Playing the tourist, I’ve taken countless photos in back of them — The figures of what the town represents. How joyfully and eagerly becoming them. From Superman to the hatted women of Brittany, I have placed my head and heart behind. It’s just that simple, I suppose, to stand in someone’s shoes, so why do we find it so difficult to do?

Empathy. It takes some time to build. We see people as we label them. Grandma, then Grandma Elsie, she was a woman of this world. Not simply a soft belly for me to land upon. She was young and beautiful. Small in waist and big in dreams, she kissed the boy behind the Alexandria hotel. And carried those dreams from heels to Thom Mcann’s. Painting her, seeing her, now, she is not hidden behind apron.

I hear the conversations. Oh, how she loved to visit. From grocery store line, to card table, I can hear the smiling replies, “Oh, Elsie…” they would say in delight. They saw her, so I could see her, and now I can’t look away. She, they, taught me how to gently tourist in the hearts of others.

And isn’t that empathy — those who go out and see, first, so we all can see, ever.