the rose of kiev

Back in August of 2016, I was standing in a garage with a tupperware container full of my paintings, watching a bespectacled woman carefully page through my work. I had been invited there to cut stained glass with a group of grandmother-age ladies, but I had brought my paintings in case the hostess' daughter (an artist in a local gallery collective) happened to visit.   I got lucky - she came by, and her mother insisted she look over what I brought.  And after two years of untrained play with watercolors, I bit my lower lip as she rifled through the container, expressionless.  She paused over two my pieces, murmuring compliments about color and composition, and encouraged me to submit them to an upcoming open show at her gallery.  She thought they had a real shot of being good enough to get in.   "Sophie's Adamanth", the painting he named  I felt giddy on the drive home and called my friend Jess, a professionally-trained artist with a Fine Arts ...

  I believe that every person who starts a business to do what they love will always and inevitably find themselves doing things they definitely do not love for that very same business. I have resigned myself to the necessity of promotion.  What that meant today is that I smeared on eye liner, shoved on the tallest pair of heels I've worn since my wedding, and jumped in the car with a crumpled list of directions to retirement homes. These non-writing errands were not the kind of things I had in mind when I started  Memories in Print .  As hard to believe as it may be, I didn't have a burning ambition to walk across pitted parking lots in black pumps, to trade jokes with nursing home receptionists, or play awkward phone tag with activity directors at nursing homes.  But that's the stuff I did today. When I started this, I did it for the people  and the stories : for the chance to interview in great length and depth, for the joy o...

This is Claire and her soon-to-be-husband Alan. Claire is one of my best friends and was my maid of honor. Her wedding is four days from today. And for the last several months I've been convinced that her wedding day will mark the end of our friendship. No, really. My paranoia is totally reasonable. Let me explain. The year before Dave and I got married, two of my best friends got engaged. One was my roommate, one was a friend from high school. I was convinced I'd be a bridesmaid in both of their weddings. And the following June, I sat in the audience for both of those weddings. Since they've been married, I had some tea with my roommate, I had lunch with my high school friend, and I haven't spent time with either of them since. That June was a difficult month for me. I phoned Claire bawling, asking between sobs, "Am I a bad friend? It *hic* must be something wrong *hic* with meeee!" She tenderly assured me that I am a good friend. 2 years later, Claire is, as...