Clutching my passport, wheeling recalcitrant suitcases, collecting misplaced paraphernalia, and searching for door C on level three, I barely had time for a goodbye hug with friend Heath before I was on my way home. The past twelve days of constant companionship had become telescoped into a quick slip of time. Thought and emotion became…
This tesserae piece is one of my favorite compositions. The small tesserae pieces cut from old paintings and used to create the image, are a reflection of my earliest day-dreams. When I was five or six, I often stayed with my grandparents during the summer. Sitting on their back porch whiling away the time, staring…
Lately I seem to be tripping on little bits of this and that … the odd phrase, random thought, passing gesture, or old lessons gleaned from others. Like silk tendrils, they are woven into the fabric of my life. I am sure those who once shared their thoughts or dropped their clever non sequitur, are…
I am not what anyone would call a spontaneous individual. The pattern of my life for the most part has bordered on the somnolent. So it came as a shock to me-myself-and-I, as well as those who knew me back then, that I should leave behind a successful career in Library-Land to pursue a degree…
After my mother died, I discovered some random photos tucked away in her desk. A small packet of memories carefully wrapped in an envelope worn soft from frequent use, with a little bit of cardboard to keep them flat, they were photographs of my late stepfather’s family. Gerhard kept them handy in case anyone thought…
We would walk almost every day, my friend and I. She had a sweet little black cocker spaniel who needed walking and I needed the exercise as well as the comradery. The three of us walked down little-used roads, country lanes, and decrepit old tarmacs. They were ideal for our long rambles and perfect for…
As a child, I watched my Grandmother stich and sew, employing her hands to good effect creating beautiful and useful hand work. The fruits of her labors … the quilts and pillows and aprons and tablecloths and tea towels and dresses … were woven into the fabric of my life. Some, like the tablecloths, were…
Memory can be a slick shyster … a Monte Bank adept at shuffling our recollection of events, be they ghastly or awesome. Really gruesome events remain vivid for a time and then, if we are lucky, fade and lose their sharp edges. They are no less powerful, but their grip eases as our lives move…
Our house in Iowa City… the house of my early childhood … had front porch steps, back-porch steps, and a side door stoop. But in addition, there were what Mom called the sidewalk steps. These were the three small steps leading up from the sidewalk to the front walk. I have since found they are…
In the midst of our cold New England winter, with snow and ice framing every view, I dream of Italy and the south of France. Like the memory of sun-drenched childhood, they are forever warm and alive in their colors.