Tag Archives: Images

Descansos :: More Images


I learned that he left behind a twin sister, a brother & two griving parents. He liked Arizona Ice Tea (as do I) & he is very much loved by his family. Live flowers indicate that this memorial is being maintained by loved ones.
Somebody takes care of this marker with live flowers. The day I took this picture, the lawn maintenance crew was trimming back some overgrown weeds off the marker. The lawn mowers are buzzing by; the edge trimmers are whipping stubborn, overgrown weeds out of existance and the traffic is whirling by. In the mist of all this noise and urban chaos, I experienced a moment on peace, gratitude & solice.

As everything buzzing by, I see the lawn maintance guy all of a sudden slow his pace down. He put down the weed eater and got down on his kness. He reached and pulled the weeds around this memorial out by hand. One-by-one each weed and overgrown blade of grass was pulled. By the time I went to reach for the camera, the moment passed. He got up, did the sign of the cross over his chest, bowed down and in that instant, the whirlling of the weed cutter started up again.

Life passing by in a blaring instant did not allow me to capture this moment – except in my memory.

That is how life goes by! In the moment we stop to analyze it, it is gone! Life is to short so live every moment as if it was the only that mattered.

From photographing these Descansos, I will capture the moment and I will reflect on what it means to me. I am even thinking of documenting all of this – yuo never know – this could be my thesis for a masters!! Or at the very least a documentary study of roadside memorials in South Florida.

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Descansos :: Anonymous Memorial

Anonymous MemorialANONYMOUS
A stainless steel cross finely crafted and lovingly devoted. Made so that it will never wear away, never fade away…

…like the public memories of the crash.
The edge between light & shadowTHE EDGE
The edge between light and shadow is lovingly marked so that no one can ever forget. The message of love, loss & remembrance is boldly stated for everyone to know that someone crossed over right here.

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Another Day at the Point.

(Another premise for a short story… Please let me know what you think.)
It was a typical New York summer morning, you know, hot, muggy and the air had the thick charge of war. Last night was not a typical Friday night, though. The sounds of battle were louder than usual. The gunfight, the police sirens glaring and the urgency of the ambulance’s lights seemed closer. The popping of gunfire kept me sitting at the edge of the bed, curled up in a corner. It goes on for what seems like hours. The noise constantly going and the sounds of timber popping in the fire! I don’t know if I could go out there and do that.

I head outside for some air. Sitting on the front stoop waiting for what – I don’t know – just staring off into space. My mother comes out a few minutes later sees me sitting there. What’s the matter honey? The sounds last night kept me up. Don’t worry, honey that was far away – it won’t affect you, she conforts me. With these words, I forget last night’s events. Quikly, she loads the kids up into the Kermit-the-Frog green 1972 Chevy Station Wagon. Every third Sunday of the month, always at six am, we would head down to Hunts Point market. The point, as it’s reputation precedes it, was an unusual sigh of relief from this war zone. It was full of activity and life, unlike this neighborhood.

As we pull away from the house & round the corner, the sights of the South Bronx come into view. Building after building burned to the ground and the unlucky ones that did not burn or collapse, stood like hollowed out skeletons with an empty stare. This created a field of ruble, among empty shells of the past, that my older brother and I would use as our playground.

We were one of the lucky ones. Our block was one of the few that were not destroyed from the usual fires. Each of the houses on our block were owned by normal folks and as such did not suffer the demise of the ones owned by the slumlords. Many of our friends have lost their homes this way.

Finally we arrive at the Point. I love this place! Here I see my mother’s true ability of negotiation. Her strongest virtue is her ability to haggle with the vendors to buy cases of carrots, oranges and tomatoes. She would work them down to the point where the guys would say, lady! I give up – I can’t go that low. At that instant, she would say, Ok kids lets move on! She would take a small step forward and start walking away. Sure enough, the vendors would stop her and a strange thing would happen. Her eyes would light up and she would get this look on her face, she knew she’s got them. As she turns around, she would add, I will only take it, if you throw in two pint of strawberries. Sure enough she would get it and we would be satisfied for the rest of the day of shopping.
Fulton Fish Market
Eating berries and playing safe innocent kids games on the loading dock of the Point. Safety among the chaos of the city.

I liked this story enough that I started a new blog all its own. It is a fictitious journal of the daily adventures of a young boy surviving the urban jungle of the war-torned South Bronx. Check it out!

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Peace & Serenity

“Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.” — Confucius

A time existed when I Peace & Serenity ...
needed to always be right.
I needed to impose that
on you.

A time existed when I
made you wrong & that I
needed to fix you.

A time existed when I
blew you off simply
because you did not
agree with me.

That time seems to have
occupied an eternity.
It seems to have taken you
from me. It seems to
have defined me.

So now I want to live
a time where judgements
are non-existant.

A time where I don’t
need to make things right.

I want a time where life is
lived to the fullest with you.

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Where would I be…

my life crumbles without you - by: Juan of team-aztlan.com
Where would I be
without you?

Like a vagabond at the
edge of the shore,
I would be searching
for my guiding light.

Without your love
I would be a lost bird
dying by the side
of the road.

Without you,
how can I say
I am complete.
How can I say
that I am me.

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