« May 2008 | Main | July 2008 »

June 27, 2008

Storm is a beautiful black cat who visits my studio daily. I always marvel at Storm's ability to plop himself down and appear completely at ease as the world goes quietly crazy around him. He just gives a slow blink every now and then and carries on being Storm. (I know the noise in my head does not bother him.)

Storms ability to relax and be in the moment inspires me. Nothing in his being aspires to be anything other than who he is. Storm is not influenced by newspapers, magazines or television shows.

Words like win at all costs, greed, make money, success and enjoy life, all mean the same thing to Storm the cat.

Absolutely nothing!

It reminds me of a story I heard about a billionaire who went fishing in the Caribbean. One afternoon he came across a fisherman reading a book in a hammock beside his boat.

“Why aren’t you fishing? Asked the billionaire.

“Well, “ said the fisherman. “I have caught enough fish for today.”

“Why don’t you catch some more?”

“What would I do with them?”

“You can make a heap of money selling fish,” said the billionaire. “There are countless restaurants that need fish. With that money you can get a motor for your boat which will allow you to go further out to catch more fish. Then you’d make even more money to buy nets. Having nets will bring you more fish and more money. With all that money, you could own a bunch of boats and start your own fishing company.”

“And then what?” asked the fisherman.

Then you could relax and enjoy life,” said the billionaire, proudly taking a puff of his cigar.

“That’s what I’m doing right now,” smiled the fisherman, returning to his book.

Posted by trevor at 09:21 AM | Comments (0)

June 18, 2008

Vicki was absolutely beautiful. Even while she was hounded by cancer and tormented by chemotherapy, her awesome beauty radiated from within. (The picture above was taken two weeks before she died. She was fourteen years old.)

Vicki once told me she wanted to be a model. I knew she was close to the end of her life and being a model was one dream that would probably not come true for her. Or could it? I called my friend Randal Alhadeff (a wonderful photographer) and asked him if he would help. He certainly did.

We brought the photographic equipment to the hospital and turned Vicki’s room into a real photographic studio. There were wires and lights and cameras and reflectors and people all over the room.

That afternoon, we took a series of stunning and memorable pictures, including the one above. It was amazing. Here was a child, hooked up to machines, totally nauseated from chemotherapy, and still running the show, making sure that nothing in the world was going to take the moment from her.

In the middle of the photo session, a nurse came in to give Vicki a round of medicine. The picture-taking was interrupted while Vicki was medicated through a tube that went directly into her heart. The nurse wasn’t very happy that day and her attitude reflected it. As the nurse was about to walk over to the bed, Vicki looked up and said,” Err, excuse me. Mind leaving your bad mood outside?”

Vicki’s mom Liz and I laughed so hard we almost collapsed. Even the nurse cracked a smile.

Sometimes when I feel grumpy or down and find myself taking it out on other people, I think of Vicki. She had every right in the world to be miserable and downright depressed, but she always found time to smile and make the most of the moment.

I hope thousands of people will get to see your picture,” I said after the shoot.

“Then I’ll be one of those people who only becomes famous after they’re dead,” she said grinning.

“You’ll be famous.” I said.

“Promise,” she said imitating a pout like a spoiled model.

“ I Promise.”

Well Vicki, because of this here blog, I might be able to keep my promise to you. My web site is read by a number of really cool people. I hope those who visit my site today will share this story with others so that you can become a lot more famous than you ever thought possible.

The more people who know about you, the better the world will be. Your light continues to shine. I hope it illuminates the path for those who might be walking in darkness today.

Posted by trevor at 03:00 PM | Comments (6)

June 16, 2008

Quite Comfort

A good friend of mine told me a touching story. We were chatting about my book “What On Earth Do You Do When Someone Dies?” and she told me that one of her neighbors lost a child last month in a drowning accident. She told me she was afraid to visit the woman because she didn't know what to say to her.

Apparently her nine year-old daughter didn't hesitate though and went right across the road to see the devastated mom.

When she got back my friend asked her daughter what she had said to the mourning mother.

“I didn't say anything,” said the girl. “I just sat on her lap and we cried.”

Posted by trevor at 12:57 PM | Comments (1)

June 06, 2008

On a trip to Eastern Europe quite some time ago, I visited an orphanage to take pictures and also sketch the old brick building that housed the orphans. As I entered the wrought iron gates there was a little boy standing against the red brick gatepost with a pillowcase slung over his shoulder. He was peering out of the gate and appeared to be waiting for someone to pick him up.

The nun who was escorting me steered me past the boy and into the orphanage grounds.

As I passed the boy he looked up at me and spoke to me with a sparkle in his eye.

“What did he say, sister?” I asked the nun, who spoke English.

“He asked if you were his father,” she said, smiling and patting the boy on the head.

I looked at the boy and shook my head. “No, “ I replied. “I’m sorry.”

His shoulders sagged and his head dropped.

The nun spoke to the boy again and then shepherded me toward the main building. (It’s amazing how much attention one gets after donating money.)

I spent a few hours taking photos and sketching the old building. It was magnificent.

I could not stay very long because my heart was breaking for the children I saw sleeping on wooden beds without mattresses and peeking around pillars and darkened doorways. The only words I heard spoken were hurried orders from the Mother Superior who constantly seemed to be herding the kids this way and that each time I turned a corner.

I wanted to rescue them all. I felt like I was letting them down. I knew many of the children were hoping I was there to adopt them. Finally I had to turn my back on them and leave. I did it quickly.

On my way out I saw the boy still standing at the gate.

“What does he have over his shoulder?” I asked the nun.

“Silly boy,” she said. “He puts his clothes in a pillow-slip in case his father comes to take him home. But that will never happen.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because his father is dead.” She said.

“Does he know?” I said.

“We told him,” she said. “But he does not believe us.”

I thanked the sister and left the orphanage waving at the boy as I passed.

He waved back.

Half way down the block I turned to take one last look at the boy and noticed a bread deliveryman carrying a bundle of baguettes into the gate.

The boy was still standing where I first saw him.

I heard the boy ask the man the same question.

“Are you my father?” he asked with warmth and enthusiasm.

“No,” replied the man, ruffling the little boy’s hair. "Sorry."

As the man walked into the orphanage the boy looked down forlornly at the pavement and continued waiting.

Posted by trevor at 11:10 AM | Comments (1)

June 05, 2008

Naomi loved horses. She always talked about wanting to ride a phantom horse on the very top of a white cloud in a blue sky.

Naomi was a great visualizer. At twelve, she had more vision and hope than her entire family and all of her doctors and nurses put together.

Naomi was very sick when I met her, while she was undergoing chemotherapy, at the Johannesburg General Hospital. Although she had every excuse in the world not to go to school, she really wanted to learn. As a favor to the family her teacher came to the hospital a few times a week and shared with Naomi what the other kids had been learning in her absence.

One day I was at the hospital and the teacher was explaining how sunflower seeds sprout when they are placed in a moist cotton ball.

Naomi was thrilled when, after a few days, the seeds actually started sprouting.

“Mom,” she said excitedly, holding up a tiny sprout, “Please bring me a little planter with some sand when you come tomorrow. I want to plant this sprout so it can grow into a giant sunflower.”

“Honey,” said her mother. “It won’t grow here in the intensive care. It’s too dark.”

“Plants need sunlight,” said a nurse, who was adjusting Naomi’s IV medication. “Nothing will grow in here.”

“I’ll put it under this light,” said Naomi, pointing to her bedside lamp.

“It’s okay sweetie,” said her mother, patting her on the arm gently. “You can plant a whole field of sunflowers when you go home.”

“What if I never go home?’ said Naomi.

“C’mon honey,” said her mom. “Of course you’re going to go home.”

“I just love sunflowers,” said Naomi, “I really do. They make me so happy. I bet heaven is full of sunflowers.”

“Stop it now!” said Naomi’s mother. “You’ve got to stay positive.” This nonsense talk about heaven is upsetting me.”

I looked at Naomi as her mother turned to pin a greeting card on the board alongside the bed. Naomi shrugged. I winked at her. She winked back at me and smiled.

Naomi’s mother did indeed bring a planter filled with dirt, and Naomi planted her little sprout with trembling hands but lots of enthusiasm.

A few days later I was driving along the road when I noticed a patch of giant sunflowers in a garden. I stopped and contemplated the sunflowers. I don’t know what got into me, but I jumped the fence and picked one of the plants. The keeper of the garden, one very agitated Doberman, sent me scrambling back over the fence in a hurry. I couldn’t wait to tell Naomi the story. I knew she was going to crack up at my expense.

Later, I put the sunflower in an old wine bottle and drove over to the hospital. When I got there I was told by the staff that only family were allowed to see Naomi because she had taken a turn for the worse and in their words was ‘unconscious but comfortable’.

My friend Pat was a nurse at the hospital so I asked her to take the flower and put it next to Naomi’s bed so she could see what her little sprout was going to look like when it grew up.

Naomi did not regain consciousness for almost a week. Pat told me the first thing Naomi saw when she woke up was the sunflower on the bedside table.

“See.” she said. “I knew it would grow! People just need to get a little faith around here.”

After that Pat says Naomi yawned, stretched and said. “I just love sunflowers. I really do. They make me so happy.”

She smiled and closed her eyes.

She never opened them again.

Posted by trevor at 03:35 PM | Comments (2)