What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or in the holy name of liberty or democracy?
- Mahatma Gandhi
Syracuse Pro-Trump Anti-Immigrant Rally joined by the NY Militia and opposed by Antifa protestors and Syracuse University students.
Meet Pat. That’s her on the left.
Lisa and I met Pat last night at a bar in Waterloo, NY while we waited for Villa*Nova to come on stage. We got there early and ordered a pretty good veggie pizza and some mighty fine wings. They were “spicy cowboy” which appeared to be Kraft BBQ sauce with few shakes of Franks. Not bad if you get them chargrilled. Great when reheated on a hot grill pan. But back to Pat.
We were sitting there drinking our cocktails when I saw Pat making her way from her barstool toward our table. She was tiny. 5 feet tall…maybe. About 85 pounds. Virtually the same size as Mom DeBlois but without Mom’s china doll quality. She was about Mom’s age as well. 80 or so.
Pat had lived a rough life and it showed on her face. Wrinkled and lived in. She had what I call “New England” face. Weathered from the hard winters and that weird aversion some New Englanders have to lotion. Pat said she is at that bar every night. So there’s that.
Pat had noticed my camera and wanted to know if I was a photographer. I told her I was and she wanted to know what kind of pictures I take. I told her that I take pictures of people and things. People if they let me. Things if they don’t.
She asked if I took pictures of Lisa and I said “of course”. Pat then asked if I wanted to take a picture of her and I said “Absolutely. I’d be glad to.”
“Naked?”, she said, grinned wider and giggled more. Before I could answer, Lisa said “That would be great!”. I agreed.
Pat giggled some more. And her smile broadened.
RiverHouse Photography of Caughdenoy, NY
© RiverHouse Group of Caughdenoy, new YorK, LLC
“There is, I believe, no person, however insignificant in the world, but, if an account of his life and adventures were committed to paper, would be entertaining in some degree: the follies of our own life, and those we are liable to be drawn into by others, will constantly afford matter for serious reflection.”
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