At the Norwegian Artist’s receptions and opening nights, I appear in something that exists all its own on the planet — no twin at Wal-Mart or Nordstrom’s — what I’m wearing is as unique, unusual, and imperfect as I am.
Needless to say, when you elevate the subject of rye bread with sesame seeds and pumpkin chips to the level of transcendent sensuality, people make a point of finding out who you are.
Cocooned in my baby-of-the-family world, I assumed for years that I was the only one who wept upon returning from school and smelling that peculiar acrid smell, but at a family gathering once I mentioned the “German Meal” and was surprised to hear all four sibling groan.
This continued for the entire 20 minutes that it took me to drink 465 calories, and when I left, she and her boyfriend/girlfriend/best friend/husband/customer-service-representative-of-some-cell-phone-provider were still at it, shouting at one another in 140-character bytes.
Really, I think that I am a remarkably easy woman to please, and back to my Stranger in the Afternoon who wanted to knit but didn’t have the space, I am flabbergasted at the barriers people put up in the way of getting things done — and I don’t mean walls that block out front doors.