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My dad grew up in Hamadan, Iran, one of the oldest cities in the world. Situated in the shadow of the Zagros Mountains, Hamadan has one of the harshest climates in Iran. My dad remembers winters so frigid, the dead could not be buried.
So when he moved to Chicago for medical school, the weather didn’t completely shock him, though he did question the fear of a tornado - it's just wind! - until the day
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My son Nicholas is an artist. That is a self-portrait of him sitting on my dining room buffet. That is a portrait of his wife on the wall next to the buffet.
I remember that as a toddler, Nicholas didn't scribble. He simply began drawing faces. His favorite subjects were his grandfather who got a squiggly mustache and his father whom he always drew with a swooping necktie.
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Today I planned to hit you over the head with an ambitious do-it-yourself project. It involves taking an old slide or negative and turning it into a sentimental masterpiece worthy of prime wall space in a soulful home. The image I’m using for this project happens to be of a woman and a child sitting on a horse in a desert. The woman is my mother, I am the child, and the desert is in Iran. Which is frankly a lot more fun to write about than pixels and filters. So the Photoshop step-by-step will have to wait for another day. Let’s talk about my mom.
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