Saturday, February 12, 2011

Now Where'd We Put That?

Mom is hosting 3 friends for bridge tomorrow afternoon so she called me last night to ask if I'd come over today and help her hide things. I hate that impulse (although I have it too) because hiding implies that we'll just shove things wherever they fit and probably won't be able to find them again. I suggested that we might put things away so they'd be retrievable but she just hummed. You know that hum, when the person listening to you thinks you're cracked but is too polite to say it? Yeah, that sound. It's nice and sunny today and the sunshine makes me energetic so maybe I'll win this one. I stayed up too late last night (after midnight) and slept too late this morning (9 AM) so I feel like I'm kind of discombobulated. I look at the clock and it seems wrong, too late for the way I feel (groggy), but pretty soon I'll jump (ease) into the shower and start feeling more alert, get dressed, and go over to browbeat Mom into cleaning her room(s). Heh, payback's a bitch. I've been waiting for this for nearly 50 years! Mwa-ha-ha-ha.

February 11--Germany, The Bishop of Assisi Giving a Palm to Saint Clare. Tomlinson dragged his feet behind his class as they toured the museum galleries. He thought there was nothing interesting in the place. Why couldn't they have gone to a science or natural history museum instead of this stupid art museum? He wasn't interested in art, he didn't care about art. His mom had been all excited that he was going to see art. She said it like it was all in capital letters, ART, like it was a famous person or something. The things that he'd seen so far weren't art as far as he could tell--some German helmet made of steel that was cool looking but he didn't think art when he looked at it and a red silk dress that had all the girls oohing and aahing over it. A dress, for god's sake. Who decided this stuff? He thought art was paintings and sculptures and stuff. He lagged farther and farther behind until a shaft of light gleaming on gold caught his eye. It was a panel of a (he leaned closer to read the card) a bishop giving a plant to a little girl saint. Whoever painted it needed a few more lessons, Tomlinson thought, because none of their eyes were lined up right, they were cockeyed. Cock eyed, he snorted. The bishop and his monk assistant had big sores on their hands. What had Sister Joseph Therese called that? Oh, yeah, stigmata. Kind of cool, but the coolest parts were the faint designs in the gold background. He supposed they were supposed to be peacock feathers but they looked like some wild-haired creatures drawn by Dr. Seuss. All over there were wild eyes and reaching, grasping hands. It creeped him out. He leaned forward to study it with a big grin on his face. Turned out he liked art after all.

Well, that was a surprise so late last night. My pencil kind of ran away with my hand there for a minute or ten. Have a Saturday and, clean your room!

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