It Matters

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North Arch at Spanish Village, 2009.

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Himself: Counting the days: 2. Getting a light bulb, gotta fix his computer chair, and stop by one estate sale a second time. Herself: A perfect day yesterday. This morning annoyed that my header suddenly changed sizes on me. Reading: Bought and read in one sitting the new Stephanie Plum. Today need to clean and wax the Elna. Balance: Dinner with the kids and two doodles.

”Thank you,” they both said. Marie added, “For the perfect ending to a magical day.”

Her sister, Lenora, drove north to get Marie and Margie and brought them back to play at the OB street fair. Margie rode the pony ride, waded in the surf, and they pulled her through the streets in the old “Radio Astronaut” wearing her tie dyed dress.

The sun was out and smiles and laughter were had by all.

While they were pushing through fifty some thousand folks with a wagon in tow, we hit an estate sale, picked up the Running Elna, stopped by Costco to get the Prilosec, a book, vitamins, and Tylenol, and a Costco lunch. Then we headed for Balboa Park where he worked and I doodled.

Out of four quick sketches, or that’s what I would have called them in the old days, two were worth keeping. One leans to the right, and the other doesn’t have a foreground.

You know, it doesn’t matter.

I had forgotten that artists draw audiences. I’d also forgotten how repelled I was at having to be polite when I really wanted to work. Then too, having to go into a gallery and be even more polite about the audience’s work.

We met Marie, Lenora, and Margie in Little Italy where we ate rich Sicilian food at Felipe’s over comfortable conversation. We had a grand visit.

It really mattered.










Left to Right: Top row: Two lotus’s in lily pond, Fountain at the House of Hospitality by Donal Hord; Middle: Two views of the Spreckles Organ; Bottom: G waving on his way to work. The M’s with Marie and her full mouth and Margie laughing.