I just love rain. I woke up, most assuredly smiled in the dark, listened to the pelting rain and fell back asleep in short order. When I awoke in the morning, it was still raining. It was one of those delightful stay-in-the-cabin type days where you can play penuchle—I don’t know how to play penuchle—or perhaps Cheerioingo, a game of bingo played with Cheerios, targeted at children just my age.
After a leisurely morning, one of my parent’s closest friends came down from her house around the corner to watch my children do their thing and then go to lunch with us. She has been featured in this blog in the past as she was the person who made my daughter her “Treasure Chest.” That treasure chest gets lots of play in our house. I’m not sure if treasure is put into it or taken out of it more, but it’s almost always filled with things we adults would label, “junk” or “random stuff” or even “debris,” but to them, it is, treasure.
When we arrived at the mountains this trip I had noticed a new painting going up the staircase. I asked my father, “Is this one of Beth’s?” He told me that yes, it was something he had gotten recently. I told him if I got to see Beth this trip, I was going to insist she let me come up to her house and look at her work, because I wanted one of her pieces. I was going to be ever-so-bothersome about it, because her style just spoke to me.
So while she was laughing at my children I asked her (hopefully more politely than emphatically) and she said she would be glad to show me what she’d been working on—if I didn’t mind there being a mess about. I assured her I would avert my eyes from every direction but her artwork.
We had a delightful lunch together and after lunch she took me up to her house (this is literally “up” as she lives up the mountain.) She had told me there was a particular piece she’d made she had titled, “Spooner” in honor of my father, who’s last name is Spooner and sometimes goes by that name. She told us how she had made this entire piece from materials he’d brought her over the past several years—rugged, industrial, delicate and unusual items—that she’d put into this one piece.
She didn’t want me to feel obligated to take it, but that was never a problem as I thought it was splendid. What to do with it, though? Do I put it in the garage, my first thought? My father has spent enough time in his garage over the years to get several PhD’s in Junk discovery, restoration and creation. But when I got home, that didn’t seem to fit.
It was such an interesting and three-dimensional piece, I wanted it to be somewhere people could look at it up close, down low and even touch it. Then it hit me (and don’t laugh here) the bathroom. I brought my husband in behind me as I wielded this heavy piece of repurposed art and showed him where I was talking about: down low, just where it can be appreciated, when we have guests use our powder room.
This thing has shelves, it has wheels, it has safety deposit box keys, it has glitter and color galore. Oh, did you want to see a picture?
Tomorrow, my husband is going out to get some serious picture hanging apparatus to put it up. I am looking forward to hearing all the conversations “Spooner” is going to start over the years to come.
Beth, thank you for “Spooner” and the other beautiful piece you painted and dedicated to my children that we’ll be placing in their bedroom tomorrow as well.
The Big Boy Update: My son almost lost his sandwich in the car today because he wanted to pull it apart and eat only the ingredients he wanted to eat, namely, the ham. I’ve been too lax on the sandwich deconstruction issue for too long.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter almost lost her sandwich in the car today because she wanted to pull it apart and eat the ingredients in the order she wanted to eat them in, namely, cheese, bread and then ham. From here on out, sandwiches stay as sandwiches, and not a collection of ingredients.
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