![[Image: A black-and-white photo of young Bessie Louise standing and smiling beside a five-foot scale model of planet Earth. On the wall in the background are clocks set to different global time zones.]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWdZ9EawnB9J0sp0-z86snFTTRQaG5qBOxJH-7Dv2jvk9wcbd8OsYeepJVRU_Og2EKIzaW5tuAtOspDAKioPvk5U-wZqLFfioDJBjtRnIdFIxeLTGMskmK03sPsgRnIsnpSxl0Q9FecYThZO5CB1r96Zs5e4TkPXNkxPkiZLw9saI4e6AT5EvxanjXKtZ/s1238/031d_Planetarium.jpg "Photo of Bessie Louise, age 31, taken by my father, Floyd Walker, at Pittsburgh's Buhl Plantarium in 1970.") |
Photo of Bessie Louise, age 31, taken by my father, Floyd Walker, at Pittsburgh's Buhl Plantarium in 1970. |
THE TWILIGHT HOURS are good for reflection, where abstract thoughts and memories buried fathoms deep for decades come washing ashore on waves of tears. I hope you don't mind if I share some of these thoughts with you. There will come a point very soon where I'll be speaking about my mother Bessie's physical life in the past tense. But for now, she's still here, and I'd like to honor her by writing about the experience of being in her orbit for so long.
