Clearly, unlike one of the stories surrounding Pheidippides and the first marathon, I did not die upon completion of the 26.2 mile uh hike. I say hike because I walk the marathon - or you could say I slow run it, regardless, I didn't expire. And you also might notice that I'm not wearing a silk scarf or even a bandana; I'll have to work on that for next year.
When last we spoke, I brought up the subject of using silk as the medium upon which I print my images. This change from photo paper to watercolor paper and finally to silk happened as my photographs and photocollages became more focused on Southeast Asia
I have searched our entire 700 sq. foot space and cannot find my childhood scrapbook, so I can only conclude that it grew legs and walked out. But imagine if you will, the vintage scarf pictured in the banner, tied over the head and under the chin of the small hula-hooper on the right.
I am not a gardener in any sense of the word. When my husband comes back from being out of town, he doesn't bother to ask if I've watered the plants - he just grabs the water bucket and does it - first thing. I forget we have plants, although I like them.
At Mile 15 in last year's Bataan Memorial Death March, you came to walk beside me. I could see faint images of you on either side of me. The only sound, however, was that of my feet on the dusty rocky trail at White Sands Missile Range.
This is the first in a series of stories about my silk scarves and fabric pieces. Each piece does have a story and by sharing them here, I hope that you'll be able to pass along the tale as you wear the scarf.