My husband, beancounter extraordinaire, gearhead junkcar tinker unmatched, that guy-- he doesn't really "get" why his wife does some of the things she does. We won't even discuss all the discussions that arise from him being a neatnik and me being a slob, won't even touch the differences between coupon clippers and just buy the brand you want that's on sale shoppers, won't get started on the polar opposite driving styles (Type A gone ultrahypervigilantegottagetwhereI'mgoingNOW versus Type Zzzz enjoy the drive and we'll get there when we get there), and for heaven's sakes lets not discuss practical degrees versus liberal arts degrees.
Before we get started on this discussion, though, I have to give you this disclaimer: Because he is who he is and uses that accounting degree to full advantage, I get the luxury of being a stay at home mom who's making a stab at playing artist and small business person. For that, I say a great big THANK YOU!
Now, the piece of trash through a goddess belly kaleidoscope discussion:
It's about 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Beancounter is scouring the local newspaper at lightning speed, an eye peeled for names he knows or interesting political commentary. Now, I am a morning person, but the gearhead is not, so I see he also has a new issue of the Trader (lots of car classifieds) to keep him amused when he's done with the newspaper. Ah, coffee for me, and we each quietly go about our morning.
Coffee almost done, I decide to grab the camera and head outside to see what sort of intriguing picture I can find to share with you. Well, let me just add here that the cornfield looks pretty much the same, just taller and tassling. The sky is a lovely rich blue, and the maple trees are still standing guard in the backyard. The weeds had their photo shoot already this week. That's right, nothing jumped out at me and said, "Hey, take my picture!"
Hmmm. I go back inside, grab a fat goddess experiment from the worktable. Ooooh, she has her problems, but her torso is a huge gob of clear glass just waiting to be used for something. Another hmmm. I take her outside in the sunlight and hold her in front of a bright yellow dandelion. Interesting, but not quite what I want. Hmmm. I head across the driveway, and step across a piece of trash that I'll grab later when my hands aren't full.
Hey, wait a minute! My brain does a doubletake at all the super-intense metallic color in that piece of trash. It's a piece of that bumpy, metallic looking stuff like you peel off the top of a yogurt container.
Ooooooooooooo, pretty, pretty colors shining through the glass goddess belly in the bright sunlight! A kaleidoscope! No wonder people love kaleidoscopes-- each one is so different, so intriguing with the gazillions of possibilities. I have my picture. I hum along inside, camera in hand, satisfied muse sitting on my shoulder smoking a cigarette and plotting a new design at the same time.
The conversation as I walk in the door:
What were you taking pictures of, Bunny?
A piece of trash through a piece of glass.
A piece of really bright colored trash through a thick piece of clear glass.
I don't even have to look around the corner to see his face, I know he's shaking his head in bemusement, wondering what the hell will she do next? And that, my friends, is the beauty of it all. Opposites attract, drive one another silly, and eventually rub off on one another. After almost a decade together, I'm coming to see the value of saving receipts and rescuing old car carcasses from junkyards before they get crushed and melted into a new Chinese whatchamawhatever, and his artistic eye opens a little wider every time he sees something on his travels and realizes the Bunny would like that. Okay, so it's a slow road, but it's taking us there :)