Monday, October 26, 2009
A PATIENT HUSBAND is a 7x5 pastel on PastelBord. Bidding begins at $100.
I haven't been writing lately because I haven't been able to think of anything to say. Not sure why exactly. I've been busy, but not unusually busy. Distracted, but not unusually distracted. Seems my mind has been unusually blank though.
Yesterday, after church, my husband, Ben, and I loaded up our bikes in the back of his pickup truck, and drove to meet my brother-in-law, Joe, to ride the Silver Comet Trail, a paved bike path on the old abandoned railroad lines in northwest Georgia. We rode the path from Rockmart, along rushing creeks and past quiet subdivisions and freshly mown hayfields, uphill, downhill, meandering and forgetting all but the beauty of the day . The gold and orange fall colors reminded me of those old periodicals I saw in Dentist offices as a child (can anybody recall the title?), full of color photos of idyllic rural scenes: churches in the snow or autumn landscapes, always with inspiring poetry or prose. When I tried reminding Ben and Joe about those books, which I'm sure everybody grew up with, they looked at me blankly and Ben said, "Boys didn't read those things. We used to read National Geographic." "We used to read Playboy," Joe added, "for the same reason." They both nodded in agreement.
I'll never figure out why men and women are so different.
With a few hours left in the day, Ben and I drove an hour north to a friend's barn, where we sat quietly, him with a rifle, me with a camera, hoping a deer would emerge. We always thought it'd be a great thing to do together. I could shoot all the raptors he's always telling me about--owls, falcons, hawks, kites; he could hunt. I could be creative, he could be a man. But we learned all too quickly that this just would not work. We forgot how much noise a camera makes when you click the shutter.
Which has absolutely nothing to do with todays picture. The picture is from a doll show I attended recently with a friend. I always feel so fondly toward the men I see attending these sorts of functions.
Posted by Margaret Dyer at Monday, October 26, 2009