Less than a week after my mother’s death, a friend of mine, Linda, whose father was British and mother, Irish – Catholic – stayed with me and documented the aftermath of death. Just found this while opening doors to the past.
I don’t often attempt to analyze my art work, mostly because I suck at analysis. However, I recently found this photograph of myself when in high school and when my friend and I roamed freely around the art studio there, having access to a 4 x 5 camera, among other goodies.
(CLARIFICATION: I have a horrible sense of time, so it may have been forty years later, or not. Example: When I was 46, I thought I was 47 for most of the year, until a friend of mine pointed out I was not 47, but 46. “No, shit.” I said. “All this time, I was thinking …”
However, I know for a fact that I was 16 when this photo was taken.)
(NOTE: Sixteen wasn’t sweet one bit. My mother had just died, a month prior to this photograph.)
And when I looked at it, I thought:
“This looks familiar!”
And years later …
Literature is a step above Fiction –
Even though Fiction is part of Literature.
I was thinking about tags right before I started writing …
A toddler playing with not one, but 2! balls, this morning.
And then I heard the toddler laugh for at least 20 minutes while the parents played and laughed with him.
A week’s worth or a lifetime’s worth for some.
And Zoe, the coolest cat in the world, got frightened by a Cardinal, and meowed to go inside.
A reality check with my son. –
Mine, not his.
Lounging in Fantasy and Romance – still!
Those are some of the things I heard and saw this Saturday morning.