Mario always reminds me that he is not an artist, he is an artisan. He is a 60-year-old cancer patient at St. Mary's who lives down the street from my office, and continually supplies it with new art for it's walls. Often, he will visit me to make long-distance calls to his family who own a flower shop on the other side of the state ("Our last name means 'Beautiful Flower' in Italian," he reminds me), and each time, he brings something shockingly original.
Currently, I have a framed tissue paper collage, his pastel self-portrait (complete with a pair of real, lens-less glasses stuck onto the paper), a brick with crayon-wax-dipped sandwich skewers mimicking a bouquet, and a metallic Christmas "wreath" made from permanent marker-colored parts of a grill. The guy is astoundingly creative.
For Christmas, I wanted to make him something. I have pretty limited artistic abilities, including some debatable photography and ability to knit without pattern with varied success. For Mario, I decided to transcribe the verse of a Christmas song, one that reminded me of him. On a small sheet of posterboard, I caligrified the following words:
"A thrill of Hope!
The weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!"
Below it, I drew a simple sunrise. I laminated it, and waited for him to come in this week.
When Mario arrived, he insisted on giving me a gift first. True to his name, he gave me a small clutch of dried flowers (to add to my collection of dried roses and lillies I have hanging by my desk, taken from who-knows-who's garden.)
With hesitation, I gave him the gift I made him.
"I'm no artisan," I said.
He read it a few times, and through his tears said,
"This may be the only Christmas gift I receive this year, but even if it wasn't, it would still be the best. I'm putting it on my wall as soon as I get home."
The weary world rejoices.
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
23 December 2010
16 July 2009
8 Crab Ragoons and a Whole Basball Hat of Lo Mein Noodles
Eric has reported that there are strange cults meeting in the graveyard out where he works. He wouldn't know, except the only employment that he could find is too far away from the homeless shelters for him to stay there are night, so he camps in the woods by the graveyard.
"What did they do when they saw you?"
"I didn't let them see me! I covered myself with leaves! Hell, I was scared!"
Because of his new leaf-covered bedroom, Eric has been able to keep his job, and just got paid. Eric hasn't had $400 in his pocket for a long time.
"It's messing with my head. I can't stand it. Anna, I can't carry this much money. I'll drink $100 of it, and by that time, I'll either lose the rest, or someone will steal it. Anna, you have to keep it for me."
We can't keep people's money here--we've talked about it frequently, because it is something that many people request when they recieve large sums of money. They trust us more than they trust themselves... or the banks.
"I can't keep it Eric."
"Then I'm screwed. What have I been working for these last two weeks?"
Eric has a locker here at Degage where he keeps his clothes and hygiene items. I made a deal with Eric. If he would trust me, I would hide his money in his locker, somewhere he couldn't find it, and get it for him when he asked me for it. There's another part of the deal: he has to be sober when he asks.
Eric consented.
It was really hard to find a place to hide a large sum of money in someone's relatively organized rectangular locker. But I found a really good place. I'm not telling you where.
The next three times I saw Eric, he was completely wasted.
"No."
"Anna, only $20. Please."
"No."
Eric tore apart his locker for three days looking for his money, and couldn't find it (victorious!) He never cursed me, except to say "Damn, Anna, you sure know how to hide!"
He came back two days later, and passed my self-sacrificial breathalizer test. His breath was bad, but non-alcoholic. He was on his way out to dinner, and was taking a friend. He wanted $20. He waited in the bathroom while I got it from him.
After his dinner, Eric came in with a flower--a flower that looked like it was pulled up from the roots. It even had some dirt on it still.
"Thank you, Anna. I'm so glad I can trust you. I had 8 crab ragoons, and a whole baseball hat full of Lo Mein noodles. I would have never been able to have that without you."
Thanks?
And to whomever's garden was ransacked for the sake of Eric's thank you, I apologize. But I really appreciate that flower.
"What did they do when they saw you?"
"I didn't let them see me! I covered myself with leaves! Hell, I was scared!"
Because of his new leaf-covered bedroom, Eric has been able to keep his job, and just got paid. Eric hasn't had $400 in his pocket for a long time.
"It's messing with my head. I can't stand it. Anna, I can't carry this much money. I'll drink $100 of it, and by that time, I'll either lose the rest, or someone will steal it. Anna, you have to keep it for me."
We can't keep people's money here--we've talked about it frequently, because it is something that many people request when they recieve large sums of money. They trust us more than they trust themselves... or the banks.
"I can't keep it Eric."
"Then I'm screwed. What have I been working for these last two weeks?"
Eric has a locker here at Degage where he keeps his clothes and hygiene items. I made a deal with Eric. If he would trust me, I would hide his money in his locker, somewhere he couldn't find it, and get it for him when he asked me for it. There's another part of the deal: he has to be sober when he asks.
Eric consented.
It was really hard to find a place to hide a large sum of money in someone's relatively organized rectangular locker. But I found a really good place. I'm not telling you where.
The next three times I saw Eric, he was completely wasted.
"No."
"Anna, only $20. Please."
"No."
Eric tore apart his locker for three days looking for his money, and couldn't find it (victorious!) He never cursed me, except to say "Damn, Anna, you sure know how to hide!"
He came back two days later, and passed my self-sacrificial breathalizer test. His breath was bad, but non-alcoholic. He was on his way out to dinner, and was taking a friend. He wanted $20. He waited in the bathroom while I got it from him.
After his dinner, Eric came in with a flower--a flower that looked like it was pulled up from the roots. It even had some dirt on it still.
"Thank you, Anna. I'm so glad I can trust you. I had 8 crab ragoons, and a whole baseball hat full of Lo Mein noodles. I would have never been able to have that without you."
Thanks?
And to whomever's garden was ransacked for the sake of Eric's thank you, I apologize. But I really appreciate that flower.
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