I was born at the American Hospital in Neuilly-sur-Seine, France. I find inspiration in the lives of so many people from Joan of Arc to Oscar Wilde. While my primary avocation is photography, I also enjoy philosophy, theology and most of all, history. My beloved wife, Robin Anne Smith, who passed away in 2013 is an inspiration to me. My beloved partner, Dana is also a great support and inspiration to me. I'd be remiss if I did not mention my cats: Maxwell, Nigel, Pirouette and GarGar.
For a day and a half, Princess Pirouette had wept. On the second day after hearing the news, she dried her eyes and bid her ladies to dress her in black. Next she told her master of the horse to make ready a steed that would carry her to GarGar’s house. When her footman helped her into the saddle, it took all of her composure not to begin crying again. The last time anyone had touched her so intimately, it had been GarGar. The tactile memory was hard to bear, but instead of crying, she only made a guttural sound, as though she were choking.
“Are you alright, my lady?” Asked one of her servants. All she could do in reply was shake her head.
“Giddy up,” she said as she spurred her horse. Off she rode, with her ladies and guards in tow.
Princess Pirouette and her ladies were embroidering shirts for the man she loved and was affianced to marry. There was a knock on the door and her chamberlain announced, “A messenger from the King, Your Highness.” Pirouette put down her work and bid the chamberlain to show the man in. To her surprise, it was GarGar, le comte des Deux Chats to whom she hoped to wed very soon.
“My dear!” He cried. “Put down such foolish things and walk with me in the garden. It is too fine a day to be locked up in the house!”
“As you can see, my love, I’ve already set down your shirt. Abby, bring me my cloak!”
GarGar’s sudden recovery was seen as proof of Divine intervention. The prayers of the entire nation seemed to have accomplished what all the doctors in the world had failed to do. Calling for his riding cloak, he expressed the desire to go hunting. “But my lord,” said his majordomo, “It’s raining!”
Gesturing toward the window, GarGar replied cheerfully, “I want to feel the rain on my face. Send word to Princess Pirouette that I am-” He stopped himself in mid-sentence. “No! Wait! I will ride to the palace and surprise her myself.”
Moving from behind a coromandel screen, Pirouette said, “There’s no need for that. I’m here, my love.”
“Selina Dubois, you stand accused of witchcraft,” said the judge in a loud, clear voice. “How do you plead?”
The old woman, stooped over with age, dressed in rags with an unkempt shag of hair on her head, shouted back, “Guilty!” As she did so, she reached into her apron pocket and drew a clod of dirt which she threw at his head. Afraid that this action was a curse, the judge fled the courtroom, but not before ordering the woman to be taken away.
“You’ll burn for this,” said one of her guards as he placed the irons back on her wrists. “As sure as there’s a sun in the sky.”
“I really don’t care anymore,” said Selina with a smile. “Now take me back to my cell.”