Five things that make me smile
1. Water lillies (because I don’t often see them and their beauty surprises me every time)
2. The movie Bottle Rocket (because I wish I had a yellow jumpsuit)
3. Irony (because in its truest form, it can be hugely entertaining)
4. Goldfinches (because they zip about in a chattering way and I wish I understood their language)
5. A passing Karmann Ghia (because someday I will learn to drive a stick)
Dark clouds looming low today.
Wishing I could coat everything
in a layer of sprinkles.
On a brilliant summer day in a beautiful and artful city, a gentleman walks along a red-bricked street. Passing a small boutique, his gaze is arrested by the most enchanting, exquisite bow made of satin ribbon. This bow would be a perfect addition to his daughter’s birthday gift. Elated at his luck in finding this intricate adornment, he walks into the small shop.
“How much is the bow in the window?” he inquires from the young man approaching.
“The bow is $50.00,” comes the reply.
“What?! I’m not going to pay $50.00 for a 10 cent ribbon!” shouts the man.
“Ah, no problem sir,” says the young clerk.
He moves toward the window and with one quick jerk of his hand and wrist grabs the satin bow and whips it once into the air. Immediately, the bow becomes undone. As he holds out the long, straight, gleaming ribbon to the gentleman, he says simply, “Now, you may have it for 10 cents.”
This story was passed on to me almost 30 years ago by my
beloved Commercial Art instructor, Ray Coia.
It’s 9:00 in the morning in my steel city, 3:00 in the afternoon where you are; where Columbus set sail for the new world.
What are you doing today?
Are you drinking your afternoon café, as I sit sipping from a chipped cup at a gritty south-side coffee house?
Are you writing words in your notebook? Are you sketching scenes or pushing stray thoughts around on napkins?
Have your blue eyes turned murky grey with age?
Or do they still match my own?
Would I know you if you walked in the door right now?
Would I want to know you?
I would like to be smoking the Spanish cigarettes you smoked the last time we met. The sweet smell of tobacco forever firing nostalgia straight into my senses.
How I love to smoke, even though I don’t smoke.
spanishwoods 