Changing professions, I sheepishly admit that while I completed picture life books for many others, I never made my own.  I have started a few times, but it all just seems so heavy.  And long.  All the dates I’d have to look up.  Because I still believe strongly in picture life‘s reason for being i.e., keeping the conversation going between generations, I’m going to use this blog to write my book.  A post at a time for my daughter, and her kids, and their kids.

You have heard me say on more occasions than I’m sure you’d prefer, that there’s nothing more comforting than the view from an airplane, preferably approaching London, with miniature copses, lanes, hedges, fields perhaps with sheep grazing, and tiny tiny tiny little cars moving along. (The image above is probably not England but is from the wonderful website, unsplash, that allows people like me to filch beautiful photos and use them in any way.  I see in it a similar green but the landscape is more angular and less verdant and rolling than my imagination’s picture).

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved the idea that we are all just tiny almost pretend people in wee cars, moving around from place to place, sometimes with gravitas, other times oblivious.  It is delightfully freeing, a funny joke.

This was a hard week; disappointing, frustrating, personal, lacking a light, or even a tunnel. But ending it by strolling down Huntington Avenue with Philip on a sublimely beautiful evening, seeing the world (or at least Northeastern students) waking up to spring, was enough to provide a reminder that life is often big and rich and abundant. Sitting in Jordan Hall, itself enough to take one’s breath away, listening to musicians deliver themselves as a gift to us, pondering how one person had written a still relevant piece of music 300 years ago was nothing short of spiritual.  IMG_8676

I’m into my second Dana Spiotta novel, Stone Arabia, and in it, she says it much better than I.  “We all long to escape our own subjectivity.  That’s what art can do, give us a glimpse of ourselves connected with every human, now and forever, our disconnected, lonely terms escaped for a moment.  It offers the consolation of recognition, no small thing.”



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