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Showing posts from March, 2014

Art in my life

My mother bought me watercolor and a watercolor pad yesterday, and I've been painting since last night and this morning. I must say I'm improving fast -- or maybe I'm just remembering some of what I learned in Art class, when I was 12. I don't think I'll ever be as competent with a brush as I am with a pen, but this is really fun. I love the focus that is required, the patience that is asked, and the surprise that comes with each splash of watercolor. It feels good to be creating again.

Yours, the eternal romantic

Sometimes, while waiting for a play to start, I look around the theater and find myself thinking (wishing), maybe I will find him here. This happens, too, in airports and train stations, and other places that I know for sure will be birthplaces of beautiful memories. We will watch plays together, I imagine, and he will delight in my laughing out loud at a punchline and pretend not to notice when I wipe away a maybe inappropriate tear (he will know that sometimes, when something --   a scene, a line, a song -- reminds me of how much I love my country and my home, I can end up crying). We will have a late dinner after, I imagine, and he will take me to a quaint restaurant that also serves coffee and happily offer me dessert. He will know that my favorite part of watching a play is the conversation after, and he will be amused that I have somehow, once again, managed to relate fiction to my life. He doesn't even have to like theater; just him liking me liking it is enough. Wrote this

Because there is beauty in the concrete

Once, late at night, while wishing me like to one more rich in hope, I hailed an MGE taxi, just wanting to go home, forget everything, and crash. As I entered the cab, the driver greeted me with a cheerful, "Good evening, ma'am!" He was a big man, probably in his late fifties, wearing thick plastic-rimmed glasses. He smiled at me in the rear-view mirror and asked me how my day had gone. "It was okay," I said. He was pleasant, but I was tired and a little upset, so I didn't feel like making small talk. He got my address and turned on the radio. We drove in silence to whatever music was playing, and, still brooding, I watched the buildings grow smaller as we left Eastwood City and crossed the flyover to Bonny Serrano to Project 4. As we turned right on 20th Avenue, an old seventies song started playing. I hadn't heard it in years, so I didn't recognize it right away, but my heart remembered something because the first line started pulling me ho