Picture it: Dallas, a decade ago. No, more than that. I still lived in the townhouse on Amesbury. I bought this Ansel Adams print. Ansel Adams isn't exactly cutting edge, but I really love this particular picture. Usually, you see his landscapes, but this picture is of a mission in New Mexico. It's been hanging in my bedroom for more than 10 years, even when I was married and had to share my bedroom. It's one of those things I automatically check when I open my eyes. I look at my jewelry box from 7th grade, I look for Lu and I look at that picture. That's how I know I'm in my room and all is right with the world.

Sometime, late last night/early this morning, while I was sleeping, it leapt off my wall and crashed to the floor, right where Lu usually sleeps. The glass broke. The frame bent. Smang came running down the hall. "Is everyone ok?" I rolled over, looked at its little swath of destruction of the other side of the bed, rolled back over and closed my eyes again. "mmmphfinemmm" was my response.

Lu slept on the bed. I don't even like dogs, but I'm not letting my bitch sleep on broken glass. I cleaned it up this morning. Now I have to decide whether to get the frame and glass fixed or find some new art.


Am I ready to let go?