Around the time I begin this draft, I’d be bout ready to go to work. I’d have my face and hair done and as I’d close my laptop, I’d say to my kids or my pets, “I hate this time of day.” I’d have panicky feelings about leaving. Then I’d have panicky feelings about driving. Then I’d get there and the panic would stop, cause focused.
Today is different because my hair is in one of those ponytails where only the part up to the band has been brushed smooth. I wear my Pusheen tee and sweats, no makeup.
Moo turned to me a few minutes ago and asked, “Are you happy you don’t hafta hate this time of day now?”
“Yes. Am happy, thanks.”
I plan to be pickle-eatin, tee-shirt wearin for several weeks, and then I’ll see what’s out there to focus on. I gave my two-week’s…
This is a stunning work by Ross Bleckner. Read more about him here. Bleckner, a Conceptual artist, is known for paintings of cellular structures in reference to AIDS, as he was an artist in NYC in the 1980s when so many artists were becoming sick with it and dying. (Think RENT). His work is quite beautiful and intriguing– possibly because it comes from the heart and not only the head (Conceptual). His works of art are like a series of Requiems for his dead friends and other AIDS victims. His paintings dwell on the evanescence of life, the delicate fragility of being.
Making contact with my family is always fraught with emotion.
I always have mixed feelings about contact with my biological family; and contact with my Sister leaves me with a sense of pain and longing.
I called my Aunt to give her my condolences.
I don’t know her.
She doesn’t know me.
But we are family and I felt a sense of duty to call this woman and her son.
When she answered the phone I explained who I was and she said, Oh yes!..Robby!
Oh yes…Robby…whose anguish is eternal.
I swallowed Robby’s pained wince and I gave my Aunt my condolences.
The call took less than a minute but I’ve spent the past three hours with memories I didn’t know I had…
I remembered the night my Uncle brought his new girl, my Aunt, to meet the family. We were visiting my Grandmother in New York. Robby was five. My Uncle took this snapshot of Robby in his Grandfather’s lap.
Rest in peace my Mother’s favorite Brother. I’m sad I never got to know you. I’m sad that I don’t know how to feel.