a few weeks back, i did a special commission for a good friend. the commission was for his father-in-law, who had a few setbacks health wise but retained his sense of humor and love of life. it was supposed to be a christmas present…unfortunately, he had a severe stroke on christmas eve… and passed away not long after that. he never got to see what i did. my friend posted the following on facebook yesterday:talk about feeling good and bad at the same time. just goes to show how you never really know the type of impact your actions, or in this case the work i produce, will have.
i tend to keep things. i have become very adept at not only building shelves, but finding space to put those shelves in. in fact, if i could build a shelf within a shelf i think i might just possibly maybe have enough room for everything… no extra space for future things, just room enough for the clutter that i have.
there are days where the clutter is comforting to me… like insulation from the cold, cruel world. and there are those other days where i want to call the “AMERICAN PICKERS” guys to back their van into my driveway and rob me blind. but, even in an empty house, i’d manage to establish a few clutter piles and clutter shelves…pretty soon, i’ll have to figure out how to build shelves on the ceiling…
throughout high school and undergrad, i couldn’t be bothered with history. it just never really clicked with me: why would you want to look at things that have already happened? that last statement is bordering on ironic considering that at one point i wanted to be a philosophy major.
as i got older i started to understand history more…not the dates and the places but the CONCEPT of history. it was simple: knowing what was done directs what you’re going to do. okay, i get that… as i got deeper and deeper though, i realized that history puts only a few names in bold print: washington, jefferson, adams… but they’re not the only ones making history. in fact, history; the creation of a nation, an economic entity, is all about the names that you never hear…names and faces that in some cases are never even recorded. what excited me the most was that history is all about stories. i get more perspective from a corporal in a muddy field who jotted notes in his journal than his commanding general in a dry tent on a hill.
it’s about the faceless, nameless masses. they’re the ones that make history real.
maybe one of these days i’ll work on my phd. for now, i’ll let a cartoon squirrel let me know how blind i can sometimes be.
wouldn’t that be the case? the day after the strip ends, rachael ray would call wanting to do an interview or a cooking segment with bob. would i open the crypt? would i give him life one more time to have him fulfill one of his dreams only to put him back in that box? naaah…
at least this way, with him still around and kicking… there’s some outward hope that his little eye would catch her little eye.
i’ve also realized that the coffee this morning is SUPER STRONG…