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03/17/2003 Entry: "It's one of those cool Nebraska filtered-light mornings"
and while sitting outside with a cup of coffee, the new layout, and the omnipresent cigarette (which I'm going to have to give up if I'm actually pregnant, which would be the ONLY big drawback...), I kept remembering other Nebraska mornings.
I miss my Dad, too. The last time I remember having these kinds of moments, fingers slowly numbing in the chill and then warming with the sun, thinking about art and life -- my father was dying. He'd had his strokes and the cancer was eating away at his brain and his will to live as he lay in a bed in the Bel Aire nursing center. Mom was a wreck, trying to hold her own and hold up under the strain, and the frazzled edges left us both raw. I sat outside with a //Somerset Studio// magazine on my lap, discovering Art for the first time.
This morning, I'm thinking about wood vs. concrete. The steps in Seattle are almost all wood on the houses, weathered and beaten by the coastal air, and here, they're almost all concrete, meant to withstand the temperature fluctuations from harsh winter to relentless summer. It's strange how these little perception shifts happen -- I didn't notice until Megan Noel (http://www.megannoel.com) mentioned painting her stairs in aborigine symbols like having the steps to dreamtime.
I'm living in my dreamtime this morning.
------e
