I remember when we went to my grandmother's home to pull my mother's Shirley Temple doll down from the top of a closet. She had not weathered well, did not appeal to me. I had my Betsy Wetsy doll who I loved.
Those were the days of "doll hospitals". I remember going to one with my mother. You would leave your doll there, and come back with her repaired. I was gentle with my dolls, so think it must have been one of my mother's childhood dolls we were there to repair.
There is an ice storm in Atlanta. I was in Atlanta one February for my uncle's funeral, and there was an ice storm. It was beautiful, exquisitely beautiful, but treacherous driving. I remember how the cars on both sides of the freeway stopped for the funeral procession. I was touched.
That brings me to my cousin's death in Australia. He was very young. My mother died February 18, 2005. I seem caught in memory today.
Jane and I are writing a poem for a postcard each day and sending it to the other.
Today I write:
Every day an anniversary
shadows
open
the fruit
the heart
of memory
and experience
what hovers
and surrounds
