8:48 a.m. - Wednesday, Dec. 11, 2002
I am So Helpful!
Just an entry to make an entry. I�ve got nothing to say. It�s just that having friends brings a certain amount of responsibility. I know that some people wonder if I�m OK when I don�t write for a while. I like it that they care, but sometimes feel guilty for not writing in my own diary.
I found myself at Hobby Lobby last night. I love that store. It�s not a place that sells �things�. They sell �things that may be�. The flower department is stuffed with silk flowers of every description. Every person who buys creates some different arrangement; always personalized. I bought, for a very few dollars, a handful of spring flowers and some of that green spongy stuff they use to stick flowers in vases. I put the whole mess into the ceramic vase in which my surgeon in Thailand sent flowers to my room after the surgery. The result is my own unique flower arrangement. It�s beautiful to me and unique in all the world. What other store can sell one-off memories for so little?
So I found myself there last night, wandering around. I looked at just about everything, from my usual hang-out between the cross stitch aisles to the coin and stamp collectors� supplies and the model rocket section. Eventually, I made my way to the prints and frames, flipping through those indistinguishable artsy but never controversial prints that people hang on their walls for no reason other than the color they add. Autumn leaves, swans� that kind of stuff. Plus one really nice print of van Gogh�s Irises. I might go back and buy that one. I like the colors. I would have bought it last night, but I got distracted by the slender young guy with a valiant attempt at a blonde goatee on his chin. He had laid before him on the carpeted table where pictures are framed a smallish water-color on posterboard. He was asking all sorts of framing questions of the part-time night framer about whether and how to use matting, what color frame would look nice, how to put on hangers, etc. There was no artifice involved. He was clearly trying to learn something about framing without spending actual money to get his picture framed.
The picture itself was remarkable for it�s hideousness. I was drawn to it. Like leaning over the rail on a high bridge, I found myself moving closer and into the thing. It was a very dark still life of fruit. An orange, an apple, and two other round things that might have been croquet balls. They were lined up more or less like soldiers against a blackish background that first elicited depression and then turned it into a physical sensation instead of a mere state of mind. The only traces of light were the highlights added to each piece of fruit, or ball, or whatever. Each piece appeared to be lit from a different direction, the opposing shadows stretching impossibly towards each other. The whole thing made my head spin and reminded me of coming back from a nauseating ether binge.
I liked it.
So I asked the kid� �Did you do that?� His scrawny chest gained a couple of inches in girth.
�Yes Ma�am!�, he said. I loved the ma�am part. It�s one reason I love southern men and respect southern mothers for bringing up their children with good manners.
�It�s pretty�. I knew I would have to put a quarter in the jar for lying, but I�m trying to learn to tell a fib from a lie. I think he knew. He thanked me and then turned abruptly to disappear down the rows of empty frames for sale. I took a final peek at his watercolor, feeling that same sensation that comes just before you look at a car wreck. I was just about to drift away when the young man appeared with several frames sized about the same as his picture. Naturally� of course�It just stands to reason that his painting was done on a non-standard sized board. Perfect! Anyway, he held out the frames to me and asked me if I thought he should frame his picture in a dark frame or a light one. Of the four frames, three were as dark as they could be. One was black enamel. Another was very dark oak, and the third was some other wood, maybe mahogany. The fourth frame was pure glossy white.
I couldn�t honestly imagine that picture in any of those frames. The very best my imagination could do was the bottom of a junk box at the back of a closet, covered with unused and out of date camping gear. I put my finger on the white frame.
�This one�, I said, will balance the dramatic dark colors in your picture and set them off really well�. Hey! This lying isn�t as hard as I thought! I watched him try to figure out how he was going to make his odd-sized picture fit the white frame for a minute, and then in a fit of inappropriate busybody-ness, I swept into the aisle of frames in his (approximate) size. I came back with a couple of frames that were more middle of the road. One made of light blonde wood, and another more modernistic one made of gold metal.
�Do you like either of these?� I asked. Oops! I knew right away I had made a mistake. He glanced at the frames and then at me with a look of pure panic in his eyes.
�It�s OK to say �no�, I said quickly. I could feel the breeze on my face from his sigh of relief. Then he explained.
�It�s for my girlfriend, and her room is like zebra stripes. It�s painted black and white,� Not yet having the true insight of a woman, I finally understood what was happening. No matter, I knew how to make up for my thick-headedness.
�OH!�, I lied, �She is going to LOVE it!� Use the white frame so it matches her walls. She�s going to love it because you did it just for her. You�re so SWEEEEt!�
I lit up that kid�s world. With a huge grin, he grabbed the white frame along with his picture and headed for the checkout. He was still thanking me and saying goodbye until he was out of sight behind the aisles.
The funny thing is, I�m not sure if he was thanking me for reinforcing his hopes for his girl and that monstrous picture or if he was just thanking me for allowing him to escape from my helpfulness.
Either way, he was a cute kid.
Happy Thoughts, Deep Breaths
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