by admin on February 19, 2011

ever since esme was a child she has imagined she’d like to be buried in a wooden casket and have a tree planted on top.  at first she imagined a weeping willow.  then perhaps a magnolia.  and now the type of tree is of less importance than the concept of recycling the body.  transformation, transubstantiation, re-incarnation, recycling—-whatever term one chooses—-i have always loved the idea.  i know that esme is a bit of an eccentric but can’t help but wonder how many of you pondered such things as kids. 

 i also remember a pivotal moment (about age 10), where i stepped on a nail and had to have a tetnus shot.  i dreaded the shot so much that i started imagining that if only one tiny microsecond of the sequence leading up to the nail had been different—i had not had a tuna sandwich for lunch, i had stopped to lock the door on the way out, i had been distracted by a hummingbird (to name just a few possibilities)—-then i would not have stepped on the nail and thus would not have had to get the shot! 

when conceiving christophe my mind took a similar turn:  had i worn a different nightgown; had the phone rung; had i lain in bed for a few minutes longer, then my egg might have been found by a different sperm and history would have been transformed!  which could lead one to think that the entire course of one’s life is altered just a bit every time one looks in one’s closet and chooses to wear this instead of that, or leaves the house a bit later after changing one’s bra to go with a sheer blouse or spending a few extra seconds looking at oneself in the mirror.  this morning i read an obituary about a woman named kismet.  the mind boggles.

fatefully yours,



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