I was concerned about sentimentality and photos of roses — or more truthfully, my grandmother and the Windsor Rose nail polish that she wore always and forever. But everyone has a grandmother and a memory or two, the persistence of which is unlikely by any measure, but there it is like Windsor Rose. And the incessant smoking, occasionally with a cigarette holder or possibly cherry tobacco tamped into a carved wood gargoylesque ladie's pipe with semi-precious stone eyes or shrimp cocktail with Saltines or wearing heels and sporting pearl earrings while watering the lawn with an impossibly ugly green hose.... This is the grandmother who taught me to pack her pipe and smoke it. She gave me that pipe by the time I was 10. I lost it or gave it to a friend.
Today I read a NYTimes
blog regarding memory. There are currenlty 186 readers' comments posted, but if you sort for Editors' Selections, you might read a dozen or so and then be not quite able to turn off the thought process.
So I quit even thinking the blurry shots might be sentimental.
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