B&W FLASHBACK: Dog Canyon Idyll (1978)

Because you had to know where to look, taking Barb to Dog Canyon reminded me of Gone Away Lake, my favorite book as a child.  Unmapped, it was due east of Highway 54, the road that crossed the border into New Mexico, about ninety minutes away from the neighborhood where we went to high school.  I had discovered it a decade earlier on a weekend off-road drive with my father.

Once again, Dad's wheels provided the transportation on an unmarked gravel track through arid scrub to the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains with the tape deck blasting Led Zeppelin.  I'm not sure Barb ever had heard "Stairway to Heaven" at the right volume.  That blue and gray Pendleton shirt still keeps me warm.

We hiked a mile or two to what really felt like an oasis, even in the mild March sun.

A skull-like rock formation offered a great framing opportunity.  The photo of Barb that begins this entry remains one of my favorite portraits.  It almost captures her joie de vivre.

We couldn't believe we found water in the desert.  "It must be snowmelt," I explained.

Time for an outdoor shower, probably my first!

We slaked our thirst with a Dr. Pepper from the ice chest afterwards.  It took a scanner and a computer to enlarge most of these photos for the first time nearly five decades later.  I've never been back.

FLASHBACK: Wyoming Wedding (1983)

A wedding invite between jobs and a new car took me past Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.  Somehow I expected four old white guys to be more imposing on a uniquely American national monument.

Herr Cucachara proved its mettle, reliably and cheaply carrying me nearly 3,000 miles from 47 Pianos to Rock Springs, Wyoming, where David, Lois's youngest son, was tying the knot to Jan, a local gal.

Although honeymoon-less, I pulled over in Niagara Falls, bought a souvenir shot glass that I used to gargle mouthwash and a pamphlet describing Annie Edson Taylor, the first person to barrel over the Falls.  I thought her exploits might serve as the basis of a feminist screenplay.  Yep, I still was dreaming in those days.  Solo travel gives you a lot of time for that.

It would take me another 34 years to get wet on the Maid of the Mist.

My route, plotted with Rand McNally, took me to the Wisconsin Dells, where I ignorantly slept through a tornado warning in the same little green tent I had pitched nearly a decade earlier in Maine and taken with me to Alaska, too.  After navigating the amber-grain monotony of the Great Plains, the wind-and water-sculpted Badlands came as a relief.

I got to Mount Rushmore late in the day.  The parking lot was nearly empty.

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln gazed out from the shadows.  Only Lincoln's reputation remains unsullied four decades later.  Father Time takes no prisoners.

I looked forward to seeing Barb as much as seeing the four Presidents.  We took BJ to Flaming Gorge, Utah, a huge reservoir formed by damming the Green River.

I don't think I had become a regular swimmer yet, but I always loved the water.

Ken and Lois drove up from El Paso for the nuptials.  The next time I saw Dad, we were on the other other side of the world, in Sydney, about to depart on our Australian road trip.

Lois (center, blue dress); David & Jan (to her right); Ken & Jeff (to her left); and Barb holding BJ

 

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Dining at Anthony's & John's in Baldwin is always a pleasure.

Anthony took Thom, Jerry and me to Point Lookout Beach, too.  A lifeguard thought I was in distress.  Embarrassing!

Thom and I staked a claim at Riis Park with Andrew & Steven.  They were newbies.  A week later, the New York Times published the first article I've ever seen about "the people's beach." It's about time!

It's a lot different than the Pines, where Victor invited Thom, Chris and I to spend time. Neither it or the Grove haven't changed much in our summer-long absence.   I can't say I miss Fire Island much.  Although there's less sun and sand in my life, there's less stress, too. Even reluctant house mothering takes a lot out of you.

Thom and I drove up to Randy's for a couple of days.  He took us sightseeing at the Florence Griswold Museum and the Gillette Castle on a glorious summer day.  Who knew there was so much to see in Connecticut?

Florian and Arko sent many greetings from Chicago.

Speaking of Germans, Nanno got back in touch with me.  We met in Berlin two decades ago. It's absolutely shocking how old we all get, particularly now when phones make high-quality photography so accessible!

Like me, Nanno stayed in the same apartment forever, although with much better reason: his has a terrace, as well as wall-to-wall bookshelves so tall he needs a library ladder.

My stepsister Barb and her husband Gary flew in from Arizona for a day tour of Manhattan before departing on a cruise.

9/11 Memorial

Saks Fifth Avenue

They took me to dinner before we went to see The Lion King.  Feta cheese dusted the watermelon salad.

Cynthia's daughter got married.  Would you believe the mother-of-the-bride baked both the wedding and groom cakes?

Cynthia wore false eyelashes for the first time, too!

Thom took me to Old Westbury Gardens for my birthday. We should have coordinated outfits.

My walks took me all over New York City.   

Upper West Side

Terminal B, LaGuardia Airport

Lobby, Bergdorf Goodman Building

Milton Avery Self-Portrait, Yares Art Gallery

"The  will to make things happen" (partial) by Woody De Othello, Whitney Biennial

"Apache School Girl" by Oscar Howe, National Museum of the American Indian

"Da Vinci Eternity" by Raphael Montanez Ortiz, El Museo Del Barrio

The staircase at the Museum of the City of New York is really something.

I'd never seen the Stettheimer dollhouse, built by Carrie, although I'm a great admirer of sister Florine's art.

"Activist New York" celebrates homegrown advocacy.  People forget how early Gloria Steinem--pictured here with Dorothy Pitman Hughes--recognized the intersectionality of the women's and civil rights movements.  Watch The Glorias if you don't believe me.

A signature hat represents the loudmouth contributions of Bella Abzug.

Currier and Ives illustrated "The Ladder of Fortune" as part of the temperance movement.

"New York, New Music (1980-1986)" included a Keith Haring drawing of Larry Levan, an influential Paradise Garage DJ. 

In case you forgot the location of the Garage, the exhibit provided this nostalgia-inducing nightlife map.

The Morgan Library introduced me to Rick Barton, a gay blade who's finally enjoying his 15 minutes of fame 30 years after his death.

"Barcelona" by Rick Barton (1962)

The Morgan also celebrated the 100th anniversary of the publication of James Joyce's Ulysses.  I'm surprised nobody mounted similar for "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot, also published a century ago.

James Joyce by Patrick Tuohy (ca 1924)

Robert Motherwell provided color etchings for a 1988 deluxe edition which follows Dubliner Leopold Bloom through the course of his day as if he were a mythological Greek wanderer. "Yes," the last word of "Molly's soliloquy," is about all I remember from reading the very, very difficult book in college.

I also noticed this statue of the bard of Stratford-on-Avon for the first time.

William Shakespeare by William Wetmore Story (1881)

Here's the ceiling of the New York Public Library's Celeste Bartos Forum.  The room was a basement when I worked there many years ago.  Julio Torres and Cole Escola superbly read scenes from WARHOLCAPOTE as part of an "NYPL Live" program, the best I've attended.  Rob Roth based his non-fiction play on 80 hours of musings recorded by two of my favorite 20th-century queer culture icons who had vague ambitions to write a Broadway hit of their own.  Funny and surprisingly poignant! 

And when there weren't any summer field trips on my agenda, Central Park continued to provide an endless supply of distractions from the routine of retired life.

"Ancestor" by Bharti Kher

DiscOasis Roller Rink

Oakleaf Hydrangea

Sunlit Jumpseed Blooms

Delacorte Clock

Dancing Bear Statue, Children's Zoo Entrance

Bee Balm

This graffiti magnet honors Andrew Haswell Green, the father of New York City.  Read The Great Mistake to find out why it's completely inadequate.