Yessiree. I am a Jew. Through and through. What that means is that my family can make you feel guilty for committing atrocities that you didn’t commit, let alone weren’t born in the same decade that they happened in, so that even if you had an inkling of wanting to kill us all, which, God, if you meet some of my family members…..(holds breath and exhales sooo very slowly). So anyways, my mom, also, just so happens to be a Jew as well. But like an American who thinks they’re flag is also a fashion statement and something to plaster all over your house and lawn, my mom finds it hard to not mention the fact that something in the conversation is Jewish, or was Jewish, or once she gets through with it, will be Jewish. I am a Jew by culture and food. Nothing more. But, I love my mother dearly and am also still and yes, I am still in a wee bit of awe when I see something Jewish. It’s kind of like seeing Canadian Geese in another country, I mean, they exist there, but in your head, the image doesn’t sit right. Canadian Geese in Mexico, really? Maybe it’s the opposite situation as it is with humans.
Anyways. So I took this picture to make my mom happy. Was she happy with this picture? Welp, she hasn’t seen it yet, so hopefully it will garner the admiration, which I so seek out by appeasing the little old yente in her. Love you mom. Whoopi Goldberg is still not Jewish, but don’t worry your gaspritzin punim, Drake is.
Southern California, near the Mexican border. That’s Mexico on the horizon, I could feel the sweltering heat hit earth then, evaporate, upwards, smacking me constantly in my red, red face, making every pore of my body produce enough persperation to fill an Olympic size swimming pool for all the population of India. What I wouldn’t have given for a pool right now. Fact is, my camel like body, made it possible for me to go long stretches without drinking, or noticing, that I was utterly parched and dehydrated.
Why did I take this picture? Was it the goal in sight? Take a closer look. The heat brought out the illest sense of humor.
Of all the piers in California that I had encountered, San Clemente’s main wooden pier stood out, quite literally and also quite figuratively. It is where my camera finally bit the bullet (and the dirt, mud and small granules of yellow sand) where I took pictures of random lovers staring out into the expanse of the sea, hoping their future would have a never ending horizon as well, watched three hoola hoops swing in fast succession around a smiling girl in a euphoric dance and met two awesome people in my life, couch surfer Jitka and my good friend Claire Bush. A wonderful soul, good hearted, would uproot the very foundations of her life in a brash, spontaneous leap upwards, expecting never to touch the ground again. She is one of the most talented people I have ever met and cannot do anything but succeed. She really has no choice in that matter. We shared some good, deep laughs on this pier, the daylight, IV slow drips into a darker, more night sky, stars glimmering as daylight remembered. It was considerably cold for people of So Cal, but for me the night brought with it a warm breeze, swaying the palm trees, frozen as fuzzy thoughts, looking like watercolored postcards from somewhere tropical and that people only send to make those who see it, envious. Pretty much how I felt when I was staring at them, if only my camera had not R I Ped. Then again, like this picture, my words and descriptions, of moons and breezes, is taste to a heavy smoker, more an presumption than a filler in.