The Mother's Curse_Crisis and Opportunity_The memory lapse_Home is a State of Mind
Catalog Guide:
The Mother's Curse
“I couldn’t believe it, Mom,” Ella said. “She's done the all things you expect at her age—picky eating, backtalk, drawing on the walls with crayons—but this was a whole new level. I walked into Charlotte's room, and her clothes were in rags—all of them. She’d got her hands on a pair of scissors and cut holes in all her jeans. She cut the sleeves off her t-shirts and—why are you laughing?”The breathless laughter through the phone grated on Ella’s nerves. “This isn’t funny. Do you know how much we spend on clothes for her? She outgrows them almost as fast as we can buy them, and most of these we...
Crisis and Opportunity
Jess looked at her completed vision board and was excited for the year to come. She looked at her three main parts, the largest parts by far. A large four bedroom house complete with a quarter acre lawn and a white picket fence. It was a perfect house to house a perfect family. Speaking of family, to the bottom right of the house was a picture of a tall, dark handsome man with a dress shirt slightly open to reveal a chest that would put most marines to shame and the faint outline of rock hard abs underneath. She had taken the picture from a romance novel on Canva called ‘CEO Billionaire’. The ...
The memory lapse
It happened one night, about three months ago, in the middle of a concert. My father had a memory lapse. But there's nothing tragic about that, you might say. A lapse in memory is human. Is it really the beginning of the end? How many billions of notes can a conductor have his orchestra play over the course of a career? If he forgets two, three or even ten bars, what does it matter? Why doesn't he look at his score? Well, let me tell you. First of all, you have to impose yourself on your musicians. The challenge is not insignificant; a good pianist does not necessarily make a good conductor, h...
Home is a State of Mind
I’m 7 years old, rolling down the truck window with the crank. It takes every bit of strength in my small arms, but finally, I accomplish the task. The sky is clear and blue. A hawk soars across it. The engine revs and my father and I travel down a series of long and winding country roads. I cross my arms and lean my head out the window. Black-eyed Susans bloom in a ditch overrun by tall, tangled weeds. Dust circles through the air. I listen to the gravel spin beneath the wheels, feel the jar of an unavoidable pothole, and hear my father remark, “when’s the last time they grated this road?”. W...