Wouldn’t you know it. Amidst pencil honing, cast drawing and attempts at monastic focus, life was going on simultaneously. In addition to enjoying a great visit from Emmett’s mom and her boyfriend (from Tennessee) during the week, I had the opportunity to see my great grandmother for perhaps the last time.
Family said I best come now if I wanted to see her. I called my mom and within an hour I bought a plane ticket to Dallas for Saturday morning. My mother, constantly humbling me with her indefatigable love, drove from San Antonio to pick me up at the airport, took me to see family she’s not related to (but has bonds with nonetheless), and then dropped me back off at the airport at dawn the next morning and drove home. Just, you know, because she’s my mom. Who else would do this kind of thing for any of us? Moms, y’all. Moms. In my case, I have Emmett and I’ll be honest, because mine was such a rock, I was looking for mom-caliber devotion in a partner. A lot to ask? Word.
This is Grandmother. We lived with her when I was a babe and she babysat me lots. She’s 97 and when she was 75 I told her I would make her some new teeth. When I called to say I was coming she said this might make up for never delivering those teeth. In the end it’s really about getting right with the matriarchy.
I’m currently on that flight home. I have some bleary eyes and my jeans are getting long in the tooth. But my lil heart is full to bursting. Tonight we have an atelier potluck for socializing. Although open and supportive, day-to-day the atelier is not a social event. Tonight is for having a beer, meeting people’s better halves and letting our cascading classical hair down. Should be fun. I have no idea what I’m going to bring. Coffee. For myself.
Art Monk 