Tuesday, June 24, 2014

I’m lucky enough to have always had a room in my house for myself and myself alone. A place where books accumulate slowly but surely until all the shelves are full and stacks grow on the floor, where the walls grow photographs, maps, a thousand stick pins - bits and pieces of a life. After sixty years of no one is allowed to move my stuff, its a more a museum than a study. 

Below is an image of three photographs pasted together as a vertical triptych of one of the  bulletin boards that hang in my museum.


The first panel 

A photograph of a grandfather resting.  His grandchild has crawled on top of him and is hugging his neck.  
A collapsed imaginary horse whose beloved rider, a wondering Princess, is urging to rise from the ground and continue galloping about the forest  in pursuit of a dragon.
“My child is an Honor Student at…” bumper sticker, an oak leaf, business cards, and a postcard of a Tutor house. 


The middle panel
A shining sun and a joyous moon look down on a colorful house. 
A map of England, Scotland, and Wales and 
A partial image of a shoulder, an ear, and a room 
A second photo of the grandchild resting on the grandfather’s head.

The bottom panel
On the right, a greeting card showing a small smiling bear hugging a larger smiling bear with the prepositional phrase, “For a Fun Papa” printed above the bears in a white display font. 
The image on the left is of a cutout photo pasted on an index card of the grandchild sitting in a Radio Flyer. The child’s expression is content. Is she simply happy to be sitting in her lovely red wagon? Or is she being contently patient, sure that soon a hand will grasp the wagon handle and a ride down the sidewalk will begin?


Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Rose, where did you get that red?

I choose a new rose in my garden. The bush was planted two weeks ago for me by my son and son-law, who gave up their Sunday to refresh my rose bed.
Three days ago this rose, "Forever and Forever" bloomed. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet? Other names: Dream Come True Showbiz Lady Marmalade What do a rose garden and a horse race have in common? Silly names.
However, a rose is a rose is a rose. Gertrude was so right. Touch, smell, draw, photograph and then just walk out in the morning light and you ask, "Rose, where did you get that red?"
The question is profound. Halts the pace of my walk. Opens deep rivers of thought. That deep bright dark red is like the tiny drop of red that appears on my arm when I prick it to test my blood sugar. The pedals are ripples from a stone thrown so many years before.
Rose, where did you get that red?