Don't Dance on My Toes

(Today's art was prepared by our grandson, Thomas ... at an early age)



Many years ago, when I was about half as old as I am now - and in a job that was slowly driving me crazy - I thought I might find some “escape” by signing up for an evening class at the community college.


But what should I take?


I’d been out of school for a long time, long enough, it seemed to me, to have forgotten most of what I’d learned. So I needed something easy, you know, something to dip my toe into before taking the full plunge.


A careful examination of course offerings turned up what appeared to be the one logical choice for me: calligraphy, that is, hand-lettering. After all, how hard could that be? 


Believe me, it can be pretty hard, even with the expert, caring instructor I was lucky to have. I even ended up enjoying the course, and getting a passing grade.


I also ended up with some supplies left over.


You know me, of course: I learned something early on from another expert, my Grandpa, who preached that we should never throw anything away. He even saved bent nails, because he knew he would have a need for them someday ... then he’d straighten them and put them to use. 


So I ended up with a supply of ink ... a bit in a bottle, and quite a bit in the form of cartridges for the special pen that we used in class, and some points ... “nibs,” I believe we called them.


But I didn’t seem to have that special pen.


I started by searching the attic, where everything seems to end up. No luck. I tried under the roof (lots of stuff there, mostly Christmas stuff). No luck. I tried the study, the first floor closet, the basement. I even went back to the attic and searched again. Still no luck.


I couldn’t throw away all that ink. 


Last resort ... I started looking in earnest at all the stores we duck into on cold and stormy days ... or on boiling hot days like we’ve been having. I’ll spare you the list of stores, for it was a long one.


Finally, we stopped in a huge arts and crafts store which we hadn’t visited for years ... found our way to the right aisle, spotted what appeared to be the right kind of pen ... found our way, without having to hire a guide, back to the checkout ... and hurried home.


On the way home, I commented to Phyllis that, now that I have a new pen for those cartridges, I’ll probably find the original. She just gave me one of those looks.


However, those old ink cartridges did fit the new pen ... with  a problem or two ... so I still felt that I had ended up "saving money" by making that purchase. 


I didn’t remember exactly how to install the ink cartridges. Quite by accident I had picked out a red ink cartridge to try first. The result: My hands ended up looking like they were bleeding badly ... and I ended up throwing THAT cartridge away (horrors!).


The next try went better, and I was back in business.


That evening, as I was tidying up ... I’m always tidying up ... mainly because stacks of things keep toppling, despite all my efforts to bring order out of the chaos ... and, as I was placing a newly-found sketchpad on top of a stack of previously-found sketchpads, I noticed a strange object inserted into the spiral binding of one low in the stack.


Eureka! I had found that old pen! So now I have three of them. And don’t you dare ask me how one and one make THREE. That’s an entirely different story ... and we don’t have time for that here.


-S&G-


REMEMBER Little Red and the saga of the turned-on brake  lights? 


Well, we’ve had something of a repeat performance. This time, though, the battery didn’t go dead. 


One of our good neighbors reported to us one evening that Little Red seemed to be glaring at her from our driveway. Sure enough, that was the case.


This called for immediate action. Phyllis pulled Little Red into the garage and I ... with, oh, maybe three or four trips to the house to get the right tool ... disconnected the battery.


We all ... except Little Red, of course ... slept fitfully that night (Little Red always seems to sleep well), wondering what tomorrow would bring.


Well, with the battery re-connected ... and the brake lights glaring all the way  ... we made a rather uneventful trip to our favorite repair shop and ... about 20 minutes and 44 dollars later ... Little Red was as good as new again.


And I don’t really blame Little Red for all of this recent behavior. That’s just the way teenagers are sometimes.


-S&G- 


TODAY’S QUOTE: “How did Saturday come so quickly? If it has been seven days, I’ll eat my hat! (Another old saying, like putting one’s pants on ... one leg at a time!) ... I think I’ll have sugar and cream on the hat, thank you.” - LOREE (Kansas)


-S&G-


THIS ... from HELEN (Florida): A grandmother, not sure whether her young granddaughter had learned colors yet, decided to test her. She would point to something and ask what color it was. The little girl would tell her ... and was always correct. Grandma was enjoying it, and kept going. Finally, the granddaughter headed for the door, saying, “Grandma, I think you should try to figure out some of these yourself.”


-S&G-


THIS ... from WALT (Ohio): Why do banks charge a fee on “insufficient funds” when they already know there is not enough money?


-S&G-


REMEMBER last week, when my pants outsmarted me and threw me against the door facing (among other things)? LOREE (Kansas) says that has happened to her, too (I’ve taken an oath of silence in regard to how many times).


Ah, but Loree has a solution: Nowadays, she says, when she feels that the one leg at a time bit might be putting her deliberately in harm’s way ... “I’ve found that lying on my back, extending my legs into the air (AFTER inserting both feet first) works very well, thank you ... one of those dark, well-hidden secrets that I had never divulged to anyone before, about the disasters caused when one foot gets hung up and there is nowhere to go but down.”


-S&G-


I’M ASSUMING, of course, that the lying on the back is done on the bed; otherwise, it might take three people ... at least ... to get me back on my feet. At least it sounds better than trying to do a one-legged dance ... especially to a non-dancer.


-S&G-


TODAY’S POEM: Phyllis and I were on a day-trip, visiting Chillicothe, Ohio, and the magnificent, neighboring Adena.

Among those at our table during lunch were some couples who enjoy line dancing ... oh, do they ever. Their enthusiasm was catching ... almost.




I say almost, because my early experience with dancing was ... well, catastrophic. I must have been in fifth or sixth grade ... we were giving a demonstration of some kind of historic dance for a school assembly.




Afterward, I was thinking that it had gone fairly well. But then my partner complained that I had stepped on her toes ... several times, I believe she said.


I suppose that first ... and last ... dance led me, eventually, to the writing of today's poem:


DON'T DANCE ON MY TOES


I don't care
if you’ve got rhythm
and grace galore,
please
don't dance on my toes.




I don't care
if you're wild as a daisy,
sweet as a rose,
just, please,
don't dance on my toes. 




I don't care
if you're rich, smart,
sophisticated,
and stuff like that -
don't dance on my toes.




'Cause, brother,
I've got troubles
and pain galore,
and I just
don't need any more.


(originally published in Art Times)
  


-S&G-


COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like. 


Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to


 rbrimm@peoplepc.com


... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)


-S&G-


If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog (no, this is not my “Home Page”),  here’s a link to it:


http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.




-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


©  2010