Tuesday, October 19, 2010


These are the words I said at my mom's funeral

In the hallway just outside my bedroom is a 5-foot tall man. Although this “puzzled man” is faceless, his expression says more than most. He wants the world to think that he is cool calm and collected. Yet he knows that he could easily go to pieces at any time. This artwork is a wonderful ceramic picture that represents a lot to me about who my mom was.
Her art and her life show us so many interpretations.
It makes us think.
It makes us look.
It makes us question the things that we see and the things that we believe.
For those who have never seen this piece, it is large as life. The man is made of ceramic puzzle pieces that are put together to make his form. They are all adhered to a board on a frame and the whole piece is hung on the wall.
It is bold and unique.
Just like my mom.
She took the path less traveled. Many times she forged her own path. Her art is just one small part of who she was. To me the biggest piece was that she was my mom.
I remember mom bringing us to the Prendergast library in Jamestown. We would spend an afternoon marveling and wandering around the stacks. When it became time to leave I would be carrying an armful of books. My passion for reading is a piece of me that my mom gave me.
I remember playing a game while my mom was driving. We would take turns choosing directions for the next intersection. Taking those random lefts and rights led us to unexpected adventures. We laughed and proceeded down many less traveled roads and found so many unexpected sights. This sense of wonder was another piece of me given to me by my mom.
I am a “puzzled man” made up of thousands of pieces. Each piece a gift from all those that I have come in contact with. This is my perspective on life and it is inspired by a 5-foot piece of art that looks over me.
When you look at it you may see other things.
There are layers and layers of understanding that my mom as the artist helps us peel. I think my mom meant her art and her life to be dynamic. The beauty in what she creates is the flower that blossoms in the viewer. Understanding and perspectives change. We grow. We choose our own way. None are the right way.

I am the puzzled man and I love you to pieces.

Thursday, March 25, 2010


There are days when my hand passes through everyone that I touch.

It makes me wonder if I am a ghost. Passing through this world unable to reach those that tug at my heart.

Can I pass through walls I wonder as I smack my face hard against the brick. I feel the pain and think it might not be me. Maybe the world spins around me like a vapor. I squint and see exactly what I long to see and when I reach out to touch them it swirls back to the mist that it was.

What of the sounds and smells that reel against my senses? What of the quickening of my breath and thunder in my chest?

What about the knowing...

I swallow hard and wonder if I am simply an echo of what was...

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

How Faint the Echoes

We walked together you and I.
I remember the path. It twisted through our lives. Our feet plodded on the soft earth. We listened to the sounds that filled the air and laughed as the sun danced across our face as it poked through the trees that hung above us.

There were others too.
Many times I walked and watched you as you traveled along that path so joyful in the company of those others.
Some times I would join you and our group moved with purpose. We were on course to save the world.
Some times it was only you and I. My walk was always steadier at those times. My heart was always filled at those times.

We were all so young. Our journey had only just begun and the future was promised to us as the jewel it is.

The time came when your steps and mine no longer fell together. Different paths beckoned to us. You went your way. I went mine. How faint the echoes of my journey. I can no longer trace the moment when we last walked together. I don't recall the instance of goodbye or even if there was one. My feeble memories only hold that moment that you were no longer there.

Life's path folded through the trees and I still feel the moments that my footsteps fell on those downward slopes. To keep my footing I had to rush. My breath quickened and I focused on staying upright. I dare say that I was not always successful. There were times I found myself sprawled on the ground aching from my tumble.

There were others too. Some who smiled at me and recognized that together our journeys forge a path. I walk with them. They walk with me. Together our footsteps beat a melody.
There were others too. Some who were angry that my steps slowed their journey. Pushing past me in a hurry to get where they are going. How faint now are their echoes?

My journey continues and the echoes of our moments are faint. I can no longer see your footsteps. I can no longer hear your laughter. I can no longer taste my name as it falls off your tongue.

But in the faint whispers of our echoes I wonder. Where do your footsteps dance? How loud does the sunshine laugh as it flutters across your face? How wide are the paths that you have forged?

Yes, I wonder...
How faint the echoes?