I live in the Deep South but it is a sad thing that I do not care for pecan pie. I do not make pecan pie. I do not eat pecan pie. Oh, don't get me wrong, it is delicious....if you like sweet...really sweet...sickening sweet. Pecan pies are sweet. Each pie takes about a truckload of sugar mixed in with a few barrels of corn syrup. Throw in a few tablespoons of butter, some salt and eggs then pour the mixture over two cups of pecans in a pie shell. Oh, maybe add a bit more sugar just for good measure. Yep, pecan pies are that sweet.
Last week, one of my "adopted" sons called me to ask a favor. "Could you make two pecan pies for me to take to our corporate Thanksgiving dinner? I told everybody that you are the best baker in the whole state." Well, although the statement is not even remotely true, what could I do? When someone sweet-talks like that, it is hard to say no. Bless his heart, he sure knows how to butter people up to get them to do whatever he needs. So, I became a baker. I made pecan pies...even though I had never made one before in my life. He and his coworkers bragged on my attempts so I baked another last night for our Thanksgiving feast. I figured if everyone else liked them, perhaps I had a misconception of the southern favorite.
The pie did not make it to the dinner table in one piece. Mark sneaked a slice of the legendary southern treat while it was still warm from the oven! "That is delicious!" he proclaimed. Ok, ok...I will try a smidgen. Yep, it was tasty. Yep, I still found it far too sweet. Still, I will make pecan pies in the future for those who desire to have their pecans covered in straight syrupy goop but I will continue to bake other treats for those of us who prefer to not have a massive sugar rush. I have to admit, it does look impressive, though, and I can truly say I do, indeed, make pecan pies!
There is a dragon in my cupboard! Yes, indeed, and it is a lovely dragon as far as dragons go. While the thing resides in my cabinet, it is not mine. I cannot lay claim to the critter nor can I discourage it from dwelling there. It just has to stay for the duration of about three more months. Then the thing can go home. It can journey back to its original domain and I will be free from its rule. Not that I mind. The dragon has been relatively well behaved and its stay has not been overly stressful for either of us. To be truthful, I hardly realize it is there except when I wander through the dining room. BUT! I would not trade it for the world! Even though, as I have said, the dragon is not mine to claim, it is meaningful to me.
The dragon in question is none other than a small figurine. Back a few months ago, a lifelong buddy of Son's came to visit. He smugly presented me with the dragon. "Here! This is to help you stay in the spirit of the clue hunt!" he said as the dragon was passed to my hands. You see, the theme of this year's Annual Clue Hunt on the Bayou is "Save the Alchemist" which is set in Medieval Times. Since no decent Alchemist is without a dragon somewhere in the whole realm of things, I obviously needed one to keep me in check. Now, whenever I start getting a bit bogged down and "clueless", I have a reminder that keeps me striving to complete the task. The dragon is to return to its original home after the final day of the hunt.
This evening, I took a photograph of the dragon and was at first distressed about the reflection of the flash on the glass of the cupboard. Then after staring at the thing a bit, I thought that it was rather appropriate after all. If you really squint your eyes and use a great deal of imagination, perhaps the dragon is "breathing fire"! Sounds good to me! Its funny how things work.
Long ago, I was told that it was ok to be a bit different than the rest of the world. Back when they were in high school, one of my son's friends told me to "Embrace your weirdness...It is what we all like about you." Well, its good to know that I am weird! (Thanks, Christopher!) Anyway, it made me realize that I have to be who I am and not worry about being accepted by others. This was a strange lesson for a kid to teach an adult but, hey, better late than never! So, that said, I embraced my weirdness and became someone that I liked. One of the things that this realization did for me was to open up a whole new freedom with my artwork. If I wanted to paint something realistic....I could. If I wanted to paint something "off the wall"....I could. I was not aiming to please anyone but myself and the way I felt at the moment.
This evening, I sat down to do an owl painting for the upcoming clue hunt. I seriously thought of going the realistic mode and grabbed a bunch of paints from the bin. Ok! This should be great! Only with bad eyes and equally bad lighting, I had mistakenly picked purple paint instead of brown. Well, there was only one thing to do! Take a hike on the wild side! So, I did. My owl turned into something that I might have found in a color book from my toddler days. Bright colors dominated, strange lines demanded attention, heavy brush strokes ruled. The owl is weird but, in a strange way, quite sane.
Every now and again, we all need to let loose and do something quite out of character. It feels good. We all have a bit of weirdness in us but most stifle it beyond recognition. We are afraid to step out of the comfort zone and do something a bit wild. My weirdness leads to some pretty interesting art pieces but I like it. Thanks, Christopher! Your advice holds true!
