If a picture paints a thousand words, then my iPhoto should be the longest story ever written. When you have grandkids (and dogs) as photogenic as mine, photos beg to be taken.
Even before digital days, when my children were little and we were poor as church mice, I took many, many photos of their cuteness. I got my first camera at 7 and it’s something I just can’t help.
But let me break away from the picture talk to confess that I do not like that song by Bread; that song by Bread is one I dread. I’ve never liked that song at all; it fit the story, that is all.
Forgive the Seussian rhyme, but I’m transitioning briefly into an embarrassing but funny story about a Bread concert my senior year of high school.
My friends knew I abhorred the band Bread. Yuck. They were so – white bread. Sissified. Pop rock.
I loved The Allman Brothers. Eric Clapton. Santana. Led Zeppelin. CSNY. Howling Wolf. OK, and James Taylor and Carole King – but Bread. Stinkaroony.
The only reason I went to the concert was because my boyfriend did a brief stint in a fraternity, members of which worked concerts at Barton Coliseum – in exchange for free admission. Including sucky concerts like Bread.
We had to get there early, and the girlfriends were promptly parked on blankets on the cement floor in front of the stage. The guys joined us after the show started.
I don’t remember who opened, but I think I remember wearing a bright plaid button-up shirt and Levi’s. Evidently, it was bright enough to stand out, and evidently David Thomas picked a girl at every show to hit with the spotlight and sing “If” to.
Yep, yours truly. The song started, the spotlight expanded, and there we were, David Gates and I, encircled in light as he crooned in that annoying falsetto to me.
Holy shit. Everybody can see me. Maybe no one will notice. Acck – it would be rude to look away, so, fine sing to me.
Then he gave me their set list. People cheered.
The next day at school many, many people yelled in the hall, “Hey, I saw you last night!” Try explaining that you really don’t even like the band when you were seen sitting in the front row.
I tore the set list up, something in retrospect that was probably dumb. Oh, well. I still don’t like Bread.
But I really started all this to talk about how I spent the weekend, which was doing something I haven’t done since high school – painting. Not walls; my friend Catherine Rodgers taught the two-day “Paint Like Rothko – Color, Complement, Shade, Tone and Tint Workshop” at the Arkansas Arts Center and I did it!
Super fun. I always intended to paint in my 50s. Cut it a bit close on the “in my 50s,” but more than 40 years since I last really painted anything other than walls, furniture, frames or ceramics – that I can remember anyway – I did a 30-inch by 40-inch oil on acrylic (vaguely) Rotho-esque piece.
First we mixed colors and made color charts, which was invaluable and satisfying. Now if I can just make myself finish the gray scale …