This morning, I stumbled out of bed at 6 a.m., walked into the living room and ran into a 5’ tall tripod. After regaining my balance and checking my nose for damage, I tripped over a light stand. I went into the kitchen and found a giant digital video camera recharging where my coffee pot used to sit, then stubbed my toe on a duffel bag filled with cords and strange metal parts.
Overnight, my house transformed into a movie and video production studio.
Three months ago, the Teenager couldn’t find a job flipping burgers. Now, he’s directing the TV news program at his high school, and is stage manager for A Midsummer's Night's Dream. He will direct the building of a $10,000 set for the annual musical production, Little Shop of Horrors. His teachers are funding his schemes to transform the school’s TV studios and stage sets. People pay him, and well, to shoot and edit videos. Local production companies hire him as a production assistant and grip.
And, he has minions: Goofy, Spiky, and a host of teenage writers, actors, news reporters and tech staff to help him achieve his lofty ambitions.
Worst of all, he works for my company’s competitors…and won’t tell me what they are doing.
The Teenager is 17 years old, and not yet a legal adult. Or at least he was still a teenager the last I checked. That was yesterday. And not a metaphorical yesterday, either. Yesterday: August 26.
Today, August 27, he is a young man.
Children don’t grow up all at once. They grow up in moments all strung together. It’s only parents who hang on to the past and see their growth in stages.
I remember when I realized my son was no longer a baby. He found an old pair of cowboy boots in my closet and pulled them on over his chubby legs, his diapers hanging over the top rim of the aged leather. He donned a straw hat and a denim jacket to match, and squealed all over the house, whooping it up like a cowboy on a cattle drive. I could no longer deny it. My baby was a toddler.
A couple of years later, he woke up at dawn and ran stark naked into my bedroom to wake me up, too. Suddenly, he realized he was naked. He swiveled on his heels, covered his butt with his tiny hands, and walked briskly away saying, “Don’t see me, don’t see me!” I knew he was no longer a toddler, he was now a little boy.
The little boy stage segued slowly into the big boy stage, the entire transition lasting several years. Until the sixth-grade, when he came home after school one day and said, “Ya know, Mom, all the popular girls are really cute and really smart. They get the best grades and never get into trouble. But all the popular boys get the worst grades and cause all the trouble. And all the popular girls want to date the popular boys, but they don't want to date the nice, smart boys.”
Even though he was just 11 years old, I knew he was already a teenager.
The Teenager has been trying to tell me for the past year that he’s a responsible adult and doesn’t need my prodding. I've tried to back off, but couldn’t quite believe he was past his adolescent forgetfulness.
As I massaged my bruised toe, he came into the kitchen for breakfast bubbling over about his plans for the theater stage sets, and the steady cam he’s constructing, and the clever way he handled the controlling teacher who has charge of the school’s TV equipment, and the bus stop movie he's making with.…his words ran together so fast I couldn’t discern the rest.
I smiled, and listened, for hours it seemed, then said, “Honey, I’m so proud of you.”
His smiled wide, so wide it looked like his face would crack open. For a fleeting second, he was a little boy again. “Finally, Mom! You’ve said you’re proud of me! I’ve waited for this for so long!”
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Sinking of the USAT Dorchester
In an earlier post, I shared the work of Dick Levesque, a marine painter and historian who developed a fascination with the WWII story of the USAT Dorchester, her Coast Guard escort on her last fateful journey, and her heroic Four Chaplains. Recently, Dick completed his second painting inspired by this story, an illustration of the sinking of the Dorchester.
Here is Dick's commentary about this piece:
"This painting represents the sinking of the USAT Dorchester in wintry seas 150 miles south of Greenland on Feb. 3, 1943 during the Battle of the Atlantic. At 12:55 a.m., two torpedoes fired from German submarine U-223 hit amidships just aft of the stack and below water. Almost immediately, the Dorchester lost power continuing a short distance under her forward momentum before becoming 'dead in the water.' She then settled slowly towards the stern, rolled to starboard sinking bow first within 20 minutes of the initial blast.
"The painting illustrates her starboard side. On the upper deck, men frantically try to cut a frozen drum raft free while others attempt to clear two lifeboats.* Many men can be seen slipping on the ice-covered deck, others are only partly clad, having ignored their captain’s orders to sleep fully clothed and with their lifebelts on, and others, dazed, contemplate jumping into the frigid water, where they might last 20 minutes before succumbing to hypothermia, or taking their chances with the ship. The Dorchester’s famed Four Chaplains [link to Chaplains page] are depicted on the lower left of the main deck as they give their last life jacket to a man who had lost his own.
"Several survivors said the sinking ship looked like a 'giant Christmas tree of humanity with hundreds of glowing red lights on the life jackets.' There were 902 men aboard the Dorchester as it sailed into an area alternately known as 'Torpedo Alley' and 'The Black Pit.' Only 227 survived.
"The USAT Dorchester Sinking is now on permanent display in the Immortal Chaplains Memorial Sanctuary aboard the Queen Mary in Long Beach, CA."
*The port side life rafts could not be released due to the severe list of the ship to starboard, some of the starboard side rafts were damaged from the blast, and the remaining life rafts were frozen into place by the severe weather. Based on a contemporaneous survivor report by Lt. William Arpaia, I believe my grandfather, was on the upper deck helping the merchant marines and Army troops try to free the rafts. They managed to free only two larger rafts, and, In the end, they freed as many of the smaller drum rafts as they could hoping that when the ship sank, these smaller rafts would survive the suction of the ship and be available for the men who had jumped into the water.
USAT Dorchester Sinking
Media: Acrylic
Size: 5' x 3'
Painter: Dick Levesque
World War II Four Chaplains heroism faith honor USAT Dorchester writing
Here is Dick's commentary about this piece:
"This painting represents the sinking of the USAT Dorchester in wintry seas 150 miles south of Greenland on Feb. 3, 1943 during the Battle of the Atlantic. At 12:55 a.m., two torpedoes fired from German submarine U-223 hit amidships just aft of the stack and below water. Almost immediately, the Dorchester lost power continuing a short distance under her forward momentum before becoming 'dead in the water.' She then settled slowly towards the stern, rolled to starboard sinking bow first within 20 minutes of the initial blast.
"The painting illustrates her starboard side. On the upper deck, men frantically try to cut a frozen drum raft free while others attempt to clear two lifeboats.* Many men can be seen slipping on the ice-covered deck, others are only partly clad, having ignored their captain’s orders to sleep fully clothed and with their lifebelts on, and others, dazed, contemplate jumping into the frigid water, where they might last 20 minutes before succumbing to hypothermia, or taking their chances with the ship. The Dorchester’s famed Four Chaplains [link to Chaplains page] are depicted on the lower left of the main deck as they give their last life jacket to a man who had lost his own.
"Several survivors said the sinking ship looked like a 'giant Christmas tree of humanity with hundreds of glowing red lights on the life jackets.' There were 902 men aboard the Dorchester as it sailed into an area alternately known as 'Torpedo Alley' and 'The Black Pit.' Only 227 survived.
"The USAT Dorchester Sinking is now on permanent display in the Immortal Chaplains Memorial Sanctuary aboard the Queen Mary in Long Beach, CA."
*The port side life rafts could not be released due to the severe list of the ship to starboard, some of the starboard side rafts were damaged from the blast, and the remaining life rafts were frozen into place by the severe weather. Based on a contemporaneous survivor report by Lt. William Arpaia, I believe my grandfather, was on the upper deck helping the merchant marines and Army troops try to free the rafts. They managed to free only two larger rafts, and, In the end, they freed as many of the smaller drum rafts as they could hoping that when the ship sank, these smaller rafts would survive the suction of the ship and be available for the men who had jumped into the water.
USAT Dorchester SinkingMedia: Acrylic
Size: 5' x 3'
Painter: Dick Levesque
World War II Four Chaplains heroism faith honor USAT Dorchester writing
Thursday, August 17, 2006
The zen of photography
If I'm struggling to figure something out -- maybe it's an idea for a scene or maybe it's something deeply personal -- I pick up my camera and make pictures.
Other times, I see a moment, and can't find the words to say what it makes me feel, so I make pictures instead.
And sometimes I make pictures for the sheer joy of seeing what takes shape inside my camera's frame.
These are for the joy.
Other times, I see a moment, and can't find the words to say what it makes me feel, so I make pictures instead.
And sometimes I make pictures for the sheer joy of seeing what takes shape inside my camera's frame.
These are for the joy.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Rain
Arizona’s summer skies tease us. They fill with evening thunderclouds, dust us with virga, and taunt us with distant lightning. Then...nothing. No wild thunderstorm to thrill our souls, no rain to soothe our parched earth or dusty throats. Nothing but hot dry wind.
Until early this morning, when a gentle rain fell for hours, the sweet pungent smell of creosote filling the air.
It’s raining words, too. At least here in my computer. Last weekend, the outline for The Black Pit came together like a perfect summer storm, and I’ve been obsessed ever since.
Can’t seem to think about much else. I’ll post more soon. Promise.
Arizona summer weather writers daily life writing diary
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Lessons in Raising a Teenager, Part III
All ye Southern Californians: Rest easy. The Teenager and his Teenager buddies, Spiky and Goofy, will not be driving to Tinseltown tomorrow.
Spiky and Goofy bailed. It’s not entirely clear why. A lot of grunting and a few noises that sounded like girlfriend and job and car emanated from Teenager’s Stinky Palace this evening.
Queen Mom said, “Welcome to life, kiddo.”
Queen Mom thought, Thank GOD, I can SLEEP this weekend after all!
Lesson #3: Let life happen. Anything less only annoys the Teenager.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
Spiky and Goofy bailed. It’s not entirely clear why. A lot of grunting and a few noises that sounded like girlfriend and job and car emanated from Teenager’s Stinky Palace this evening.
Queen Mom said, “Welcome to life, kiddo.”
Queen Mom thought, Thank GOD, I can SLEEP this weekend after all!
Lesson #3: Let life happen. Anything less only annoys the Teenager.
parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary
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