I guess that I must do this nearly everyday. The thoughts that try to develop, or try to push themselves to my attention in the 15 seconds that it takes to move from one chair to another, before approaching the keyboard, OH, MY! But it never works out so well if I let the thoughts speak as when I let my fingers speak. Even most photos speak to me, and, when one speaks to me with 100 ideas, I go with the one that doesn’t speak to me at all.
The photo above, I wouldn’t like for it to be said that it doesn’t speak to me because it has the word FAITH, in near-psychedelic treatment–kinda like the artwork of my own that I have discussed. But I didn’t make this FAITH figure, this WORDCRAFT. I built the stinking cardboard fireplace.
For my cat.
Who, while being in the way as I constructed it, lying on every individual piece as they were strewn across my floor, loving the cardboard BEFORE it was constructed, won’t go near the stupid thing. How cute would it have been to have a photo of my cat atop his own cardboard fireplace mantle? He refuses to cooperate. I mean, the thing is rather flimsy, as constructed per instructions. I, however, knew this in advance, and I constructed a frame from hard plastic sheeting, first. I could stand on this flimsy-looking fireplace, but my 6 pound cat seems scared of it, now. Now that it is constructed.
Cats. What can you do?
So I moved the thing from the living room to my bedroom. This is the one and only bit of anything “decorative” in my bedroom. I bought the FAITH thing at a garage sale. The near-psychedelia is what attracted me to its presence. But the things that were for sale at the garage sale are what moved me.
It SEEMED like the final few belongings of an elderly Christian lady. I wanted nearly all of them, because I had pictured who she was, what she believed, how she thought, by her belongings.
All the pretty things, the things (I can barely see through my tears, as I type), all the things that meant something to HER, that gave HER peace, that spoke to HER about GOD, all for sale for $1.oo. Seemed to me that her importance was being sold, that the very memory of her existence was to be wiped from the face of the planet. Thirty items, from across seven or eight decades, pretty things to a pretty little girl, beautiful items to a beautiful young lady, lovely items to a lovely elderly lady…
Thirty items, for $1.oo each, and you can take the memories of this elderly lady away from those who would sell it for such a price. It seems, rather sad to me. I wouldn’t sell you my dead cat’s old toy or old collar or old blanket for $30,000.oo.
I’ll take your mother’s pretty FAITH thingy! I’ll cherish it! I’ll welcome her uniqueness, her thoughts, her dreams, I’ll give her a moment’s recognition in the evening and in the morning as I ponder GOD.