ART? You're kidding, right?
Okay, if you've read Matt's post you already know the source of my angst. I thought I had a somewhat clear idea of art, even if it was based only on my rather limited experience. Then I took 7010. Now art is whatever I, or the garbage man (person?) thinks it should be, which frankly annoys me to no end. So me, I'm not writing about art.
I would like to write about the weather. I love the rain, especially stormy days with thunder and lightning. I always thought it was cool when I was little that you could smell the rain coming. In the summer when it rained my grandaddy would take me and my cousins outside to sit under the carport and watch the rain pound the dirt. He would take a small stick and wedge it into a pea hull and we would float our boats in the rivers the rain made in the dirt driveway. I remember him sitting in a rusted metal chair, it looked like one from an old ice cream shop with scrollwork on the back, laughing at us as we tried to sink each others ship. Sometimes we'd slip out from under the carport to play in the puddles, but it never took my Granny long to come outside and pull us back under before we "caught cold." I know the idea that rain cleans everything comes off as trite, especially to people whose homes are flooded right now, but there's something about it that knocks the stink off and lets you start over. Sometimes things are messier afterwards, but either way the landscape is a little different. It gives a new perspective.
I would like to write about the weather. I love the rain, especially stormy days with thunder and lightning. I always thought it was cool when I was little that you could smell the rain coming. In the summer when it rained my grandaddy would take me and my cousins outside to sit under the carport and watch the rain pound the dirt. He would take a small stick and wedge it into a pea hull and we would float our boats in the rivers the rain made in the dirt driveway. I remember him sitting in a rusted metal chair, it looked like one from an old ice cream shop with scrollwork on the back, laughing at us as we tried to sink each others ship. Sometimes we'd slip out from under the carport to play in the puddles, but it never took my Granny long to come outside and pull us back under before we "caught cold." I know the idea that rain cleans everything comes off as trite, especially to people whose homes are flooded right now, but there's something about it that knocks the stink off and lets you start over. Sometimes things are messier afterwards, but either way the landscape is a little different. It gives a new perspective.
posted by blindsi at
7:24 PM
2 Comments:
I love those country road memories, like the ones you mention with your granddaddy. I remember riding in the back of pick up trucks. My grandpa had us convinced that a white bear lived in the woods and was chasing us but in the woods. If Grandpa ever slowed down, the bear might catch us. Maybe that's where my love of speed comes from.
By
Donna Sewell, at 7:42 PM
Thanks for the rain story. We used to get out and play in the rain too, my sister and I. My mom and dad would let us do it too, they didn't think we'd catch cold even. Once I did get ringworm on my knee though. Guess where that comes from? Playing in the mud.
By
Matt, at 10:42 AM
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