The Accident: email to Mo.


“Lo Mo.

A few minutes ago I looked to see if you had answered my email about the accident. No email. Nor did I find one from me to you. So here it is.

I was in a car accident on Friday morning while on my way to the Gallery@CityHall. As I left the stop sign on McKinley and began to cross third street, I encountered another automobile who successfully wrenched from my grasp his version of right-away. Lacerations to my face took five hours to repair and missed my right eye and right external carotid artery by the smallest fractions of an inch.

With the assistance of perkoset I am able to live a fairly life by day but by evening I become an invalid. As these meds will be discontinued next week I am motivated to overcome this problem. I am unable to lie down and have devised a relatively comfortable method of rest. By stacking six or seven large pillows in my lap and as many on each side to hold me erect I then have a place to rest my head.

This description is by no means a form of complaint; I am very grateful to be alive. I am thinking about another book inspired by the events that took place in my mind during this misadventure. As I flew through the air I experienced a heightened sense of awareness. I am certain that I can produce 200 pages about the experience of a few seconds. I have already broken down the perceptions of less than a second into 3000 words.

I have rental car benefits on my insurance but have so far relied on friends and family for transport. I am extremely grateful. (I am not one of those who thinks that gratitude is an expression of indebtedness. That would place a price on my spared life which would then no longer be a gift.)





Tagged with discoveryfeelingsGallery@CityHallgratitudeheightened sense of awarenessperkoset


A Moment in the Life of Docent

gallery 7 2013 001

Hi Gary.
What a surprising visit yesterday. Your story, your self-perceived purpose and the changing specifics of your goals made for a stimulating conversation. One never really knows what gets the most attention from one’s audience so I offer you my own impression of this memorable event.
I listened deliberately to your words, not realizing the extent to which my own life’s biases were filtering your ideas and fitting them into my own (I dislike it when others do that to me.). And suddenly you began talking about the process of live interaction with other scholars and the benefits thereof, to all involved. I tend to view scholars as members of Jung’s silent army of introverts (we are quite okay, thank you) and then this…..Did I agree?……..”Yes”, I said to myself. “Yes, I do.”
After you left, the lady who was signing in at the time, spoke up, (well not quite “up”); she was difficult to understand. She was complaining, mostly to herself, that until recently she had a career as a well-known calligrapher and now she had trouble signing her name. She went on to complain that she had enjoyed singing, that she had always enjoyed a beautiful soprano voice and that now she was reduced to slurring every word and in voice with a tremor and no volume control.
I asked about her career and about future plans. We had a short but lively conversation, once I  learned to understand her. Unable to read her name or to understand her introduction, I think she may be Annie.
We moved from our own short biographies to those of the Artists.  I gave Annie the deluxe tour, discussing the personalities of the engravers on display and answered her questions.
As we moved from the rear of the gallery back into the front room we encountered another visitor. Attention now focusing on us, his eyes betraying the difficulty with which his brain was making a transition to something more surprising than two people coming his way, the visitor’s eyes widened , his pupils grew large and his voice practically shouted, “Annie. Dear Annie, where have you been. I haven’t seen you in months. And I knew that Annie was moving on.
I’ll let you know if I am able to arrange a meeting with your friend. Max.
Nice meeting you, Gary.
Enjoy your weekend.