle on our ancient popper as one or two kernels escape the vat. It’s unusual for me to be doing this at this hour, 4:30 in the evening. As the kernels twirl, the emotions swirl behind me.
May
04
Mom and Dad sat for one of my early portrait sessions back in the mid-1980s.
So I’m hanging out, chatting with my wife and daughter after running some errands, having a salty snack — the usual slow afternoon things — when KABLOOEY, it hits me; I’ve outlived my father.
Mar
09
Massage therapists work their magic during a Mayan Healing Ritual in Costa Maya, Mexico.
You can credit the pills.
You can credit eight months of treatment.
You can credit the warm, moist Caribbean air and glorious sunshine.
Or, like me, you can also credit the Mayan Healing Ritual.
The autumn sun shines down, setting a gentle lens flare on one of the Hopewell Mounds.
It’s a first-frost-on-your-windshield kind of fall day. The sun creaks above the horizon and the frozen blades of grass quickly melt onto my shoes. Walking out among the mounds, I step back in time.
See that little slot on the left? That was my path. See that chasm on the right?
There should’ve been a sign at the beginning.
Right at the trailhead — right when it was do or die time — the sign should’ve said something like “WARNING: Middle-aged Suburban Guys Should Probably Stay Back In The Gift Shop.”
Feb
13
Marci relaxes in a funky panoramic shot at the Southernmost Beach Resort on Key West.
Encountering The Five Senses And More In The Conch Republic
“That’s the smell of Night Jasmine,” the tarot card reader told us. “Or maybe it’s Frangipani; they both bloom in the evening.”
The Gulf breeze carried the scent away, playfully departing as quickly as it arrived. Replacing the smell was the sound of a dozen weekend gin joints pounding out the pulsing beat of live bands, DJs and the crowded roar of revelers celebrating another successful sunset.
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Jan
23
Leonard Falce photograph by Dick Van Nostrand