Sunday, February 7, 2021
I put up a post yesterday about a lovely 96-year-old man I interviewed last week in connection with a new book project. In the post, I recounted this man's brush with history on a tragic night in 1968, split by the firecracker sound of gunshots. The second bullet fired shattered his skull. I shared how he reinvented his life after he recovered, with high purpose that hasn't ebbed even now. But after I pressed publish, I got to thinking about the fact that my contact with this man came through my book subject, and was part of my research for our work together. Even though the facts I shared in the post are all in the public domain, still I wasn't sure if my writing about them here might infringe on our agreement. And so, erring on the side of caution, I took the post down. When eventually the book is published, perhaps I'll put back up some version of the yesterday's post, because it was a life encounter that moved me, and I'd like to record it somehow beyond the book, which isn't my story, but my subject's.
In the meantime, with the snow coming down outside on this quiet Superbowl Sunday—how different from this day one short year ago—here are some photographs taken in Jamaica by my niece Arrianne, aka @visionarri, our weekend wanderer, who travels around our little island documenting its beauty with a lover's eye. That's Arri above with her trusty camera, and drinking coconut water from a roadside vendor somewhere in the country. Her photographs of Jamaica nourish me, and make me grateful that no matter where I am planted, that spectacularly beautiful island with shores kissed by a turquoise sea will always be my heart's first true home.