What pictures would I take?
I have just been visiting my friend Heather’s blog with its beautiful pictures of flowers and plates of gorgeous food and Vermont frame houses and seascapes. My blog, in case you have not noticed, has hardly any pictures unless you count that picture of me holding forth in the hallway that my friend Todd took, the pictures of my book covers, and the pictures of the Turks taken by my son. But what exactly would I take? A picture of my brain? Or a crowded table with two computer screens and stacks of books with broken spines from being splayed open so I won’t lose the page (which I always do). Or maybe the orange cat whose activities include shedding, digesting, and knocking the splayed books off the table. Today, we could have a picture of my office at the college where I teach. It, too, has splayed books and two screens. No cat, though. Everything that happens here is invisible. For example, Mary Shelley just looked at a plate of fried artichoke leaves in Paris and thought they were frog legs. But the student who was just in here was unaware of this, although she did notice that I thought it was Thursday.