Nomadism 101: Morro Bay and the California Central Coast

Scott Arany and I spent a few days north of LA in California's Central Coast several weeks ago, shooting a short film and enjoying some time away from the city. You can see more pictures on Picasa and the short film on Vimeo.

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Nomadism 101: Detroit, MI

Doing some catch-up on my recent nomadism...here are pictures from my grandmother's funeral - you can see more at my Picasa site.


My Sister, Chelsea


My Cousin Brandon and I


My Grandfather

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And This, This is Why I Love TED

Thanks Sahale, for pointing me at this.



Sorry for the size weirdness - trying to fix that...

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Ashes on Wednesday

I celebrated Ash Wednesday today for the first time in my life. This is not a typical Adventist tradition, and being the good little Adventist boy that I am (ok, so I'm snarky in the morning - gimme a break), I had my concerns and questions about the service. I really won't dig into that right now - I don't think it's important for this. I attended the service this morning at the Purple Church and was really touched. I was not convinced to participate in the imposition of ashes until the moment of - and I felt moved to take part in that symbol.

I can't speak for other Ash Wednesday services, but I feel that Ryan and Scott designed a service that pushed me to rededicate myself to service and God, that reminded me that I am in need of confession, and that God still has a ridiculous amount of work to do on me. A celebration of fasting and a recognition of the journey which we are on - what could be better for a melancholy like me, eh?

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New Cinematography Reel

Leslie Foster Cinematography Reel from Leslie Foster on Vimeo.

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Lover

"Carrie Davis Foster was born on June 23, 1918 in Indianola, Mississippi.
She was the eldest of four siblings born to the union of Lafayette and Retha Weathington Davis (both of who preceded her in death). Carrie was educated in the Detroit Public Schools system (Barstow Elementary and Miller High School). She later married Jones E. Foster. They were blessed with three children, Eugenia, Jerome, and Henry.

Carries was affectionately called 'Lover' by her family, for she touched the hearts
of many people in her lifetime.

She became a faithful member of the Hartford Seventh-day Adventist Church, now know as City Temple Seventh-day Adventist Church, serving as Cradle Roll and Kindergarten teacher. She was secretary of the elegant 'Friendship Circle Club,' which was known for their fabulous teas and fashion shows. She was a charter member for more than 30 years. She also enjoyed being a part of the Sunday Rook Club,

Lover worked at Detroit Memorial Hospital as a surgical nurse technician for 33 years. Upon her retirement she began to bake professionally. She made, wedding, bridal shower, and baby shower cakes. Her culinary talents never ceased to amaze anyone who tasted her cooking. Lover was an excellent cook--holidays were extra special. Almost every Sabbath, Jones (affectionately called Greepy) and Lover's home was the gather place.

Our sweet Lover departed this life on Sunday, January 25, 2009. Preceding her in death was her sister Ernestine Humphreys and brother Edward Davis.

She leaves to cherish her memory her husband of 68 1/2 years; daughter Eugenia (Charles); son, Jerome (Gwen), son, Dr. Henry Foster (Patricia); grandchildren, Carolyn Terrel (David), Marcia Walker, Charles C. Kent (Nurhayat), Natis Rambus (Dion), Jerome 'Dee' Foster, Leslie Foster, and Chelsea Foster; nine great-grandchildren, one sister, Thelma Scott; special adopted son Herbert Alford; and a host of nieces, nephews, and other family members and friends who loved her and will miss her greatly."

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Nomadism 101: Scotsdale, AZ

I spent this weekend at a boarding school in Arizona - I joined Lennox and Danny M. on their annual trek across the desert from LA to Thunderbird Adventist Academy at the edge of Phoenix. Lenn always speaks of the time he spent there as a really special part of his year - being able to share his stories and music with the high school students. I jumped at the chance to get out of town - I'd get to hang out with two amazing musicians and meet some new people.





There's something really special about teenagers - all the hurt and hormones vibrating inches from the surface. We smirk and write it off as angst - but there's something pure about it - people floating somewhere between childhood and adulthood, all prickly with those beautiful rough edges society hasn't sanded down yet. I've always preferred diamonds-in-the-rough to the over-processed mass of shiny we seem to value so much, but I suppose I digress.




So--being surrounded by academy kids who are learning far too fast to cram all the uneven edges into neat, little, masks always brings out the melancholy in me. So, to you, the kids of TAA - careful with those masks - they get stuck and slowly steal your souls; but I suspect you already know that. Thanks for sharing your time with us, listening to us, and letting us listen to you. And to one particular person, thank you for sharing your stories with me; sometimes I need to be reminded why what I do matters, I'm glad a few little films I created years ago were able to get you thinking - you know, it has nothing to do with me, I just listened.

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"Praise Song for the Day"

I wanted to post Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem. I've heard a lot of mixed opinions about the poem - my sister felt it was incoherent. However, I loved it. I'm reposting here (originally posted at the excellent Jack & Jill Politics).

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, Words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; Words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

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