Katie is going to visit relatives in Belgium. And no doubt have a great time. I envy her. She just picks up and leaves. Her mother's daughter. What a gal.
I'm in love with a name. It's Cecilia. I've only known one girl named Cecilia. She was a friend of my sisters in their elementary days but she is not the cause of my affection. There is a Simon and Garfunkle song called Cecilia. That might be part of it. Maybe its the look of the name on the page. Like a city scape. It sounds neither warm nor cool. There's something perverse about being in love with a name. Its like some strange alphabetical fetish. I like Sandra too. But that's another story.
We used to just call her McGarv. McGarv was one place and her mind was somewhere else. And while she was someplace else, she twirled a long strand of her hair in her finger. Constantly. I was sure that at some point the strand would give out and she would eventually go bald. One afternoon my mother found McGarv (a teenager) in our hall closet. Talking to her boyfriend. The telephone cord was one of those long winding cords that stretched out for huge distances. If she'd had a cell phone (which hadn't been invented yet) she might have been imprisoned in the closet. The closet door had a tendency to lock on its own. It was her good fortune to have been born at the right time in history.
An old friend of mine is the subject of a lot of my collages. Vic is cranky. And funny. To a lot of people he is a character. Personally I think he should go back on his meds.
My youngest daughter is all senses. Listening. Watching. She has her mother's kindness. And my laughter.
A finalist in the 2003 Eppie Best Poetry Collection, Church Street Is Burning, in illustrations, short stories, and poems, tells the story of the poet as a young man. Lost. Abandoned by the woman he loved. Bewitched by the street he lives on. Forgotten by his God. Searching for some rational order in a world fallen on its side. And leaking.
