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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

Monday, January 11, 2010

View From Dining Room Window

Chapter 48-B (below) opens with Dad measuring the trim for the dining room window. This is that window 35 years later (though not in the winter). We lived on the lower level, below this window, during these closing chapters. If you look closely, or double-right-click to enlarge, you can see Mom's clothes line, which is just up the sidewalk outside the basement door. It was while hanging clothes on the line that Mom especially missed our next-door-neighbor Kay. Through those 14 years in Roseville, they had gotten in the rhythm of doing laundry on the same day so they could chat across the fence.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

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29/1/10 3:08 PM  
Blogger patterns of ink said...


1/2/10 8:57 AM  

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