Photography

At certain moments in life, the mind takes snapshots. Sometimes these perfectly captured images are appropriately significant - the breathtaking expanse that spills out before me as I snowboard on the Nevada side of Heavenly Ski Resort in Lake Tahoe, the alpine green and white landscape of the mountain giving way to the flat brown desert miles away - and sometimes they are moments of no apparent importance whatsoever. This is a description of one of the latter.

It is one o'clock on a blindingly sunny March Saturday, but the sun's high angle prevents any direct rays from intruding into the kitchen of my mother's house. My mom is standing at the kitchen sink, her head turned to the right as she speaks to me across the kitchen. Her hands are dripping wet, and she holds them loosely and at an odd angle in front of her and just above the white porcelain edge of the farm sink, pausing in her actions the way she does when she has a particular point to make. The expression on her face is not one of any great conviction, but rather of a straightforward statement of fact. There is a green and white towel sitting within her reach on the white countertop, but she is not moving for it. Instead, she is making her point. I am looking at her, but also through the kitchen window at the neighbor's dog. The dog, a footstool-esque breed named Bailey, is about two hundred yards away, but through a coincidence of perspective and sightlines, he appears in miniature about three inches above my mom's left shoulder. He is staring intently up the trunk of a large oak, and is in mid-yap, having apparently treed some hapless squirrel.

I have absolutely no idea why my brain chose this moment, but there it is, ingrained forever, and now doubly ingrained for the reconsideration. I can't even remember what she was saying to me, probably because I was distracted by the dog. The brain is very mysterious, this I know.


And, on a completely unrelated note, since the Oscars were tonight, I thought I'd post British actor Peter O'Toole's 2003 acceptance speech for his Honorary Oscar recognizing his life's work, for which he was nominated seven times but never won. I was sufficiently impressed by it that I tracked it down and saved the text. It is a spectacular example of the genre: witty, gracious, and true, saying quite a bit with only a few words. It was also enhanced in the delivery by his ridiculously dignified accent. Enjoy:

Meryl Streep, members of the Academy, distinguished guests, viewers, ladies and gentlemen — always a bridesmaid, never a bride, my foot. I have my very own Oscar now to be with me till death do us part. I wish the Academy to know that I am as delighted as I am honored, and I am honored. The magic of the movies enraptured me when I was a child. As I totter into antiquity, movie magic enraptures me still. Having already bagged this baby, as it were, and so spared uncertainties prior to the opening of an envelope, I'm able to think. I think of our colleagues, our old friends now gone, who played their parts in this ceremony. I think of the sumptuous talents alive and well and with us now. I think of the astonishing, the gifted and able young men and women who I meet practically every time I go to work, and from whom I grab energy in handfuls. I think of the United States and of the loves and friendships I've known here for more than half a century, and of how much the nation has given to me both personally, privately and professionally. And I am deeply thankful. And now, at this last, you have given me this delightful shock. You're very good. Good night and God bless you.