Pedro Meyer

A week ago I told my journalist friend Maurice Bridge of my project that will take me to Mexico City in the beginning of December. He said, “Alex this will be a good bookend for your career.”  I immediately answered back with a grin, “This means I can return to Vancouver and die!” He laughed.

Because I speak English and Spanish I often think of these expressions and how the concept of a bookend does not exist in Spanish. It is impossible to say quickly without an explanation in Spanish the translation of a “show and tell”.

Why am I going to Mexico?

Just because my Rosemary died five years ago does not mean that I have to wait to die. I actively pursue when possible both my analog and digital photography. I have amassed over 5000 plant scans and I have now written 6730 blogs.

I am going to Mexico to photograph a well-known Mexican photographer, Pedro Meyer, who is 90 and has been blind for two years. It was about 15 years ago that while reading the on-line Washington Post I noticed a link called ZoneZero. To my surprise it was an astounding and advanced for the age digital photographic web page. I connected with the man in charge, Pedro Meyer and we became friends. I wrote an essay which is still up about asymmetry. It involves my photography of a woman who was born minus and arm and with a leg that was longer than the other. The essay is both in Spanish and in English.

 My Essay in ZoneZero

About two weeks ago I wondered what may have happened to Meyer. In Google I found that he has a very strong presence and that he even publishes books and has conferences. Using that wonderful 21st century device called WhatsApp I had a long chat. His marbles are intact. When I write to him he has an assistant called Ximena who reads what I send him. I asked Meyer what he would do if our tables were turned. He told me he would come to Vancouver to photograph me. I asked him if I should photograph him looking at me with eyes open, with eyes closed or in profile. He told me to do all three and advised me that he was going to take my portrait. He does discern a bit of light, but no more.

In 1962 when I was living in Mexico City I told myself that I could not be a photographer with only one camera, an early single lens reflex, an East German made in Dresden Pentacon-F that I had purchased in 1958 in Austin, Texas via NY. I went to a German-named store, Foto Lipkau and found that all they sold were expensive Leicas. I then visited a store, not far; on Avenida Venustiano Carranza called Foto Rudiger and spotted an all-black used Asahi Pentax S-3. It was the right choice as its 55mm F-2 lens was compatible with the screw mount of my Pentacon-F.

 I think it is appropriate that I photograph Meyer with this camera and with 100ISO b+w film. Of course I will take my digital Fuji X-E3 (and just in case the Fuji X-E1). With me in my luggage will be my portable Metz studio light (110-220) and a small softbox. I will limit myself to using the 55mm Pentax lens. I wonder how Meyer will shoot me and I am looking forward to the experience.

I have a niece, who lives in Cuernavaca in the state of Morelos, who will pick me up at the airport and drive me to the lovely Coyoacán neighbourhood. There is a special significance to me there as on 8 November 1968, at a judge’s office in the main square I married my Rosemary Elizabeth Healey.

Just because I am 83 does not mean that I have to quit dreaming of new projects.

While I smiled at the idea of this becoming a bookend to my career I plan to keep at it while my good health persists.      

Niño & Niña

Since the death of my Rosemary 5 years ago I have had a terrible time coping with living alone. I computed that I spent 63% of my life with her. I live in a house that is Rosemary, I live in a garden that is Rosemary, walking up and down the stairs and looking at the walls of my Kits home there are pictures of her staring at me.

Some seven years ago Rosemary’s cat, Casi-Casi died. Because we were about to leave for a trip to Buenos Aires we did not adopt a new cat. Even then we understood that the only way to relieve the grief over a dead cat was adopt a new one.

When we returned from Buenos Aires I called my Burnaby daughter Hilary and I told her I had some pasalubums for her. This is a special Tagalog word that means a gift your bring for friends and relatives when you return from a travel abroad. Hilary told me not to bother as she was alone. I insisted so she said, “Rebecca is here.” That my older granddaughter was there was another reason to go. Returning I knew I would be driving down a street that was close to the Vancouver SPCA. There I saw this lovely orange and white cat that was extremely friendly. He was in a very large room. I asked why. I was told that he had sister that hid on top of the air conditioner. They told me it was almost impossible to get her down and if I wanted to adopt the male cat, Mac and Cheese had to be both adopted. I returned with Rosemary and somehow Cheese was visible so we took them home. They were 7 years old. We re-named them Niño and Niña.

These cats are a constant reminder of Rosemary as they slept with us. She especially petted and was close to Niña. Here in Kitsilano I am known as the old man that walks around the block with a cat (Niño) without a leash. Rosemary taught him to do that. Since I take Rosemary’s route I have this feeling of Rosemary’s absent presence all the time. Since she told me, “Never shout at Niño when he lingers. Just be patient”. I am.

Now on these dark rainy days I find that Niño and Niña are what’s left of the stability I used to have with Rosemary and my writer friends. Most of those writers, with one or two exceptions, are all dead. I especially miss Sean Rossiter and Mark Budgen.

I like to lie on my bed with my two cats (bed rotting it is called) and I realize how lucky I am to have two almost-human living beings that are cuddly and warm.

Niño seems to have a remission on his lymphatic cancer of the intestines. I talk to him and Niña and in Spanish. I am sure that when he stares of me he is telling me, in Spanish, “Alex, don’t die before I do. If you do who will take care of me and Niña?”

That is one big reason for me to want to keep living.

My cats Niño and Niña in these cold nights provide me with cuddly warmth as they sleep on either side of me. But my feet are cold. About a week ago I remembered that I had a hot water bottle. This has been a godsend. Because I am an old man my leg and foot circulation is not all that good.

The hot water bottle made me remember of those cold Buenos Aires winters when I was 8 years old in 1950. It was then that my father and a friend would sit in the kitchen with the oven door open. This was the only warm room in our house. He would offer his friend his Players Navy Cut cigarettes’. His friend would reject the offer and would send me the corner boliche to buy him a pack of Argentine Arizonas. I never did ask my father how it was that his friend was writer Julio Cortázar.

In our bedroom (I slept in the same room as my parents) they had “an estufa de kerosene”. Argentines insisted on keeping that last e. I can still remember the smell of the kerosene. To lessen that impact a dish of water with cedrón (lemon verbena) was placed on top. On really cold nights, our live in house helper, Mercedes would put bricks in the oven and then wrap them in towels. I don’t remember if we had bolsas de agua caliente (Spanish for hot water bottles).

And of course I really miss sleeping next to Rosemary. There was lots of warmth and (!) heat there. 

My grandmother had a special talent of packing suitcases. For reasons that escape me somehow my Rosemary inherited that talent.

Rosemary and I did a lot of travelling with our daughters, with our granddaughters and just the two of us. She did the packing. On our bed with her iPhone somehow she got the best airline and hotel rates. With her in charge, travelling was breeze. Now having to do this on my own is a real chore. I am going to Mexico City soon and my plane leaves at 7 in the morning. This means I have to wake up very early because of having to show up 3 hours before the flight which is recommended. Being of advanced age (I am 83) can have its benefits. I called the airport and a  pleasant man told me I could show up an hour and half before.

When I went to speak and show my photographs at the Zócalo in Mexico City Book Fair in October 2023I had to go to a travel agency to book my plane ticket. I really missed Rosemary’s organizational skills. My eldest daughter Alexandra advised me to take my Apizaco,Tlaxcala cane. I don't need to use it. When I show up at the airport I am whisked to the beginning of the line and I am the first person onboard. When I arrive at my destination I am met by a kind person with a wheelchair.  My Apizaco cane has a Rosemary connection. We often went to visit my mother who lived in the port city of Veracruz. On our way we never did stop in Apizaco. Now the cane is most useful.

Now with this trip to Mexico City where I am to photograph Pedro Meyer, 90 year-old  blind photographer (who has told me he is going to shoot me) I found myself packing a week before. For the first time in years I took out my ironing board and ironed my shirts and two pairs of pants (only 6 days in CDMX). When I lie on the bed I keep thinking of all kinds of stuff that I have forgotten to pack. I am taking a softbox and a neat compact studio flash system. On that bed I remembered that I had not packed the metal adapter that bonds the softbox to the flash. In Coyoacán, Mexico I would have been unable to use the light.

I have a special pill box with rectangles for days. I have placed all of my wellness medicines, etc. Rosemary would have reminded me to get a small can of shaving cream and small toothpaste, And it goes on and on and I have problems sleeping trying to remember what might be missing.

What I am really missing is my Rosemary.

Niña below and Niño

This blog I am writing today 30 November to fill a hole for 25  November. Because of my impending trip tomorrow to Mexico City I have been lax in writing my blogs for a week.

There is something very important for this old man in order to cope with the loss of my Rosemary 5 years ago. This is strict routine. My cats Niño and Niña give me that routine. I feed them when I get out of bed in the morning. I make sure their kitty litter is clean and I take out Niño for his walk around the block. This routine stabilizes me.

Today I put them in their cat box and took them to the Feline Hilton on West Boulevard. Niña meowed only once and broke my heart. I left them. When I arrived home, both my daughters and my visiting nephew from San Francisco Tom Wolfe, were waiting for me. There were not cats to demand I feed them. When my visitors left I felt completely empty. I will get into bed tonight and try to sleep without any feline cuddling. At 4:30 a Black Top cab will pick me up. My bags are packed. I have nothing to worry. Yet the emptiness of the house is overpowering.

Perhaps someday (soon!) I will become a billionaire and I will be able to take my cats in my private plane. It is either that or I must not travel anymore.