Art Break!

Long ago and far away when I worked as the public relations department for the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, Virginia, on particularly frustrating days I would spend my lunch time in the galleries. (Lose weight like a starving artist, clear your silly head, what could be better?!) Art breaks return the sanity to one's life. And with dust rag in hand now, I declare we need one.

Tonight as I finally resolved to start addressing some of the household chaos, the first thing I ran into was the large pile of memorabilia Helen and I bought back from our trip to Germany last year. Out of the first bag fell a small hand-cranked music box we bought at the Thomas Kirche in Leipzig, the church where J.S. Bach spent so much of his career. It plays Bach's Minute No. 3 -- which Helen once had as a piano recital piece:

Music Box #1





Moving on from the audio -- the basement continuing to look like a travel agency blew up -- I move back to the kitchen where I stumble over the tomatoes I forgot to put away after dinner. One artful turn deserves another, so here's tonight's visual:

Distractions from the task at hand

When we last left this blog, Deanna was pondering which room to clean first before the impending arrival of the aforementioned parental units, Buick, turkey and booze.

Since then, I've discovered I don't know how to operate my own vacuum cleaner (egad.), have put away nothing, tripped over my own shoes left in the front hall and forgotten during Mollie's tirade, and pondered various homework assignments as alternative means of dawdling.

Operator error when trying to drive the vacuum -- at least I have an excuse. When Dora went on vacation last spring, I got plucky and decided I'd better get the house cleaned up before she returned to clean it. (Rule one of my mother's: always clean for the cleaning lady. Helen thinks this makes no sense.) In trying to snarf up the last of the dirt on the front stairs, I dropped the vacuum accidentally -- down it crashed to the hardwood floor below and split open like Jiffy Pop.

"I'm telling Dora!" Helen threatened pulling the plug out of the wall outlet.

"Not if I get to Wal-Mart first!" I shot back. $120 and an hour later -- we were the proud owners of a knock-off of those yellow, bagless vacuums. I figured out how to turn it on that night and was thrilled that it was quiet enough to use at midnight (in case of messy snacks) without the neighbors in the next townhouse over pounding on the walls. But since, I've not had need to wield the thing and forgot how until this evening.

Darn embarrassing to mutter: "what does this button do?" while Mollie supervised from atop the fire place mantle.

Mollie musta missed me

Oddly, Mollie was at the door waiting for me when I arrived home tonight. Usually she finds a place to sleep and ignores Helen and me until we find and wake her with a good poke.

Tonight, I kicked off my shoes and started to follow her down the hall toward the kitchen -- listening to her list of grievances as we went:

• where were you and why did you allow it to rain on my house today?
• did you see that mess of leaves out there that came down with the storm?
• where's my cat food?
• why won't the fur on my back left leg sit down correctly?
• figure out how to save defined benefit pension plans today? No? Didn't you do anything constructive? I watched a bug fly by the window upstairs...
• where's my brush and why aren't you operating it yet -- can't you open a catfood packet, get me more water and handle that all at the same time?
• do those crows really have to live around here?
• the phone is ringing, do you want to get that or should I?

(This sounds to the human ear like a combination of high-pitched squeaks and throaty growls. Mollie doesn't seem to have an in-between sound.)

We got her from our neighbor Jo, whose son-in-law rescued Mollie as a very small kitten from a gang of crows trying to peck her to death in a parking garage. In the last year, Mollie has grown from palm-sized puff ball to thundering feline monster. But still afraid of crows.

I like dogs -- as long as they belong to other people. Too much hassle to maintain, more like another child. Cats are self-sufficient. Okay, I'm striving in life to live like my cat. Is this a career goal or what? They monitor their food in-take, manage their own toilet, keep an eye on the house -- Mollie could probably scribble phone messages for me if she had thumbs with which to hold up the pencil.

There's plenty of love and affection, a bit of appreciation too. When you're wearing ode 'd tuna, of course.

Bad news sometimes travels in pairs

This morning my blackberry bears the bad news of coworker Kathryn's father having died unexpectedly yesterday of a massive heart attack or stroke. Within the last week she is the second close friend at work to loose her father suddenly. Last week my friend Jan's father lost a fast-moving and difficult battle to lung cancer (diagnosed only the month before). Heartbroken for both, yet thankful that our small office has gathered around them to offer whatever support we can.

Today is also the birthday of a good friend of mine who was not expected to see this day. Penny's suffering from a stage-four brain tumor, yet ever smiling and perky when I see her at church. She sang with the choir (she has an AMAZING voice) last week for the first time since her diagnosis. What joy she gave us all and my hopes that she have as much happiness and pleasure today.

And finally the kicker -- Dora, who cleans my house and always has an exciting tale to tell and a pet for Mollie, had surgery recently to remove a brain tumor. I've been worried sick about how it all turned out. Happily her news is excellent -- she called as I was trying to get out the door this morning. Tumor is completely gone, was verified as benign, and she is recovering well. (Insert jig of joy here!) Another few weeks and she believes she'll be ready to come back and clean. (Heaven knows we need it!) I respond that we'll be ready when she is and to take her time.

Thankful am I to have both parents soon arriving on my door step, good health, and trivial silliness affecting me compared to the challenges faced by my friends. Tis' the season to reflect on it all -- both happy and sad. Am determined to turn today's grey sky (and impending downpour of rain) into as sunny an outlook as Dora and Penny portray.