Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 26, 2021

So many things from my mother leading to my creative life and my spiritual life


That's my red-haired mother as a baby, born in the spring of 1916 in Minnesota.  At times lately I feel as if I am, in some odd way, her mother.  

When my mother was about the age I am, she strongly considered converting to Judaism.  She had long felt a kinship with Jewish people and felt that there must have been someone who was Jewish on her father's side of the family.  While our family was attending an Episcopal Church during my growing up years, she introduced me to the works numerous writers and artists who were Jewish.  I remember that she went to hear Isaac Bashevis Singer speak at a local synagogue when I was in high school.

In the early 1980s, she met people from the Jewish community in Mendocino County and subscribed to their newsletter and felt welcomed and at home in that small community.  When my father protested, she celebrated all the Jewish holidays semi-secretly, far below my father's radar.   My father did not know enough about Judaism to know that she was celebrating the holidays right in front of him.  

My mandala series was inspired by my mother's mandala series which she created when she was about the same age I am.  Her series included mandalas for Jewish holidays.

One of the books she passed on to me when I was in high school was The Chosen, by Chaim Potok.  This morning, following links as I do, I discovered an extraordinary series of drawings and paintings by Jeremy Kagan, the man who directed the film version of The Chosen.  They remind me of Jacob Lawrence's series:  Eight Studies for the Book of Genesis, which I was fortunate to be able to see when they were shown here in Bellingham.  They also make me think of William Blake.  I find Jeremy Kagan's work to be deeply engaging, despite the fact that I am not a religious person.  

My mother's parents were married in a Unitarian Church in Boston.  Her mother's father was a Theosophist.  Some of her great grandparents were Roman Catholic and the others Protestant.  I recall my mother saying that her father, a World War I veteran, had a well-worn copy of the Bhagavad Gita, possibly belonging to my grandmother who died before he did and whose father was the Theosophist. My only nephew's grandfather is Jewish.  His grandmother is a Roman Catholic convert to Judaism.  My father's father's side is entirely Lutheran and then there is the mysterious great great grandfather on my father's mother's side whose ancestry and religion are unknown.  In my generation and the younger generations, there is a little of everything, atheism included!

It will take me some time to look through all sets of drawings and paintings by Jeremy Kagan.  I'm astonished to find that his third set are what I would call mandalas.  A glimpse from his first set:


and then this.

Feeling gratitude this morning to my complicated mother, an artist, writer,  creator of delicious meals, pattern knitter, and spiritual seeker, among other things, who would be 105 years old this year.

Sunday, October 3, 2021

Revisited / "There's Orion!"



"... What is real but compassion as we're moved from birth to death? ..."




*


Kenneth Rexroth took a walk with his young daughter and wrote this poem, which was a favorite of my mother and became a favorite of mine.

“A Sword In A Cloud Of Light”
By Kenneth Rexroth

Your hand in mine, we walk out
To watch the Christmas Eve crowds
On Fillmore Street, the Negro
District. The night is thick with
Frost. The people hurry, wreathed
In their smoky breaths. Before
The shop windows the children
Jump up and down with spangled
Eyes. Santa Clauses ring bells.
Cars stall and honk. Street cars clang.
Loud speakers on the lampposts
Sing carols, on juke boxes
In the bars Louis Armstrong
Plays White Christmas. In the joints
The girls strip and grind and bump
To Jingle Bells. Overhead
The neon signs scribble and
Erase and scribble again
Messages of avarice,
Joy, fear, hygiene, and the proud
Names of the middle classes.
The moon beams like a pudding.
We stop at the main corner
And look up, diagonally
Across, at the rising moon,
And the solemn, orderly
Vast winter constellations.
You say, “There’s Orion!”
The most beautiful object
Either of us will ever
Know in the world or in life
Stands in the moonlit empty
Heavens, over the swarming
Men, women, and children, black
And white, joyous and greedy,
Evil and good, buyer and
Seller, master and victim,
Like some immense theorem,
Which, if once solved would forever
Solve the mystery and pain
Under the bells and spangles.
There he is, the man of the
Night Before Christmas, spread out
On the sky like a true god
In whom it would only be
Necessary to believe
A little. I am fifty
And you are five. It would do
No good to say this and it
May do no good to write it.
Believe in Orion. Believe
In the night, the moon, the crowded
Earth. Believe in Christmas and
Birthdays and Easter rabbits.
Believe in all those fugitive
Compounds of nature, all doomed
To waste away and go out.
Always be true to these things.
They are all there is. Never
Give up this savage religion
For the blood-drenched civilized
Abstractions of the rascals
Who live by killing you and me.

*The Poetry Center Digital Archive is a Project of The Poetry Center at San Francisco State University.

* 

The first thing I saw on my 72nd birthday was Orion.  I woke up at 3 a.m., as I usually do, and walked from my bedroom to my porch which looks out to the east.  The sky was extraordinarily clear, revealing Orion, the Pleiades, and a crescent moon.  Such a generous gift.

Sunday, July 12, 2020

More of one thing leading to another, with no beginning or end in sight / Gratitude for my mysterious parents














The Bob Dylan of my mother 

(am's chalk pastel drawing from the 1980s of Bob Dylan which my mother hung in a prominent place in the small home overlooking the Pacific Ocean in a tiny town in Mendocino County where she and my father lived for 25 years until her death in 1994 and where she listened to "Oh Mercy" during the final years of her complicated life.  My mother thanked me for introducing her to the music of Bob Dylan when I was a teenager in the 1960s.  My father told me during those same years, "You were a nice girl until you started listening to Bob Dylan."  My parents, the first people I knew, remain a mystery to me.  They didn't seem to have much in common and argued frequently.  It was only after they died that I felt safe enough to love them.  That process continues.)

Although I wasn't looking for current articles about Bob Dylan, this arrived in my email inbox today:

"... The Bob Dylan of my dad was the one that told the story of his life drifting, constantly changing in his perspective of being a rolling stone. My Dylan is the one who alludes to the wisdom and guidance to know that even through the years, we can stand confused and be transformed. As he even proposes in “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven,” a confident voice of only one thing: “When you think you’ve lost everything, you find out you can lose a little more ...”

"... The body of work that he has created is proof of time, of life experienced and lived against being analyzed, we’ve grown with him, and he has a perfect way of expressing it, like a medieval troubadour courting life, the perfect witness and acknowledging that there’s a Bob Dylan for all and that is where his greatness lies ..."

Tatiana Altagracia (click on her name to read the article)



Of course, not everyone is for Bob Dylan.  My father, for instance, thought that listening to Bob Dylan had ruined his firstborn daughter as she made her way through her teenage years.  He didn't understand that Bob Dylan's music brought to me what he could not bring to me -- validation of the creative woman I was becoming and yet, there was more to my father than met the eye.  I have come to understand that his life was as complicated and conflicted as my mother's.  Perhaps that is what they had in common.  Here is the gouache and watercolor painting of mine that he chose to hang in his living room until the last few years of his life when he moved to a smaller independent living apartment:

Calendar Series: 46th Month / Land Fish with Open Hearts Confronting Stranded Tool (1989)



Here are two views of one of the art works of my father who stated that he was not an artist:




















The gorilla that my father carved in redwood lives on my porch next to my abbreviated garden, which reminds me that my father expressed his love of beauty and design through gardening and landscaping.



My mother was an artist (look here, below my post for today, to see the mandalas she created that inspired mine) and a writer of poetry and short stories, although she abruptly stopped writing creatively in the late 1960s and began doing art work instead, beginning with learning to paint using watercolors and moving, over the years, to Japanese brush painting, silkscreening, batik, stained glass, and finally working at complex pattern knitting until the last days of her life.

When I was out walking in the past few days, I could feel the presence of my friends who have died and of Oboe.  It occurred to me to ask my parents if they wanted to walk with us and then I found it difficult to picture them walking with me.  As I write this, it becomes clear that my parents were not people who walked with other people.  I can picture them wishing me well but declining to walk with me.  What I want to focus on is that I sense that they wish me well.  I wish the same for them.  I know that I know nothing about their inner lives except what was expressed through their creativity.

The formatting elves are playing with my layout again  (-:

Be well.  Be safe.  The world is still being born.



Vocal, guitar and harmonica:  Terayama

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

looking forward to getting back to work on the mandalas





















My cataract surgery went well. I have excellent distance vision in my left eye now, but most book reading and all drawing are not an option until I get a new pair of prescription glasses in June after the new lens has settled in. I started Mandala #12 before having cataract surgery.

Here is the mandala my mother made after her cataract surgery in the 1980s, when cataract surgery was a much more complicated and painful process than it is today.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #21 of 21


















7/12/91

Air Baloons
Yarmulkas
Spinning tops
Dyed Eggs

?

(click on image for additional details)

Thanks to all who have followed along with this series, especially robin andrea.

I am grateful that my mother didn't destroy this series of mandalas that would have upset my father if had he been aware of them.  I am grateful to have been able to share these mandalas on my blog.

My mother's earliest creative efforts involved writing.  From childhood, she dreamed of being a writer.  If I remember correctly, in the last years of my mother's life her creative energy went into Norwegian pattern knitting.  The only writing she did in her last years, that I know of, was writing letters.

In 1966, at age 50, she had finished a poem she had begun at age 48. The original version of the poem ended with these lines:

... "What means Gethsemane?"
The Inspiration fled.  Was God its source?
So be it.
Then rich I am having felt His force.

In the final version:

... "What means Gethsemane?"
The answers rise and fall like waves.  I wait.
Then blindly stumble on towards heaven's gate.

In the years between 1966 and 1989, having lost the Inspiration, she redirected her abundant energy to creations that didn't involve words. It is occurring to me this morning that with the mandalas, she was combining words and images -- not poetry exactly but something like it. Traditional mandalas don't have words in them.  There were still words that needed to come through her, but they presented themselves to her in this process.

Who knows why she started making mandalas sometime in 1989 and stopped making them in July of 1991 and went back to working with color and pattern without words.  Who knows what turned her away from Christianity and moved her toward Judaism?  I know that she found joy and solace and meaning in her last years by celebrating Jewish holy days in secret.

This pillow was one of her many handmade gifts to me during her steady output of Norwegian pattern knitting in her last years:

















My mother continued to ask questions.  I know that for sure.  She was an artist and spiritual seeker.  She lives on for me in the words she wrote and the things she made with her hands.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #20 of 21


















MAEE AEE
MAHEE AEE
AH-O

1/31/91

LENS
CATARACT
I.O.L.
RETINA
CORNEA
GUTTATA

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #19 of 21


















1/21/91

Martin Luther King Day

... I have a dream ...

(click on image for additional details)

Listen

"Freedom Highway"

March for freedom's highway
March each and every day


Made up my mind and I won't turn around
Made up my mind and I won't turn around



There is just one thing
I can't understand my friend.
Why some folk think freedom
Was not designed for all men.



Yes I think I voted for the right man
Said we would overcome.

(lyrics by Pops Staples -- 1962)

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #18 of 21


















1/18/91

Gulf War

U.S.

Iraq
Kuwait
Baghdad
Jordan
Saudi Arabia
Israel
Tel Aviv
Jerusalem

(click on image for additional details)


am's notes:  On January 18, 1991, Iraq launched SCUD missiles on Israel. The U.S. deployed Patriot missiles to Israel and Saudi Arabia.  See Gulf War link above for additional context for this mandala.


This process of sharing my mother's mandalas is transformative. Perhaps it is time to begin to make some mandalas of my own.  I do have two drawings (one from 1999 and one from 2007) that would be my mandala #1 and #2. They were inspired by a book about healing that I bought in 1999 during a time of turmoil and little inner peace in my life.


It has just occurred to me that I made my first mandala in 1999 in a room in a motel on the north end of Arcata, California, just off of Highway 1 and that I also stayed in Gualala during that time and worked on the exercises in the book there as well.  


As the end of 1999 approached, I had been seriously thinking about moving to Humboldt County, and I stayed there for the most part from late September to the end of October, also spending about a week in Gualala in Mendocino County, which was another place I thought I might like to live. 
The events leading to my being in a motel room in Arcata are coming back to me now.  

In spring of 1998, I had found myself feeling so distraught that I left my work station at the Catholic hospital where I was employed as a transcriptionist, and I went to talk with a social worker who was employed in Pastoral Care as a chaplain.  She was a Roman Catholic nun from the order of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace.After talking with her, I went to the non-denominational hospital chapel (with its wooden altar built by a fine woodworker who identified as both Jewish and atheist) and sat quietly in meditation until I was able to return to my work station. As a result of leaving my work station without letting anyone know where I had gone, I was sharply reprimanded and sent for mandatory counseling through the hospital's employee assistance program and from there I was referred to a Gestalt therapist in Bellingham.  Now I'm wondering if that therapist was the one who suggested the book to me. 


Since the spring of 1998, I had been working with that therapist on emotional issues after the suicide of a former boyfriend (we were together briefly in our early 20s) on his 50th birthday in December of 1997 in Bellingham and also because of my increasingly strained and demoralizing relationship with my father after my mother's death and my distress in connection with my Richard's rapid descent into late stage alcoholism which had involved prison time.  I had distanced myself from Richard for my own safety, but he remained a constant presence in my psyche.   


As a result of living with Richard during the first five months after his return from Vietnam in 1970 and as a result of a terrifying episode while talking with him over the phone on Veterans Day 1989 during the Gulf War, as well as my anguish in response to the Gulf War,  it became increasingly clear that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.  


In the spring of 1999, in a futile attempt to sort out the mess that my life had become, I abruptly quit my job at the hospital and cashed out my IRA that I had been building up for 14 years.  I thought that a new career or moving back to California, specifically Humboldt County, might be the answer.  Spending a month in Humboldt County seemed like a good idea.  Certainly the solace of the ocean and the redwoods would heal me.  


Because I found myself in severe emotional distress despite being in one of my favorite places on the earth, I went to the hospital in Eureka and talked with a hospital chaplain who referred me to a counselor in Arcata who helped me during that month in which I realized that I was in no shape to move alone to Humboldt County.  


Just now, I found my copy of the book that prompted me to make my first mandala.  My notes in the book show that I bought The Mythic Path, by David Feinstein and Stanley Krippner, in July of 1999 and that I may have finished the exercises in January of 2000.  The last page that I dated was January 23, 2000.  In December of 1999, against my better judgment, I had impulsively contacted Richard in California and was shocked to learn that he had been diagnosed with oat cell carcinoma in his neck and throat and had undergone drastic surgery at Stanford University Hospital.  To my dismay, there was no word from him again until September 2001 when he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and I flew to California to visit with him at his parents' home, where he was living at the time.  In spring of 2002, his cancer went into remission, and he began drinking heavily and using drugs again. Again, for my own safety, I had to keep my distance from him.    


In 2007, in a time of increasing inner turmoil and intermittent severe migraine headaches, close to a year before my Richard died, I went through the exercises in the book again and made a second mandala. With a little research, I see that I was moved by this poem at about the same time.  


Now in 2014, I can say that my daily experience contains close to an equal measure of inner peace and inner turmoil.  The yin-yang symbol has meaning for me.  Oneness.  The balance of darkness and light. Dynamic.  Alive.  





















For so much of my life, I had very little sense of having any inner peace and only experienced unceasing inner turmoil.  Right now I'm wondering how life was for my mother.  What was the balance for her? I don't think she found the peace she sought, but she did continue her creative output in a way that has eluded me since the First Gulf War.  


The years between 1980 and 1989 resulted in nearly 200 drawings and paintings coming through me.  What a shock to do the math and see that 25 years have gone by since that unprecedented period of creativity.  I will be 65 years old in October.   


Then I remembered this:


"From the age of 6 I had a mania for drawing the shapes of things.  When I was 50 I had published a universe of designs.  But all I have done before the age of 70 is not worth bothering with.  At 75 I'll have learned something of the pattern of nature, of animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects. When I am 80 you will see real progress.  At 90 I shall have cut my way deeply into the mystery of life itself. At 100, I shall be a marvelous artist.  At 110, everything I create; a dot, a line, will jump to life as never before.  To all of you who are going to live as long as I do, I promise to keep my word. I am writing this in my old age.  I used to call myself Hokusai, but today I sign myself "The Old Man Mad About Drawing."

-- Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849)














Since December 2006, blogging has been keeping my creative energy alive, although it has resulted in only a few drawings and paintings.  Here are my top 10 blog labels:




   Here are the last twenty of a long long list of labels identified with a single post: 

Here is one of the first bloggers who found my blog and commented. I've been hoping she would post on her blog again.  She wrote the poem that meant so much to me in 2007.  Her posts are worth waiting for.  Look back through her archives for "pictures, poems and other souvenirs and artifacts."

Thank you to anyone who read this far.  I didn't expect to write so much when I sat down 6 hours ago. 

Thank you to my mother for giving me a perspective on keeping the creative process alive in times of turmoil.  

Porch meditation:  Summer-blooming Amaryllis












Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #17 of 21



















12/11/90 - 12/18/90

Hanukah

Shalom

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight

Latkes
Gimel
Nun
Dreidel
Shin
Kislev 25
Menorah
Nes Gadol Haya Sham

(click on image for additional details)

This post is dedicated to Velveteen Rabbi.  I wish my mother were still alive so that I could share Rachel's blog with her and that I could talk with my mother in a way we couldn't while she was alive.

My mother let her inner turmoil as well as her inner peace be made visible in this series of mandalas created in the last years of her life.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #16 of 21


















5/31/90

Anchor Bay

Maxine R.

"Vinny"

"Lady"

Jeni and Mike H.

(click on image for additional details)

am's note:   Anchor Bay is a few miles north of where my parents lived in the southwestern corner of Mendocino County.  My parents enjoyed visiting the beach at the Anchor Bay Campground and brought family and friends to that beach.  The names on this mandala are those of a friend of my mother, those of two dogs, and those of the couple who managed the campground then, and manage it to this day, as far as I can tell.  

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #15 of 21


















5/30/90

Shavuot

6/1/90

Narcolepsy Mandala
(Following
I and II)
Finished
later in
day with
colors
and
notes.
(All of
the Roman
Numerals
were
done
during
"sleep")

Shavuot
49 days
Omer
to
Sinai
7 weeks

1. -- once
2. -- once
3. -- 2 times
4. -- once
5. -- once
7. -- once
8. -- 3 times
9. -- 5 times
10. -- 5 times
11. -- 2 times
12. -- 2 times
13. -- 3 times
14. -- 1
15. -- 1
16. -- 1
17. -- 1

VI
6 missing
No 6

The Ten Commandments - Exodus 20 - Moses

am's notes:  The 6th Commandment is "Thou Shalt Not Murder." The Ten Commandments are the first ten of 613 commandments given by God to the Jewish people.

Despite taking Dexedrine on a daily basis from 1954 until her unexpected death of a massive heart attack in 1994, it is clear that my mother never found complete relief from narcolepsy.  I'm not sure how she was able to stay awake during the time she held jobs in her 20s and early 30s, before marrying.  Before her daily dose of Dexedrine was prescribed, it must have been extremely difficult for her to struggle to stay awake while trying to be a wife and mother of very young children in the years from 1949 to 1954.  On the other hand, the emotional side effects of Dexadrine were devastating to her, and to us, her three daughters.  She was alternately giddy and full of amphetamine-fueled energy, unable to stay awake, prone to rage, and a creative well-intentioned mother.

It is intriguing that my mother's narcolepsy determined the course of her enigmatic 15th mandala. By the time she was 74, my mother was not taking as much Dexadrine as she had when we were growing up, but she took enough on a daily basis so that she could drive a car without having to worry about falling asleep at the wheel.



















My Amaryllis plant only bloomed during winter the first year I had it. Every year after the danger of frost is over I put it out on my porch, and it blooms during July or August.  I took this photo a few days ago.  The first of the three flowers has not yet opened as of today, but it is getting close to opening.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #14 of 21


















5/27/90

The music goes down and around
And it comes out here

1929-1930

(click on image for additional details)



Friday, August 1, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #13 of 21


















4/10/90

Pesah ...

Exodus
Hametz
Karpas
Haroset
Maror
Haggadah
Passover
Wine
Beitzah
Elijah's cup
Afikomen   Seder
Salt

... Shemah, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheynu Adonai, Echad ...

... Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One ...

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #12 of 21










                                              
                                        



5/9/90 - Full Moon AT APOGEE

Towards full -- waxing
Towards new - waning

Synodic Month:
1 revolution
from new moon
to new moon
29 days 12 hours

Luna  Diana

The
Moon

Hunter's moon  Harvest moon

Low tide  High tide

Elliptical
Wax
Orbit
Set
Earth
Rise
Satellite
Wane

Eclipse

New
Crescent
First Quarter
Gibbous
Full
Gibbous
Last Quarter
Crescent                      

Sidereal Month:
1 revolution in
relation to a fixed star
27 1/3 days

A . . Apogee - farthest from Earth
P . .  Perigee - closest to Earth

(click on image for additional details)

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #11 of 21


















3/11/90 (Adar 14)

Purim

O.T.
Book of Esther

(click on image for additional details)

Monday, July 28, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #10 of 21



















2/23/90

You are looking at Jupiter watching the Dog nipping at the Hunter's heels as the Hunter pursues the Bull ...

(click on image for additional details)

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #9 of 21


















2/22/90
Year of the Horse

(click on image for additional detail)



2014 is also a year of the horse (mă in Pinyin).

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Friday, July 25, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #7 of 21


















2/10/90 - Turtle Island

- Tu Bishvat - (Shevat 15)

See 11/2/89

(click on image for additional details)

For the rest of this series, I'm going to let my mother's mandalas speak for themselves.

Comments are welcomed (-:

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Josephine's mandalas: #6 of 21


















1/31/90

Twinkle Twinkle, little cell .....
You've done your work and done it well
When I die, you'll drift to sea ......
And wait there for another me ..... (-:

(click on the image for additional details)

This mandala was made on a Wednesday, within 24 hours of the previous one.

Up until the last year of her life, my mother had planned to be cremated and have her ashes scattered in the Pacific Ocean. My recollection is that she had made arrangements with the Neptune Society.  This was a sore point with my father. He wanted her ashes to be buried alongside his ashes in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where his mother and father and younger brother were buried. Almost exactly a year before she died, she gave in to his wishes and changed the details of her will.

It has always seemed to me that her freed spirit remained in and around Gualala. Three days after she died, a Black Phoebe appeared on the ocean side of my parents' home. I had never consciously seen a Black Phoebe before. It sat on the porch railing and peered at me as I stood near the door to the porch, talking on the phone with one of my older cousins who had been close to my mother. The Black Phoebe remained for sometime, seeming to be calling to us in the house:



Twice when I returned to Gualala for visits after my father had sold their home and moved to Bellingham, I had encounters with a Black Phoebe. Both times I was out walking and felt greeted by a Black Phoebe who stood on the soft dirt path and looked at me in what I perceived to be a friendly and fearless manner. Black Phoebes are dear to me now.

I like the single bright red star and the shimmering energy of this mandala with its radiating words.

After both of my parents had died I had an unexpected dream of seeing them joyfully reunited on the sloping hillside outside their home in Gualala. In the dream image, they were free of the differences that had kept them at odds with each other -- at least during many of the years I observed of their 46 years of marriage. They seemed to truly love each other in my dream.

This is what their home looked like in 1974 before more houses were built on their street. My Dad is looking south out of the living room window. My impression is that this was the happiest time in their lives. Their three daughters were grown. My father had retired and enjoyed gardening and woodcarving. My mother loved their new life in Gualala and had an abundance of creative energy. As always, she was never without a book to read.


My mother is sitting just to the south of house.













My father did the finish work on the addition to
their house which included a garage, a master
bedroom and an art room for my mother.













My mother took the paintings she had done in the
early 1960s and hung them up in the garage.


I am guessing that this photo was taken in 1974.













It just occurred to me that, in these photos, my mother 
is 7 years younger than I am now. I am 9 years
younger than my mother was when she made her
mandalas. My mother's mother died when my
mother was 20, and her father died when she was
29. She didn't have her parents for as long I 
did. 

It is also occurring to me that looking at my mother's 
mandalas is bringing thoughts of my father and of
my parents' marriage to my mind.

Thanks to whiskey river for this reminder.