You are a lovely couple: kind and interesting and gentle, with two gorgeous sons. In my first memory of you I’m being asked to be your flower girl- although I wasn’t sure who you were at the time, you’d met on the internet, countries apart, spoken often, met, and married. Phil became more than our web designer, he was our friend. Susan became my mothers design co-conspiritor, and their sons my miniature companions. One particularly intense memory is the younger son, Casey, at no more than eight months showing great promise of continuing the familial lineage- impressive English stock where six foot is nothing unusual- so solid that, bouncing on my knee for an hour or so he left an impressive mark- the ghost-weight, as if he was still there, even twenty minutes later. In their first Melbournian house they had the unenviable task of stripping a sedimentary history of wallpaper- from subdued Victorian patterns to the garish and gently furred monstrosities of the eighties. So great a task, in fact, that they wanted to leave it, but peeling strips of wallpaper proved otherwise.
My Dad somehow got it into his head that I should have a car, and since we’re financially rather comfortable right now (which for artists is more mirage than reality) he’s been looking around for one. Recently he heard of a friend selling an ancient Renault for (apparently) peanuts (ok, not ancient. But older than me by a good decade or two.) I’ve since been unable to stop my eyes a-wandering every time I catch a glimpse of an older car. And therefore:
A dress in honor of ancient (and not so ancient) cars. May unnecessarily large grilles be always in style.