In line at the library yesterday, a father and daughter stood behind me. The man coughed. He said, in a low and serious voice, “Well, we’ll be going to Market Place to get some cereal, and then you can watch whatever it is you got that there. Hopefully it’s not one of those horror movies you like to watch.”
The girl shifted uncomfortably. “No,” she started. After another pause, she warbled, “Actually it’s a family movie. I think it’s got something for everyone… and, maybe you might like it.”
“Well, pa might just see it then. Pa might just like it. Just be careful with it and don’t lose it like Jeremy did… that knucklehead,” he said this last part with severe disgust.
When they walked past me to get to the next available librarian, I snuck a look at them. They looked exactly like each other, same nose, same hair color. The girl, nine probably, was tall for her age. Her father towered over the checkout desk. I tried to figure out why he referred to himself in the third person, why they sounded so ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ Knucklehead. Who says that? But I liked that girl. I liked her braid, her awkward limbs, her family-friendly choices. I like whoever that kid will grow up to be.
The air has been chilly over the past few days. But everything still screams spring. Besides the quivering dogwood, the fallen remains of the magnolia petals, the season can be distinguished by the aggressive birds staking out trees and bushes. Every year, I swear I see the same pregnant robin, pacing the lawn anxiously. “How does she get knocked up year after year?” I ask myself incredulously. I like to pretend it is her hobby, this one bird, and that she is always aiming for twins, triplets. Last year she was especially huge. “Who did this to you?” I tease her from the window. That knucklehead.
In honor of her, I actually decided to paint the American Robin today. And in honor of my very fond ideas of her, I unconsciously made her quite pregnant. Ah spring!
Surprise! It’s a plate!
I thought I’d have more to show you today, but the truth is I’ve run into a bit of trouble. I think it’s the strange weather patterns, the extreme changes in temperature. The gesso I paint on the paper mache keeps cracking like this:
Ah well. Until next week.