I find I don’t need to say too much about anything important this week. The world is spinning along regardless of reason or empathy in a reckless and measured spin yet I can do nothing except fall with gratitude for each and every happy day. Today, and all the near yesterdays were all about the flowers. The scent. Intoxicating joy. The magnitude galore. Spring Fling in purple for starters is worth a discussion.
Tag Archives: Art
Date with Myself
It’s winter break for most schools in Vermont, and that means, while many arrive to ski or board, those of us who live here, migrate away for the week. Early March you would typically find me in SoCal, but as I am still in rest and recuperation mode, I decided to make like a tourist, visit my neighboring town of Stowe, and enjoy a staycation date with myself. Simply a grand idea, and one that certainly made my mood soar.
What I Never Really Understood About My Father
If you know me at all, you know that my father was not only a doctor of medicine, but a surgeon. I am the first to give this information out. Pride for sure directs this pronouncement, but also because the title was who he was to the world around me. His hands had that careful attention, that steady strength, a surety that I and his patients could rely on. His journey to achieve his professional status was a place of pride too. I grew up hearing stories of how his family all worked together to fund his college education, his long hours of study that earned him scholarships to medical school, his dedication to master his craft: all of it rolled into that one title added to his name, Doctor Donovan. There were odd days here or there when I’d accompany him on hospital rounds or visit him in his office at New York’s Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, but regardless of everything I thought I knew about what his professional responsibilities were, last Friday afternoon it struck me, I knew nothing.
Nine Cent Girl 