Inside, the comforts of home glow: three paintings by a loved folk artist; lipstick-red walls; rag rug in a coat-of-many-colors palette; tin-punched Mexican lamp; bookbags, coats, tripod, camera bag; honeyed pine table I designed and my father made in the basement of the house where I grew up.
"Most of us go through each day looking for what we saw yesterday and we find it, to our half-realized disappointment. But people who daily expect to encounter fabulous realities run smack into them again and again. They keep their minds open for their eyes." (Ken Macrorie)
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Comforts of Home
Outside, black sky evidences the tornado watch with threats of high winds and quarter-size hail.
Inside, the comforts of home glow: three paintings by a loved folk artist; lipstick-red walls; rag rug in a coat-of-many-colors palette; tin-punched Mexican lamp; bookbags, coats, tripod, camera bag; honeyed pine table I designed and my father made in the basement of the house where I grew up.
Welcome, the room says. Welcome home.
Inside, the comforts of home glow: three paintings by a loved folk artist; lipstick-red walls; rag rug in a coat-of-many-colors palette; tin-punched Mexican lamp; bookbags, coats, tripod, camera bag; honeyed pine table I designed and my father made in the basement of the house where I grew up.
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