Sunday, October 31, 2021 at 8:29AM A few sketchbook page images from our stay in Maine this fall.
on the north side of tiny spectacle island
lobster boat in Stand Cove on a moody day
laundry day in Blue Hill
pebble beach
stonington harbor
view to the south
Sunday, July 18, 2021 at 9:36AM I used to believe if my mother lived into old age, that when she died, I would be sad, and I'd take it in stride. Not feel grief like losing her while in college or high school, or eleven years old as she was when her mother died, or if I'd been five years old and still a little boy. I was wrong.
My mother died at 5:00AM on Friday, July 16. My sister phoned me a few minutes later, but I was already awake, 250 miles away. That afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' house, I wrote this obituary.
my mother with me, 1956, from the Syracuse Herald-Journal
Michiko Kawasaki Stultz passed away peacefully at home just before dawn Friday morning. Her husband of 66 years, Ted, held her hand as she took her last breath.
Born in Ibaraki-ken, Japan, the middle of three sisters, Michiko grew up in difficult circumstances during and after World War II. She met her future husband, Theodore R. Stultz, in a Tokyo café where she was a waitress and he was a customer, a U.S. Marine stationed at nearby Camp McNair. Their courtship was frowned on by her family, but Ted left Japan and his tour of duty with the promise that he’d return for her, and as soon as it could be arranged, he did. Upon their arrival in the United States as a married couple, she was warmly embraced by his family, and in her waning years increasingly expressed her deep gratitude to her husband for rescuing her from the harshness of postwar Japan, and giving her such a wonderful life here in America. Eventually, she and her family reconciled and maintained a close relationship from half a world away. She returned to Japan for many visits, and her children benefited from their Japanese heritage, but her life was in America. Everyone who came felt welcome in her house.
Along with her husband, Michiko leaves behind three half sisters and relatives in Japan, and all five of her children with Ted; Scott A. Stultz, Naomi Canale, Cynthia M. Stultz, Gregory O. Stultz, and Jennifer Metz, with their partners and spouses, twelve grandchildren and three great grandchildren. She was especially grateful to her doctor, William P. Berkery, MD, without whose loving care her life would have ended years ago. We and the many other family members and friends whose lives she touched will remember her for her generosity, wonderful cooking, impeccable housekeeping, tireless work ethic, colorful personality, and indomitable spirit. She was known for her unbeatable Christmas cookies and award winning apple pie, and everyone who met her knew her beautiful smile. We already miss her warmth, laughter, and that smile that lit up the darkest of days.
my mother in later but still healthy years
Monday, September 21, 2020 at 5:04PM The Autumnal Equinox is not until tomorrow, but the weather in Washington, DC on Saturday was what I think of when I imagine a perfect early fall day - sun shining in a vividly blue sky, the air comfortable but cool enough for a sweater, a faint breeze hinting at chilly days and months ahead.
Like most people, I've been feeling the stress of the pandemic, increasingly destructive climate driven events, and a bewilderingly toxic political environment. Optimism is harder and harder to sustain, or even muster. What otherwise might have been minor annoyances become obsessive and poisonous. My mood was dark on Saturday afternoon before Ina and Nora suggested we should go for a walk in Rock Creek Park.
We drove down towards Peirce Mill, eventually found a place to park on a residential street, put on our face masks and walked. When we got to the old mill falls, I stopped and grumpily told Ina and Nora that I'd meet them at that spot in an hour. They continued to the trail up the creek while I eased myself over the high steel guardrail and settled myself on a pebble strewn slab next to the falls.
That constant sound of a dammed stream dropping across a straight stone and concrete wall in a ragged sheet. The hypnotic effect of trying to follow it with my eyes as it disintegrates into boiling stacks of foam that trail off as the water picks up speed and resolves into a fast moving current. And emptying my mind of everything except the soothing presence and movement of water. Walking for an hour would have been good for my muscles and joints, but my mind and spirit needed to be still, cleansed by that sunlight dappled falls.
Peirce Mill falls on Rock Creek, Washington, DC
Tuesday, June 16, 2020 at 7:52AM These may be my final images here as I transition to a new website.
compositional sketches
pen and ink
pastel progress
soft pastels on Rives BFK paper, 30" x 22"
