The poison ivy is staying away, but only because I've been taking benadryl for it at night. But I awoke still groggy on Sunday morning, tried to work on the site, and fell promptly back to sleep. Still groggy, with no benadryl since Saturday night, I set out with Arnold for the WLCAC Art Collective Exhibit.

We were a little late, since Arnold had difficulty dragging me out of bed, at 2:20 p.m., no less! But it was early Sunday afternoon. We should be almost on time. So off we went to meet Pat and Donna.

Well, jeanne's tales never go as one expects. Those of you who have heard me agonize about the Ventura Freeway will understand. No sooner had we gotten well onto the freeway than traffic slowed to a near stop. No problem! Pat and Donna would understand if we were a few minutes late! And a few minutes! and a few minutes! and a few minutes! Arnold turned on the traffic station. Serious accident at Glendale Blvd. Wasn't Glendale the other way? Guess not. Last exit before the Harbor exchange, at 2 miles an hour. Injuries. Three lanes blocked. More than a few minutes late.

We finally pulled up at WLCAC at a little after 4 p.m. But there were Donna and Pat! Once there, we had a wonderful time. They fed us wonderful fruit, and lots of other good things, as I eagerly brought Donna up to speed on all the art and poetry projects on Dear Habermas. I know, I know. We weren't supposed to work; but I see you all so seldom in the summer.

One of Donna's pieces was a portrait of a woman, leaning gently against a textured blue wall [were their bricks?] that dominated one whole section of the painting. Some of you will recall, from our discussions of Jacob Lawrence, how much Donna and I are attracted to blue. A small bright splash of color caught the eye and led it across to the model. The painting spoke to me of solitude, a woman alone in a doorway, with the cool sea of blue to her side. The eyes, soft blue, dreamy, patches of color, opaque to our searching. A moment of deep contemplation. I liked it.

Donna's other piece was a graphite drawing, again a portrait. The drawing was matted in black, with gold splashes of thick paint. This was a likeness of the model, but with additional meaning through a collage-like technique of abstraction. Donna, this is my way of trying to say that this was interesting, but I didn't understand it. I didn't know who the likeness was. I was amazed that in some ways it looked a little like you, and yet it didn't. Isn't it interesting that we have been taught to say something whether we understand or not? And we have been taught to make that sound as though we know what we're talking about? This seems to be a cross between our need for "knowingness" and "manners." When did it become rude to say "I don't get it." Do the seemingly abstract splashes of gold mean something that I missed? Or is that OK, that I missed it?

I miss a lot of things. Sometimes because I don't get it. Sometimes because I took benadry for poison ivy the night before. I need some explanation. But shouldn't that be OK? Why did I feel reticence to ask those questions? Why do I feel that it will make me seem "boorish" or "not with it" to not get something? I wonder if we shouldn't examine this as a cultural trait that is adversely affecting our communication skills. Or is it just me? I suspect that it adversely affects our teaching, too.

Oh, and Donna, I liked the drawing, too. I was just busy suppressing all my questions. Manners, you know.

Resolved. No more benadryl; I'll just itch, said the witch.

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