Louise didn’t want to sound mean, but what her mom did wasn’t art as far as she understood the definition. It was busywork. The excess energy she had now that Mark and Louise were older got channeled into framed cross-stitch samplers that lined the living room walls, an enormous crewelwork Tree of Life that hung over the sofa, string art that hung over the dining room table, watercolors of sunsets and the downtown Market that hung in the halls, little owls made of seashells with googly eyes that lined every windowsill.
