Blogtrotter

All About My Mother

Nod to Pedro Almodovar. My narrative lacks spiked gazpacho, erotic toreadors, or PMS, but it does share with that Spanish cineaste a bit of revelation, release, and redemption. This is the woman, Anna, who introduced me and my dear wife to her husband, Jerry, last Saturday night as "John, my son." At once bridging the man who was raised with a different (and alas far less distinctive) name and the infant who she last saw in an incubator four-and-a-half decades ago. I realize this is the third post in a row featuring me in a photo-- what a year this has been professionally, linguistically, and personally. More thoughts will follow, but for now, this picture can replace my thousand words.