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patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

Sunday, September 03, 2006

On Grandma's Couch

That's me with the gun (which did not come from the box in the closet). The front door mentioned in the previous post is to my right and the fireplace is to the left. The archway (with the shelves) to the dining room is straight ahead. Paul and Dave are to my left. Kathy is in the back. Jim was about ten years from being born.

The second picture is on the same couch (though I'm puzzled by the different curtains). It's circa 1958 with all Grandma K's grandkids (several more were yet to come). That's me, second from the right on the floor between my cousin Keith and Paula. Dave is in the center of the couch and Kathy and Paul are on the right end. When my grandmother moved to Indiana to live with my Aunt Betty, we were given the couch. None of her other children wanted it, but for us it was a step up from what we had. I remember how abrasive and uncomfortable the deeply "embroidered" fabric was. We still had it when I was in high school. When you took a nap on it without a pillow--you'd wake up with one of those paisley "fern leafs" imprinted in your face for about an hour.

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