Lily continues her search for the lost doll
Scene 1: In the garden
Scene 2: At home
So, the opposite of Rosie (who has dreams and brings back objects). Lily can hold an object and paint a dream. And Lily is dreaming (painting) of the sea.
That’s my mom again in the old photos, along with (I believe) my sister Claudia.
The letters scattered in the old chest are correspondence between my mother and father when my dad was in the Merchant Marines.
Here’s a snippet from one of the letters, Mom to Dad, January 6, 1945.
“And I’ll tell you about us [that’s she and my oldest sibling, Kim] and what a wonderful, luxurious sterile life I’m leading here and what a gull [seems to mean stupid] I was trying to manage alone there at 43 [I think this is a reference to their apartment in the city – she’s moved in with her mom and dad in New Jersey while my father is away]. This place may kill whatever is creative in you, but at least it doesn’t kill you and if my writing seems a little different, chalk it up to the fact that I’m a little hesitant about typing since I pulled a faint the last time and I keep waiting to pass out now [not sure what the issue was – maybe she was already pregnant with my sister Claudia?], but I feel much better and I’ve gone to see another doctor in the McGraw Hill building, that beautiful green shiny building on 42nd street [New York]. Brother [her older brother, Vincent] recommended him, and he’s most intelligent, has a full time professorship at Columbia Med and all sorts of things . . . I like him muchly cause he’s got all the latest issues of the New Yorker and his patients are an intelligent bunch . . met some reporters from the Herald-Tribune the first visit . . long lanky black horn-rimmed glasses . . . and I put my urine in a jar labelled DEMAND THIS BRAND CHILLING IMPROVES so he’s pretty fond of me too. I think we bought some pickled herring in it. ”
I’m always struck by how thoroughly modern my mother’s writing always sounds. If I didn’t know the time frame, I’d never be able to place when she was writing.
My mom died in 2012, at the age of 93. But, when I saw Lily’s garden, I knew she’s want to be there. I’ve left her on the bench, for now, as an older woman reading a book. But I suspect the warm sea air in Lily’s town will work its magic on her.