grasping for comfort, I thought of imagery that brought me solace-- images from the past and present. I painted familiar scenes from my boarding school. The bus stop where my husband, then boyfriend, would drop me off every evening. The hall where we met for assembly every morning, the playground we hung out at. I began to paint peaceful moments, to memorialize them so I could never lose them. I wanted to hold these memories in my hands, like little jewels, things I’ve collected and hoarded inside my mind made tangible. My Indian grandmother, my Nainamma, on a visit to Chinook, Montana, my mother’s hometown. My father in a moment of joyful glee. My Indian mother-in-law in her nightgown, making her traditional chai in my tiny, Floridian apartment.