We fly in low over sleeping, retired, Fort Lauderdale. We’ve wheeled now out over the Atlantic. One ocean to another in one night, boggling early sea faring minds. Our world shrinks just as it looms larger below. And in little sleepy eyes it’s all an oyster. “I see a houseboat!”
I am all too often not with my ladies on their jaunting adventures around the City. Ilse keeps them in the thick of action when I’m off working. And I miss it! I’ve just found these great moments on Bindi’s camera. I know those moments well, but I was not there for them. Alas…. But all hail the power of moment anyway. I am constantly vindicated in my religion based on it. Even when I’m not there to make the prayer.
I’ve fallen under that same heady sway of instantly, after a good shake, realized perfection. A square of strongly identifying image, with contrast jacked up, irrefutable geometry, and a song about the thing. And when I say strongly identifying, I mean your signature’s all over it whether you meant it or not. I’m talking about the Polaroid. A vanishing art resuscitated by the lovely little iPhone. And I hear someone’s bought Kodak’s ailing factory and is going to keep producing the real thing. Kodachrome is gone but other rarities of a more rarified past may yet be embraced by the future.
There’s a cappocino cup done entirely in chocolate with mousse to mess and sip awaiting you at the French cafe at the Mission stop off the Gold Line. Amazing how well CHICKS are table mannered when the beauty of such a parfait attends the end of their meal….
“It’s a cafe boat, dad!”
