Letters to Mom

I'm not surprised by Vincent's reaction to his daughter coming out to him and I connected a bit to her struggles. Was Vincent bisexual? Not even his daughter knows and that's okay. What he was to everyone was loving. LET OUR FREAK FLAGS FLY! June 21, 2015 by Victoria Price The title of this blog came to me last Sunday while I was walking — as ideas often do. A few thoughts about what I might write floated through my mind as I hiked the small mesa above my home looking out over the Sangre de Cristo mountains. But the actual content came in an unanticipated way — when I stumbled across an online comment to a terrific article that was published on Monday about my dad and me. The comment read: “Loved Vincent P

Thinking about drawing again, Ma

I know I overdid and knew it when I was doing it. I've been working beyond my usual habit of overdoing in getting the house clean recently.    I think part of it was in reaction to losing Sir Chris Lee, I know it sounds ridiculous but his movies (and others) helped keep me a little bit sane inside some major mucked up years growing up.  I could escape my PTSD traumatized mind and refocus on the worlds they presented me. The movies, books and music became a life line and led me to art and writing.     For the first time in decades I feel like drawing again and I'm continuing to write. Not knowing how to handle loss, I keep busy.   Now I have to slow down. I have a psych appt Thursday, other than that, no plans except some weeding, gardening, drawing and writing. And a little upkeep on the house. Well - I do have to scrub the family room floor but that'll take time.

There are no words, Mom; You know what he meant to me. The day my mother told my father she was pregnant with me they went to a drive in movie in KY.  Hound of the Baskervilles was playing.  Unknown to Mom there was a resident dog at the drive in that would go around scarfing up the inedible hamburgers, hot dogs and cardboard pizzas...... A big dog - a Great Dane.  The timing was perfect, I'm told. When the Hound on the screen attacked the Great Dane leaned his head in Mom's window and muffed at her. My father ended up on his tailbone sitting outside the car and Mom was standing over him trying to calm her racing heart, his ears ringing from her scream. She had somehow gotten out over him and under the steering wheel, knocking him out of the car.  He couldn't get off the asphalt for several minutes because he was laughing so hard.  Word spread quickly and she was the rage of the drive-in. Fast forward to my fifth grade year. One of the books available for a