By Chrys Buckley
I am albino. Albinism is a recessive genetic condition characterized by lack of pigment and legal blindness. My skin and hair are paler than pale, and my eyes are a translucent blue that sometimes looks red in the light. Since albinism is recessive, I’m the only one in my family with the condition.
My […]
First she was Steamboat Pottery. Then Redwing Pottery. Now it’s just Nancy Bingham and a business card with a graphic of a pair of hands. A potter for forty of her fifty-eight years, Nancy says, “My hands are my best sense organ. I feel an amazing amount of stuff. I live in my hands.”
The world, as I know it, changes for me in 1973.
It changes for others in different ways. Richard Nixon is inaugurated to serve a second term as President of the United States of America. Things will soon change drastically for him though because Watergate begins months later. Nixon will submit his resignation the following summer to avoid the insult of impeachment.
It’s quiet in town when I set out for Saint John’s in the Wilderness, which is about a mile down the treacherous road to Lower Dharamsala. But because I’m walking this time, and not hurtling along in impending vehicular catastrophe, I finally get to pay attention to the scenery. It’s a serene, gently treed hillside.
I had an aunt who was a violin teacher and, according to family legend, when I was two or three, I’d watch her teaching and then pick up two pieces of wood and “play.” When I was five, she gave me my first lessons, and quickly became excited about my talent.