Well, I’m going to tell you all a little story. Just a teeny story, in the big scheme of world happenings. It’s all gravy. You’ll see. Just pour it on and lap it up. And hope it’s not too crunchy.
This is not my own story. Oh no, it belongs to others who made it. I have coopted it, because I am a writer, and that’s often what we do best.
It is getting near Christmas. One needs a reason to rejoice, no matter how small or insignificant to others — a joyful noise is a jubilant voice.
So once upon a time, in California, lived a couple who wished to do good for every living thing. Stray animals knew this and always came to their door. The couple worked to save people from themselves, as well. They were mostly successful for others, but not so much financially for themselves.
The couple collected things that appealed to them, and some that didn’t. Baby ducks fell out of the sky and onto their property. They numbered among their friends many artists and musicians, all of course without necessary funds.
That is what brought the couple one day to an art exhibit in Reno. They had a need, a need to feed their souls and wandered about the art exhibit, together and separately. They both stopped in front of “Nevada Outcropping,” a watercolor by a local artist, now deceased, that drew them into pathways beyond themselves. Oh, how they loved it! And could not afford it.
With great misgivings, they continued on into the exhibit, separately. When they regrouped before Nevada Outcropping, it had a red “Sold” sticker on it. Good gravy! The man wiped away a tear. And on they went, back home. Dream denied.
Two weeks later, the woman had reason to travel to Reno again, and convinced the reluctant man to come along. She insisted they stop at the art gallery to pick up something for a friend.
The gallery owner handed them a large package. “Nevada Outcropping.” The woman had decided on his/their happiness.
“I’m gravy,” she said. “Get on the gravy train.”
She agreed with the idea that life is veggies (not meant as meat) and potatoes, and luxuries are gravy scooped on condiment top to whisk and lap up, not on a napkin or tablecloth.
My cousin, who is an artist, says that happiness is the reason for art.
“When anything finds the home it’s supposed to have, it’s a cherished moment,” she says.
The man says the painting is like walking a trail into happiness. He wipes away a tear of happy grateful gravy train trail and walks into the sunset land of purple potato.
Now, O. Henry or Poe might’ve ended this story differently — with the couple getting into an accident and destroying the painting on the way home. But this is the painting’s new owners’ story, miracle enough, and I’m sticking to it. Like gravy on mashed potatoes.
INSTANT NOODLES 