He fell over? I hope he tripped and didn't just tip over all on his own. You're a good daughter to take care of the old guy while Mom's out whooping it up on her bike. Excellent art story, Jennifer. I love it. Take that, you bad Marilyn, see what being a selfish bitch gets you?
Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I got busy during the day and just pooped out at bedtime. Here's what I wrote:
August 18--Jan Vermeer, Lady Writing a Letter with Her Maid. Write faster. Oh, write faster, ma'am, Marja thought as she looked out of the window. Her mistress was writing a letter and she had asked Marja to wait and take it immediately when she had finished it. So the maid stood patiently behind her in the corner idly looking out the window. But now she could see that Jan, the driver across the canal, was out polishing the carriage and if Madame hurried Marja could walk by him, could smile at him, and maybe pass a word or two between then. Jan was handsome, had a good position, and he always smiled at her. She admired the way his shirt stretched across his muscles as he leaned to polish the brass carriage lamps. Hurry, ma'am, write faster, please.
I like the immediacy I was able to convey. Hey, I might get a handle on this writing thing one of these days. Maybe.
--Barbara
P.S. Jennifer, that post title is part of the title of a play in the late 1960s, Oh, Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling So Bad. The title's better than the play, IMHO.
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