-

 A week ago, on Sunday May 29, Karinaland garden was filled with celebration of precious life... 

...with live classical music, birds eagerly chiming in. And we had delicious Armenian food from La Mediterranée, and perfect weather. I was amazed that 32 people accepted my invitation, young and old.  A kind of “coming-out” after 2 plus years. Friends going back 20 or 30 years – and even 40 years – showed up. I needed community to mark the 2022 re-issue of my late husband’s 1989 classic Black Lives, White Lives. Two years of hard work to make it happen with UC Press, my eye on all details of content and design so this extraordinary book and the voices featured in it, can now live on for future generations. And wonderful community it was! On this Memorial Day...

https://www.ucpress.edu/blog/59067/the-enduring-relevance-of-bob-blauners-black-lives-white-lives/ 

 

For more photos go to the album Christopher made: https://photos.app.goo.gl/yhHGaVYpsqyDzzLM7 


Elbert Tsai (violin) and Christine Simpson (viola)


The book sharing circle of our colorful crowd went on till sunset, discussing hard and sad realities in America, from racism to recent waves of shootings, from questions and despair to hope of the younger generation present.

With deep gratitude for everyone who attended  

and helped create a memorable & meaningful afternoon

Karina



Comments

Alex K said…
It was a beautiful day in all ways beginning with the weather, the beauty of Karinaland, the heartfelt people of all ages and backgrounds, the glorious music in such an intimate setting, the listening to each other, delicious food. Thank you for your generosity and hard work in making it all come together.
June 7, 2022 at 8:09 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
Image
  Immigration On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building  on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco  that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible an...
Read more
-
Image
  Last Dance with Uncle Oak This time, to honor the loss of another member of my ancient live oaks, I want to climb into the tree. Like I used to do 32 years ago, move, touch, feel – suspended in the air, resting on bark, sensations to be remembered. Perhaps documenting it? I ask around last minute, and find a good match in photographer  Rebecca Weinstein  to take stills of my last dance with old Uncle Oak. Once my naked feet touch the rough bark, a dynamic joy starts spreading through my body and limbs. The surprising urge to elongate myself within the safety of his sturdy arms. Next morning in a different light, I dress for another chance of closeness, envisioning my smallness to be captured. The freedom to grow into a tree, become tree , get an oak’s view, blend well, and disappear eventually. Uncle Oak, has been leaning for decades, growing northward horizontally, reaching far over into the neighbor’s yard. Now that Mama Oak has left, his malaise is more apparent...
Read more
-
Image
  “I Wanted All Of Society To Be A Witness.” These days, when tears spring up in the eye so quickly, so readily like tiny wild strawberries, each time I know the heart is touched whether I want it or not – the silvery breathy voice of the young science writer, the shy bowing of the singer receiving her applause, the sweet smile of Cecile after an exquisite concert, the fiercely angry voices of French admirers of Gisèle Pelicot. And then of course: the grandson, one arm around his 72-year-old grandmother’s shoulder as she gives her brief speech to the press after a grueling months-long public trial of rape. He admiringly glances at her, with utter calm, concentration and confidence, soft support in his face and body language, nothing restless, over bearing, pitying – only admiration, respect and love. And I burst into tears! This rape story is not about a celebrity, starlet, beauty queen, but about a retired manager, married mother and grandmother, having been drugged unconscious an...
Read more