Panties on the floor
I woke this morning after a long day’s journey through conversation and pizza and there was a pair of panties on the floor, only they were almost small enough for a barbie doll and I realized they belonged to my friend’s daughter who had been in the pool. Sign of the times.
I read in the NYT that Loudon Wainwright said if families didn’t break up there would be no need for art and so I think that pretty much sums it all up. Today is Mother’s Day and I am making the trek to see my mom’s family in the country, where life churns in a different way.
For all the things that I could say about my mother, I still sum up her life under the title track, “Love is my religion.” The rest is just the details.
Here are some pics from the weekend –
Drum circle and Broccato’s lemon ice in Fortier Park on Thursday:
Helm paint with Tin entertaining himself (and others):
Crescent Pie & Sausage where Tin fashioned a phone from his straw to call Zagreb and Mama:
Flower left by mysterious “C” by the gate entrance (site of the fallen tree):
Family pool all blown up (a disturbing piss yellow color):
The magnificent yellow and black butterfly that flew into our garden yesterday:
