Photo courtesy Flickr
Me ma had many surprises up her sleeve, and she would spring one on me now and then after I had forgotten about the last one. One Christmas, she took me to tea at a new friend’s house.
On the drive over, my mother said her friend lived in her parent’s pioneer log cabin. We arrived in a part of town I didn’t recognize as fashionable and drove up a modest dirt drive through unremarkable grounds. Spindly fir trees dominated the landscape. Cabin the house was, straight out of central casting, as small as usual, in very good condition with, as I recall, a fieldstone chimney and virgin cedar shakes on the roof.
We walked in over a puncheon floor (split logs laid directly over soil) covered with Oriental carpets. There was a comfortable fire burning on the hearth and a 1930s Fat Max sofa that had been reupholstered in denim (easy with hot glue). As she poured, our hostess explained that she had invited us to celebrate making the final payment on her painting by Dufy. I don’t remember the work, but I do remember a little sketch my mother pointed out when Ms. Schmidt was out of the room. Northwest painter Mark Tobey had sent it to her from Basel in an ordinary envelope.
-30- More after the jump.