Visitation I was in an upstairs room putting laundry away, not thinking about anything in particular. I was "in the zone," crossing off a list of chores. I had assumed the days of seeing my grandmother Frances in dreams had passed and sadly had not thought of her in awhile. When I stood up from my task, the atmosphere in the room had changed. I closed my eyes and waited. I can barely describe it. It lasted less than two minutes. It is simply that her scent is so distinctive--a complex mix of skin cream, perfume, clothing, perspiration. I am probably freaking you out--I certainly don't mean to--but if you've lost a loved one you may know what I'm talking about. My culture doesn't make room for these experiences. If something doesn't fit neatly within the confines of protestant tradition, it is dismissed, or (mis)labeled, and certainly not entertained. Pretty tragic. Our loved ones are no longer confined by a physical world. Do we reject the poss
American Artist in the South