The Center
A bushel of notebooks inherited from her grandmother lay in boxes at her feet. Lifetimes, it seems, of ancestral portraits, still-lifes of the garden, diagrams of pistils and stems, caricatures of grandma’s obese Maltese Geordana, interwoven with musings and commentary of worlds gone by. Intergenerational wisdom dwarfing her own twenty years, answering anything she may have forgotten: how to pickle verdant vegetables—how to tune the Cadillac’s carburetor—how to draw Garfield—how to process sadness, guilt, joy, and rage—how to be a better human being. Grandma’s familiar font and artistic perspectives lined every page.
