Category: friendship

Ode To The Elementary School Art Ashtray

This post may be a little dated to some readers but to many of us we have fond memories of the lovely clay art projects in elementary school circa 1980. It was a different time and what flew then would sure to crash hard today. I kind of miss that naivate’. Simple.

Around the beginning of December the art teacher’s project for the kids was always geared toward Christmas presents for the folks. I am not sure if they do that now with the whole “Christmas is offensive” campaign that seems to exponentially increase each year. But back in my day, parents always knew their tax dollars would yield intelligent kids and some sort of ornament each Christmas. The real bonus would be a clay thing. I say clay thing because many parents got just that; a thing.

Ball Art Room

I remember these projects would always give me delusions of grandeur and at the end of it I would be the envy of every kid as I brought home the most beautiful clay thing my parents had ever seen. Of course being a no talent ass clown grounded me within the first few minutes of art class. Clay was not the medium for me.

modelingclay-main_FullI really can’t remember how long this project lasted but I believe it was a couple of weeks. Each day we would retrieve our work in progress that was wrapped in cheese cloth from the fridge and start on destroying what we had done the previous day. There were not many guidelines for what the final product would be. If you had an artistic inkling then perhaps the folks would receive a pot for a plant or a nice plate with a hand print in it. If you were like me and struggled to form any sort of shape they got an ashtray.

pottery1It was a cool time when a kid could express his or her love through artistic expression resulting in a carcinogenic ash receptacle. There is no way that shit would fly today. Under that dump-in-a-jar plan for zero tolerance I am sure a kid who made an ashtray would be suspended and child services would be called ensuring a debate on Foxnews’ Kelley’s Court. (That woman sucks) No, kids don’t make them like they used to.

Well, the process would draw to a close soon enough. Once the shape was made it would bake. Then you painted it and glazed it and that usually sealed the deal for me. It wasn’t just shit but colored shit after that. But by that time I was just happy to be done with it. Of course the teacher had to grade it. No matter what I got the elementary equivalent of a B which was VG for “very good”.

img_1773Don’t be fooled, the picture above was not done by me. Actually this one is pretty fucking good. It is far less bumpy and minus the fingerprints. The only way to to tell the difference between my ashtray and petrified orangutan shit was the fact it had a convenient dent in the middle; perfect for putting out a cowboy killer.

On Christmas morning I would give them the ashtray with a little trepidation because even a little kid knows the difference between art and deification. But my parents always looked at it as if I gave them gold. Today I really look back at that and know how much they love me. They didn’t even smoke.

A few years ago I found my ashtray. It was in the table top Nativity set and baby Jesus was sleeping in it. I kid you not. But don’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know it’s an ashtray.

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I Need A List

Of pure joy and happiness. Let’s see….

  • New shoe smell
  • Season one through five of the Simpson’s.
  • Drinking Perrier outside after a long, hard run.
  • Chinese food at midnight
  • Connecting with people even though you have never met them in person
  • Noticing Malcolm In The Middle is now on Nick@Nite.
  • Moving the fuck off this goshdarn mountain.
  • IMG_0707Priorities and where they are.
  • Being read to sleep. Still love it.
  • Playing Cat Stevens on guitar and singing in private. In private.
  • Finding out by our fire engine has a touch of Optimus Prime in it.

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  • Throwing down a business card and saying “no…you call me”. I’m kidding. Or am I? No, I am. Maybe.
  • A few of my favorite things.
  • Finally having a clean car because I am moving off this fucking mountain!
  • Reading Calvin and Hobbes at age 31.

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  • Living in a town of higher learning. (I’m a liberal guy at heart)
  • Coming to the resolution that I can not count down the days of my life but rather appreciate the one I’m on. No more working for the weekend.
  • Organic almonds. I swear they taste 10x better. Maybe it’s the organic spray?
  • Finding the perfect coffee shop with free WiFi. Fuck Starbucks. Fuck…Starbucks.
  • This dog

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  • Went running the other day and spotted two girls taking my picture with their cellphones. That’s a little creepy but come on, how can one not like that?
  • College town art in small businesses.
  • Door knockers. Just dig ’em. It’s a lost art that I really want to bring back.

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So…You’re Only Concrete

At times I need to understand life in the most simplistic form. Almost looking for the lowest common denominator that speaks to me in a way that even a child should understand. I don’t mean to say that it takes big letters and small syllables for me to get life but when it gets hard, when it get confusing and when hurts so bad you just want to crawl under the kitchen sink and close the doors, I try to break it down; sometimes in an anthropomorphic way.

I run. I am not a strong runner or fast runner. I don’t set goals or count my carbs for the ultimate distance. I run because it takes what I feel on the inside and makes it tangible. If the mood is good, the run is free and light. If there is conflict, the run is tough and drudging with the mind lost in thought. But I will never stop motion. Lately there have been a lot of “thinking” runs.

Yesterday I put on my running shoes and headed out the door to battle the trail and clear my mind. I reassess my choices made and people I choose to be around. And then out of nowhere I thought of something that made me stop. Not only did I stop but I sat. I sat, put my hand on my chin and closed my eyes.

I thought of a birdbath. You know, the ones made of concrete with a bird molded to the side to lure others to drink. Then I imagined this little swallow that was circling overhead trying to decide if the bath was safe to drink out of. Then he noticed there was a bird already there so it must be okay. He landed on the opposite side from the statue and stared across, finding comfort in it. He inched his way around until he was next to it. Since it didn’t fly off he took this as a sign of acceptance.

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The swallow rubbed against it but there was no warmth. The conversations were one sided. His offers of seeds and worms were left untouched and even the nest built beside the concrete bird was left unshared. But the swallow needed companionship so he looked past these indifference’s and stayed put.

Through the scariest nights, the stormiest days and the coldest snow winds, the swallow stayed next to the bird. He hung on to the fact that because the bird had not flown off, the emptiness was tolerable because after all, 1% is always better than zero. But soon that 1% became became less of a comfort and more of a question.

And then the reality of the situation hit the swallow. He saw that there was really nothing there at all and his bird was only an extension of the bath ledge he was sitting on. The real gravity was the fact that through the scariest nights, the stormiest days and the coldest winds he was really…just alone. So he flew off, gaining nothing and leaving nothing.

I suppose many would say that the swallow was just stupid for not seeing that the bird was concrete. Not me. I believe that time and situation control many of our actions and though they may not make sense to many, they make sense to us. There is something to be said for knowing when it’s time.

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