Things we don't do often enough
Dash, doing no dashing on the Van Gogh Table in the Florida Room. Photo by Joe the Cat.
Nothing to it.
That was my day.
Sure, I took a walk in the park and noticed the clover was in bloom. Magnificent. You stumble onto clover. If you go looking for it, it hides from view. Clover's like that. Cagey.
And who can blame it? Clover knows something a lot of the rest of us don't: delight can be sudden, but it can't be hurried or mandated. No one tells clover what to do. Or an artist, or a mystery writer.
I return home from an unhurried rendezvous with clover and plop myself on the Van Gogh Table. I don't know what stray thoughts prompted my urge. I just felt like doing it. It felt great.
The Van Gogh Table. I heard it took forever to paint, which is funny, since it took its wink and nod from Starry Night. Van Gogh wasn't one to labor over inspiration. He just painted and poured out his soul onto canvas until the canvas couldn't take it any more.
And then he ran to the next painting. I think he may have been possessed.
But the table? It's an ordinary pine table, or was. Now it's a pleasure to plop my weary hand puppet self upon. Like I said, it took forever to paint, and then the table fairly shouted "Enough! You've painted every cranny. I ooze paint. My blemishes are hidden from view, never to be found again. Thanks for the makeover, but stop. Stop now!"
I like this table. It has wings that fold, and it becomes very tiny. But when it's at its fully glory and the wings are open ... it's round, and there's a sun in the middle of the Starry Night. That's funny. It appeals to my foxy sense of humor.
After the table, I went out to the bookstore, just to meander. Meander is what I did. Love that word. You appreciate words when you're walking in a bookstore with nothing much on your mind.
Then I saw it. A book. A Georges Simenon mystery: "Maigret and the Wine Merchant."
There went my money.
A Maigret mystery is very much like clover. It's a delight. This delight may contain Paris, and bistros, food, food and more food, murder, corruption and despair. I stumbled onto the Maigret today, but I've read many of them. Still, what a surprise, and delight.
Maigret and I sat on the big red couch together. The one up there in the banner. It's even softer than it looks. Gimlet joined us. Sam? He grabbed a rawhide bone and plopped himself down on his nearby pillow and took delight in chewing.
Gimlet and I read a bit, and then we took delight in a snooze.
Nothing to it. That was my day.
And it was great.
I'd like another one of these, and soon.