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My in-laws are going to Boston on Tuesday and, as it is the locale of my alma mater, they asked me where they should go. I said two things out of the blue: (1) The glass flowres at the Peabody Museum (only they aren’t at the Peabody Museum, but somehow I like the name of that museum best, so I mis-remember everything there, and (2) the Isabella Gardner Museum. Now, I have never seen the glass flowers and I only went to the Isabella Gardner Museum once. However, my mother-in-law is a gardener (that is not why I thought of the Gardner museum, but rather why I thought of the glass flowers), and everyone has always indicated that one MUST go to see the glass flowers. Now, while I’ve only been to the Gardner Museum once, I was very impressed with the fact that the museum was burgled many years ago, and due to the stipulation in Isabella Gardner’s will, the museum (unless they want to instantly lose the institution back to the private ownership of the family) must maintain the collection in the exact condition (art content, placement, etc.) in which it was given. Interestingly enough, those few paintings that were burgled are sorely missed. Their frames still stand empty amongst the beautiful remainders.

Why am I telling this story?

I went to the Gardner Museum website to see about information for their vist, and came across the most wonderful exhibition: “madamimadam” by Elaine Reichek. It’s really extraordinary. Not only are the images and sounds and movement of the piece really moving, but the mere fact of its happening is a statement in itself. As the webite explains:

In this virtual exhibition of her work amid Mrs. Gardner’s collection, the artist subtly overcomes restrictions in Mrs. Gardner’s will, which stipulates that her installation can never be altered.

This is really a great example of the ways in which digital space and interaction can explode the restrictions (economic and otherwise) that authority can impose on our “reality.”

A few years ago, I had some time on my hands, and I was wandering around the country picking up family facts and history, not so much for the sake of the family–more for the fact that I’m drawn to language and I wanted matter that was “mine own.” Selfish perhaps; honest at most. After some time in Michigan (story later) and in Virgina (story much later), I asked my Dad, who is old enough (at 73) to be considered historical and kind enough (that is his way) to be willing, to send me his autobiography. I offered that he should send it in installments; he sent it in one fell swoop. What strikes me most about the story is what is and is not included. That is, my father’s personality is such that he (93 times out of 100) would rather say what you want to hear than what he, as a remarkable individual with decided tastes and fierce opinions, would like to say. Perhaps, at this point in his life, these two options are the same–he’s southern, and he’s uber-polite. In either regard, he thought this timeline would make me (who might be one of his more difficult children) happiest.

Here is my Dad’s Floridian story encapsulated in chronological outline, typed as he sent it, in his own words.

The Merriam-Webster Word of the Day for Aug 22 is:

poetaster POH-uh-tass-ter noun
: an inferior poet
I know this pithy fact because my partner made a special point of sending it to me. I’m not sure if his purpose was to extend my paltry vocabulary, to share a tad-bit piece of literariness which he had come across, or to provide me with a self-label.
No more poetry for him.

This is only a test . . . anything I say or do at this point could be a result of HTML fatigue. This is only a test.
On the other hand, I’m tempted to include my first blog to see if my template will settle down and move to the right place. That happens right? All of its own accord? Being a relative newbie has its pluses and minuses, namely screwing things up. If you screw things up and it looks fabulous, you are a genius and an artist, but if you screw things up and they look screwed up, you don’t get positive status.
I spent some time this morning looking for a phrase that I’d like to put at the top of this blog (if I can ever figure that out). I’ve settled (for lack of having any more time to try and find something more appropriate to the named theme) on the above.
This is a quote from Go Gator and Muddy the Water: Writings by Zora Neale Hurston from the Federal Writer’s Project edited by Pamela Bordelon. The line is from verse collected by Hurston during her stint as a Florida folklorist.