Friday night we went to the yearly local art museum fundraiser. Dean once again contributed a piece for the auction so he could get in free. I paid $35.00. I know, it's a fundraiser, but $35.00 for the opportunity to eat $5.00 worth of meatballs, chicken teriyaki on a stick and a ½-inch square piece of cheesecake? This year’s event garnered fewer attendees than last year. Maybe the bad economy finally hit Wyoming. Who knows. All I know is I took advantage of the extra food to make the most of my “donation” and went through the line twice. The second time the teriyaki chicken was gone, but, okay, maybe two times through made it $8.00 worth of food. At least it was much better than the cheese cubes and bowls of chips we had last year.
I wandered through the rooms placing my bids on the artwork I thought I might like to take home with me. It could have been the competitive spirit which rose up in me when I saw someone write a bid higher than mine just before the bidding ended. Or it could have been those hot yoga classes had altered my karma. But I suspect the two glasses of wine I bought (which negated my extra “free” food gain) was the real reason I went home with one piece of art even though earlier I had admonished Dean not to bid any more for it because I “didn't like it that much.”
The next day there was artwork at our house. Creativity was going full tilt ...
Artists use all kinds of surfaces
until Myra realized that Emerson had drawn on the one, the only part of the driveway that she needed to produce the perfect sidewalk art. Her artistic TEMPERment poured forth.
She informed the whole neighborhood, and every car that happened to drive by, that she needed THAT part of the driveway. That was the part she HAD TO HAVE, but Emerson had already drawn on it. The artist in her was horrified to think that anyone would take HER piece of the driveway and thwart her artistic brilliance. She stomped and cried and yelled, all the time clutching her piece of chalk, pointing at HER section of the driveway. “Emerson drew on my spot and I am SO angry! This is my WORST day EVER! I don’t want to be here!”
In the midst of this emotional trauma and artistic angst, the other chalk artists, hopscotchers, tic-tac-toe’ers, and woodworkers continued nonplussed.
Myra was inconsolable ...
until Dean said in his Papa voice, “okay. I can see I’m just going to have to whoop somebody’s butt” and chased three giggling artists around the yard with a piece of wood.
Prepare to be whooped!
When Leslie arrived in the midst of this “whooping”, Myra ran full-tilt for the backyard and refused to get in the van. Dean found her and said, “but Myra, I thought this was the very worst day of your life.” She said, “not anymore.” So whoopins do work….as long as they’re done with artistic flair.◦
2 comments:
Myra's temper must come from the Fuhrman side!!!
Al says the whoopins Dean gives him at work make him giggle and laugh too--picks up his spirits when he's down.
That wasn't an old bumper Dean was working on with Emerson, was it? I wondered if he'd driven out to claim it yet.
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