Because I find writing about my dad more fun than crying. Happy Father’s Day, Papa Jones Our Mt. Rushmore, TGJ (©AGJ) My dad was still hanging in the air inside his home a few hours after he died (it’s now been 12 weeks). I took note of his presence before the march of [...]
Christmas past
Originally published in December 2010 in Blog
What will your legacy be?
Originally published in November 2010 in Blog
*9:00 am: This post is dedicated to my friend, Monica Scrivener. She died on Saturday. I found out ten minutes ago on Facebook. In high school, Mon and I used to sit beside each other in art class and make smartass comments. I’m heartbroken. When I’m dead and all physical reminders of the life I [...]
Move it!
Originally published in June 2010 in Blog
On some mornings, I get up thinking about Twyla Tharp (left), the American choreographer. And I’m not even a dancer, I’m a writer. I don’t know Twyla, but I do know that she moves like Fred Astaire (leading, not following) and once directed a line of classical ballerinas to sing en pointe. Years of studying the [...]
Woof!
Originally published in June 2010 in Blog
The front hallway of the house I grew up in was a grotto of potted plants and hanging baskets placed in and amongst a collection of modern art made from highly polished cast steel. A floating staircase linking the hallway to a second level cut through the middle of this exhibition of vines and metal [...]
In conversation with Maureen Judge
Originally published in May 2010 in Blog
In a display of human nature at its worst, I once worked with a fashionista who sneered, “Old ladies smell like sour milk.” Wow, I thought, if women can be this disdainful of their mother’s generation, we’ve got a problem. Judging by popular culture, society as a whole finds post-fertile women not worth looking at [...]
Momento mori
Originally published in February 2010 in Blog
The long goodbye …
Originally published in February 2010 in Blog
My mother knew her entire adult life what was coming. But confirmation arrived the day she shuffled into the kitchen, swung open a few cupboard doors, then turned to me and asked, “Where are the singing noodles?” From that day forward, I stopped leaning on mum and started extending a protective hand. Before long, pots [...]
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