I’m going through two trunks of stuff related to a documentary I once tried to make about my aunt, Julie Arden, and her companion Charlotte Brooks. I’m determined to whittle it down to one big box. It should be easy. Just don’t look too closely. Keep the essentials. Toss, toss, toss.
I find scraps of paper with snippets of things my Aunt Julie had said after she’d had a debilitating stroke at age 85. For more than four years she stayed in a state of complete dependency, her mind confabulating in ways that were both heartbreaking and fascinating. It was like being inside someone’s head when they were asleep and dreaming. But every once in awhile, her clarity and wisdom was astounding.