Oh the things that turn up in San Diego alleys. I can only guess whether someone hung up this wet suit to dry or for some passerby to take. My wife and I saw the water-wear while walking down the alley separating Alabama and Florida streets here in University Heights.
I used Leica Q2 to capture the Featured Image, which is the only shot. Vitals, aperture manually set: f/5.6, ISO 100, 1/500 sec, 28mm; 3:58 p.m. PDT, today.
Sometimes the moment passes too quickly. As I walked by her residence on Monroe Street, the owner of Apple came out to walk the dog—one or more of the three cats usually follows along. As we chatted, each feline found a stone upon which to sit. What composition! I pulled around Leica Q2 and knelt down to shoot the Featured Image.
Walking up Meade Avenue in San Diego neighborhood North Park, today, I stopped to wonder which “A” month is now. Because this poster reads April but surely it’s August. My wife focused on something else, stepping forward, pointing, and commenting on the absurdity of an egg hunt for anyone “18 and up”. Huh?
Odder still, the location of the poster: Garfield Elementary. That to me precludes anyone over 12. Then there is question why the school promotes an event that occurred more than four months ago. Granted, education should be timeless but this?
File the Featured Image in the category of “look up”. Because, until this evening when conducting an online image search, I had no idea that this hanging thing—upon which I repeatedly bonked my head over several months—is a banana flower. If I understand rightly, and someone correct me if mistaken, bananas should have been seen growing above had I turned my eyes upward.
I don’t exactly recall over which sidewalk the bulbous object hung, but it would be somewhere on the East side of Park Blvd in San Diego neighborhood University Heights. My guess: Louisiana or Mississippi street.
A neighbor looks on Ash, one of the “Cats of University Heights“, who has come for some affection. He isn’t her kitty, but she knows him well. The homeowners, husband and wife, keep a beautiful butterfly garden, about which Monarchs are commonplace. Perhaps you recall the chalked “caterpillar crossing” on their sidewalk, a few months back.
The Featured Image is memorable for timing: Jan. 20, 2020. Days later, China locked down Wuhan to combat what would come to be called SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2) that manifests as disease COVID-19. The photo marks a moment of normalcy before a global response closed businesses and ordered citizens to shelter in place. Who could guess what would be?
We turn back the clock to the early days of SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns—to when flatten-the-curve meant about two weeks of home confinement and business closures. Instead, some states served up seemingly never-ending mandates; yes, California among them.
The Featured Image is a reminder and portender of future events, should food shortages become commonplace. What interests me here, though, when reviewing my archive tonight, is the juxtaposition of free lemons set inside a Beyond Burger box.
This Spitfire sputters no more. Its flame is extinguished. Late afternoon, I came upon the derelict on the alley side of a garage, in San Diego community University Heights. I had cut through a property after dropping off a bag of redeemable aluminum cans. One of my neighbors scours garbage and recycle bins for them. Anyone would assume, based on scruffy appearance, that he is homeless. Rather, the gent is nearly blind—with only marginal peripheral vision.
We met a few years ago, as he scrounged behind our apartment building. I learned about his ailment, which in my estimation is cruel. He had been an active individual who travelled extensively, and he obviously is quite intelligent and resourceful. Timing turned out to be good for our meeting, because I had an extra Google Hub—freebee from another purchase. I offered him the voice-activated device, which benefit took some effort to explain.
A few days ago, I happened upon the owner of Bruce, Guido, and Little as she walked dog Apple—and two of the tabbies trailed along, as they so often do. She had a frightening tale to tell me. The previous week, someone started to relentlessly pound on her apartment door when she, unfortunately, was showering. She got out of the water quick as she could, all while the banging continued nonstop. The front door opened to an anxious neighbor warning something bad happened to Bruce.
He and Guido had been curled up on the property, towards the back nearby the fence. Some guy walking a dog let it get close to the cats. Suddenly, somewhat unsteady being apparently inebriated, he tripped, which lengthened the leash’s reach—allowing the dog to advance on Bruce, grab him by head and shoulder, and thrash him about the way a canine might one of those stupid plush toys.
I dismissed the Featured Image, after taking it using Leica Q2 on Sept. 3, 2021. But tonight, while looking for something to share, I reconsidered the street shot.
My wife and I passed the discarded instant waffle, while walking along either Alabama or Mississippi on our way to Smart & Final in San Diego neighborhood North Park. Who left it, and why? Did someone accidentally “leggo my Eggo”, referring to the long-time marketing tagline? Blueberry!
I rarely walk down Shirley Ann Place in my San Diego neighborhood of University Heights because the atmosphere along the street is so heavy, which contrasts the quaint Spanish-style abodes. Residents sure seem to be politically, and opposingly, opinionated. American flags fly from houses next to those with rainbow banners. Angry progressive rhetoric signs fill windows one place, while conservative banter fills another.
The Featured Image, taken three days after the California Primary, captures some of the rivalry when compared to this shot of the house beyond—where, in second half 2020, hung Old Glory spray-painted with BLM.
Composition-wise, the Featured Image is not as appealing as the angled shot that I considered sharing instead. But the single pair of bundled socks—shoved into an empty drawer-space—makes the moment for me. I wonder what is their story? Why are they there? I will never know.
The discarded desk waits for a new owner in one of the University Heights East alleys between Adams and Monroe. My apologies but I don’t offhand recall which one. I can attest to passing by the thing—perhaps too tucked away in flowering vines to be easily seen by San Diego rummagers—several times over many days. Maybe missing drawers dissuade scavengers, who miss out. That’s solid wood, not pressboard. If I needed a desk…but do not.
Today is the fifth anniversary of mom’s passing. Chatting with my sister Nan, she said something about a Facebook quiz querying whether one would want a different mother if such circumstance could be. She wouldn’t. Nor would I. Mom was imperfectly perfect.
She was selfless in all the ways that matter. She was generous within her means. She wasn’t one to hold grudges or to flush with anger. By measure of core character, she was—and I should say is in the afterlife—genuinely good as most anyone can be in this world born from evil seed. We four children were blessed to have her.