like trying to hold the sands of the shore moments slipping away swallowed by tide and time like jumping high to swing from the clouds only to fall through the sky i tried to keep a moment or two
like a sunset over a soybean field or at the end of the road or a monochrome lighthouse showing the way to giant icicles on climbing day or two little girls on a summer swing with nana in the middle all is well or a grand city that rises and falls while a grand old bridge anchors it all or our two sons walking by the river or coffee starlings dancing in the air safe from the wind farm or the fire in the sky above a river flowing like time through fields and towns and seasons and lives until it joins the the moments in the sea and sand that still are slipping through my hands
I suppose that I will always be – if not always feel like – a New Yorker. My hometown of East Meadow was right next door to famous Levittown. After WWII, returning vets heard the siren songs of suburban living, and Levittown sang loud and proud.
Not quite sure where East Meadow fits in the swift rise of suburbia, but it mostly likely knew the songs that were in the air.
In 1964, Wilfredo and Carmen purchased a small, two story Cape Cod style home on a corner lot in East Meadow. I’ve always loved the name of our street: Wilson Lane. It has a noble sound befitting my mom and dad. They were poor, could hardly speak English, and were uneducated. Their royalty was in their wisdom, their tenacity and, in full measure, their love.
And you would need love to survive the “dawning of the age of Aquarius” in East Meadow, located in Nassau County, on Long Island, in New York State. Ironically, we were a little island of Puerto Ricans in an ocean of Italian, Irish, and Jewish families. And it was wonderful. I mean, where else could you go to school with Carmine Paradisio – is that a name, or is that a name?! – and then, as a high school student, sing in musicals with members of the local Jewish synagogue. I also grew up with the long, cold shadows of the normalization of hatred and racism.
And about that, I will say this: it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that it was difficult for my mom and my dad to live in that white suburban community. I’ll spare you the details of some of the stories, suffice it to say that, by some, we were not welcome. So much so that messages in the form of dog excrement being tossed in the yard was just one of the ways the turbulence of the times reached our corner lot. My mom and dad were silent about it, as far as I can recall. To this day, I truly believe they were teaching me important lessons. Don’t be a person who hates, even if you feel you have every reason to hate. Don’t order your life around those who have struggles in their hearts. Be a person of peace on a small little island in East Meadow in an ocean of turmoil. Peace would also need to make room for suffering, loss, and sorrow on that island. As much as we all want to live and experience life, this life can take so much from us that, even if we are still breathing, it feels like there is no reason to.
Rosalito was her name. Their firstborn. She lived for a few days. My mom mourned her until her last day. This event was the seed of much of my formation, but that’s a story that continues to unfold.
Which, of course, brings us to the present. My mom passed away in 2023 at the age of 97. She passed in the safety of her corner house… her little island in an ocean of love: my dad.
He still lives in that house and, even though my story is being told on the backlot of the Midwest, far from the Atlantic shore I love – more on that later – I have been returning home to be with my family almost every year for…well… 39+ years. And, following the well worn path of my childhood, those visits often included an eastbound trip on the Southern State Parkway to visit Rosalito.
I find that some childhood memories can show up for a visit in vivid, 3-D, surround sound. I find myself taking in the mysteriously beautiful sound of crunching autumn leaves as we brush them from around her tombstone. I can still feel my body sigh in relief as the cold water from a nearby hose washed away the unbearable heat and humidity of a Long Island summer. I can still smell the fresh, winter air as I huddled in my coat while my mom and dad whispered prayers and shed their tears. Home, family, and our little island in East Meadow will, for me, always be associated with death. And that is not a bad thing. It just is.
On this particular visit, a rainy, cold, late May welcomed me back home. Thankfully, a summer like early June won a toss of weather fronts with May. I set aside more than two weeks to be with my dad. We spent a day heading out to the southern tip of Long Island to greet the lighthouse at Montauk Point. A 3 ½ order lens (it sounds like I know what I’m talking about, but I don’t) built in 1902 was recently restored to the tippy top of that lighthouse. In a culture that places unnecessary value on new and improved, it’s comforting to realize that old and traditional can still guide and lead sojourners to light and safety. Of course, we visited Rosalito and Carmen. My mom was finally resting with my sister. We cleared out weeds, took out the artificial flowers that signaled care and love all through winter, and planted fresh, impossibly red flowers. If my mom could speak, she would tell me what the flowers were.
Though uneducated, she was a brilliant “botanist” who could revive any withered leaf, twig or petal and, as if she named each and every one herself, would tell you the name of just about any flower. God created a unique kind of nurturing spirit within her and I think losing her first child only deepened her longing to give and sustain life. Our house was a greenhouse. Green, colorful life was everywhere. And now, my dad made sure that color and life adorned the resting place of his little girl and his bride of over 60 years.
Any pilgrimage back east must include multiple mini-pilgrimages to the southern shores of Long Island. Specifically, Jones Beach.
Like the faithful ostinato from Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor, this State Park has always been a part of me. Whether it’s a frigid, windswept winter seascape, or the end of a summer day showing off with a dazzling display of clouds and shafts of light shooting into space, or the slow motion blending and mixing of sunrise colors that Crayola never dreamed existed, this shore has been a place for reflection, prayer, worship and peace. And, every now and then, I hear and see the rocks cry out and tell of a Savior alive in this world.
I enjoyed a mid-morning stroll with my dad along the 2-mile long boardwalk. I marvel at his endurance and determination as he struggles to maintain balance and manage pain while he walks on his two artificial knees.
During a quiet, pre-dawn stroll on the shore, as the sun began to work on its morning art project, I am trying to figure out a way to take the colors right out of the sky and put them in my backpack.
sometimes it doesn't feel like anything is rising in me held inside this gravity on my knees i just can’t see how why or when
life can be an in between a canyon of waiting in the unseen is there another side to this pain another way to restore loss laughter or song
O Light of the world color my soul shine into these old tears bring your radiance into my fears and all this uncertainty would you carry it for me i believe you know the why i trust you will show me how i let this sunrise fill the eyes of my heart and i cry for a morning with no more tears no more pain until then i wait and sing a sad song to say thank you i know you are here
The day began with a beautiful sunrise, courtesy of the Illinois River.
Then my wife and I worked on a small wallpaper project in our main floor bathroom. No one was hospitalized, the bathroom looks great, and we are still married. The true test of a couple’s emotional health is their ability to finish a wallpaper project!
Finally, hopped on the Kawasaki and took a ride to the wind farms on this beautiful day.
Hope you have a wonderful week. Thanks for stopping by.
For as long as I have kept this blog I have been taking photographs on the street that sits just behind the subdivision where we live, in our little town of Minooka, Illinois. I have captured countless images of sunsets, sunrises, clouds, winter scenes, and on and on. My usual routine is to go to the gym, then, if the sky and clouds are interesting, and if Daylight Savings Time allows, I’ll take a walk and enjoy the ever-changing, always beautiful landscape that makes up our little corner of the world. Over the years, if I may say, I have captured some memorable moments. This morning was memorable.
On my way home I noticed the mist creeping over the soybeans from south to north as the sun was about to peek over the horizon. I got home, grabbed the camera, and started walking.
I love early morning quiet. I love taking pictures while most of the town is asleep, or just getting up for school and work. The perpetual whoosh of Interstate 80, punctured by the occasional deep, repetitive blat of a diesel truck using it’s engine to slow down is always in the air. But this morning, even I-80 is unusually quiet. Maybe the truckers were enjoying the mist, and golden, morning light. Thanks for stopping by.
Still rummaging through the hard drive during this busy season and trying to find time to post. Not to be outdone by my previous post, this sunrise comes to you courtesy of our “rival” town, 10 miles due west of our humble home. Thanks for stopping by. What’s on your hard drive?
…so I have fallen behind in posting some images that have been hanging out on my hard drive. These two are from a sunrise in my home town. I have taken many images from this spot. It’s just a short walk from our home. Does anyone else see what I see in that sky? Thanks for stopping by!
opened your eyes got out of bed but are you awakened exercised a protein drink from the blender but did you remember to feed your soul to workout the stuff in your heart that you took to bed last night
the morning routine out the door traffic and weather report looks grim you steel your mind and shut the door telling yourself that you are fine another sip of coffee but did you remember to feel something that you know is there to understand yourself just a little bit more being and doing doing and being
more you and i know there is more than the deadline more than all this activity did we lose ourselves more likely we numb ourselves away from pain and disorientation keep the radio on get busy and fill the schedule it’s helps to drown out the noise of all that’s in my head maybe i should have stayed in bed
put the keys on the counter there’s nothing in the fridge it was a good day at the office on the worksite on my shift i think i impressed… someone… anyway i suppose it was just another day there’s something still inside… wait…
why am i crying...
i must be tired or a bit confused maybe a drink will clear out my head hulu and netflix aren’t helping tonight how long have i been staring at this parade of options
was i crying tonight
maybe it was the traffic it was a long day i think i’ll go to bed and try again tomorrow to shake this restless sorrow being doing doing being am i living am i awakened
rutakintome pictures 
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