My youngest daughter, Emily, was married to Nate Piazza on Sunday, Nov. 10, at Magnolia Plantations Charleston, S.C. It was beautiful and fun and filled with family — and Nate and Emily should be proud of all they did and … Continue reading →
Here are some highlights from my visit to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I love museums that allow you to take photos of the paintings. I like to take close-ups of favorite parts of the paintings and the sculptures. The problem is that I don’t always remember the name of the artwork or the artist. Enjoy!
These photos were taken at my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary party at their home in Marcus, Iowa, some 40 years ago in the early 1970s. I wasn’t even there that evening. It was a card party for their friends and relatives. No kids allowed.
However, I probably saw these slides dozens and dozens of times. And every time we watched them, we would laugh as Grandpa wound up and laid a wet one on our Grandma.
The Kodak carousels of slides were stacked and organized next to my Dad’s desk. He set up the screen in the living room and we went through a handful of carousels regularly. And just as regularly, a slide would get stuck in the carousel. My Dad would swear in his PG-garbled way: “You-dirty-rotten-shin-rackin-mother-som-bidder.” And then my mother’s warning: “Jerry?”
No doubt, without this slide, I would not know of this moment. But because of it, I can remember my grandparents. My gentle, inventive Grandpa and my tough, creative Grandma.
I’m posting for the first time from my Android. If you’re reading this, I was successful.
My “About me” page describes this site as a corner of the universe to pile up my writing and photographs. Funny, this is exactly what I do in real life.
Here, next to the sofa, is a pile of notebooks, sketchbooks and photos. Across the room is a small pile of (unread and overdue) library books. Upstairs, in the computer room, are more piles of photos, sort of sorted. And unfinished knitting projects, a pile of revised poems, old and new.
By putting everything in small piles, it looks like there is some semblance of order, some plan for their use, a reason for being. In reality, they serve the same purpose as this blog: random pieces of myself for others to turn over and leaf through, if they wish. A trail.
Here, like everywhere, so many of us leaving so many trails. A universe of little piles.