Monday, 10 May 2010
River of time
This is a photograph of the sideboard that Mark's dad made, brought back with us from the UK on the recent trip back.
He was a truly remarkable man: art lecturer, architect, priest, and early in his years, furniture designer and maker. This is the only piece that has remained in the family; made in the 1930's out of many different woods, rosewood, walnut, oak and more. I wish I had known Bill, I really only met him in the last few years of his life when he had advanced parkinson's, but I could detect the brilliance and humour still within him.
The sideboard is a precious thing to have in our home, not only as a wonderful example of design from that period, but as a constant reminder of Bill's artistry.
Odd to think that when we are long gone that the sideboard will still be around, perhaps in Ezra's house; I like to think so, along with all the thousands of bits we have amassed. What will he do with them all? What to do with all the personal items we seem to have acquired from Mark's mothers house?
I was talking to a friend the other night about the passage of time. Viewed as a river or a road — something we are traveling along — the sideboard has been washed up somewhere near Couiza, assuming the time river for us could be the section of the Aude from Quillan to Limoux and also assuming we live for to a good age.
This is all far to early in the morning for these thoughts, I'll be onto what is outside the universe in a minute.
To be continued.