Waiting for God

 Not too long ago, I noticed an Arts Advisory position posting in the City.  And I thought, “Huh, were I only, say, 65, I would almost definitely apply.” But, as it is, even though, at the moment, I still have all my marbles, no one would even consider me, given my advanced age of 87.   Anyone with a functioning brain automatically assumes that an 87 year old is simply too old, and could not be relied upon to carry out normal job duties, of any job really.  So, even “advisory” positions are out of reach, meaning essentially, that no one any longer wants my views/opinions on anything.

And I now understand that I am, almost literally, “Waiting for God”.  For those of you not given to watching British TV series, “Waiting for God” is the name of an olden comedic series about a bunch of elders living in an elder home—sort of glorified motel with meals, where no one does anything any longer, aside from chatting it up, and, oh yeah, then occasionally dying. They seem a happy enough lot, but a happy lot with nothing to do any longer with life.

And so, we move on awaiting that God thingie.

Now, we still wear masks when we venture out, as in shopping at a food store, but that’s about it. We still have no interest in acquiring familiarity with the COVID mess. See, we don’t think of masks or vaxxing as “freedom” issues, but more as “staying alive” issues. So, the dudes running around the beltway in DC in their semitrailer trucks seem a pointedly stupid lot to us. But we’re old, so what do we know?

Happily, Carol doesn’t need anyone’s permission to continue making her quilts for sick kids at the local Children’s hospital. She just got herself a new sewing machine, so she is back to quilting happily. See, she knows how to quilt and doesn’t need anyone’s permission.  So, she and her quilting BFFs just keep on doing their good work. Now, I used to act in the guise of a pseudo-artist. That is, every quarter, the local Arts Council would schedule an Art Walk and I would create and then enter my artsy pieces. It was fun pretending to be an artist. Here’s a couple of pieces I entered in one of those olden Art Walks. The first is an early sunrise at our daughter’s place in Virginia. They have nice sunrises. The second is a Buddhist priest at a temple in Kathmandu, praying while he is hiding from the Chinese who invaded his original home in Tibet lo those many moons ago.  See, I have a lot of pictures taken over the years, and I like showing them off. I know, I know, they don’t qualify as real art—no paint brushes involved.  Still those used to be great fun.

But then along came COVID and essentially shut down the old concept of Art Walks. See Art Walks used to involve indoor spaces (we had an old bank building no longer occupied as a bank). That was great space, but it was great indoor space, with lots of folks mixing together and chatting it up with the artisans who were selling their works. And I displayed my works. Once in a while, I actually sold a piece. But mostly, I just chatted with folks who always asked me how I produced the works on display. Whenever I got around to mentioning the stage at which I created the work in Photoshop, they would say, “oh you Photoshopped it” and then walk away. I finally got to the point where I invented something called the “Adobe Magic Wand”. And then when folks asked me how I did it, I would say, “Oh, I used my Adobe Magic Wand. See, you bring up a picture in Photoshop, wave the magic wand at it and the wand then creates the final artsy creation.”

So, I never really acquired the “Artiste” designation. Still, I had fun. But then along came the Pandemic and shut down all those sweet indoor gatherings.  Occasionally now, the Arts Council will sponsor what they call an Art Walk. But that is, they provide a space on the street in downtown Concord. You provide a table and a tent to house your art work. And if it doesn’t rain or snow and folks actually come by, you can still pretend to be an artist. But that is just beyond my discomfort tolerance level, so I have given up Art Walks. But that was my last vestige of community participation. Now, it’s all Facebook, all the time.  I can pretend to still be alive and participating by posting things.  And my “Friends” at least look at my postings, so, See, I am still here.

I was going to say something about Vlad the Impaler and his preoccupation with bombing hospitals and little sick children, but I think enough has been said. I guess we could say more about our local idiot-malenfant, Madison Cawthorn who announced his view that Mr. Zelinsky, the Prime Minister of Ukraine was a ”thug”, but how can I comment on someone that utterly stupid? Imagine, real humans actually voted for that idiot.  Made me wonder actually whether Cawthorn actually knows what the term “Thug” actually means. Probably not.

Well, I will leave my commentaries on Vlad to another time, perhaps after one of his BFFs assassinates him. Won’t that be fun?

Ta Ta.