My grandmother, who you wouldn't think would, hired a psychic to call us when my mother turned 35. I think the man rang from Iowa or Illionois. As he is psychic, he'll probably write tomorrow to remind me what state. Peggy can't remember a thing about the reading, but I do as she shared the gift with me. In the pantry, chained to the phone (remember that?), he told me that I would grow up to be an artist, but "not the kind I'd think." I was 14, mad in love with JMD. Of my great loves, he said, "They will all be J's." What does that mean? Today, the "artist" part has been true. Spray paint, beads, papier mache, cutting, gluing, pasting. I've commandeered the kitchen.











(photo: iphone, multi-filter)