Young Rob in 1978

I just need to copy this photo here (snagged from Indiewire...no pun intended :)) because I love it so much. Young Rob Epstein!!! This is 1978. We met in 1973, our very first day of college. We were inseparable for months, then life shifted. But our paths kept crossing, and have still been crossing all these years later. I couldn't be more proud of Rob's career - he's made some incredible, deeply affecting films.

How I wish I had at least one picture of us young together!!

Thrilled to see the renewed attention Rob is getting for his superb The Times of Harvey Milk. And chomping at the bit to immerse in Gus Van Sant's Milk. I've missed several advanced screenings. A great subject, a great director. And I lived in SF 1975-1980. I remember that moment very well. I was spending all my time outside of my day job (distributing experimental films) up off Castro at a small lesbian run theatre company. I'm pre-disposed to go crazy for this film on so many, many levels. Really looking forward to it.

2008 Pre-Thanksgiving Mull

Just back from a late night trip to the 24 hour grocery. Not that I needed to. Not really. I just like going to the supermarket on a high traffic, pre-holiday moment. Somehow it gets me into the mood. I like the random human interaction. I like the smiles between strangers, and the little courtesies. It grounds me, amuses and delights. Lost in the anonymity, I just feel very very human. Didn't Oprah say that's what she most misses in her life? Shopping by herself in the supermarket?

I started the day early (early enough to still get a parking space) at the Central Market, the upscale sister to the more mainstream 24 hour HEB. It's a different picture tonight. The shelves are rummaged, bare, and disheveled, though employees are hard at work guiding and unpacking stacked carts full of fresh goods for the post-Thanksgiving rush. In the aisles wander young couples and Hispanics of all ages. I like the contrast. I feel at home in both environments. Satisfying bookends. Indulging in my own economic stimulus package, and human recharge.

On Cassie's daily visit to the office (yesterday when we kidded her boyfriend of 5 years, once apparently an active bachelor, now seemingly incapable of spending more than 45 minutes away from her, he smiled, "45 minutes is a LONG time." But I digress....) Cassie and I find ourselves talking about giving thanks. I realize I've blogged about what I'm talking about previously and go back to send her the easy link. Funny enough, the sentiments are exactly what I wrote about on this day last year. The pre-Thanksgiving mull.

But I also find myself lingering on a couple of different recent conversations with some younger women friends. Ages 28, 24, 21. In each case, they're wondering about their life, and how good or down they feel, and what seems to be missing. The common refrain is, "I need some new friends...some better friends for who I am now." And it makes me wonder...in this day of incessant social networks, is it still so hard to find people that feed and inspire you? Has it always been this hard? Is that the journey? As you mine for important connections, is that how you discover who you are? Have the social networks made it easier or harder? Interesting questions as I peer from my generation to the younger.

austin kleon's big move and the sweetness of perspective

Sadly I've been too busy to keep up as much as I like with Austin Kleon's blog and tumblelog but had a chance this weekend on the 7 hour drive to and back from Lubbock for that amazing UT/Texas Tech football game Friday night -- and came across this. What a lovely sentiment -- and so true..... Here's wishing them continued closeness and intriguing perspective along with larger pacing territory.


From austinkleon.com:


SKETCHBOOK

THE NEW HOUSE

Friday, October 31st, 2008

In the midst of the mortgage crisis, Meg and I went out and bought a house. We closed today, we move in this weekend. In the five years that we’ve known each other, we’ve never lived in anything bigger than a one-bedroom apartment. Now we both have offices, a washer/dryer, a two-car garage…it’s very surreal.

When you live with someone in a tiny apartment, you’re always in close proximity. You never see that person more than 10 or 20 feet away, because there isn’t 10 or 20 feet to gain between you. You get used to seeing them from a particular distance.

Meg and I often meet each other for lunch on campus. When I see her from far away, walking towards me, often she looks like a different person—she looks like a stranger, or someone I just met. It’s like a visual refresh. (I wonder if this visual element isn’t part of the hidden magic of what self-help couples books tell you to do: meet for dinner, but take separate cars…)

I’m reminded of this passage from Dylan Horrocks’ Hicksville:

Maps are of two kinds. Some seek to represent the location of things in space. That is the first kind - the geography of space. But others represent the location of things in time - or perhaps their progression through time. These maps tell stories, which is to say they are the geography of time. [...] But these days I have begun to feel that stories, too, are basically concerned with spatial relationships. The proximity of bodies. Time is simply what interferes with that, yes?

I wonder about this proximity of bodies. I wonder how we will grow in a bigger space, with an upstairs and downstairs. How our changing spatial relationships might alter our story…

Above is a sketch of the house, superimposed over a page from William Maxwell’s wonderful short novel, So Long, See You Tomorrow.