Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

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Detail from Seacoast at Trouville (Claude Monet; 1881)

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Detail from Summer Night’s Dream (The Voice) (Edward Munch; 1893)

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Detail from Ravine (Vincent Van Gogh; 1889)

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I Dreamed I Could Fly (Jonathan Borofsky; 2000) put me in mind of the ceremony in the cheesy but frightening sci-fi flick Logan’s Run.

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Detail from Jackson Pollock’s Mural (1943)

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An Olmec mask

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Detail from Double Portrait (Max Beckmann; 1946)

All of the above are images I took during a recent visit to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Who indeed.

B75B1E05-6781-4D85-ADE4-500F5A7BE9E5From An Odyssey: A Father, a Son, and an Epic (Daniel Mendelsohn; 2017):

p. 41
This strangely tentative careering between concrete specifics and unhelpful generalities gives you a familiar feeling: the feeling of what it’s like to be lost. Sometimes it’s as if you’re on familiar territory; sometimes you feel at sea, adrift in a featureless liquid void with no landmarks in sight. In this way, the opening of this poem about being lost and finding a way home precisely replicates the surf-like oscillations between drifting and purposefulness the characterize its hero’s journey.

p. 149
Children always imagine that their parents’ truest selves are as parents; but why? “Who really knows his own begetting?“ Telemachus bitterly asks early in the Odyssey. Who indeed. Our parents are mysterious to us in ways we can never quite be mysteries to them.

p. 215
For the best teacher is the one who wants you to find meaning in the things that have given him pleasure, too, so that the appreciation of their beauty will outlive him. In this way — because it arises from an acceptance of the inevitability of death — good teaching is like good parenting.

p. 277
You never do you know, really, where education will lead; who will be listening and, in certain cases, who will be doing with teaching.

The last two weeks

Photos taken at, near, and around my daughters’ new home.

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This is, of course, old news, but, boy, was I shocked.

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Isn’t that a ghoulish image?

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I want this wall all around the forever home.

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Jax is what a happy moment in my childhood would taste like;
that, or a Fudgetown cookie.

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A broken HOME.

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We’re in the middle of a heatwave this weekend, but last weekend,
my daughter and I were able to walk in a nearby preserve.

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What happy flowers Black-eyed Susans are!

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She found a new hair salon.
Let me tell you, it’s not easy to find someone who can do a feminine pixie well.

Before and after

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How the living room in their apartment looked last Sunday….

A few days before my last post, my daughters signed a lease on an apartment just outside Boston. The younger begins her Ph.D. in physics this fall and will move in once her second summer stint at [insert name of national laboratory here] concludes. As soon as the older completed the extended year program at her elementary school, though, she headed to the new place to conduct a job search.

I served as move coordinator, which explains the gap between posts, and may I just say? I did an awesome job; at least that’s what my three closest friends tell me.

With the appointment to have cable/internet installed tonight, my older daughter and I will have largely completed the mental checklist “Create a home away from home,” so we have begun to relax a bit. Yesterday I finally unpacked my flute and practiced for the first time in much too long; and today before it got too hot, we walked in a nearby preserve. This summer may, in fact, end up looking a lot like last summer: Because her job did not begin until August, my older daughter and I spent several weekdays in June and July 2018 alternating adventures in Chicago with reading, music, and other pursuits. Once she accepts an offer here, we are hoping to do the same in Boston.

What makes this July so much different than last (or any other, for that matter) is that we are separated from the rest of our group by a seventeen-hour drive. Depending on how everyone’s schedule sorts out, I will have been away from my younger daughter for twice as long as I have ever been by the time I can hug her again. And for the first time since the eighties, Mr. Nerdishly and I are apart for something other than business or a funeral. I miss them both more than I miss central air (and let me tell you, I have definitely been missing central air).

In all earnestness, though, as I’ve written before, our family prefers to be together — or at least not too far apart — and eleven hundred miles is too far apart. We are all focused on the moments we are in, however — acknowledging the distance but making it work.

And I guess we will need to get used to it, won’t we? When I return home, it will be just Mr. Nerdishly and I — and the cats. And our daughters will be in their new home — together, which gives me so much comfort — but far from the forever home.

In a Captain Obvious moment, our neighbor advised us that after this summer we will be empty-nesters. Thank you, neighbor. We never heard that before. Then again, if we are still living in the nest, Mr. Nerdishly and I, how is it empty? We’re the original birds, aren’t we? It will be a less full nest but not an empty one. And while we have already reclaimed the “Girl Cave,” we have left their bedroom intact.

Because you will always be welcome, my tiny birds. Always.

And always.

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… and how it looks a week later.