My mother once got a warning from a police officer for playing the harmonica with both hands.  While she was driving.   In her own defense she explained “ it was the vibrato section of “Old Black Joe.”  Simply put, she seems to be more alive than most people; she talks quickly, sings constantly, and will spontaneously drive 20 miles out of her way for a boysenberry ice cream cone.

One reason that my mother is so alive is that she thinks about death a lot.  I know this because she often says things like: “I love this song,” followed in quick succession by:  “I want you to play it at my funeral.”  This constant presence of death makes sense; her mother, father, and brother all died before my mother turned 25 years old.

As an adult, my mother became a librarian, and she turned me and my sister into avid readers.  When you hold a book, you hold the end and the beginning in your hand at the same time.  And in between, anything is possible.

We read books, and start journeys, because we believe that we are destined for good things.  But like my mother, we all have this lurking fear that at any time, something terrible may happen.  It’s why we applaud when the plane lands.  Although we don’t actually expect the plane to crash, a little part of us is still surprised when we land safely on the ground.

While the flight attendants tell us that we should put on our own oxygen masks before assisting others, we are looking at pictures of hands-free dog leashes in the Sky Mall catalog.  I’d rather not think about emergencies, and I doubt that a flimsy plastic contraption could actually save my life.  But for just a second, every time, I glance at the little plastic door above my head, I feel a little better knowing that the mask is there.

These are two of the pieces that I am currently working on.  The “Oxygen Mask” piece is almost finished.  It is 10″ x 19.”  Graphite, conte crayon, and oil paint on gessoed paper.

I just started the “Life Jacket” piece.  It is 20″ x 28,” on gessoed paper.