As the Boston police pulled out all the stops and chased a 19-year-old fugitive around town all day yesterday, finally cornering him in a suburban backyard and bringing the manhunt to a welcome end around midnight, I spent much of the day gluing beads onto a picture frame. Although some might see that as a waste of time, the process is quite therapeutic and the end result pleasing. At the very least I can look at it and hold it in my hand and say, "I did this today," which is more than one can say after a day spent shopping or biking or whatever. I can also take a picture of it, which I have done and posted here.
Today I will not make a beaded picture frame, but instead a big pot of chicken noodle soup with matzo balls. It's raining and chilly here, and my visiting son, who is about to leave on another adventure for several months, is exhibiting early signs of a cold. While making soup is certainly fun, after the chopping and the boiling and the mixing and the stirring, it's done and eaten, gone forever, leaving no evidence of my labor. Which is why I glue beads onto picture frames and throw paint on canvas or paste tiny pieces of paper onto tables and chairs, proving I was here once.
No comments:
Post a Comment