I took my mother to her annual checkup at Kaiser. I always take the opportunity to photograph her. It took a half-dozen shots before I got her to smile even this much. It is not that she is sad. She’s not. She’s actually in pretty good spirits. But her relaxed face is not s smile.
Just two generations apart, my mother and my son are also 84 years apart. That’s what happens when the generations have children in their 40s. Of course, my father would have been 113 this year, so that would put him and Theo a mere 104 years apart.
My poor old ’99 Impreza hadn’t had any TLC for thousands and thousands of miles. It was starting to complain to me. It whined when I cranked the wheel to pull away from the curb. It slammed its wipers into the hood with every wipe. It stubbornly plodded when I tried to spur it on.
So, on a drizzly bay morning before work last week, I dropped it off for servicing in west Berkeley. Unfortunately, my bike doesn’t quite fit in the little guy, so after running down the list of complaints to the service manager, I left on foot. I missed the Ashby Ave bus by seconds. Off I went on my damp, 2.5-mile walking commute through Berklandville. While I was hurrying to get to work, I decided to make the most of it and stop to shoot when necessary. Like when I came across these guys, slowly disintegrating in the urban wilderness of the East Bay. At least I got my Subaru feeling better before it came to a similar fate.
My sister-in-law has been living in San Diego for the past year, and we finally had a chance to visit here there for her birthday last month. Her second cousins also live there, and the day we were leaving we visited them at their home near Point Loma. They were kind enough to whisk us off for a quick tour of the peninsula. This was the view from the historic lighthouse there.