Last fall two baby turtles, about the size of pickle chips, reached our doorstep in a Styrofoam hamburger box. They were the fruit of long family deliberations over what pet to get. Fur makes me sneeze, and my wife has a thing about the snakes and lizards my son wants. The turtles belong to my […]
Sometimes I remember, amazed and laughing, that I’ve never met or spoken with Dale. He has, I know, been speaking with me all along.
Last month at Kenyon’s Gund Gallery, Victoria and I moved among Bethany’s hundred-and-forty-odd, glowing and pulsing sculptures. As our eyes adjusted to the dark, we found that we were becoming part of the installation. It was ourselves, and not the sculptures, that we began to see and understand.
This secret knowledge hid us from later visitors, at least from those who didn’t stay long enough to discover that the sculptures’ lights weren’t static. The lights pulsed neither in unison nor in disregard for one another. I sat under them to see how they got along, much as I spent long stretches on beds of pine needles as a kid wondering how the trees got along.
Bethany, our thirteen-year-old, has always loved to hear me whistle. I didn’t know I was that good until she told me I was, and I believe her because I want to. She’s pretty good now herself, and she joins me when she hears me whistle a familiar tune. I had a song stuck in my […]
I took this while waiting for my mom to roll in. We walked to the Metro and saw the Van Gogh exhibit at the Phillips. At eighty-six, my mom’s steely as ever. When Metro’s machine spat her fully-paid fare card back at her, she simply climbed over the turnstile.