Oh my…

I just took a peek at my daughter’s blog and then as a last minute go-to-bed procrastination, I idly clicked on my stats counter page and got a jolt of embarrassment at how many people have come to visit my blog today when I was planning on sneaking upstairs to bed without saying hello.

“Hi everybody,“ I say rather sheepishly.  “Better late than never.“

I spent the day with Karen.  We were belatedly celebrating her birthday which was a couple of days ago.  We went to the art gallery which was having a feminist show called Wack or Mack or Twack or something like that. 

I have to say, I was underwhelmed.  I was hoping to be blown away by amazing, fabulous, strong art that pulled at my soul and gut and made me proud to be a part of womankind.  I wanted to be impressed and humbled.

I wasn’t. 

I was grateful that Karen had a similar reaction to mine.  Nothing worse than going to an exhibit with someone who in in raptures about something that you think is a self-indulgent massive wank-off.  You have to walk around and gaze for hours at stuff that has them spewing sonnets in the artist glory, and if it’s a really good friend, you don’t want to ruin their good time by letting them know how utterly pretentious you find the stuff.

Don and I have finally worked out how we have to do the art gallery/museum stuff, because we have VERY different tastes as to what rocks our boat. 

We do the floors separately. 

I like to sweep, walk through, expecting nothing and letting certain pieces grab me.  Then, once spoken to, I go closer and take it in.  It’s sort of like when you’re dating and you finally meet some guy that your friend has been waxing lyrical about, saying the two of you would be a perfect match, etc.  And this guy, on paper he sounds great, but when you meet him… nothing.  Or sometimes, your brain is saying, wow, this guy is great, fabulous, wonderful, and your gut is screaming, RUN!  And you don’t know why.  Or sometimes, he’s nice, you get on.  He is a genuinely nice person, but he doesn’t smell right.  It’s like you have to hold your breath and breathe shallow around him.  Not that he smells bad, he’s just not right is all.

That’s what a lot of art is for me.  If I find one good piece that moves me, in an outing, it’s a good day.  If I discover more?  Fabulous.

You never want to go to an art gallery with me.  Or the movies for that matter.  I am WAY to particular about movies.  Mostly, I don’t go anymore because I find most of them around as enjoyable as cleaning out a filthy chicken house that has been left to stew in it’s juices for two weeks.

Lovely.  I bet you’re glad I decided to blog today.

Anyway, after the uninspiring (to me) exhibit, we had a lovely lunch, a great girl chat and a doggie drive home.  No… the dogs weren’t in the car, but the memory of them was and Molly went crazy when we got back to my house because she could smell them on us too.

Don said she wouldn’t stop crying when Karen and I left.  Because she associates Karen with her two dogs and a happy romp in the park.  Molly couldn’t believe that we left without her.  Howled inconsolably.  Which did not make for the most conducive work environment for my sainted husband. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, January 08, 2009 in Chewing the Fat