Behind the Picture

The signatures change from picture to picture, from front to back.

Lack of technical knowledge is keeping me from posting the image of the picture I found at Jimmies. I am watching myself not jump into the world of the 'experts'. I am enjoying the flavor of not knowing, the softness of wondering. Sometimes when you know, or think you know the world becomes smaller, possibilities fall off.

Patrick came over last night. His father's father went off to the Korean War and when he came back he did not return to the east coast where Patrick's father waited with four other siblings, he, Patrick's father's father, ended up in the central valley of California. Started a new family there.

Behind Patrick as he talks about it, behind Patrick as he gets to the part of the story that says, we never heard from that grandfather, and then my aunt married a New Yorker who moved to LA and researched him out of the woods. She tracked him down. Called him up. Said Hello. And he was found. Behind Patrick as he spreads out the circumstances of his own fathers certain reluctances, the pictures hang on the wall.

Patrick's sister went out to meet with the grndfather, father of their father. She said he was a nice guy. She said Patrick looks a lot like him. She said they went fishing. She said she had to pick him up off the floor a couple of times. He drank. He drank bad.

Patrick has a soft voice. He is from the south. He talks from the breath of a sigh. Gentle southern sounds. Nothing ever sounds ugly when Patrick says it. Sometimes she had to pick him up off the floor. Sometimes the sky holds pinks and golden rays at sunset.