GRANDMA, GOD AND AIMEE, 2.

Aimee slipped unbidden into my dream last night, which brought to mind my grandmother’s fascination with her.

Aimee Semple McPherson was a Los Angeles evangelist and media celebrity from the 20’s and 30’s, the largest among a flurry of religious salesmen, all of whom were selling salvation, a commodity always in demand, and which costs them nothing to supply.

In Aimee’s philosophy, God, being Love, desires only that His children be happy, and they cast money into the collection box with reckless enthusiasm to assure them of that happiness. “Just give a little more” she would cajole, and they did.

Aimee’s call to Love offered an eternal Costa del Sol, liberally supplied with food, drink, sex and sun. Evil had no place in this ethereal paradise.

Grandma was a liberated woman seeking a new source of religious interpretation, and was enchanted with the notion that another woman could supply it. LIfe was not easy for my grandmother at that time; a single divorced woman raising two young daughters, while working and running a rooming house in the middle of the Great Depression.

The spiritual bubble burst for Grandma, a highly moral woman, when Aimee became romantially involved with her secretary, who was also married. This was simply too much for Grandma.

They had donned their swim suits and went for a swim on the Southern California beach, when it was reported that Aimee had been kidnapped. The town went crazy with worry over their favorite God-fearing darling, sending out dozens of people, even dragging the ocean searching for her body, and at least one man drowned in the failed effort. A ransom note was delivered, clarifying the terrible news that she had been kidnapped.

A month later, Aimee came walking in, swearing that she had been kidnapped, tortured, and turned loose in the desert to find her way home alone, though her physical condition belied it.

As the money poured in from grateful followers of her Four Square Church, her Temple filled to capacity but without Grandma. She rightly felt that she had been duped, and that Aimee was merely another false Wizard of Oz, hiding behind a shiny curtain.

.

YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP

This past two weeks have been a real doozy.  We’ve heard the Republicans and the Democrats tell us loud and clear about what was wrong and what was right in the country, and what they should do about it.  Well, neither of you are my fairy godmother, so stop waving your wand in my face.

I hate to break it to you, but politics doesn’t have to be a blood sport.  They have all been dressed up and out on their best behavior, but don’t forget, they are all  still just politicians out to get your vote.

Money dominates politics so as a result, we have neither democratic nor republican politics. (Note the small “d” and small “r”.)

The speeches have been typically boring with a couple able to tear me away from my book, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t heard anything I don’t hear at each presidential election.  There have been a couple of warm and sensitive speeches from both sides of the aisle, plus a handful of barn burners, but it’s  still the same old message: they want your vote.

A lot of people believe this stuff, but remember,  a broken clock is right twice a day, and nobody’s wrong all the time

My husband and I have been married 66 years, and we politically sit on both side of the aisle, Republican and Democrat, and I won’t say which is which, but it is obviously working quite well.

What works in the real world is cooperation instead of conflict.  We haven’t seen a lot of that in the last four years.  Conflict doesn’t work in a marriage, and it doesn’t work in politics.

,

What

HOW DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TWENTY YEARS?

While patiently waiting to deliver some of my precious blood at the hospital lab, I noticed a youngish woman watching me for a sign of recognition.  She soon came and sat beside me and asked if I were me, to which I replied that I thought I was.  She had been a student of mine about twenty years ago, so we caught up on the intervening years.

I remembered her as an eager 19 year old who had great dreams of becoming a sculptor.  She had willingly taken on all the dirty jobs in the studio, and frequently stayed behind to work on her project.

She said she rememered my asking the class “How do you see yourself in twenty years?” and had thought without a doubt that her dreams would be a reality by then.  I remembered the question , and the various interesting answers it  produced, including my own answer.  For one thing, it gave an indication of just how serious the student might be.  Were they simply taking the art class for a credit, were they fortunate housewives taking an art course between their early morning tennis game and lunch, or was this the year there were some people who actually wanted this to be their life work?

Would they be willing to tackle the business side of art?  Did they expect to make a lot of money at this job?  Because art is a job just like anything else.  You may make nothing, and will obviously have to have another source of income.  At least enough to put food on the table.  The romantic fallacy is being able to live in solitary splendor just being creative.  You have to be a salesman and convince a gallery that they need what you have to offer.  You have to be willing to take on two or more jobs at the same time.

Seeing her there with two small boys sitting quietly beside her, I asked “So are you still doing your art?”  She shook her head and smiled at her two sons.  “No, I’ve not had the time yet.  Maybe someday.”

It definitely can be done and still have a family,  but it takes real dedication, and a sense of humor to make up for the time you absolutely do not have the time.  A wise woman told me after I said I couldn’t find the time for something: “You will never find time.  You have to take it.”

Seeing my cane and my sling, I was definitely not at my best that day, and she inevitably asked “What about you?”

Well,  I never became famous, I never made a ton of money, and sculpture destroyed my shoulder, jogging destroyed my leg, and I’m twenty years older.  But you know, it’s was a great trade-off.  I have a wonderful husband and family, I can no longer handle 50# of clay at a time, but I plan to finish all the half-finished canvases and begin new paintings, and I still have a sense of humor.