Blair Pessemier By the Park Winsted Acrylic/canvas 16 x 20"
Laurie Fox Pessemier Victorian on the Park, Winsted Acrylic/canvas 16 x 20"
Sunset at Hemlock Lodge Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/canvas 16 x 18"
Wildflowers in Winsted Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/panel 15 x 18"
Harika sat in the corner of the “Bulky Baggage” room at
Milano Malpensa Airport on Sunday. She
performed a tragedy worthy of an Italian diva.
“Povero cane” a woman in the room wailed. Harika ate it up. I always say if I could describe Italy in a
word, it would be ‘drama’: the good, the
bad, the ugly. Harika, about to be
condemned to prison over the Atlantic;
looking over her shoulder at me as she was urged into her air kennel,
she shot a dagger.
On the other end, she managed to bounce out of her cage (so
large we had to rent a special car) yipping and jumping, all forgiven,
celebrating by drinking gallons of water.
We are back in the Northeastern USA for our summer at Hemlock Lodge.
One of the 29 grandchildren of our hosts is celebrating
their graduation today on the beach, with a couple dozen friends. It’s started to rain, but hasn’t dampened
their spirits, one single bit. They are
singing along to popular music, with clear differences in taste between the
boys and the girls. They are swimming
and playing volleyball, charged with that energy one has at 18. A thump on the wooden dock and a splash into
the lake. Not a care in the world, and why should they
have one? Why should any of us?
After a mere 18 hours on the ground, and we took my Dad to
his favorite Chinese buffet. We are the
only family members really keen on it.
And Chinese food is rare in Italy:
I want hot chilies and salt. My
Dad is moving quite slowly these days, and one of the Chinese waitresses helps
him with his dish. You can see in her
eyes that Chinese reverence for the aged.
Another waitress flashes him a sincere, loving smile. One world.
Arriving at Hemlock Lodge is really coming home. I notice the hot water seems to be working better
this year; no leaks yet, despite the rain.
A violent electric strike just feet from the house raises the hairs on
my arm. Books I didn’t finish last year
are still here, covers not warped.
Trees are taller. A squirrel runs
across the yard. New bird sound. My
bathing suit arrived by mail and actually fits.
Seven new reading books.
I look at people’s smiling faces and wonder whether to
address them in Italian, French, or no, beautiful, glorious English. The words that come the easiest. I smile.
“You’re the one I need, you’re the one I love”, the
graduates croon.
