Digital Echoes - NJ Seaside Town, Sept. 2012

Digital Echoes - Westfield NJ 9-11 Memorial on 9-11-2012

Digital Echoes - Abandoned Village, Watchung Reservoir

Digital Echoes - Rahway Cemetery

I made a major mistake in deleting Aperture folders, and lost all the original files of photos I took with the X-Pro 1 and X100. Here is the first series of those low res remnants of many of those very special photos--images taken on a quiet afternoon in Rahway Cemetery.

After Images

Today at church I was distracted and unsettled; not that I am always particularly attentive at Mass, but I was struggling more that usual to understand the nature of my discomfort and anxiety.  It was more than just a lack of centering time, reflective time; it was a deeper sense of missing--someone, something.  Looking around the church, it hit me: most everyone in church had extended family near by, close friends, most likely people they had known for years and years. My wife and I, although we have lived in the States for over 20 years, have two great sons, many friends, and with family three hours drive away, we are in many ways still separated from those we love in a way that many of our neighbors are not. 

I guess this is why images of solitude and empty surroundings ----- images without people -----resound the most with me. I thought at first they captured my need for solace and quiet from the very busy life I lead, but the more I think about it, the more I believe the capture the loneliness, the constant aloneness I feel.  Many of them appear to be taken just after people left, leaving vague after images of their presence, more felt than seen. 

Going Solo

A little over a year ago, I was on the short end of a company restructuring. I did not lose my job per se, but my business unit was "de-prioritized". I found out on the way to Bar Harbor, Maine, for a much needed vacation with my family; I was given the news while sitting in a rest stop on an early Tuesday morning,  4 hours from Bar Harbor.  Close to twenty years of career time transformed in the twinkle of an eye.

I took this photo on our last day in Bar Harbor. I went for an early morning walk along the water, leaving all my camera gear in the hotel. Luckily, I had my iPhone 4 with me, so I was able to take this photograph of a lobster boat heading out for another long day checking lobster traps. It was only when I downloaded the image onto my laptop that its meaning hit me (in all its cliche-filled glory, but meaningful, nevertheless): a new morning, a time to head away from the safe harbor, out into the big ocean.  This image gave me hope then, and kept me focused as I embarked on a new and different path. It is still a very inspiring image today.

Insignificance

Fuji X100

Changes - a Tale of Two "Dogs"

Fall is stereotypically viewed as the season of change. But change hit the Lara household a little earlier this year.

My older son, Jaime, wrapped up high school in June, and started his freshman year at college in August. It was by and large a happy experience, knowing that he ended up in his #1 choice school; he had a somewhat challenging time in high school, and his desire to leave our town and go to a place of his choosing was palpable. We went to the Family Weekend visit at the end of September, and he is really enjoying the experience, in spite of the challenging  academic load. He has longed to be in the company of kids who share his world view, and to be part of an institution that encourages the wide-ranging  exploration that his school espouses; as he now has both of these, he is very happy, despite the challenges of the academic workload.  

That all said, I do miss my older son a lot. Like many first-born children, he had quite a dominating presence at home; no, he was not loud or obnoxious, but he got used to leading discussions at the dinner table, with his younger brother being a bit more recessive. We could have wide-ranging discussions on politics, social issues and faith; we both share a love for photography and films; he also had a sarcastic sense of humor, much to the chagrin of my dear wife. I also miss his guitar-playing and singing and his sporadic but intense creation of abstract art; like his poet-painter mother, he finds creative expression in words (through his songwriting) and the visual arts. He tended to be surly and moody at times, but he was (and is) generally friendly, interesting, smart, loyal and great to be around with---very much like his "Dog" personality (from the year in the Chinese calendar that he was born). In his absence, his brother has become far more engaged, and his naturally fun personality has come out even more, which is great, but there is still a void left by not having his brother around. 

To mark Jaime's (and our entire family's transition) to college, we went for a great two week trip to Germany in the summer. We met up with Jaime in Hamburg after he had spent a week and a half in Transylvania (yes, Transylvania) with his church youth group. But while we were away, our  wonderful "old man", our great family companion of three years, Ranger, died from post-surgery infection. Ranger was a Lab/Shep/Huskie mix of some sort, an older dog we adopted from a local shelter three years ago. He was a truly dignified, very happy looking dog; he was generally very calm and mellow, rarely barked or made any type of sound, was well-behaved and well-loved by everyone he met. He was somewhat anti-social with other dogs (especially the younger rambunctious ones), but that made him a better fit our family's generally private and quiet lifestyle anyway. 

It turns out Ranger may have been older than we thought, and he was certainly much sicker than we knew. He stayed with a friend while we were away; the friend called to say that she had to rush him to the vet one day since he was clearly very ill. The vet's exams showed he had a huge mass in his digestive tract, and many smaller ones throughout his body. We agreed to do one operation, and he seemed to be doing much better after this, but things quickly took a turn for the worse. It was a cold Sunday afternoon in Berlin, just as we were about to enter a church for Sunday mass, just a few days before we were supposed to fly back home, when we decided we should let our Ranger go. My wife was on the phone with the vet, my sons and I absentmindedly lingering around her; we told the boys it was all for the best, and sadly told the vet to go ahead and  put Ranger to sleep. My older boy walked around the church; my younger son stood quietly, fighting back tears, just like his mom. I was too numb to feel anything at that point. It was hard to let go from a distance, but I'd been through that before, with my Dad. 

It was weird to come home without Ranger asleep in his usual spot beside the front door, and it is weird not to have him when I walk through the park, camera in hand. Ranger was very much my shooting "partner", waiting patiently while I stopped to take yet another photo of some tree or leaf or rock. 

And so our house is definitely much changed this fall without our two "Dogs"; I don't think I will ever get used to their absence, and, in many ways, I hope I never do. At least I can look forward to phone calls, texts, and the occasional home visit from my son, and my wife and sons and I can take comfort in the knowledge that we shared many good times with Ranger, and that, in as much as we gave him a good home for the last three years of  his life, he also gave us a much better home as well.