It rests quietly on my desk, undisturbed by papers it was designed to hold secure. I guess I didn’t buy the Georgia O’Keeffe paperweight to keep actual papers from scattering. I don’t really have any paperwork. But it does hold the memory of our visit to this museum. The memory of how we arrived late, and they let us in for free. How the welcome continued as we wandered through her life on canvas. Such glorious simplicity. This beauty that hung the ordinary into spectacular — that made big and certain and quite unforgettable the significance of a leaf. A flower. A skull. 

And so it sits as a reminder on my desk and in my heart. All the memories that flutter. The fragile scraps that could easily fly out the windows of time passing. Each story I write, each painting that I paint, gives weight to the meaning of all that I have seen. All that I live. And isn’t it important! Isn’t it worth the saving! Yes! 

I showed young Margaux the painting of my Grandma Elsie. She said, “Oh, I love her.” Another page secured.