Thursday, June 22, 2017

Tallulah's projects





One Shoe: Big Sand Cay





I've been wanting to do something with the whole concept of one shoe for years. Inspired by beach wanderings, almost always accompanied by plastic bottles and single shoes. We took a walk to the windward side of Big Sand Cay, not bothering to swim ashore with our own shoes to cross the sand spurs, knowing we'd find some. Sure enough. One's too big or gets uncomfortable, another will appear in a few yards. The beach is strewn with shoes and plastic bottles. Oddly, some contain pristine toothbrushes. We call to each other over the wind blowing off the water--this place is wild, spooky, for all its human detritus it guards inhuman knowledge. Something living in the ground girds its perfectly round holes with neat loops of twig and sand spurs. The birds hover over us as we cross their land, low enough even in this wind to let us know we are interlopers. Even the rusting, tumble-down structure on the low bluff, the cement bunkers--evidence we'll only ever stay a little while. Last time I was here I read Tibetan Budddhist philosophy. I try meditating on the beach as Tallulah creates a memorial made of shells and driftwood on the soft sand. (Earlier, she buried the desiccated bodies of two baby turtles, their scurry to the sea arrested by those cawing, hovering birds.) This place is neither sea nor land, exactly. It's mostly sky. 

Thursday, March 30, 2017

University gates


The university gates across the street from our apartment yesterday, as Tallulah and I drove to the post office. I didn't sleep well, reckoning with the potential meanings of what's happening in the world, including the student-led work stoppage at UPR, ongoing in response to the huge cuts (many millions) on which the Fiscal Control Board insists. Many things are unclear. Tallulah's school is closed, too, much to the delight of all the kids. She's off in the rainforest with friends today, then maybe the beach...

Photo of the front gates by my friend Don.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Trip into the mountains for good hard wood

Waiting for tacos made by a lady from Tecate.
Flower that smells like lemon-lime soda, or maybe moisturizer with sugar.


Getting a mani-pedi from tiny fish that live in the Charco Azul--something she begged for every time we passed the place--not a "salon," per se in St. Thomas--oddly sparse, with just a bunch of tanks with little fish in them. I always said no. Thirty bucks! The whole thing seemed like a weird tourist trap. Now it turns out it's just as good as she thought it would be.
Adam found out about a place that sells sustainable local wood and so for the first time since August we actually explored Puerto Rico. It's cool up there in the mountains--roast pigs on spits at restaurants at a crossroads above Cayey, and then when you get even higher, thousands of acres of rainforest stretch out, silent. Hopeful, maybe. Or maybe it's just that our cellphones didn't work up there, so we left all the disasters behind.