Here’s my artist’s conception of Toni, who when I started at Matt’s was so welcoming, calling me Baby and making me smile. She has consistently won the hearts of diners as well, who have gone out of their way to forward compliments to our management about her superb service and professionalism. Ask her how she’s doing, and she’ll tell you “I can’t complain.” Truth is, she could, but she never does.
In Love of a Brother (part 1) I promised transcription and annotation. Here goes:
Love of a Brother x 3
Lo & beholden, the Sun may absorb
One of your handicaps 2 trot
Vivaciously–and breathe
ENERGY into Another
Brian spent a lot of time in the Phoenix sun with his cardboard sign. Once I was driving and I saw him on an island. We had ten seconds or so of good conversation, then the traffic demanded I go. I gave him a ten-spot to help him through his day.
Look at a once-called Ozob
Once a scruffy panhandler
Verily & forsooth
Endgames are a bother
Brian acquired the nickname Ozob during school. It is Bozo backwards.
Last fortune cookie said Life Is A Verb
Out of the mouths of cookies oft comes Favor
Viceissitudes lay low my bro
Eternal as delayed Godot
Obstruction’s a real bitch
Forceps & clamps to the fore
And verbalize LIFE for my brother
I was solo at China Chili, where Brian and Mom and I have been known to go, it being near Mom’s house, a few days ago. My fortune cookie said “Life is a verb.” It really did. Shortest fortune I ever got, and one of the most cryptic. I apply all its force to Brian’s upcoming surgery . . .
Finally, today I tried to settle down and sum up Brian in as few words as possible. Foremost to mind was the fact that he is a widower, and his deceased wife Lira, a true sweetheart, was the love of Brian’s life.
Lira’s man–Ozob
Outlaw–storyteller
Vagabond too
Empathetic host
Often in Dutch [trouble]
Fighter with a cause
A true Survivor
I have a friend I have never met in person. I do not even know how she pronounces her first name, which is Clottee. I have been pronouncing it “Cloh TAY” in my head. I will ask her next time we chat on Facebook.
Clottee has been posting extraordinary historical tidbits about slavery. The History textbooks in the schools I went to wouldn’t touch this stuff. So, following her posts, I’ve learned a lot about the routine cruelty of certain white folks and the fathom less imposed misery of certain black folks. The movie 12 YEARS A SLAVE, and the recently-revived TV series ROOTS, gave white-bread me a hint, but Clottee’s series yields a holographic panorama.
Her most recent entry profiles a remarkable woman, and reading about her I was compelled to do the above card. It was also a way to express gratitude to Clottee for her hard and diligent work.
Here’s my second try at Martin, who during lulls will join me at the podium and share his mordant observations about fashion disasters. Again I got carried away with the oil pastels, and this is a seriously flawed portrait. But because of this one, the next one will be better.
So Veronica doubles down on her faith in my artistry by giving me a SECOND set of oil pastels, this one made by Grumbacher, a fine and venerated brand. (Grumbacher and Liquitex were the only brands of acrylics I ever bought as an art student.) She says, “If one of your things ever ends up in the Louvre, maybe you’ll give me some credit . . . ?”
I will give her credit in advance. One fine day at least one of my oil pastels will hang in the Louvre, and I will owe it all to her.
But it won’t be this one, though there is some energy here, and a good choice made of dark paper. This one is overdone–I didn’t know when to stop–and still unbearably clumsy.
Smart Pooch
Such a pup
Makes us so
Avid to go
Romp, etc
Thru Truth
I am really proud that this one exists. First, I had cards but no pencil or pen. I went out of my comfort zone and asked a fellow train waiting person if she had a pen or pencil. The sweet, thinnish, abuelitaesque lady handed over a pen, refusing payment. (Before we got on the train I wrote THANK YOU and my signature, so at least she has a Thank You card.)
On the ride to work I first did JONES on the left side, KELLY on the other. Then I wrote and then drew as fast as I could scribble, with no photo source nor other reference material-just me, the card, and a ballpoint pen I’d just met.
Wotds:
Just a nod 2 2 exceptional folk
O for a punch/line–pray tell us the joke
Nothing so doing-got nothing 2 sell
Effortless focus has set for a spell
Spirit then rises swellingly–GRACE & GRACE live (d) tellingly
This is the second Maria at Matt’s that I have portraitized, thus the “II.” This Maria is not only an energetic and enthusiastic Manager, but a hardcore runner as well. (Stay tuned for another runner, the trophy-winning Lucinda, later in this series.) Maria will run twelve miles in the morning, then come and do a ten-hour shift, performing multiple roles from bussing tables to adroitly dealing with “I want to talk to the manager” issues. She has done it all, including three Boston Marathons and numberless other footraces, and she has well earned my respect and loyalty.
Today I get to recycle a pun I made way back when, in a blog post far, far away, wherein I had Humphrey Bogart morphing into Mark Hamill and saying “Here’s Luke-ing at you, Kid.” Here’s why: my co-worker Veronica expressed her gratitude for my gift of her portrait by giving me an oil-pastel set she’d bought, intending to use, but not much came of it. My gratitude for the gift of the set, which is EXACTLY what I need at this stage of my transitioning-to-color career, was expressed by the offer to do in oil pastel either a landscape or a still life or a portrait of anyone on Earth. She chose the portrait, and she sent me a photo of Luke, her super-smart pooch. So this morning I warmed up for the pastel portrait by doing this card:
MaryBell is quite petite for the Powerhouse she is. She can work a double-shift at the drop of a hat, and often does. Yet she is always cheerful, playful and lovable. I am proud to be her friend.
Veronica has not been at our restaurant long, but she has made a big impression on me. She works hard, being chock-full of hop-to-it. She is dependable and uncomplaining. And she started something with me, performed when one or the other of us is leaving for the day, that is most endearing: she shakes my hand vigorously and says some encouraging thing, like “It’s been a pleasure working with you” or “Have fun and see you on Friday.”
When I asked her for a brief summation of her philosophy of life, and gave her the examples of Erika (“Live each day as if it were your last”), Michael (“Living the Dream”) and Martin (“Boredom Kills”), she asked for some time to think about it. Later she handed me a slip of paper with her answer. She wanted to be represented by “Dieu n’est pas l’auteur de la mort.” This roughly translates to “God is not the author of Death.” She said she saw it in Paris while visiting the Parisian cloisters.
I told her I wanted this one to be the best of the series to date, and I think it is. She deserves better, though! 🙂
