Up To Ninety
Drove into DC Wednesday to see the new Hopper exhibit at the National Gallery. The exhibit does not actually start until mid September but I'm not one of those anal retentive types that has to know exactly when and where everything starts. Bernadette knew it was there or was going to be there and that is good enough for me. I checked online and remember glancing at the end date--I thought it most important that we not be late--and I was comforted by seeing something that ended with a 2008. We had plenty of time. We would not be late. In truth, I am a little anal retentive about being on time. Not that that by itself is such a good thing because once I arrive on time I feel no compulsion whatsoever to make good use of that time. If I can find a comfortable chair I might enjoy hours just staring into a corner contemplating all the degrees that add up to 90. And the shading therein.
I called BC from the road and he said he may like to join us so that was a thing I looked forward to while I worried for nothing about finding convenient parking. We found a nice spot right on Constitution Ave. and I called back and got his Blackberry. Speak slowly it instructed me because my voice message was to be miraculously transcribed to written words BC could look at on a screen. I have previous experience with the miracle so I knew it was best not to overtax the technology's capacity. I said, very slowly, Edward Hopper. He would know that we were at the National looking at Hoppers. I called back about thirty minutes later and slowly like a sleepy drunk said, No Hopper. I never did hear from him and wonder even now, two days later, is he roaming that vast cool marbled maze for art loving mice and men, staying to the edges and peeping up every once in a while--I don't see the Hopper, Jim? Bernadette?
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