Friday, March 13, 2009
"I hate cameras. They are so much more sure than I am about everything."
I rarely get any visual updates on my mother. I have been assured she is blooming and radiant from the surplus of fruits and vegetables she has been consuming, but I recently was struck by the fact that I had not seen a picture of her in quite some time. I was curious, and I requested that she send me one.
I tore the envelope asunder yesterday afternoon, having been told beforehand that an image of Mater was on its way over the ocean.
The picture was illuminating in its own way: the bare-boned trees of March, the low hovering sky, the green lush carpet that held a promise of Spring. But wherefore might I find my mother?
I presumed that was an insect on the camera lens at the time of capture: it turned out to be Mater.
I found her at last when I cleaned my glasses and squinted at the center of the photograph. When I held the picture at a certain angle so that the light was sufficient, and so that my nose brushed the surface, I could identify a human figure. In fine fettle she seemed to be, strolling gloved and jacketed, battling what was most certainly a cold day.
That was as much, regrettably, as I was able to distinguish.
I thanked Mater later for that picture, which would have been most helpful if I were, for example, attempting to count the various shades of green in the valley.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 1:02 PM