But, alas, it now hangs on the wall of her and her husband’s apartment, and I can finally move on to the other paintings that my fingers have been wanting to create, but my heart would not allow me to move on to for fear of never finishing this painting. But I can now, and intend to start immediately on this one for the cover.
Anyway, there is nothing quite so grand as just getting away for the weekend to a place that you love. There is something magical about the art district of Chattanooga, and at breakfast this morning part of it revealed itself. Sitting on the patio at Rembrandt’s, over this grand concoction of French toast out of French loaf, Mascarpone cheese, and fruit compote and kiwi pear tea, I came to a conclusion. That little corner of the world must be very similar to what it once was before the assault of 20th century technologies. Plus, their rum balls provide a magic all their own.
Then, on the drive home I was enveloped in a rather thick fog through most of Knoxville and all of Sevierville. Fog is quite magical when the lighting is right, and it was till the miles of construction on 66 with its glaring orange and white barrels came into view. Up until that point I had envisioned myself being swept through dimensions and entering a world where magic governs the land and mermaids lounge on the moonlit stream bank. But it was all shattered with that first construction barrel. Ugh. Sevierville.
So, from the odd dog pack on the side of the highway (rather Oliver and Company) to the two for one margaritas and the delight of Rembrandt’s with a splash of Charming Charlie’s, McKay’s, and the crazy, fun company, the weekend was a fantastic success. But, sadly, I now sit once again in the dulls of Sevierville and long for the day when everyday life is not centered in a tourist trap. Even if it is just another weekend trip to visit friends and wake up in the middle of the night to find that your leg has fallen asleep because of the dog using it as a bed.
