Complicated is a good thing.
Women say, I’ve said, maybe you’ve said, that relationships between and among women are complicated.
This past Saturday afternoon was the closing of Jeanne and Nancy’s museum exhibit.
Here they are looking at Jeanne’s cloth together.
I honored Jeanne, who honored Nancy. It was complicated.
And we listened to other women read their essays, and viewed the art they offered. We took turns, moving around the room, reading about the famous poets and singers, the sisters, neighbors, friends, mentors, teachers, mothers and grandmothers who have inspired us individually and collectively.
Women choked up as they read. Listeners’ eyes filled with tears.
As I heard women who read about women now gone from their lives, I felt grateful to be reading about a friend who could give me a hug when I was finished, who could know how much she means to me right now.
I was also honored to read on behalf of Ileana Tolibia, a Miami woman who wasn’t able to be there, a woman I haven’t yet met except through the complicated magic of the internet, a woman who wrote about her beloved grandmother, whose drawings she displayed.
It was a marvelously complicated day.