her chair

 

 

 

 

 

very sick, my mother spent the last few months of her life in a nursing home.  each time I’d visit I’d find her propped up in a chair by the nurse’s station.  one day I asked “what are you doing out here, mom?”

 

  “I’m waiting to buy my ticket,

so I can get on the train.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

metaphor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red-hot iron of my own life, let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul – let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and esthetic forms of an architecture, let me learn just everything that others cannot teach me, what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin!”

 

Salvador Dalí

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

prediction

 

 

The Farmer’s Almanac was his Bible

 

It was going to be a harsh winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

remembering

 

 

 

 

 

when she referred to this color as old-lady-blue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there’s comfort..

 

 

 

 

 

in knowing that some things
remain the same