Not too many things linger for months at the Gift House. They get taken. Or they get tossed. Our director of volunteers, Joan Reed, sees to that. This painting is one exception. In it, a pink and blue colonial house is seen from above -- almost an aerial perspective. The house is surrounded by fields and a grove of trees that look like lollypops. A yellow road leads to a pond or small lake where a white fishing boat, named ART, is docked and a sailboat with no visible sailor is out on the water. In the foreground, a small black figure is standing by a crude rendering of a vehicle -- a tractor? There seems to be a story to this work, but what is it? The name of the artist, written in black paint, is now too blurry to read. Each week, things come and go. Nothing inside the Gift House stays the same, except this. It's always there, sitting on a shelf above the toys, where I put it eighteen months ago.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Too Strange to Take?
Not too many things linger for months at the Gift House. They get taken. Or they get tossed. Our director of volunteers, Joan Reed, sees to that. This painting is one exception. In it, a pink and blue colonial house is seen from above -- almost an aerial perspective. The house is surrounded by fields and a grove of trees that look like lollypops. A yellow road leads to a pond or small lake where a white fishing boat, named ART, is docked and a sailboat with no visible sailor is out on the water. In the foreground, a small black figure is standing by a crude rendering of a vehicle -- a tractor? There seems to be a story to this work, but what is it? The name of the artist, written in black paint, is now too blurry to read. Each week, things come and go. Nothing inside the Gift House stays the same, except this. It's always there, sitting on a shelf above the toys, where I put it eighteen months ago.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
End of Summer Wreath
Dave and Lloyd and I were standing around, reminiscing about summer -- and how busy we'd been, how crowded the Cape seemed, and how many houseguests we had. It's so much nicer in September, we all agreed. Nice and quiet.
We looked up. Right over our heads was a wreath. It was cluttered with every kind of cliche summer object --folding chair, beach umbrella, sand toys, red lobster, life preservers. The only thing missing was a parking ticket.
There were a few jokes about how we should pitch it into the dumpster. But Lloyd, the smiling guy on the right, was sure that somebody would come along for it.
But it's still there.
Ignoring the Signs
It doesn't matter how many signs are posted at the transfer station. Or how strategically they are located. Nobody cares. Tradition seems to require that you leave lots of old furniture, and heaps of boxes, outside the Gift House when it's closed. Then you drive away. This makes the transfer station guys unhappy. You can't imagine how much.
A second sign urging people to stop leaving their stuff was put on the side of the Gift House today.
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