My father, Tony, liked to fix things. Or, more exactly, felt more comfortable, I think, always in the process of fixing things even when it was summer and we were in the backyard relaxing and talking. This is the backyard of my first house on 2nd Street in Ames, Iowa. I really had no need for an electric power drill. I am off camera talking talking talking with my mother. Theresa caught Dad tinkering while we talked. Really, a power drill? And what can be fixed of the electrical bushings the copper wire with a screwdriver anyway? He was keeping himself occupied while Mother and I gabbed. I learned in my theater classes about GOBO lighting. You can get stage lighting to cast that pattern of dappled sunlight my father is spotted in. It was a little house with a big backyard I had tore up for a garden. It is an oak tree throwing that shade. Notice the old boot scrapper next to the door leading into the mud room. This being Iowa and all. I figure this picture captures him at the age I am now. All those visits after this yet to come with all the unbroken things to pretend to fix and all the broken things that, no matter how you occupied yourself, could not be repaired. It has been seven months now since he died. The thermostat has been switched over to the heat from the cold, and all the little machines of regulation cycle on and off on and off. Routine maintenance is a fiction. Entropy everywhere. Even the sun is broken into a million unrepairable shards. with Steve Pett, Rosanne Potter Batista Simpson Joe Geha Clare Cardinal-Pett Susan Carlson Tim Martone Amy Nicoson Martone Sam Martone Benjamin James Martone Nicholas Vasilios Pappas
Posted on: Fri, 07 Nov 2014 02:11:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015