Mimi Torchia Boothby

I never knew her, she died when my mother was a little girl. All that I know of her are from stories. Stories my mother told me about how affectionate she was, in her childhood where she got little affection. Stories my grandmother told me of a woman who was clever, but didn’t speak English, learning how to barter and dicker in the USA for the things she needed to buy. The woman who could spin a tale from a time when the only entertainment after dark were stories told around the fire. She had several books memorized, and their hearth was a favorite in the neighborhood. She could sew, cook, raise vegetables and livestock. I wore a nightgown she made for her trousseau once, she was really good with a needle. She died when she was 62 years old, younger than I am now. Sometimes I wish she and I could sit down and talk.

Yesterday I had the rare opportunity to paint en plein aire on Vashon Island. The day started completely grey and rainy, but we took a chance and the day changed dramatically. The sky broke open, and wonderful blue spread across the sky while huge puffy dark clouds encroached on it. Computer monitors and electronic photography does not capture the subtleties of the blues in the sky.