How Nubs How far can a mother go? I remember vividly. The photographic image is vivid and tasty. A male child with light curls stands in a diaper on the heating grate between dining room studio and living room bedroom. He has a large paintbrush in his hands, ready to suck on the brush at the top. Red stemmed, it extends from his mouth to below his naval. He’s grasping it with both hands. It is not a house painter’s brush, but an artist’s brush. I remember vividly because it is a photograph. It was one from that age. I don’t know where it is now. It is part of a series of children stopped cold. Children are always moving. There is no way to keep them in memory. I was happy that we didn’t have more than one bedroom; that one, kept for children. My husband and I slept on a home-crafted bed-tocouch of wood and foam of a Scandinavian design. We upholstered it ourselves. The fabric was textured with exquisite nubs laid in stripes of orange and white and brown. Men do travel to other cities, less tied to house and home. Was there ever a periodical called House & Home? In any case, I never subscribed to it.
Segue 11 Fall 2013
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