Dreaming Rodin excerpt

With her books, memories, discount coupons and annual memberships to under-funded over-politicized museums, she still felt like a spectator within society at large, disconnected and nomadic.  She thought of herself as a frumpish dame who couldn't run a blender.

Was that so bad? She could no longer say.

There was a time when a Gainsborough waistline or a Titian robe carried her across seas to Europe. One day she'd take that tour, visit all those museums.

There was a time when capturing light within a grape launched her into rhapsody. A time of unmanageable exuberance, when it mattered whether she selected charcoal, oils, acrylic or ink.

Morning dew on a windowpane. Steam behind a neon sign. Every moment a door. Every fleck of light a collage. All the most important blessings in the world came down to describing her mind in a picture.

And now what?