Thursday, June 13, 2013

Stepping out of Her Rut

I've been busy lately, but restless. It is hard to explain. I have plenty that needs doing, but I can't seem to galvanize myself to get these things done.

Today, I dropped a large tin tub of pink and white geraniums off to someone who really needed a 'pick me up', driving there in a thoughtful daydreaming sort of way. I pulled the tub out of the trunk and set them in place, and headed back out, without her even knowing that I'd been there.

On the drive back home, I decided on a whim that it has been a very long time since I treated myself to a good cup of coffee, and stopped into a little cafe that I've been meaning to stop into for a very long time. The young man serving was quite talkative, and we talked about Fair Trade coffees. It's been a long time since I invested in good coffee beans, and I walked out of there with my fresh cup of coffee and it was good and I was savoring every sip as I walked down the street.

I stopped to study a store window, and saw a doll. I am not a doll collector, but I know someone who is, and so I stopped to check the name of the doll. I found myself involved in a conversation with an elderly lady, and after some minutes, I asked her name.

When she told me, I laughed. "I have some framed art of yours in my livingroom!" We walked around the store, and I recognized the names of some of the artists. I went to school with one of them. I went to church with another, and was shocked to hear that she was in a nursing home now.

These artists were painters. Sculpters. Jewelry makers. Photographers. Metal makers. Potters. Ordinary people who had jobs, and made things in their spare time. Some of it was not my cup of tea. Other stuff caught my attention.

There was one piece, a large piece. Beautiful. Although the piece itself was too modern for my taste, it was exquisite. I realized that I could do that. I realized that I had the things I needed to do that. I realized that I could adapt that art form to my own tastes.

The woman and I talked at great length. She went to school with my parents. I remembered her father in law bringing home sea shells for us when we were kids. I had never been to the ocean, and I was thrilled with those shells. She knew my uncle. A cousin. One 'life in a small town' coincidence after another.

She was a teacher, had gone to school in a one room school house. We talked about the old school where I had gone, and the names of those long ago teachers sprang readily to mind, one right after another...'Mrs. Cable, Mrs. Bower, Mrs. Ware, Mrs. Crosley, Mrs Friel...' Could it really be possible that this was all 50 years ago? We talked about the old days when all teachers played a piano. We talked about the days when teachers were not afraid to hug their students.

We talked for nearly two hours, believe it or not. My coffee was gone when I walked out of there, and I walked back to my car across a brick parking area I remembered as a child, waiting in the car with my father as my mother walked into the pharmacy for a prescription for someone. I studied the shiny reflective black tile that so fascinated me back then. I drove home remembering the squeal of playground swings and playing 'button, button' under the old square gazebo in the center of the playground.

It felt like a little vacation, really, and when I got home, I felt refreshed and invigorated, and excited about creating art.



2 comments:

BUSH BABE said...

Sooooo... what IS it? I truly believe everyone has a creative itch ... and it feels SOOOOOOO good when you scratch it.
;-)
BB

Bob said...

Not to butt in, BB, but I believe Debby "scratches that itch" just a bit each time she shares with us snippets from her most interesting life right here. To put words together as she does is a gift. Who knows what other creative juices might soon spring forth from her?