Waking Up The Ghost by Marilyn Spiller
What Does It Mean?
When my children were younger, I co-owned an art gallery called Spiller Vincenty on King Street in San Marco. I won’t deny my kids had an avant-garde upbringing, with artists coming and going, performance pieces being enacted on makeshift stages (and once in a blow-up baby pool), and the aspect of our home ever-changing as paintings were recycled and works of art were sold off of the living room walls like gewgaws at a church bazaar. There were times when one of my children’s friends would titter at a Laurie Hitzig nude, or...
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I’m unpacking from a recent trip when a call comes from my host: “You left your toiletries bag,” she says. Those five words strike dread in the heart of any woman of a certain age. What about my regenerating cream? My warm glow blush? My super blendable liquid foundation, my tweezers nestled in their box with the built-in magnifying mirror!!! Suffice to say I am in the drugstore early the next morning to replace what has been temporarily lost. When one purchases a dozen toiletry items, it is glaringly apparent that they’re...
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In all the world, St. Augustine’s Guana Reserve is my favorite place to hike. There are seventy-three thousand acres to explore, but on a nice day there is always a crowd of people huddled at the entrance to the beach. The real Guana is a half mile past the hoopla, where a gorgeous, untapped resource stretches for mile after unencumbered mile. There is something about the vast monotony of the ocean and the solitude of this beach that draws me back again and again and makes me feel very large and very small at the same time. I take my...
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