Here are the flyers for submission into the ASP Photography Competition. And just to make it easy, click right here and it'll take you to the online submission page. I'm one of the worker bees involved in this and I would love to see your work. [Terry Etherton will be this year's juror.] And nothing is too small or too insignificant. The last three years I've been pleasantly surprised by some of the winners in the Show. Hope you will submit.
Love, and Light, Stu
"Stu's Dolmen, atop Cathy's Fault, Dripping Springs, Arizona" (c) 2010 Stu Jenks
[This is where I would like to have my ashes placed after my death. (A service will be held at Grace St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Tucson as well, even though I'm more a Buddha boy than a Jesus guy.) My remains don't need to be inside of the small dolmen you see pictured above, but near it would be nice. Craig Acorn has the lead on this. His numbers are in my cellphone. Please place my current sobriety chip, my Angel Coin, and a copy of the key to my '88 Pathfinder (if I still own it) inside of the small tomb. Also, Craig, taken a couple dozen of the small pretty stones that litter my apartment and studio, and give them to any who would like to take a rock to the summit. And everyone, feel free to add any and all mementos that you would like to place inside or around the dolmen (The little tomb isn't very big, but there is room for small things.) Please come and visit me too, or at least tip your hat to me, as you drive north of Winkelman on Highway 77. The Bighorns and Mule Deer who graze there will keep me company during the day, and the starry sky will be my blanket at night, but I could always use a visit, every now and then, from a living human being. I don't plan on dying anytime soon, but I am 55, am on the road a lot, have been ridden pretty hard much of my life, and I do live on the happily-uncertain and unexpectedly-joyous planet call Earth. (Security really is the biggest illusion of all, you know.) Anyway, know that I love you all, and I mean all of you. And thanks ahead of time for taking me to Cathy's Fault, one of the most beautiful places in all the world, at least to me.]
From The 2009 All Souls' Procession, Tucson, Arizona (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[All images by Stu Jenks, except the bottom one of me in a kilt, taken by Tom Willett]
"Two Sisters & A Daughter" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[Top Image: "Pamela, visiting from North Carolina, talks with her mother about who-knows-what; Mary's a little confused."; Bottom Image: "Virginia compares her arm size with her sister Mary's, to see who is the thinnest Belle at the Ball; Virginia's nurse smiles; Pamela comments on the comparison."]
Photog's Note: Being real skinny isn't the best thing when you're in your 80's, but these two sisters have been competing with each other ever since they were teenagers. Mom has always felt like Virginia was the Pretty Sister. Perhaps. But Mary was the one with the rocking figure, back in the day.
"Double Rainbow at Dragoon Springs, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[Happy All Souls' Day, and Day of the Dead, y'all. May the ghosts of your ancestors and loved ones find you happy and free, today, tonight and always. My father just whispered a piece of advice in my ear. I'm not going to share it with y'all, but I plan to heed it. ]
"Our Lady of the Rosary Church, Little Italy, San Diego, California" (For my mother Mary) (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[Chapter who-knows-what from the book "Dementia Blues]
Jessica, the nurse, changes Mom’s diaper as I watch. Mary almost fell out of bed, just minutes before my visit.
“Oh, Stu. I don’t know what is going on!”
“I know, Mom. You almost fell out of bed.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did, Mary,” Jessica says, gently.
“Yes. You did, Mom. But it’s OK that you don’t remember,” I say.
Mary is suffering. Every old ache and pain is brand new, no matter that most are decades old. Her bedroom is forever unfamiliar, in spite of the old prints and needlepoints on the wall that she has owned for years. She often thinks she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what that something is. I tell her often that this is where she has lived for almost a year. She is surprised every time.
Later, I just talk about my day; her, laying in her hosital bed, me, sitting on a ancient wooden chair we brought from Virginia. Many days, my chatting about my life is plenty for her. She loves to hear me talk about this and that. She often responds with an “Oh, that’s good.” or “I know you miss your friend so” or “You know I love you.” Today was “You look so beautiful to me.” But that didn’t last. The light in her eye changes, replaced with the haunted stare of suffering, confusion, and fear of being in a world, a house, a room, a bed, that is perpetually strange to you. The only joy today is that she know me, knows her son loves her, knows that he is here with her, right here, right now.
I unhinge the gate and walk to my car: thinking, that if Mary lives more than six months to a year, I’m going to be pretty pissed off at God. I know the dementia isn’t God’s fault. That God doesn’t let suffering end, or let Mom die, just because I want it to be so. But God? Christ! Throw the old lady a bone! And guide me daily in what I need to do and not do with my mother. And if you can, take her. Please take her. In her sleep would be nice, but I don’t care how anymore. Just take her. Soon. Please.
"Cross for Uncle Teddy, Old Sonoita Highway, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[Watched part of Uncle Teddy's funeral this morning. I will miss him very much. A great man who grew into his greatness. A man who understood that friendship was about loving people for who they are, not for what they believe. And today, he
has inspired me to be more loving and caring toward
people. All people; the difficult to love and the easy to love, the giving and the selfish, the Flush and the Needy. And to be, personally, an even better man, to let go of
more of my addictions, like Nicotine, so I can live longer, so I can love longer, so I can give more. And to let go of old prejudices, and old angers and old sadness, and old ways of doing things. And to be more open to The Big Mysteries. And Finally, that we need to carry on, in spite of the grief we carry. We owe it to ourselves, our friends, our families. It's a good debt to own. It's what makes me a good man in the Human Community. So thank you, Teddy. We shall carry on.]