Art

It's not usually obvious which shop is used for my reflective art, but in this one you can see that I've co-oped Austin Art Glass (SoCo) and its windows and parked cars and made yet another self-portrait.

I don't feel as old as I am. Which is (a) not old enough to apply for Social Security this year; (b) over three decades younger than my dad; but (c) old enough to know better.

Ah, yes. I should know better about so many things. In going through all the junk here, I've found some amazing stuff. I gave my good friend a couple of snapshots the other night. One was of a cat she had long ago (passed now) when it was a youngster and the other was of she and her sister at a party at our house. They both looked so young. It really took her aback to see that photo. Of course, it was taken over fifteen years ago, we figure.

I look younger in old pictures and maybe that's why I currently like these vague photos with a little radical windswept hair to give a younger look. Or so I tell myself. I've found it's easy to believe that people older than us age. What's hard is realizing that we do, too. And our friends. And especially people we encounter as children. Then you have those conversations like I had with my friend yesterday. She was describing her nephew's experience at college.

"You mean xxx?" I asked, making sure I had the right nephew and giving his name.

"Yes, Ketchup Boy. I think he's going to be twenty. Can that be right?" she answered.

"He's in college. Hmmm." I said. It really wasn't computing.

We called her nephew Ketchup Boy because once I went with her to have lunch with her brother and sister-in-law and the kid. He was, maybe, three and he was playing with the Ketchup bottle, or it may have been multiple bottles, giving us a scare that we were all going to walk out of Hut's Hamburgers looking like serial killers.

Time turns rowdy toddlers into men. Or at least college boys. Frightening.

On the subject of killers (weak segue, I know): I finally saw the movie "A History of Violence." It's an interesting movie, but it's the usual deal where the hero escapes every rain of bullets with minor injuries so a brief hospital stay can make him good as new and ready to take on multiple assailants. For a contrast to that go see the Coen brothers' "No Country for Old Men."