ARTEMIS /  by Micaela

 It is an instinct of the body to heal, even if it feels like a betrayal of the one you have lost.  To contrast what I feel now to the visceral pain of last year at this time is impossible, but losing the immediacy of that pain came with a relief that allowed me to remember Lula with more than just sadness.  I can think of her now, I can talk of her now, sometimes, with humor and joy, of little moments we got to have with her, and the remarkable time we got to experience as a complete family.

Lula has now been dead longer than she was alive. This is a strange reality, because she continues to be such a central part of our lives; she directs our thoughts, our philosophies, our feelings continually.  Sometimes I start to feel as though she has become more of an idea, an icon, a muse to me, like Artemis.  Her body was so cruel to her in all of its suffering that it is hard to miss her physical presence except for her utter beauty and softness.  But I want to remember that she was here, that she was real and a person, however flawed and however brief, she lived on this same earth as the rest of us. 











In honor of this very real little girl I am now a board member of Extreme Kids and Crew, an amazing organization that aims to help kids with disabilities have a place to just be themselves and express themselves creatively.  If you would like to make a donation in Lula's honor, please do so here:

ONE AND ANOTHER /  by Micaela

Weather permitting, we are are headed to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving in a couple of days to visit the cousins.  I took these photos of "the cousins" and some of their friends this summer.  Since I am, above all, most thankful for my remarkable, loyal, and highly entertaining family I thought this would be a good time to share.  Happy Thanksgiving!



















BACK TO BELLAS /  by Micaela

This summer we went back to Bella's, the matriarch of the Mackays, the nearest neighbors to the croft.  It is, every year,  one of the very best things about being there, to be welcomed by Bella and her endlessly revolving queue of visitors and family who usher us in to have cups of tea and whiskey any time of the day.  This year, unfortunately, we wound up all too often visiting to use their phone (long story short: if you rent a car in Europe it might be a good idea to just buy yourself a puncture repair kit as they are no longer allowed to leave spare tires in the trunk (or rather, tyres in the boot). 

The dogs were especially feisty this year. They have two herding dogs who are almost disturbingly intense.  The younger one, Tide, literally herds anything and anyone that moves ALL the time.  I really started to feel sorry for the chickens.  The elder statesman, Boss, mostly lies at Bella's feet in the kitchen and guards her.  This summer in an attempt to wind up Boss, Tide would herd Princess Neptune, the pet sheep, into the kitchen.  Boss was not amused about having a full grown sheep in the house and would freak out and the sheep would run upstairs, causing total mayhem.  Tide has quite the sense of humor, doesn't he?  

Boss followed me around when I went out by myself with Roan, shuffling from one side of me to the other, actually physically herding me.  I am sure he was thinking, "This one's from the city, I can smell it.  She's going to fall in a hole!" so he kept an eye on me.  

Roan had an absolute blast running around with Uisdean, who let him play on the giant dump truck that was parked at the top of their hill, and let him chase the chickens and feed the lambs.  Sam raced him around in a wheelbarrow full of straw.

Bella, ever tinier and deafer and older, still has an immeasurable fierceness and biting sense of humor.  It is a testament to the life up there, in one of the most remote, desolate places possible, so desolate that you have to drive 3 hours to get a flat tire replaced, that she is always surrounded by her family and friends.  And no one makes a big deal of it, either.  Everyone just takes the time to pop in with a tin of cookies and maybe a bit of news or gossip.  There was one house nearby that a family had lived in for over a decade but no one like them because they never visited with anyone.  Why would you live up there if you don't want to visit?

The last thing we do when we leave the croft on the way back to civilization is pop in to Bella's.  We always say we are just going to quickly say our goodbyes and then hit the road, but we always wind up staying for tea and biscuits way longer than we should, magnetized, not wanting to draw ourselves away from these people or this way of life.

View from Bellas

Tide and Neptune

Bella in the sun

Roan and Uisdean feeding a sickly lamb
 
He was OK in the kitchen because he was so wee

Uisdean, Tide, Roan, and Sam

Uisdean and Tide

Princess Neptune, causing trouble

Sheep on the 2nd floor


Boss and Roan

Bella

Roan's nest

Chicken stalking

Visiting

Bella

Roan and the tractor


SKIPPING STONES /  by Micaela

I find it amazing that a boy who cannot sit through a single page of a book without moving and/or asking a question can spend hour upon uninterrupted hour repeating a chosen task with utter focus until he perfects it.  If only "Skipping Stones"  counted as a physics credit in school this kid would be set.



LINGERING SUMMER DAYS /  by Micaela

More photos from Scotland this summer...


A big greeting from Granny Joss

Sam at his absolute happiest

Kite

This thistle nipped Roan the first day so he proceeded to pee on it at every chance
I don' t think this tractor has been used in a while

Wearing Granny Joss' vintage equestrian riding helmet

Locals turned this bus shelter into a greenhouse for their tomatoes
Learning how to scale a fence

Friendly horse

With Grandpa Neil

Sand boat

Pantsless frolicking
Island Neave

Happy boy

Kitchen view

Joss leaves little notes everywhere for guests
Googly in repose

Heave ho

Amazing light

Amazing clouds

Walk to Coldbackie

Coldbackie beach with the Rabbit Islands behind

A BUCKET IN SCOTLAND /  by Micaela

This week has been, at times, unbearably intense, so I felt the need for something to make me laugh.  This is from the summer.  Roan was in a mood.  I think the rest is pretty self explanatory.


LOVE FOR LUCIAN /  by Micaela

One of the most remarkable traits of New York City has always been it's ability to be both epically big and remarkably intimate at the same time. Despite all reputations as a city of aggressive, self-obsessed and impersonal beings banging into each other on the subway, I have mostly found New York to be the opposite in residential neighborhoods like ours, Fort Greene.  In this city of 8 million people,  3 million alone in the borough of Brooklyn, we still manage to feel so much of the time like we live in a village.  Because we are crammed into absurdly small apartments we tend to spend as much time as possible outside in public spaces, and I think because of this we are uniquely connected to our neighbors.  We are a small town in a big city.

Early Saturday afternoon, the sanctuary of our little piece of Brooklyn was shattered by a lunatic in a van.  For reasons that are still unknown, a local man crashed his car into the building on the corner of our street at Clermont and Dekalb Avenues.  He hit four people standing on the sidewalk. A young woman, whose ankle was broken, and a mother with her 2 little boys, Theo 5 years old and Lucian, 9.  The van went right over the 2 little boys, devouring them like a black hole taking in the stars.  

I heard the crash and then a scream and ran out of my house clutching an absurd array of medical supplies that proved useless.  A group of men were scrambling under the car trying to get the boys out.  Peter and Nina, who have a book stand on that corner every Saturday were 2 feet away,  the books unbelievably intact.  Peter was carefully stacking books -  I think a reaction of pure shock. Within 2 minutes an army of EMTs, firefighters, and police descended on the chaos. They are amazing people and I truly do not know how someone copes with such a scene on a regular basis so calmly and efficiently.  Still under the van, a tousled head of blonde hair streaked in blood was stabilized. The little boy, hardly older than my own, crying but alert was carefully arranged on a stretcher.  You could see that he was moving well and speaking. An EMT said hang on little buddy or something equally tender.  I sat with some other people next to the woman with the broken ankle and said the little boy looks like he's going to be OK, he's OK.  We waited for the same to happen with the second boy, get him out get him out get him OUT of there,  but the urgency subsided and everything went quiet.  Lucian, 9 years old, had been killed instantly.  

The van was wrapped in a black sheet and our street was wrapped in crime scene tape for the remainder of the day.  The vehicles left and the bystanders petered out, but for a few cops.  The driver of the van stood with two officers, drinking a bottle of water.  How can you stand there when you know you have done this?  How do you even feel that your feet deserve to stand on this street that you have just traumatized? I wondered, above all, if anyone was staying with the little boy. I couldn't stand the thought of him being alone.  I hated that they thought of him as no longer a boy but part of a crime scene.  I wanted someone to acknowledge that this was now sacred ground, that he would forever be a part of this street, even after the firemen came and hosed down the sidewalk. 

A few media hounds loitered throughout the day.  There wasn't anything to see but the flapping black sheet.  Finally they took down the sheet, unwrapped the tape and the street was ours again.  People descended immediately to the spot.  A huge dent was pushed into the wall as though it were made of ash instead of brick.  The 15 foot long iron gate that had stood guard lay flattened to the concrete.  We all stared at the empty space.  

Roan, Sam, and I returned later with our neighbor Claire.  I took a purple flower I had worn on a top hat for Halloween and wrapped it around a candle. Throughout the day and night a bed of flowers and candles built up like a sand dune. I believe in the need for shrines.  When we were in Vietnam we saw them everywhere, dusty photographs surrounded by piles of incense, candles, flowers and religious icons.  It is how we say to the departed you are gone so we will create you out of what we have left, things to look at, to smell, to touch, that will keep our senses full of you.  They are touchstones on the sidewalk that keep us connected to each other in grief and memory.

I spoke to neighbors about the loss.  Can you imagine what this family is going through? they say, and oddly in many ways I can't.  With Lula we got to say goodbye.  We got to hold her and kiss her as she died peacefully. Being alive was worse for her than her death was on us. It was the best scenario for the worst day of our lives.  For Lucian I can only pray that his death was instantaneous and that we will all do the suffering for him.  But his family will feel like they have had their hearts ripped violently from their chests.  The universe will cease to have any order or fairness.  Any poetic meaning to this tragedy is a very long time to come.

Fort Greene holds it's children a bit more tightly now, hugs are lingering here. There are groups forming, discussions, vigils, marches in the works.  I wander out to the corner several times a day, relighting candles, watering flowers, cleaning up the debris as do many others. I put out a pail of sidewalk chalk, the ultimate tool of expression for any Brooklyn kid. I hope people will continue to pour their love onto this space.


GHOSTS OF HALLOWEENS PAST /  by Micaela

Ages ago my stepmom asked that I send her photos of all of the crazy things we've done to Gracie for The Great Pupkin, Fort Greene's very own insane, indulgently creative dog costume contest.  This year Gracie took a break from the festivities as I was away and, ahem, she won last year anyway. 

So here's a recap of Pupkins past...

It started innocently enough.  A little spray-on hair dye and some cardboard and voila - Oscar The Grouch. She won 2nd Place.



The next time quickly spiraled into an elaborate, time consuming and very "meta" getup. People who got it loved it, but no prizes.  I thought it was hilarious.



I may have overdone it on this one.  Queen Elizabeth.  No prizes either.



Then the kids came along and Gracie got a reprieve.  Here's Roan dressed as Mario Batalli with a meat cleaver.   It was so cold that night Lula never made it into her costume, which was a giant squid.



 The infamous "Beets No More"  costume.



Lula got so many compliment for this!



Not to be outdone,  Sam threw this together in 5 minutes and Gracie won first runner up.



And of course, last years "Where the Wild Things Are" ensemble.



Gracie rocking her First Place ribbon.  A proud moment for a dog.



ECHOLILIA /  by Micaela

This is an absolutely beautiful, amazing photo essay that photographer Timothy Archibald has done on his son Elijah.  I think these images capture the universal confusion and curiosity of childhood as well as a peek into the world as viewed through Elijah's lens of autism.  


In this article, a quote from Archibald I think captures not only his attitude towards his sons special needs but also probably explains his incredible skill at capturing the world through Elija's perspective:

"I never wanted [Eli] to think that he was normal. I wanted him to be aware of how different he was and see that as an asset."


CATCH AND EAT /  by Micaela

The croft is, if nothing else, an exercise in subsistence living.  Yes, there is a store in the town of Tongue twenty minutes away, but it's goods are extremely limited (was astonished to find a melon there this summer) and, among it's other quirks, it's open for exactly 1 hour on Sundays after church. The best way to get your food is to catch, pick, or trap it yourself. Then clean it and cook it yourself.  And then eat it yourself.  

This pretty much takes up at least half of your waking hours every day but I swear food doesn't taste any better than when you do it this way. It's a group effort and everyone has their skill set. Neil and Cicely are aces at catching Mackerel and Pollock, Jos makes the world's best smoked mackerel pate, fish cakes, and mussels in garlic and white wine, and Roan can now gut fish. As usual, Sam is good at everything.  

This year we got especially ambitious about foraging. Into the usual mix of fish, crab, lobster, and mussels, we added winkles, which look like little sea snails, and seaweed.  Sam was SO excited about a book that was gifted to the croft on foraging in Scotland.  He harvested and dried several different kinds of seaweed.  He tried salting it, cooking with it, and eventually even grinding it into a powder and putting it on ice cream.

We didn't catch any lobster (we caught a conger eel, which was a giant slimy black snake-like looking thing that we quickly returned to the sea) so Neil had to buy those from Sinclair, the local lobster man.  The cost? £5 per lobster, about the same price as the melon.

Getting ready to fish aboard the Lady Anne

Mackerel fishing

I think this is a Pollock

A good size one

The slip in Skerray Harbour

Dinner is served!

Lobster pots

Harbour skat

Crabs

Dissecting the lobster

Shells and guts

Off to catch winkles

Winkle hunting

Escargot?

Before

With butter and garlic

After

It was a lot of work to scoop the winkles out of their shells

Seaweed before harvesting

Seaweed dried, ground,and sprinkled over vanilla ice cream (looks better than it tasted)

On the way to Slettle for mussels.  We were told to watch out for the bull that was loose in the field.

Rocks in Slettle

Very few mussels this year but we managed to find some

So delicious!

Off again to fish!

Um, we did not eat this guy.  We used him for bait.

Cicely had a great catch this day

Roan tried to re-catch the catch

That's a healthy Mackerel

Roan is not even remotely squeamish

 
Kedgerie made with smoked mackerel

Bliss

A MAN A PLAN A CAMERA /  by Micaela

I had one of those wonderful encounters on Friday that makes even running errands seem poetic.

I had a list of things to do in Manhattan and a plan to get them all done in the morning and be back in Brooklyn with plenty of time before I had to pick up Roan from school.  The first stop was Adorama where I was finally bringing a bunch of great but unused photo equipment that had been left to me by June, a family friend, when she died.  It was all 35mm Nikon stuff and since I've hardly touched any camera other than my point and shoot or my iPhone in over 3 years, I decided to trade it in for a new digital point and shoot.  Trading took ages because the guy handed me a scrap of receipt paper with numbers scribbled all over it that I had to decipher in order to figure out what he was willing to give me for everything.  Then I waffled over which camera to buy for ages.  I got the Fujifilm x20. So far so good.

Since I had to drive in to the city and knew I would be forking over $50 in parking I decided to make a quick trip to the Container Store, which, if you are a bit OCD like me is a veritable Pandora's box of potential storage scenarios.  I don't even know how long I was there but when I emerged I had less than 2 hours to finish up and make it back to Brooklyn.  Fine, I had one more stop to pick up a new coffee table downtown and had to grab lunch. No problem. 

Then suddenly, on the side street of Bed Bath and Beyond, sat a man holding a Graflex Speed Graphic camera with two flashes. Both he and his camera were of an equal classic vintage that one cannot simply pass by.  

I asked him about the camera and why the two flashes.  He told me that one, a blue bulb with a crinkled silver foil inside could only fire off one shot per bulb and that they didn't make the bulbs any more so he had the other one as back up.  "How do you decide who is worthy of one of those bulbs?" I asked, and he said "whenever the mood strikes me". He took a wallet out of his breast pocket and out of it pulled a card with this photo on it:

Jacqueline Bouvier (pre Kennedy), the "Inquiring Photographer Girl" for the Washington Times-Herald

My man on the street then said that his name was Louis Mendes and that he had taken this photo with that same camera in 1952 before she met JFK.  "Google me!" he said. I told him that I used to shoot with a 4x5 in college but that I had just hocked all of this old equipment to buy a digital point and shoot.  It sounded more like a confession than a statement, as though this was the end of my steady technical decline into an abyss of convenience over artistry.  He asked if I was a photographer.  

I always hedge at the moment people ask me that and I don't  know why.  I've been shooting since I was about 13 (with a Zeiss that June gave me, no less)  regardless of where I was, who I was with, or whether or not anyone was paying me to do so  (mostly not).  If I am not a photographer then I don't know what I am, but somehow my inability to properly monetize my talents has made me sheepish about talking about myself as such.  I sort of waffled and said I still shoot but I'm a mom, I'm raising my son, etc, and he said "So?  Lots of women do both nowadays".  Sigh. I didn't want to engage in a debate about the value of working vs. stay at home moms, the costs of childcare, health insurance, the current state of affairs in publishing etc. "Can I take your picture?" I asked instead, and he said "sure". So I did. With my iPhone.

Louis Mendes

He then offered to take a picture of me with his camera for $20.  I said I would pay if I could take a picture of him with his camera.  It's very funny because we were doing the same tap dance that street photographers do when we are trying to sweet talk a stranger into becoming a subject.  He agreed and then produced another Polaroid camera from his briefcase so he could hold his signature camera in the portrait.  I guessed this was not the first time he had become the subject of his own photograph.

He set me up with the camera, set the aperture and the shutter speed, cocked the trigger, focused the camera and handed it to me.  The shot came out a blur.  Hmm.  He set up another shot .  Even more blurry.  He looked perplexed.  Then he realized he had forgotten to lock the bellows, which was heartening to me as the man has been shooting for over 50 years.  I shot another and handed the camera back to him.  He looked at me with a smile; the camera was out of film. We both burst into laughter.

"OK this one is going to work, I've got a feeling", and indeed it did.  He took out a little envelope and slid the Polaroid into a mat and signed it. This is his schtick but it's a wonderful schtick.  I was so much happier to pay $20 for this than the $50 I was about to pay for parking my damn car in midtown.  My encounter with Mr. Mendes put me square in the middle of Friday afternoon traffic on Canal Street and the rest of the day tumbled into chaos but I was too excited about my little street memento to be bothered. 


The front of the envelope is a classic!

The inside, signed, with my Polaroid
 
I Googled him when I got home.  The math was a little iffy (he would have been 12 years old when he took that pic of Jackie O if the internet dates I found are correct) but he is apparently a street photography legend in NYC.  The NY Times did this piece on him.
 
I love that he has been doing this for so long.  I am sure it's not really about the camera, although it does lure the customers.  For him, like for me, it's about the interaction, the moment of familiarity and companionship with a total stranger on the street and the willingness of people to believe, even in a city full of hustlers, that one person's vision of another is worth something.






TOURISTS /  by Micaela

NB:  I'm playing catch up on my blog posts so I'll be jumping around time-wise.  Today we are back in Prague!

In addition to being nightmares in transit I'm afraid that three-year-olds also make lousy tourists.  Not for lack of trying, but no matter what we did or where went in Europe this summer with Roan our experience was always colored by the fickle whims of Roan.  

We did get to see the old town in Prague but mostly just the outsides of buildings while in hot pursuit of a sprinting toddler.  We couldn't go anywhere that required waiting in line, staying still, or silence.  Luckily the weather was stellar and there were plenty of street performers and public art to keep us entertained.

Guard outside of Prague Castle. Holy shit it was SO hot I don't know how this guy stood there all day.
That says "Traditional Czech Toys and Souvenirs".  I'm sorry but that thing looks creepy.
Yep, this pretty much sums it up
I love photographing tourists photographing themselves
This is why the world hates American tourists. Blech.

Prague is a town full of bizarre curiosities and a love of the macabre.  I remember my sister telling me about St. Nicolas day which is like Christmas meets Halloween. This video illustrates it perfectly ( and hilariously)   St. Nicolas Day in the Czech Republic

There are dudes like this all over the place
Ceci n'est pas une Pipe
A public bench
Very creative, but I'm not sure how useful this fire hydrant would be in the event of fire.

My god it is beautiful, though.

View from Caitlin's apartment (after about 50 flights of stairs)
Synagogue in the Jewish Quarter
Vineyards right in the middle of the city
Swans are a big thing in Prague
View from Petrin Hill

There was a proliferation of public and interactive street art and street performers. It all felt very young and vibrant, a nice balance for such an old city.

A "Before I die" wall
Not exactly public art but very interactive and great to have on a hot day
A girl fell in love with Roan on the street and gave him her watermelon ukelele to try
The John Lennon Wall
The signature song in the Ladybug class at the Coop School last year was "Yellow Submarine" so Roan just had to request it.  While eating a giant sausage.


We tried to get him to play it himself back at Caity's apartment


POSTING BACKLOG /  by Micaela

I have so much to post and no time to do it at the moment.  Despite not doing anything that generates any sort of income I have never been more productive or happily busy.  Between Roan's extremely full activity and school schedule, the new Extreme Kids space, various housekeeping tasks, and a bunch of creative projects I haven't had time to blog.

I keep reminding myself of the immortal words of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "tis better to have lived and not blogged than never to have lived at all"

So to whet your appetite  (and keep you checking the blog)  here are some coming attractions:

 - Photos of the new Lula room at Extreme Kids

- Portraits of the extremely photogenic Philly cousins

 - A local futbol game in Prague

 - Roan guts a fish

 Stay tuned. Cheers!

THE HOUSE WITH THE BIG KEYS /  by Micaela

This summer we were lucky enough, timing wise, to be in Scotland at the same time as Sam's old mate Charlie, his wife and two little boys, who normally live in Brazil.  Sam grew up with Charlie and Charlie's cousin Will who formed a kind of trifecta of mischief.  They spent a lot of time exploring Charlie's ancestral home, which has been in his family since the 1730's.  It is called Blair Adam, but as kids Sam referred to it as "the house with the big keys" and here's why:

Actual and current front door key.  DO NOT lose this key!

I am still utterly enchanted by Blair Adam and what it must have been like to grow up there.  It couldn't be more different than a rent stabilized walk up on 82nd and 3rd Ave in New York.  It must have been a wonderland of curiosity for the kids, but for the adults I know it was a hell of a lot of work just to keep it from falling down.  

Guest room

I was a little terrified to take Roan there because everything is priceless and irreplaceable. On the day we visited another friend, Nicola, was visiting with her two little ones which made 5 kids to keep from breaking anything.  Charlie's whole family is remarkably laid back about mixing children with historic artifacts, but I was still eager to get the kids out of the house.

Lunch with the relatives. Note the table of china directly behind the kids.

After lunch we took a walk down to the walled garden. 


The dog tagged along.  Can you tell which end is which?

The cows stayed out of the way of the impending rain

Stone describing how Charlie and Will's ancestors built the walled garden

Charlie's son Oliver,  a few months older than Roan,  seemed to know his way around the garden (which is HUGE) and knew all of it's secrets.  He gave us a tour.


Who the hell tagged that stone??

Nature takes over

Not sure why this door is here

The wall itself is almost as majestic as the garden

Charlie, Oliver, Sam and Roan

 I don't know how big the garden is but it is easily the size of a city block, maybe two. It has an enormous variety of trees including some actual giant Redwoods!! While old houses are fairly common in Scotland, it is incredibly rare to find old growth forests since they were all completely wiped  out during the Highland clearances. 

It is so much garden that the family has these people called woofers (really WWOOF), who volunteer to grow organic produce on the land in exchange for food, housing and experience.  They have done an amazing job.


We spent at least an hour exploring and then it started to rain more heavily so we headed back for tea, biscuits, and naps.  Thank you to Blair Adam for a nice dose of Scottish history.




TELL THE BARTENDER /  by Micaela

A few months ago the Coop School held a Moth night which, if you've never heard of the Moth, is a live night of storytelling.  The Coop School night was nearly identical to The Moth shows except it was organized and generously hosted in the home of the remarkable Bliss Broyard and attended by Coop School parents.

There were five of us telling stories that night and all of the stories were amazing and compelling.  The whole vibe was so wholeheartedly supportive and generous, which frankly, having spent so much time clawing my way through the very fickle and catty world of magazine publishing, felt incredible.

My high school friend and fellow speech and debate nerd Katharine Heller coached me beforehand and now she has put the audio recording of my piece from that night on her podcast, Tell the Bartender.

So here it is. 


PRAGUE IN PICTURES /  by Micaela

Prague is a sort of amalgam of romantic European and harsh communist architecture that I found fascinating.   I have also never been anywhere else where people were so indifferent about being photographed.  Partly I think they are quite used to tourists, but I also think it's part of the Czech culture, given their endlessly turbulent history, to just go about their business as change happens around them. 

PRAGUE SUMMER 2013