The Best Revenge

 

"Lonesome Dove"

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(perhaps she's been mistreated by a mean girl)

Living well is the best revenge. That’s what they say, isn’t it? I’m somewhat torn as to whether or not I agree entirely on this sentiment. I agree with it in spirit. In the extreme, it could go something like this:

A homely little girl is teased unmercifully at school. The other kids call her “Speckle Face” (she has many freckles) and “Four Eyes” (because mean kids are so clever with nicknames). “Bean Pole” (also very creative)…”St-St-Stuttering Sp-Sp-Speckle Face” (of course she would be a stutterer). I’m sure you’ve already formulated a clear picture in your mind of this poor, wretched little creature. Or perhaps, not unlike myself, you identify a little too closely with “Speckle Face” (I had a tad more than my share of freckles, wore glasses - once my mom finally took me to the optometrist, who said that I was practically legally blind), and yes, I had “bird legs”. But I digress…

Speckle Face then grows up to be a 1) famous actress 2) brilliant author 3) editor of Vogue (wait a minute…that’s Anna Wintour…she would have been one of the mean kids) Scratch that. 3) CEO of Chase…okay, she would also have been a mean girl, but use your imagination, as best you can. Speckle Face – all grown up now and a famous actress or CEO - is approached by a former mean girl who now proudly proclaims that she was a former classmate. Speckle looks down at her and says, “And what is your name? I’m sorry…I don’t remember you”.  To some, this would exemplify “living well is the best revenge”. Or does it mean more than that?

Maybe Speckle just grows up to be a happy, productive adult, surrounded by friends and family who love her and the mean kids grow up to be unhappy alcoholics with terrible relationships. I mean…”revenge” implies a negative consequence. Surely there’s revenge in this adage.

I once watched an episode of “Phil Donahue” (many…many years ago) and the guests were adults who were teased and taunted in school. In the audience were some of the former mean kids who had teased them. It was interesting to watch, because the mean kids – now grown up – still didn’t really get it. They mostly made excuses for themselves. And I would imagine that they probably had some little meanies of their own at home, thus adding to their tendency to make excuses.

So the adults on the stage – the ones who had been teased – received very little or no reparation. But it was also pretty obvious that they had much more character and depth than their former classmates in the audience. The grown-up meanies appeared to be empty shells. But is having better character enough revenge? As previously stated, the word “revenge” is embedded in the phrase. Where’s the revenge?

Maybe this is at the heart of my dilemma. Maybe my issue is with the “revenge” part. If Speckle is really living well, she has no vengeful thoughts toward her former oppressors and only wishes them well. If she even remembers them at all. As for me…

 I – like most of you, presumably – have been treated badly at times. Really badly. I wish that I could say that, like the delightful Speckle, I have no bad feelings whatsoever toward my meanies. But that would not be entirely true. I am able to put such things out of my mind, and I don’t wish anyone true harm, but sometimes I think I would enjoy poking them in the eye a couple of times.

I suppose that my philosophy in regard to this topic is that, while forgiveness and living well (whatever that means) trumps meanness, a little eye-poking would be enjoyable…with a single little tear rolling down the meanie’s cheek in a symbolic display of forced contrition.

Of course if you grow up to be a beautiful model, actress, or CEO…eye-poking would just be superfluous.

Black and White

Breaking my usual rule...a photo. But one day I'm going to paint this. Close enough.

My granddaughter has been staying with me this week. I love it when she comes for a visit, for any number of reasons…not the least of which is that she’s interesting. A little quirky. I don’t know where she gets this.

She is a person of routine. She enjoys sameness. For example, she likes to get up early, walk to the donut shop, whereupon we are to purchase precisely 12 donut holes. No more. No less. Then we walk to the neighborhood coffee house, order coffee for me and milk or hot chocolate for her (there is at least a modicum of flexibility here), and we sit and eat our donut holes. On other days, we stay in and I make her exactly 2 pieces of bacon and two toasts...one with strawberry jelly (it must be strawberry) and one without.

We can have some variation in routine during the late morning through afternoon, but we must be finished with said routine by 6:00 so that she can watch “The Lone Ranger”. Yes…the one from the 50s. In glorious back and white.

This is one of her quirks. She likes old TV shows that were filmed in black and white. “I Love Lucy”…and she likes her some “Roy Rogers” (I never fully realized just how lame “Roy Rogers” was until I sat and watched it with her one day). But I wonder…is this quirkiness on her part, or does it make complete sense?

I think it may be the latter, though she does come from – as my brother once aptly said in regard to our family – “a long line of crazy people” and a certain amount of eccentric behavior is to be expected. But doesn’t it make sense that an eight-year-old would enjoy a purely black and white story of good vs. evil? Simple and unpretentious. No Oscar-nominated performances and no Pulitzer prizes for literature. Just a man in a mask (which apparently completely obscures his identity) whose compulsion in life is to right all wrongs, and to do so anonymously.

I write from time to time about the differences in the way people of my generation were raised, not only by our parents, but by society in general. Go play. Be home by dark. Or one of my favorites...she'll get over it - kids are resilient. But I think that in some ways we were the better for it (assuming we survived all the broken bones and bug spray). “Roy Rogers”, “The Lone Ranger”…”Looney Tunes” were written specifically for kids and not for their parents. And they certainly were not written for the NEA or any other educational organization. We may have been under-protected, but at least we got to just be kids for a while.

I suppose I’m making the case that children are comforted by black and white, and that the shows of that era may have been onto something, whether accidentally or purposefully. This is right. This is wrong. The Lone Ranger and Tonto are good. The bank robbers are bad (perhaps they didn’t eat their vegetables, brush their teeth and drink their Ovaltine). 

Of course, eventually they’ll have to realize that there is gray. And that most things are multicolored and complicated. But for a while…they can revel in the innocence of glorious black and white.

That having been said, she probably does have a genetic disposition for eccentricity. Her dad (my son) - for many years - had his own imaginary kingdom over which he was the absolute ruler. The kingdom changed from time to time, but one thing always remained constant: he had no parents. And in high school he pretended to be a French exchange student in one of his classes. For a year. But that's another post. 

Museless

"Contemplation"

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I was going back through some of my older posts, and came across this one. Since I'm feeling quite museless today, I thought I would re-post this little ditty.

I suspect that most artists would relate to my state of mind this week. I am uninspired to paint. Yes, it happens. But I must persist in spite of that inconvenient truth (apologies to Al Gore, though I doubt very much that he will ever read this).

So artists/writers and other such creative types are supposed to have muses…right? I suppose it’s not to be taken literally, but I get it. As artists (whether painters, musicians, writers, or whatever), we have creative impulses that are not science-based, but more…ethereal. So we’ve created an entity that embodies that factless notion. The muse.

The problem for me is that my “muse” is inconsistent. I call her Aunt Clara. No doubt you remember Aunt Clara from “Bewitched”...Samantha’s aging aunt with the colossal memory problems, who sporadically dropped in through the chimney, and stayed just long enough to create chaos. BUT…she had inspired moments. As I recall, she once caused the blackout of the entire eastern seaboard. That’s awesome. And didn’t she once turn the Tates’ kid into twins? Hilarious (Larry Tate...what a jackass). But mostly she just screwed things up.

So that’s the inconvenient truth of my artistic life. I’ll have to press on without Aunt Clara, and hope that she shows her ash-covered chimney-face as the week progresses. And who knows? Maybe I don’t really need her after all. That’s ridiculous. Of course I need her. We all need inspiration…

But maybe the inspiration comes with nitty-gritty work. First comes work…then the muse. After all, the muse can’t do much with an artist who has no skills. So for all my fellow artists out there…just keep putting the brush to the canvas. And assume that the muse will show. At some point. Hopefully without a blackout of the eastern seaboard...