In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • Relatable Influence
  • Bradley Bazzle (bio)

[End Page 134]


Click for larger view
View full resolution

Photo by Jenn Evelyn-Ann

[End Page 135]

I snapped away with our best camera while Caleb and Emma twirled within a shower of leaves thrown by my husband, Jason, who had spent the afternoon raking. The sun was high enough to give the children's cheeks a warmth but low enough to avoid the flattening brightness of midday. And the air was just cold enough to justify our matching cable-knit cardigans. Jason, who had unbuttoned his cardigan, began hurling great two-fisted piles of leaves, grunting like a monster. The children laughed with what seemed like genuine delight, and why not? They loved our lazy days at home.

For my own part, I was heartened by the maturation of the landscape. The viburnums were beginning to fill out, and the old apple tree, which we had paid an arborist to restore, had finally grown a few apples. The last of the shiny reddish balls still clung to its branches, and I took photos of Caleb as he reached up, smiling, to pluck one, then another. And another. He stuck the apples into a box we kept for our assistant. The big box contained other odds and ends like freebie clothing that didn't quite fit me and extra cupcakes and pies. So many pies. But I refuse to take an old pie out of the oven for the sake of a shoot. The warmth of a freshly cooked pie gives the air a quality that gets captured in photos, I swear.

Anyway, we were having a lovely time in the backyard, and I was free of the queer feeling I had been getting. The problems started when we went in the house.

Our living room had been rearranged to accommodate the awful giant Cozy Family Chair. Caleb and Emma fit on the chair together, but their diminutive size made the chair look absurd, and adding Jason called attention to the chair's awkward depth: too deep for him to bend his legs at the knees but not deep enough for a full recline, such that his rather large feet sort of drooped off the end. I asked him to take off his shoes, which he did, revealing plain white socks. I must have made a face, because he said, "Come on, Claire, they aren't gym socks."

"They might as well be," I said.

"We got them from Archipelago. A freebie."

I said nothing.

"They're ivory," he said.

"Ivory is white."

"That's like saying brown is black."

"Ivory is a chromatic shade of white, like eggshell. See the walls?"

Jason looked at a wall.

"Is it white?" I asked.

"Of course it's white."

"It's eggshell."

Jason began to rise from the Cozy Family Chair. He would go to the bedroom, I knew, and change socks without a word. But we had been [End Page 136] arguing recently about how often I gave him commands in front of the children, and I had decided to start picking my battles.

"Sit down," I said. "The socks are fine."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm being ridiculous."

He sat down, pleased, and the kids piled onto his chest. We tried several different positions, all of them unnatural and highlighted by Jason's giant ivory feet, which protruded from the gray Cozy Family Chair like tusk stumps. Finally Jason curled into a sort of feline position with Emma reading in his lap, and I snapped a few photos I knew we wouldn't post.

Next we turned our attention to the game of Settlers Junior that had been set up in the center of a white plush rug from Moderni. Jason scooted the coffee table against the couch to make room for us. He studied the low wooden table, topped with vintage tile coasters and lifestyle magazines.

"Think I should strike the table?" he asked.

"Leave it," I said. "Less contrived."

Jason mounted the camera on the tripod while I arranged Emma and Caleb.

"I'm hungry," Caleb said.

"It'll only be a minute," I said. "The game is already set up."

"What's...

pdf

Share