Lace Curtains
We drove down to Brookline today and went for a long walk. At one point I looked up and spotted the flowers and lace curtains in this window and immediately wondered about the occupant of the apartment. Who lived there? How old? Alone? With someone?
It must be a woman. Does she have covers on her furniture? Plastic over her lampshades? It's amazing how my mind builds up a story from such meager clues.
I thought of The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne by Brian Moore. A lonely unmarried piano teacher, living in 1950s Dublin, mistakenly believes that a local man who has returned from living in America, is interested in marrying her. What ensues from that is a spiritual crisis and a tragedy.
How can one ever know what is behind the lace curtains. It's the inability to ferret out the facts that sets the stage for creative imagining.
It must be a woman. Does she have covers on her furniture? Plastic over her lampshades? It's amazing how my mind builds up a story from such meager clues.
I thought of The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne by Brian Moore. A lonely unmarried piano teacher, living in 1950s Dublin, mistakenly believes that a local man who has returned from living in America, is interested in marrying her. What ensues from that is a spiritual crisis and a tragedy.
How can one ever know what is behind the lace curtains. It's the inability to ferret out the facts that sets the stage for creative imagining.
2 Comments:
I love this post. It is what I often do with people and places.
I'm betting a few doilies there, on the arms and backs of overstuffed chairs. She, who lives there, wears an apron when she cooks and still dresses up every Sunday.
I absolutely agree with you.
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