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June 2009
Last Fall it seemed that art was cycling low. And not just art
- everywhere I looked things were past prime. Even those summer
seductive garden cucumbers had gone soft. When my father was alive
and I'd whine about some aspect of my life that wasn't as good
as before he'd sarcastically observe 'well, I guess it could be
due to anything but age". Have you noticed how family just
loves to remind you that yes, you too are getting older? But I
kept on skirting their concept of successful aging - that one
takes less risks, gets a checkup, accepts more responsibility,
sits down to not rock the boat. But my grip on a good future seemed
to be slipping and I was thinking, yep, old turtle age is hot
on my tail.
But Brazil is a rabbit in a hat. Since a tourist visa is limited
to six months a year, and I do have SOME concept of the responsibilities
of home ownership, the most I could push it was five months so
I doubled down and got a ticket. The mouth of the kid in me watered
at being in a city I loved like no other with the hottest hunk
I'd known, while the mature one muttered something about home
insurance limitations and that no health insurance was there in
case of emergency. Repeatedly licking my lips in anticipation
stopped the muttering and had me primed. I raced southward in
November.
Five months, and each one better than the one before. The last
one so good it would be rude to describe it.
Recharged and planting seed, life is good. The painting is back,
maybe a little heavy on the sex side, …what can I say:-)
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