Musings and Photos: On First Meetings and How I Sort-Of Allude to Peekaboo in a Serious, Philosophy-Minded Kind of Way

In this post, I free associate about first meetings, love, and God knows what else!

Sometimes you have to lie back down on the concrete to see what's up there.

There’s something potentially powerful in a first meeting, So, which is why, if you watch like, um, Pre-K students or Kindergarten students, there's a struggle, a challenge in adapting to others because it's strange. It's not mother’s face; it's not home. It's not the womb. It's not the place where you grew up. It's not, it's not that, you know, and that's why like child psychologists or developmental psychologists will talk about like, um, the experiences of the young child, right before they go to school, where they, where they, um, experienced this back and forth between I'm scared; I'm safe; I'm welcomed. I'm, uh, I'm terrified; I'm. . . I'm taken in; I'm comforted, right? So this, like, gets encapsulated in the childhood game of like peekaboo. I'm here. I'm not there. So presence and absence. Um, and for me, you know, I can tap into some deep psychic stuff, you know, like something, this, I can feel, like a child, when that love object is absent. I mean, it's such a strong visceral feeling, which is why I think first love for a teenager or a young adult can be so powerful and rip you apart. I mean, I can remember just longing for somebody who I was in love with, you know, wanting to be with them. And when I wasn't with them, it just was this physical feeling of absence. Um, so that's real. I mean, that's like kick to the gut emotion. Um, and perhaps you get out into the world — for me, moving from small town Louisiana to Europa to a Benedictine monastery (yes, that happened), to New York and the world again, I'm not sure what happens, but you get used to the pain — of that — of this — world. Offers or you take, or you look for; or, you pine. Are you able, you're able to sort of like sublimate, whatever you lost, what will you able to like, not replace, but you're able to sort of like transmute, whatever you lost into something new. Right? That's what art is. That's what creativity is and all that kind of stuff. Um, but going back to this original idea of like, when the, the potential power in a first meeting, right, the potential power there is, and just meeting someone for the first time, you know, um, uh, it can be such a satisfactory experience, right?

Photos (Read From Left and Clockwise):
Women in Red Dresses in Flushing;
Getting off the LIRR in Port Washington;
Two Dead Fish;
A Fishmonger and His Assistant

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Pizza Face: Wednesdays in the School Dining Hall

What do you eat for lunch at school?

On Wednesdays, we eat Pizza.

A Slice of Pizza

Pizza Face. What you looking at?

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#pizzaface #teachersofinstagram #lunch #school

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Travel Postcard: That Time I Visited a Public Library in Saltillo, Mexico

In this post, I write about finding a photograph of me standing in front of a public library in Saltillo, Mexico.

Greig poses in front of a public library in the city of Saltillo in Coahuila, Mexico (c. 1998).

On a Trip to Mexico When I was Seventeen and a College Seminarian 

I am guessing my friend Tony took this photograph of me standing in front of a public library in Saltillo, Mexico, sometime in 1998 or 1999. I am about seventeen years old in this picture — and I was on a trip to Mexico with a bunch of seminarians.

Finding Old Pictures of Me (And Why I Love Libraries)

I found the photograph in a stack of pictures that I had stashed away at my mother's house in Louisiana. Armed with my photo scanner (i.e., my iPhone), I scanned the picture. At first, I had no recollection of where the picture was taken. We had gone to a few cities on this trip, having driven a van from New Orleans, Louisiana, to Laredo, Texas, to Monterrey, to Saltillo, and then to Mexico City. Was the picture taken in Mexico City? No. In Monterrey? No. After a bunch of failed internet searches, I finally found out the picture's location after stumbling upon a similar-looking building on a website dedicated to the history of Mexico via photography. Voila! It's the public library in Saltillo (located in the Mexican state of Coahuila!), La Biblioteca Publica del Estado. 

I look thrilled and content in the photograph. I am obviously excited to be standing in front of the library. Here is the library from an archival photograph I found:

La Biblioteca Publica del Estado, Coahuila, Saltillo — Image Credit: Photo archived by Gerardo Zárate 

The Symbolism of the Library (for me)

Libraries are symbolic for me — they symbolize free access to information, reading, literacy, and learning that attempt to scale above the prescription that education is fixed and only for a certain type of people. I love how the door to this library is open — adorned with Corinthian columns, another symbol — of the liberal arts — and people are seated on the steps. Libraries are public spaces, as well as places of learning and knowledge.

When you visit a new place, where do you like to go? Let me know in the comments.

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Photograph: The Constellation Orion Hangs in the Late Autumn Nighttime Sky

"Hitch your wagon to a star."

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fall Night Sky 🌌 in Nassau County - The constellation Orion, named after the agile Greek hunter, is easily visible in the night sky. Look for him. Also, I’m happy this photograph came out so crisp and clean.

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Artful Photograph: Philip-Lorca di Corcia

Photo by Philip-Lorca di Corcia (c. 1995)

What story does this photograph tell?

Philip-Lorca di Corcia is an art photographer. You may be familiar with di Corcia's body of work. In the early Nineties, he did a series of photographs of street hustlers in Los Angeles - charging them to pose for him at the same price the men would normally charge a client for sex. 

In the above photograph, part of a series of images wherein di Corcia would photograph a banal scene (i.e., a gas station, a drug store, a hotel room) with a model who does not quite fit into the scene, the artist plays with light, setting, and storytelling.

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Two Photographs: Push (推) and Pull (拉)

I was walking on Bowery on a Fall day in Lower Manhattan and I was struck by the simplicity (and pragmatism) of these two opposite facing signs stuck to a store window written in Mandarin Chinese and English.

"Push" 推

"Pull" 拉

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Do You Have a Comfort Pose?

My Comfort Pose. It's called chin-tucked-in-a-turtleneck pose.

I guess most people have their "comfort" pose. It's that posture one comports to when feeling the need to be comforted, protected. For me, it's pulling my shirt neatly over my chin - and just under my lips, so I can nibble the fabric. It makes me feel safe - especially if I want to feel protected.

I have several comfort poses, actually. Some I've abandoned. Others I’ve kept on. In high school, for example, I carried books close to my chest. All the time. No matter where I was I had a hunky book attached to me. I don't traverse the traffic of my adult life in exactly the same way. Now, I go to my books. I keep them around. I put them in satchels or in the bathroom. I'm a teacher so I've taken to creating a space in my classroom where I showcase books. It’s a professional showcase. But it’s also for comfort.

Most of us want to be comforted so we tend to comfort ourselves in the absence of other's care. And with others, we play with the scripts that comforted us and we play around with what works - and abandon what doesn't.

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Hey! What's your comfort pose? I'd love to know in the comments.

What does the Great Wall of China Have in Common with Supermarket Swivel Chairs at Checkout?

Guard Tower, Great Wall, Simatai, China © 2017

When I was sitting at this sentry gate at the Great Wall last Summer with our school group - I first thought about the many soldiers who had to man their posts at these gates. Then I thought about swivel chairs (which I will explain in a bit).

The wall is dotted with guard towers like this one in the Simatai portion of the Great Wall north of Beijing. How did the soldiers get up here - what was the supply line like when they had to stand guard and maybe were hungry? How many men or women had to stand guard here? What whispers were spoken? What tragedy was befallen?

I am also sad that Airbnb canceled its prize of a night at the Great Wall. It was a thing, and now it's not.

I am then reminded of today's workers who have to endure jobs where you stand in one place for like eight hours. It boggles the mind that in the United States grocery store clerks have to stand at their posts. Wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave workers at our grocery stores sleek work chairs that swivel?

In German and Belgian supermarkets, clerks use ergonomic swivel chairs.

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The Killman Family Story Constructed Through Census Records, Oral Tradition, and Family Photographs

How I created a story of my family's genealogical history using data from the 1930 United States census - with help from family photographs scanned and labeled dating back to the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and more.

An example of a census record as it looked like in 1930.

I was going through old papers, and I found this family project I had done based on the 1930 United States Census, that my friend Bonnie Bess Wood encouraged me to complete.

At the time, my great-aunt Ida Killman Spiehler had spent some time with me during Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and because of our close proximity, I learned a lot about my maternal family tree. I wanted to learn more about my family, so I started to put together details. Thankfully, my Aunt Sandra, (who was also Ida's niece and my mother's older sister), had already done a lot of work. So we teamed up and created a fuller picture of what life may have been like in New Orleans, Louisiana from the turn of the century, to the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927, leading up the 1930 census.

Here is the letter I wrote to my Aunt, a kind of gift I had given her after I had done some genealogical research.

Dear Aunt Nen*,
A Story Gleaned from the United States 1930 Census 
I wrote the following ‘story’ based on information from the United States 1930 Census**. It’s neat what you can find out from genealogical research!

When a Census Taker Comes A-Knocking
On April 17, 1930, in the Gentilly neighborhood of New Orleans, Louisiana, Mr. Frederick Schell knocked on the door at 5141 Arts Street (Between Elysian Fields and Franklin Avenues, and a few blocks South of Dreux Avenue) to get information for the United States Census (being conducted that year). 

This is what I found out by looking at the Census record (Combined with stories you had told me):
Mrs. Albertine Killman answered the door, and she told Mr. Schell that she was 41 years old and that Mr. Francis Killman, Sr. was the head of the household, her husband. They had married on July 9, 1913, when Albertine was only about 24 years old, and Francis was almost 30. Francis, Sr. was 46 years old at the time of the Census, and he worked a salaried job as an engineer at the local ice plant*** to provide for his family who lived with him on Arts Street. Mr. Killman had been in the Navy as a youth as a fireman first class from 1908 to 1912. His first assignment was on board the U.S.S. Colorado. 

U.S.S. Colorado (circa 1908)

How Much Did a Family in New Orleans in 1930 Pay for their Rent Each Month?
The Killman family paid $18 a month for their rent ($509.07 in 2018 money) and did not own a radio of their own. They had four children who, in 1930, were all in school. It costs 7 cents ($1.07 in 2018 money) to take the streetcar to school. 

The Four Killman Kids (My Grandmother and You, Aunt Nen)
Everyone in the family was born in the United States, but Albertine’s parents, Margaret Frank, and Friedrich Burkhardt, were born in Frankfurt, Germany. They emigrated from Germany circa 1860.

Francis, Jr. was the oldest at 16 years of age, Frederick (Or, Freddie, as he was called) was 13, Ida was 11 and Dorothy was 7. All the children were in school at the time this census was taken, and the entire family spoke English.

Two months after this Census was taken by Mr. Schell, a tragedy struck the family. At approximately 14 years of age, Freddie drowned in the Seabrook area of Lake Pontchartrain near the neighborhood of Little Woods.

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Throwback Thursday: Greig is Poolside Wearing Floaties (Sometime in the Late 1980s)

Throwback Thursday: I'm pretty sure this photograph was taken in Pensacola, Florida (or maybe it's Destin). I remember this vacation well because as you can see, I'm learning to swim. I can still feel the chafing effect of the floaties on my skin - mixed with the chlorinated water. Also, that bag of Ruffles ® Sour Cream & Onion potato chips were all mine!

If you look closely, someone's hands (maybe mom’s hands) have inserted itself into the photograph. I'm thinking that's the hand that feeds you; or, someone is requesting that I relinquish my bag of potato chips.

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Family Photograph of Mom Skipping Rope in Chicago

Pamela Roselli skips rope in Chicago, Illinois (circa 1997)

Throwback to a family vacation in 1997 where we walked the streets of Chicago - and my mom decided to jump rope with some kids.

We were walking the streets of Chicago back in 1997 or something like that and Mom decided to play jump rope with the neighborhood kids. Great memory.

We had driven a car to Chicago from New Orleans. We wanted to go to a Cubs game and to see the Chicago Art Institute.

We walked a lot in Chicago which is why I like this photograph. I wonder who those kids are? Do they remember this moment? Mom looks young and energetic, waiting for her time to jump rope. The boy with the hoodie is trained on his game and the girl in the sky blue dress is counting time.

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Photograph Taken a Few Days After Hurricane Katrina at Mom's House in Madisonville, Louisiana

Maggie and Greig, Madisonville, Louisiana circa August 2005

On August 29th, twelve years have passed since Hurricane Katrina stormed the Gulf Coast in 2005. Here is a blog post to commemorate that event.

You can make out the outline of Mom's house in the upper left-hand corner of this photograph. A fallen power line is draped over a felled tree. You can see that the massive oak still stands. Everything else is scattered, twisted, and torn. On August 29th, twelve years have passed since Hurricane Katrina stormed the Gulf Coast. Katrina was a monster wind storm - and this photograph attests to that fact.

Me and My Cat - Circa 1980s Roselli Family Photo

Greig and Toby, LaPlace, Louisiana circa 1987

I like the photograph above for two reasons.
First, Tobey looks glorious and we are definitely bonding - although my toothy grin is a bit unsettling (probably because the image is cropped and half my face is missing).
Second, the sofa we're lounging on sticks in my memory - I loved its satin-like feel - a bit of luxury that I can recall from my Southern Louisiana upbringing in the mid-1980s.

Throwback Thursday: Flour Babies

Back in the mid-nineties - hell, it probably still happens - our public middle school in Saint Tammany Parish Louisiana conducted a program meant to curb teenage pregnancy.

The program was called Flour Babies. Every kid in our Seventh Grade class bought a six-pound bag of flour from the grocery store, we dressed it up to look like a boy or a girl and propped a head on it. I guess we gave it a name.

We carried the flour baby with us everywhere we went. We took it to class, brought it home with us, and made sure we didn't leave it behind.

Leaving behind your flour baby was tantamount to committing childhood neglect - I think kids who left it on the bus or in homeroom had to endure after school suspension. Or maybe they were told, "Don't have kids."

Here are two photos from my flour baby days:

I hold onto my flour baby like it's my own dear baby, baby.

Younger brother and Mom pose with the flour baby.

Did you have a flour baby growing up? I'd love to hear about it.

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Family Photograph: "Mamaw"

There's a photo in my mother's album of my paternal Grandmother, Veronica Greig sipping a cup of coffee.

In 1992, my family moved to a new house in Mandeville, Louisiana.

Mamaw and Pawaw came to visit us very soon after we moved. Mom made sure the house was spotless. My brothers and I were more or less happy because we liked our new neighborhood. And we had a new dog - Maggie.

I must have been in the Sixth or Seventh grade.

Veronica Greig Roselli is my paternal grandmother - from whence I get my name, "Greig"!

There's a photo I found in mom's album. I like how Mamaw is holding her cup of coffee gingerly. I love her glasses. She used to get dressed up on Sunday to go play BINGO. She'd put powder on her face, and it would smudge her glasses but she wouldn't notice.

Mamaw was very sweet. Pawpaw wasn't so nice. He was gruff and vindictive. I'm not sure why - probably a fight between my father and Papaw - but I don't think my grandparents ever visited us again in our house on Live Oak after the day this picture was taken.

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Canadian Geese Family in Philadelphia's Schuylkill River Park

Goose Mother and Her Babies, © 2016 Greig Roselli

I was walking along the banks of the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia and I came upon a goose mother and her yellow-haired babies.

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"Mug Shot Book" at the Philadelphia History Museum

#6774 Daniel Mason, Larceny

At the Philadelphia History Museum, you can view objects that reflect the city's history. Of all the objects on display, I found the "mug shot book" interesting. Dated from the 1900s, the book is an orderly visual compendium of criminals arrested in the city of brotherly love. For example, check out Daniel Mason (#6774), a well-dressed convicted thief (ca. the 1900s).

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Photograph: Spring Day in Philadelphia

"Around Panama Street, I Wouldn't Wonder."

A photograph in Philadelphia of decorative Crabapple trees that line the street with their purple petals.

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Photograph: Cat is an Horizontal "S"

My friend’s black and white spotted house cat lies on the floor in an “S” formation.

Cat is a Horizontal "S"

Image Source: © 2015 Greig Roselli

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On Being Right in the World

An R160B rolling stock working the E line waits in the terminal World Trade Center station in Lower Manhattan.

I do not think it is hokey to think about what kind of energy we project into the world.

No matter how smart you are, what clever ideas you bring to the table, or what accomplishments you've mastered — it's all about how you are in the world that counts.

I'm not talking about broadcasting a veneer of positivity. Even when you don't feel so great, you can still be mindful enough to not let your own feelings seep out and be destructive. I know from experience that never works.

That's why we have art. And stuff. And tragic movies. Or hitting a baseball. Or running until your chest hurts (I know. I don't do that too much.)

Frankly, for me, I'm just beginning to come up to the surface of the water to breathe. And the air does feel good. On my face. The taste of pepper on my scrambled eggs.

Can you tell I am trying to make a breakthrough?