Spirit of Place

-- June 2001


Technically, I suppose, a window is not a place. It really has no distinct qualities of its own, instead drawing its color and depth from what lies beyond. Moved to another location, the same window would recreate itself, becoming its new surroundings. One might be tempted to think a window is merely a conductor of visions, a "borrower" of essence. It is all of this, yet at the same time is a tangible, solid object that can be touched, cleaned, opened. It can be broken or removed, covered or enlarged. Yet when separated from a building, a window becomes nothing more than panes of glass in a wooden frame. For all its simplicity, my favorite place is at a desk in front of my living room window.

Catch Me If You Can

--Sept 2002

The other day I took a friend to the airport. After a three-year tour in Europe, she was finally moving back to the United States and would be living near her family again. While we sat in a coffee shop waiting for her flight to board, I noticed something seemed to be bothering her.

Motherhood

--2002

I never paid attention to the old adage, "Motherhood is the toughest job in the world." The way I saw it, my mom didn't have it that hard; after all, I certainly wasn't any trouble. Oh sure, I occasionally left out a toy or two, and perhaps I never took "no" for an answer, and it is true my mom still shudders when my teenage years are mentioned, but other than that, I was a cinch to raise. I'm sure of it.

Nursing Home - Days 2, 3, & 4

--July 2003

(Day 2)
DeeDee is in the hall today. She isn’t wearing pants. There she sits, rolling along in her underwear, carrying her pants in her lap. I say hello to her and she crooks her finger in my direction to call me over. When I move forward, she points to her back and nods her head yes, as if I know what she means. I don’t.
I soon learn she wants me to unhook her bra.

The Nursing Home - Day 1

--July 2003

Went to see Mama Ruth today. I haven’t seen her for 3 years. She looks so close to death. Her skin is drawn back from her mouth like a skeleton. Her hands are curled inward towards her wrists. It reminds me of the Ice Man, that 10,000 year-old man they found in the Italian Alps a few years ago. She's sleeping but I have to admit, she truly looks dead. My first thought is, “Oh no. We’re too late.” But Aunt Myrna starts talking to her as if she were sitting at the kitchen table so I look again and sure enough, she's still alive.