Lost and Found

Self Portrait.

I should have taken this in the bathroom at a mirror or something. Today I had to attend a luncheon for Women's Club. That meant a few things. No jeans. Good posture. Wear makeup. And keep my mouth shut. That's what I do at professional functions. I have to. Most things that flow from my mouth are inappropriate or just plain weird. It's easier just to sit, chew on bread and listen to the women around me, while praying that someone will pass the salad dressing.

I took an etiquette class at Ohio University. Liquids on the right. Solids on the left. Eat slowly. Smile. Don't shovel the soup in your mouth. Lay down your utensils between bites. Pass the salt with the pepper. Always go clockwise. Don't put your elbows on the table.

I don't know if these rules still apply. They do with the generation of women that I was having lunch with. I wondered if I was an outcast because I was the only person at the table with bare arms. I wonder if I was an outcast because I was the only person at the table picking at the dry skin on her bare arms during the presentation. Probably.

There was one tough spot. I was discussing Scottish poets with the woman across the table from me, during that awkward time between the salad and main course.

"Is she older?" the lady asked me of my Scottish poet friend.

"Yes," I replied.

"Seventy or eighty?" she asked.

I was stuck. The woman I was speaking of was around 60 years old. The woman I was speaking to was around 60 years old. Everyone at the table was 60 or older. If I said, "no, she's close to sixty," then I would be calling my luncheon companion "older."

I got through the conversation by just nodding, taking a drink of water and remembering my mantra for the rest of the meeting: No jeans. Good posture. Wear makeup. And keep my mouth shut.

Matter of Perception.

I had a mandatory sculpture class during my freshman year of college. This class stuck out to me for multiple reasons. For one, we were allowed to bring music into the art studio. A curly-haired boy who smelled like turpentine brought in a Tom Waits album, and it was during that class, where I clumsily glued together balsa wood, that my virgin ears first heard, “The Piano Has Been Drinking.”

The second reason I remember the class is that it was where I met David Klahn, a mustached bronze caster who would later stay silent as I excitedly told him that I was going to cast – possibly the first ever – 40 pound bronze vase. He passed away my senior year, during the same quarter that I was fumbling around in the foundry among real art students, but that’s a different story.

David Klahn gave us an assignment in that beginner’s 3-d studies class. We were to make a cardboard structure, inspired by something in nature, and cover the outside in such a way that the human eye could not discern between initial shape of the original structure and the final piece. We were to create optical illusions using texture, paint, color.

Ever the hippie, I spent hours gluing sand, seeds, dry leaves and beans to the outside of my ugly misshaped box. I got an A in the class, but never kept a single thing I made. (I do still own the vase; it’s in my father’s basement, ready for a coat of patina, or, more likely, ready to be melted down into something more useful. Like a paperweight.)

While I was at the gym today, watching the time amass on my elliptical machine, I found myself thinking about joy.

“Joy” is a verb. It’s a decision. Or is it? I used to think that “tired” was a state of mind, that people were only tired because they wanted to be tired. But I think I’ve changed my thought process on that. Too many outside factors.

But joy, that’s different. We can choose to joy. Can we? We can choose to laugh; we can go into a dismal situation determined to have fun. So, yes. Joy is a matter of how you look at things. It’s a verb.

And chocolate is a verb. Let’s go chocolate. From far away, it looks like a noun. A chunk of goodness, available in hundreds of different forms at your local grocery, bakery or gas station. But upon close inspection, it’s a verb, a decision. I’m going to chocolate tonight, and no one can stop me.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going here. The connection. David Klahn taught me to look at things differently, to not let them be confined to their boundaries. There’s freedom in the art of perception. I can joy if I want to. I can chocolate. I can even White Castle, even though it’s not a good idea.

So let’s go one step further. To those far away, God and Christ and Religion and even “Spirituality” look entirely different, than they do up close. Upon closer inspection, some might find that loving Christ is a verb, a noun, an adjective, a past participle, a smell, a flavor, a sound and even a taste. It’s the freedom to truly break the rules of the world around us. To see things, not how they appear to be, but how they are in light of one objective truth.

In that studio on the bottom floor of the art building at Ohio University, freshman and sophomores of multiple disciplines constructed hundreds of cardboard towers, with the same goal as instructed by our professor. While they took on different sizes, shapes, colors and textures, there is one provable truth that I’ll stand by today regarding that class – the lessons learned in it far exceeded the quality of the “art” that came from it.

Puppy.

My desire to have a puppy increased four-fold last night, when Melanie and Wes brought over this visitor, temporarily named, "Bacon." She's a pure bred bull dog that they're temporarily watching until the new owner arrives from the East Coast to pick her up. Apparently pure bred bull dog puppies go for $2500 these days. But we got to play with Bacon for free, which was nice.

My new friend was definitely not camera shy. Here she is supporting her computer preference. Everyone knows that bull dogs love Macs. She seemed to gravitate toward my most recent yarn project, a striped crocheted blanket. So adorable. When she finally fell asleep at the edge of the couch, I spent the rest of the evening searching the online classifieds for a puppy of my own. Nothing caught my eye, but I'll continue browsing, when I feel like it.

Meanwhile, two friends - Sarah and Susie - are in the process of buying homes. I should probably hurry up and finish my blanket so I can work on house warming gifts. Such an excining process - and nerve-wracking - it is, buying a home. It's crazy, but I can't even remember what my down payment was, or what my interest rate is. It wasn't even two years ago... And I spent so many days living and breathing home inspections, closing papers, sump pumps and taxes. Hopefully the transactions for my girls won't be stressful. Hopefully they'll be able to forget all that boring crap as quickly as I did. There's more important things to worry about. Like paint colors and lighting fixtures.

Random.

I have to admit something. I find it completely disturbing, and I don't quite know how it happened, but an entire Fergie album has made its way into my iTunes. Before you get your panties in a bunch, please know that I did not purchase said album. But I have listened to it a considerable (more than five) number of times. While her lyrics are sophomoric, her tunes are, well, catchy. I, for one, enjoy "Fergalicious," "Clumsy," and "London Bridge." She is not as shallow as she seems. She sticks up for women, as can be evidenced by the lyrics "Would you love me if I didn't work or I didn't change my natural hair?" in the song, "All I Got."

Okay. Enough with that stuff.

The last post was a little strange. I won't change it or erase it, because BP was kind enough to leave a comment, but I don't think that I actually finished the entry. And I won't finish it here.

How come every time you come around my London London bridge wanna go down?

Oops. Okay. So. I quit the library this week. It's caused considerable emotional trauma in my life. Bittersweet. End of an era. All that jazz. Admitting that I'm no longer hip enough to know what people my age are into. Or mabye what people in Grandview are into. Maybe it was the time it took. Irony? To have time to read, I have to quit working at the library?

In other news, I'm doing a slew of wedding invites. Sarah & Ryan. Ashley & Ryan (different Ryan). Dan & Jess. Amanda & Jon. Kyle & Lisa. R.S.V.P. cards. Thank you notes. What colors? Who gives this woman? I like helping my friends.

Oh. And I've started a food blog with the store. If you find it, please don't give away my identity. Oh. And I might get a free trip to Italy soon. A foodie tour. Nice.

Sorry about the lack of quality writing here. And for the sentence fragments. Sorry.