I had a busy day today.  One of those days where I think my Mom would say that I work too hard.  I went to work after a week off for spring break, and I have a cough.  I came down with a cold the 2nd day of our trip and ended up with congestion and ears that would not pop in the mountains of West Virginia.  So my ears are a little better but my cough is wicked.  After work, I came home to grab some stuff for my drawing lesson for Lily’s girl scouts.  I then took off for girl scouts until 7:30.

The lesson went really well.  I found my old sketchbook from high school, and the girls enjoyed seeing my drawings.  I taught them about still lifes and shading and light sources.  Then I channeled my inner Bill Hottman (there is some in there you know) and drew with them.  They told me I’m amazing, so I am better than 4th graders.  I don’t think amazing is the word for it, but after a really long day drawing a vase and an apple was quite relaxing.

Reminds me of this letter by Kurt Vonnegut:

Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.

Here’s an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals [sic]. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut

 

Only instead of writing a poem I drew a vase and an apple.

Good night!