In the Book of Revelation there is a terrible dragon. Here is how it is described: “Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crown on its heads.” Rev. 12:3
Well, this isn’t that dragon. This is Antenna, that dragon’s younger sister. She’s not talked about in the bible, probably to preserve the older one’s evil reputation. Antenna isn’t terrible and evil. She’s just trying to make her way in the world.
Her name is Antenna because she was conceived on an antenna. The antenna didn’t fare too well in that tryst and had to be replaced but it still held fond memories for her mum and dad.
Each head also had her own name; Liza, Milly, Ruth, Martha, Alice, Sarah and Dorcas, which they got after their parents watched Seven Brides for Seven Brothers on late night TV.
Antenna had one baby dragon with 3 heads. It was a boy named Laundromat because that is the building on top of which he was conceived. That building fared okay after just a few repairs. The 3 heads were named Babe, Lou and Joe because the father was a big Yankees fan.
Antenna had a hard time early in life because of her older brother’s terrible reputation. She always wanted to defend her brother as just being misunderstood, but it was hard when he basically was responsible for all sorts of cosmic death and destruction wherever he went.
She tried to make up for it by being very nice to everyone she met. That also was not easy since the heads all had their own personalities. Some were quite rude, some were quiet introverts and a couple were just big loudmouths. It was really quite annoying at times but she did the best she could.
She eventually moved to the northern coast of California and lived among the Redwoods where she didn’t look nearly as big and scary to those who came to visit. She worked as a rescue specialist helping to find people lost at sea or in the forest. She retired at age 812 and spent the rest of her years giving tours to Japanese tourists who came to see the big trees and dragon.
Her son Laundromat (Launny for short) became a nano-engineer with a number of high-tech start ups and had 49 patents by the time he was 531.
I drew this and wrote the commentary 8 years ago. It’s even more apropos today.
Well, Aristotle IS one of the fathers of rhetoric so who better to ask a rhetorical question, right?
Death and Maiming
It’s been a tough emotional week for me. Not anything personal in my own life but due to the events in Tucson. I love my country. I have loved it since I was a little kid and learned about George Washington. He was, and still is, in my opinion, the greatest public hero of any age.
I was 8 when JFK was killed. My parents loved him and worked for him. My father even ran for the Senate in 1962, inspired by him.
I was 13 when MLK and RFK were killed. I will never forget walking into a drug store in Darien, Connecticut after MLK was murdered and hearing a man say ‘that N***** deserved it’. I was 13 and as angry as I had ever been at that moment. I didn’t speak up and was ashamed afterwards. Since then I almost always speak up if someone says something grossly offensive.
I was 26 when Reagan was shot. I was not a fan of President Reagan but it had nothing to do with that. I respect my presidents. I start each term with each president filled with hope as if I were a naive young man. Update, 2019 – For the first time ever, I was not able to have that same naive faith after the election of 2016.
I am now 55, will be 56 in a little over a week. It’s weird, it’s almost as if this event in Tucson hurts more than the others. I know Giffords is ‘just’ a congressional representative, not a president or candidate, but it’s almost because of that that it hurts more. She ‘represents’ and it’s as if someone was trying to kill that, not just a person. Add on to that that people who had every reason to believe they were doing something uniquely and gloriously American that day suffered death and injury for no other reason than they wanted to connect to their representative.
The Power of Words
I love rhetoric and the power of words. I love how they can inspire us. I hate how they can turn us on each other. I hate how they can be used by selfish people for selfish ends. I hate how they can mask lies and evil deeds. But I think the power of good in words can overcome that power of evil. And I won’t ever give up believing that, ever.
The napkin above is light, it’s funny, it’s absurd. It’s rhetorical. I had to lighten my emotional load a bit by drawing it. Don’t forget though, that it is not a rhetorical question to ask if we can’t be civil with each other.
I drew this drawing and wrote the commentary 4 years ago today. It references a drawing and short story I published the day before. I republished it a few days ago.
Self-Esteem
I wrote a short story yesterday about a homeless woman and her daughter. The mother was confronted by a woman who judged her negatively without really knowing her. The daughter was upset about the judgment and her mother used the opportunity to explain that the judgment wasn’t based on the lady knowing them. She explained that she judged because she had some hurt in her that she was trying to get out and judging others was her way of doing that. The child was lucky to have a mother to help explain that their self-esteem came from them, not from some random person who did not know them.
Other’s Story About You
I am guessing those of you reading this have been called one of the words in the drawing above. Some are negative and some are positive, but all of them are fables, or stories. That doesn’t mean they may not have some truth in them. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But at the most they are incomplete statements of who you are and at the least they are outright lies. Wherever they are in the arch of truth, the reason they are spoken has more to do with the person speaking than it has to do with you.
It doesn’t make their story your story.
Your Story About Yourself
When I have a model for one of my art projects I will often ask the following question: ‘What is your favorite facial feature on yourself?’ Many will answer in the following way: “Well, most people say it’s my ‘type in facial feature here’. I, in response, will say, “I am not asking what others think is your best feature, I am asking YOU what you think is.” That gets them thinking and they often, but not always, will change their answer. They might say, “No one ever says this, but I love my nose best because it reminds me of my dad.” or something like that. That to me illustrates the difference between the story you would tell about yourself and the story others may tell about you.
Trust It
Look hard for your own story in the midst of all that outside noise and believe it. Don’t let others’ story about you decide who you are.
I drew this napkin 18 years ago to put in my daughters’ lunches. I published it on this blog 10 years ago today.
A truth to remember for all those in the middle of the Big L, whether Good L or Bad L.
This is why holding on to transient highs and lows as if they are built to last is harmful and self-defeating. I don’t mean you can’t enjoy the Good L that comes along. But you need to live with the understanding it isn’t meant to be permanent, any more than a souffle is. Eat it up when it is ready, take full advantage of the Good L when it is before you. But don’t try to put it in the fridge and eat it tomorrow. Make a new souffle, a new Good L, tomorrow instead.
“The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.” – Bret Harte
I originally published this in January, 2015. Judgment can be harsh, mean, hurtful and hateful. But when exposed and understood it can lead to revelation and redemption. This is a story about that.
Prologue
Beatrice was raised by a very judgmental mother who didn’t like her much.
Chapter One
Beatrice saw the mother and daughter on the street outside of gallery as she went up the steps. As she juggled her keys and coffee to unlock the door she hoped they would move along soon.
It wasn’t that cold out but it had been cold overnight and they were both barefoot. Their shoes had been stolen at the homeless shelter the night before. The mother, named Emily, was hoping the shelter would have extra shoes, but they did not. She had come downtown hoping the church caring center would have some and was waiting for it to open. She stopped in front of the gallery because there was a ledge just the right height for her daughter to sit on with her doll. Her daughter, named Cerise, had to go to the bathroom very badly. The mother was hoping she could wait until the caring center was open but it looked like she might not be able to. She finally decided she had to go into the gallery to see if they had a bathroom.
Beatrice heard the door open while she was in the back turning on the computer in the office. When she went out and saw it was the mother and daughter she rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and went up front to confront them. “Yes, may I help you?” She asked.
Emily said, “We are waiting for the church caring center to open down the street but my daughter really has to go to the bathroom. Would you mind if she used yours, please?”
Beatrice said, “Yes, she may, but make it quick.” She walked towards the back, sweeping her arm behind her indicating for them to follow. She pointed to a small door and said, “There, please be quick and clean up after.”
Cerise was quick and did clean up after. Emily thanked Beatrice and started to walk back to the front to go out. Beatrice stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and said, “Hold on a minute. I really have to say I am bothered by you allowing your daughter being barefoot in the city like that, not to mention yourself. It’s dangerous on the sidewalks with trash and glass and all sorts of things. Why are you barefoot?”
Emily explained about the shoes being stolen. Beatrice said, “But why did you allow them to be stolen? Why weren’t they on your feet? Why were you at a homeless shelter in the first place? Your child is very young, you should take better care of her.”
Emily by this time was holding Cerise close. Cerise in turn was holding her doll even closer. Emily said, “Yes, you are right. I wish I had taken better care of her. Thank you for letting us use the bathroom. We won’t bother you again.”
Beatrice said, “I hope you don’t and I hope you get your act together. It’s not good for her.”
Chapter Two
Emily and Cerise went outside and down the street to the Church Caring Center. It had opened and it turned out they did have shoes they could have, along with socks and sweaters for both of them. Cerise had been crying about the lady in the gallery. She asked her mom, “Why was that lady so mean? She really scared me. You should have told her the whole story, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so mean.”
Emily responded, “You know Cerise, sometimes it really doesn’t matter if someone knows the whole story. They need to judge and so they will judge, no matter what. You and I know the story and we both know why we were at the homeless shelter. We know what we are doing and why. That is what matters.”
Beatrice told the story of the homeless mother and daughter to five different friends over the course of the day. Four of the friends agreed that the homeless mother was bad and that the daughter should be taken from her and put in protective custody. The fifth friend, a wealthy gallery patron named Jill, told Beatrice she thought she had treated them badly. She said what they needed was kindness, not judgment.
Beatrice was rather taken aback by this and asked why she was making such a big deal about it. Jill said, “I once was homeless when I was quite young and people treated me the same way. I already knew all the negative things about myself and how I had ended up homeless, I didn’t need other people telling me the same thing. What I needed was help and understanding. Luckily for me I got that help, and ironically it was actually from a gallery dealer in Los Angeles. Without his understanding and help I never would have gotten out of the jam I was in.”
Chapter Three
A few weeks later Emily and Cerise were in the same gallery neighborhood again. This time they had shoes on. Emily had gotten a part-time job at a coffee shop about a block from the gallery. The coffee shop owner had said Cerise could stay there as long as she didn’t bother her mother too much while she was on duty. It would only be for a few more weeks then school would start again for the fall and Cerise wouldn’t have to be there during the day. Cerise sat at a little table near the window and drew in the sketchbook they had given her at the Church Caring Center a few weeks before.
Beatrice usually came to the coffee shop around 9:30 am, right before she went to open the gallery. This day she saw a little girl through the window as she approached. As she walked past she bent down, pointed at the drawing and said, “You are a very good artist. Keep at it and one day you might be famous, who knows!” Cerise looked up and recognized the woman as the mean person from a few weeks prior, but Beatrice did not recognize Cerise. But when she came to the counter she most definitely did recognize Cerise’s mother, Emily. She remembered the green eyes, the strong eyeliner and the red hair up in a bun. Emily recognized Beatrice as well. They stared at each other for a moment. Beatrice could feel her cheeks flushing with blood.
Emily asked, “Hello, what may I get for you today?”
Beatrice answered, “Um…I will have…um….I will have a large Cafe Mocha please.”
Emily said, “Will that be all?”
Beatrice answered, “Yes. Um….you were in my gallery last week, right?”
Emily responded, “Yes. My daughter used the bathroom. Thank you for allowing that.”
Beatrice said, “Um….yes. No problem. Anytime.” She felt particularly stupid after saying that.
Emily said. “Your drink will be ready over to the left. It should be just a minute.”
Beatrice moved over to the counter at the left. She picked up her drink and was on her way out when she returned to Emily. She said, “I am sorry for the attitude I had that day. It was mean and judgmental and I regret it.”
Beatrice looked up from ringing something up in the cash register. “I appreciate that. We are used to that attitude, you aren’t alone. But you are the only person who’s ever apologized to me for it. That means a lot. Thank you.”
Beatrice asked, “Where is your daughter?”
Emily pointed to the front and said, “You already talked to her, she is the little girl at the window over there.”
Beatrice Asked Emily her name and the name of her daughter. She shook Emily’s hand, said her apology again and walked over the Cerise. She kneeled down to Cerise’s level, forgetting that her skirt was short and was probably exposing too much, and said, “Cerise, my name is Beatrice. I own the gallery that you came into last week to go to the bathroom. I remember being mean to your mother and you and I should not have been like that. I wanted to come over and apologize to you. Will you forgive me?”
Cerise said, “Yes, I will. Mom says when someone treats us mean it usually means something is hurting inside them and that we should hope that hurt goes away for them instead of us feeling hurt about what they said.”
Beatrice stared at Cerise. She couldn’t talk for a moment. Finally, as tears started to gather in her eyes, said, “Yes, your mother is a very wise woman. She is right. It is much more about my hurt than anything about you. Once again, I am sorry and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Cerise said, “I won’t, I promise. By the way, thank you for saying you liked my drawing when you came in. That made me happy. I am not very good yet but I like drawing so I do it anyway.”
Beatrice said, “You are better than you think you are, I can tell you that much.”
Beatrice left, crying.
Chapter Four
Two days later Beatrice went back in the coffee shop and saw Cerise and Emily again. She asked Emily if it would be ok if some days Cerise spent her time at the gallery instead of the coffee shop. Emily said it was ok with her if it was ok with Cerise. Beatrice went over to Cerise and asked, “Cerise, I had an idea last night. Would you be willing to spend a bit of your time during the day at my gallery instead of here? You can still draw of course. But you can do other things there too, maybe even help me with some stuff. And we do have a cool cat that needs some company.”
Cerise looked over at her mother who nodded her ok. Cerise smiled and said, “Yes, that might be fun.”
Cerise spent an hour or so each day at the gallery for the remainder of the summer. She drew a lot, often drawing the cat sleeping in the sun. She also learned how to hammer a nail, cut a mat, wire a frame and paint pedestals. As the end of summer approached Beatrice’s assistant announced she was pregnant and going to be moving the the suburbs with her husband, who was taking a job in Greenwich.
Beatrice offered the assistant job to Emily, who accepted.
Epilogue
That was five years ago. Beatrice has since opened a second gallery uptown. Emily is in charge of the downtown gallery and is making quite a name for herself as an astute judge of talent and an excellent curator. Cerise is just entering high school and has decided to major in art when she goes to college.
Beatrice keeps in contact with her friend Jill, who is also great friends with Emily and Cerise. Beatrice has no idea what ever happened to her other four friends.
