My sis, the artist Anne Raymo, began her adult life in the sixties as a flower child of sorts, a calling to which she has remained remarkably faithful.
In her little sun-powered house on a mesa in New Mexico, surrounded by her paint pots and brushes, she spurned the excesses of the information age, and the cyber revolution passed her by.
Then, a year or two ago, a translucent blue iMac showed up on her doorstep, and -- lo and behold! -- my flower child sister became overnight a pixelated senior citizen.
She weaves wondrous drawings on her new machine, and seems to be having lots of fun. I love seeing technology lashed to the mast of her otherworldly craft.