There are many ways to define togetherness. My Rosemary,
today Wednesday as I write this, is at UBC. I miss her presence. I am with her
because she is not here. That almost seems a paradox. I may be in bed. She has
been up, done her hair and left. Her presence is a warm spot on the bed. Is she
no longer there, or the idea of her, lacking when the spot goes cold?
Then there is the togetherness of my files. In alphabetica
order in my authors files Timothy Findley is between Mona Fertig and Richard
Ford.
How about random togetherness? What is that? I have found these negatives on one archival plastic sleeve that
somehow connects the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Natural History
(all in NY), Malcolm Parry and the Museum of Flight in Seattle.
