It's Been A Whole Year Today...

since Mom died, almost exactly in fact.  (yes, I said "died," that is what she did after all)  Some days it seems like a century ago and on others it seems like two minutes have passed.  To quote HZ last Christmas day, "I don't like it one bit."  I keep wanting to drive over to show her stuff or call her to tell her things.  I suspect that won't stop for a while, if it ever does, but the pain isn't a sharp stab anymore, it's more of a dull prick.  (oh, I do like "dull prick," you can use it if you need to)  The Photo a Day theme today is "in your town" so I thought and thought about what makes my town unique (I almost said "special" but that might imply that my town rides the short bus; it totally doesn't, not all the time anyway) and it's the river.  The Fox River runs right down the middle of it.  The only way you get from west to east or east to west is to drive over one of the 5 bridges in town, one of which, the one by DS's work, is closed in the "up" position for some sort of repairs for how long I do not know, but I hear from DS that it's a pain.  Anyway, we have bridges and a river and sometimes an ocean-going freighter comes inching down the river, passing through the drawbridges in the middle of the city and all traffic stops  for a short time.  (I keep a knitting project in the door pocket of my car for just such occasions.)  Once, before they built the high-up Mason St. bridge (the busiest one and the one I mostly use) Mom was two cars back from the front of the line when the ship slipped to one side and knocked a part of the drawbridge into the river, preventing it from closing.  That meant that the cars had to turn around, except that a miles-long freight train was passing, trapping 3 cars, Mom included, between the broken bridge and the endless, slow-moving train.  I can still hear Mom's tale as it grew in scope and embellishment... and I just realized that I'm just like that, so you all have my mom to thank for the flamboyant storytelling I subject you all to on regular occasions.  You're welcome.  Anyway, hug your mom today or give her a call to tell her you love her.  Do it for me since I can't call mine.  Thanks.

October 22--Paul Gauguin, Tahitian Faces.  He left the eyes blank.  Hoe could he leave the eyes blank and empty?  Leah looked at the page town from is pad with its charcoal lines and smudges.  The empty eyes and silent mouths made her shiver.  She should throw it away, just wad it up into a ball and put it in the trash or maybe she should burn it.  Bad spirits had entered those empty sockets, she was sure of it.  She could feel the malevolence pouring off the page and plucking at her skin.  She dropped the paper to the floor and fled.

Eesh, those were creepy eyes, I'm telling you.  I'll bet they really shelled out the bucks for that sketch too.  Somebody needs to rethink their definition of Art.  The sun's shining and it's payday, I'm going to make it a good one, you do it too.
--Barbara Sue