Basic art.
The class was a lower level class designed to meet the general education requirement for undergraduates and also allowed older “Continuing Education” students such as myself to sign up, provided there was room. I had tried before and the seats were always gone. I had been surprised to see several open spots when I looked at the registration on line, so I figured “why not”. One click and I enrolled. The school already had my charge card on file and dutifully charged it with another quick click.
I went to the first class meeting and began to see why there were some seats available. The instructor was a striking woman of Asian heritage. A work of art, herself. A delightful lilt to her voice, part accent, part natural tone. Those were not the reasons for the open spots. Indeed, that would have been reason enough to stay back in my undergraduate days. As she passed out the syllabus, it became clearer.
“As you can see, this course is offered as a ‘real’ class for academic credit. It is not designed to be an easy or ‘gut’ class, but one which will challenge you. I do not expect works of art or that you will have unusual artistic abilities, but I do expect you to attend class and to try your best.” She paused and gazed around the room. There were about twenty of us, mostly undergrads, but three of us “adult” students. She continued. I cannot teach you, nor can you learn if you are not here. I also cannot ‘give’ you talent. But I can help you appreciate art when you see it. Any questions? If you wish to drop the course after reviewing the syllabus and course outline, I do have drop slips and the Registrar Office is still open.”
Two students got up, took the slip of paper and headed out of the room. Once they had left, the class began in earnest, which seemed to catch some of the others off guard. One raised her hand. “Will we be here the whole time? Like until 7pm?”
“Two things. Thank you for raising your hand to ask, but do wait until I have called on you, Ms. Davis. And secondly, ‘Yes’. The class is scheduled for two hours from 5pm to 7pm. Unless there is an emergency, we will keep to that schedule.”
Clearly, she had done her homework, I imagined she knew each student, at least the names. My guess was she knew even more detail. I decided that two could do that and made a note to review her credentials after class. No way was I going to risk pulling out my phone in class when she expected and deserved our full attention. I saw a couple of others not be quite as discreet and they drew out their phones, presumably to do what I had thought, or perhaps they received a text. Either way, the action did not go unnoticed.
“Mr. Thompson and Ms. Davis. Unless you are expecting an emergency call, I expect you to silence your devices and put them away. The same with tablets and laptops. This is not a graphic design class, it is art. To reacquaint you with the vanishing art of handwriting, all notes will be taken using pen or pencil and paper.”
I caught a panicked look from Ms. Davis. She already had two strikes, and the class was barely twenty minutes into the first meeting. She pointed to her desk and made a scribbling motion, indicating she had not pen or extra paper. I raised my hand.
“Yes, Mr…. Gaines?” It was the first unsure thing she had said in the class. Good to see she was human after all, although still quite impressive. The adult students would have appeared as “late additions” and probably not had a picture. With three of us, it would require a little deduction, since the other two were female, she had a great chance at being correct.
“I have some extra paper and some pens for those who didn’t bring any. I didn’t see it noted on the class materials list. May I offer them to my fellow classmates?”
“Very thoughtful. Yes, by all means. And thank you for asking first. Also, I will make a note to update the class description.”
Ms. Davis took a pen and paper and mouthed “Thank YOU!” as she returned to her seat. Several others took some as well. The looks from a couple of the class seemed to say “Teacher’s Pet or Curve Wrecker”. I really didn’t care. I rather enjoyed structure and this class had that.
The remainder of the class covered a wide landscape. Bits of art history, a lot of examples of the different types of media and how different items and techniques could result in different outcomes. Not having been in a formal classroom in more than a few years, my head was spinning a bit by the end of the class.
The instructor lightly walked out and the class rose to their feet and trudged to the door. If you ever want to see the real “Walking Dead”, visit a college campus early in the morning, after night classes or during finals. Shuffling in pajama pants is de rigor. Ms. Davis came over and returned the pen I had loaned her. “Thanks. I’m Jane. I’m not sure I will be staying, I think I got off to a bad start. I’ll go check to see what might be left, but I need and art credit for those stupid Gen Ed requirements.”
I had probably said the same thing during my tenure as an undergrad. Truth was, I had probably used more of the information from those classes outside my major than many upper level classes where the information changed so rapidly that it was archaic by the tine it reached the actual setting. I decided to offer a suggestion. “You’re welcome. But consider staying. Attend each class, try to apply what she tells us and you should make it. She was just giving us what we needed to get through the class. When she offers suggestions, follow them, like I did with the question. If you decide to come back, a couple more tips. Bring an extra item, pen, pencil, paper. Wear something a little nicer… I’m not saying dress up, but really, flip flops, PJs and a sweatshirt? Unripped jeans and a blouse…or at least a t-shirt. Just a thought. Hope to see you next week. Here’s my info if you have any questions. Let me know if you stay or drop, okay? And these ‘stupid’ Gen Eds can sometimes validate a career choice – either positively or negatively.”
“I will. And I will think about what you suggested. I see what you are saying. You three older students stood out not because, well, you are old. Older. But you wore nice clothes. Okay. I gotta run. Group meeting tonight. I will let you know what I decide. See ya.”
It was good to see Jane scurry off. She seemed to have gained a bit of energy from our talk. Or it could be she was going to something she wanted to be at, leaving a place she felt threatened. At least she listened.
When I got home, I got comfortable and read over the materials. Found and ordered the textbook and then decided to check out the professor’s bio. From the school catalog I learned that Linda Lowe had joined the faculty three years prior as an adjunct member, had a Bachelors’ Degree in Business from the University of Toronto and was “involved with several international businesses”. Not much detail. I switched over to “Rate My Professor” and found a variety of reactions to her and her classes. She earned high ratings (More peppers) on “Attractiveness”. Sexist, But I agreed. Others were harsh. “The b***h gave me a Freaking “D” ‘cuz I missed two classes, and I had a reason.” “Too hard. Take ANYONE else to get the credit. You’ll never use this stuff.”
Still not a lot of information and when I went outside to LinkIn or other sites the same minimal information. It was almost like Linda Lowe had been “developed” three years ago to teach an adjunct course at our local school. Unlikely.
I tried a few variations on her name in several data bases I still had access to thanks to some consulting I did with a human resources group. Li Low resulted in several profiles and one in particular looked promising. Early-thirties, single, Logistics specialist for several companies including a beverage bottling plant and wine export business. It also noted her impressive philanthropic efforts, from religious to children focused charities. A bit deeper. Explained a few things, such as her organization and classroom management. I filed the information away, it might prove useful and finished reading through my notes. She had a point. I hadn’t written anything in so long, I could barely decipher my scribbles. To improve my handwriting alone would be a value of this class. I noted that one bit of information we were to bring to class was what art medium we were more interested in or felt we had the most talent for. I would have to think that over. It wouldn’t be sculpture for sure. Maybe oils. I’d have an answer by the following week.
-0-
I received a text from a number I didn’t recognize two days later. “Hi, It’s Jane from art class. I’ll be back.” It finished with an emoji with a smile. I’m assuming she was happy with her decision to return, although interpreting the exact meaning of an emoji would fill a class, both with students and with content. According to the “Real Housewives” of someplace, two ‘thumbs up’ emojis really mean “F*** you.” Who knew.
I texted back. “Gr8. Looking forward to seeing U. See the assignment? What art medium you like or have a talent for.” Two could play the texting thing. I resisted putting an emoji. I’d probably use the wrong one, anyway.
“Ding”. An almost instant reply. “Thx. Missed that. Saved me again.” Yup. Emoji. Still grinning.
The class shuffled in for the second class. I noted that there were four less than the first night, so either two more dropped the class, had emergencies or were not listening in the first class. One fellow in shorts, slides and a ratty t-shirt had earbuds in and was, as we used to say, was grooving to the tunes. I caught his attention and pointed to his ears. He gave me a quizzical look until he saw Jane looking at him and making the same motion. He took the buds out and Jane whispered back “C’mon, Zook, he’s cool. He’s on our side.” At precisely 5pm, Linda Lowe entered the room. I couldn’t help notice Jane was wearing nice jeans and a nice plain blouse. She had listened.
Ms. Lowe had entered the room. “Welcome back to the brave people who actually wish to learn more about art and themselves. I trust you had ample time to review the materials in the syllabus and from our first meeting. I debated about having a quiz about the assignment, but decided that another skill that can be developed, and is needed in any venture, whether it might be art, business or education is presentation. That being said, who would like to begin the presentations on the topic from the syllabus?” I raised my hand. It was the only one. “Very well, Mr. Gaines, proceed.”
I stood and began. I decided I could kill some time, restate the assignment that clearly everyone had missed and deliver a speech that allowed my classmates a chance to collect their thoughts. “I viewed the assignment as having two parts. First, what medium was I most interested in? In reviewing the examples, I chose oils because the layering and combinations have always fascinated me. How you can create the portrayal of light with the absence of color, and intensify it with darker surroundings. However, I think I probably have the least talent for that medium, unless you consider painting a bard with a nice red oil paint. Then I am your man. The most talent I may have would be in the pen and ink, especially in the drafting or architectural use. It has more precision, more order, less abstract elements.” I prattled on a bit more to allow those who were paying attention a moment to get their thoughts together and sat down.
“Very good, Mr. Gaines. You did exceed the parameters of the assignment. One last detail. For volunteering to go first, you get to pick the second student to present.”
I decided that I would see if my ‘warning’ had worked. I was betting it had. “Well, I would be interested in what Ms. Davis has to say. Jane?” I made a gesture to her and she stood. My modeling behavior seemed to be paying off.
“This is a tough person to follow, but I decided on just which medium I have more of an aptitude for. I like the idea of pastels, since they provide a softer tone and can be shaded and mixed.” Jane went on a bit more about the actual item and how a color might give her inspiration rather than an idea coming first. All in all, I was impressed. She had changed the wording to her own, had her own thoughts, and had actually done the assignment. But I wasn’t the one who needed to be impressed.
“Thank you, Ms. Davis, it appears you listened well after the first week. I won’t put you on the spot further, for the next presenter, do I have a volunteer or should I pick, say, alphabetically?
One of the other adult students raised her hand and went. Not a bad presentation, it would do. From there, it became alphabetical. I looked around, one advantage to going first, I could observe. Earbud boy seemed to get a little more nervous after each student went. I wondered if he was thinking that maybe the class would run out of time before she got to him – I believe his name was ‘Zook’ from what Jane had said, but if he did the math, he would see that only an hour would pass, so he was on the hook unless the building caught fire. It did not. The other class members did well
“That brings us to Mr. Zook. Please share your insight with us. Whenever you are ready.” She leaned against her desk, legs crossed and arms folded across her chest. Her nonverbals showed that she didn’t expect much from Mr. Zook, and I wagered she would get exactly what she expected.
“Um, well, I am not good at public speaking. I figured since this was an art class, I wouldn’t have to speak. Any chance of getting a pass on this speech thing?” There’s an emoji that looks very similar to his facial expression. I believe it is called “pleading eyes”. It doesn’t seem to work in texts and it didn’t work well here.
“If you have a special need requirement that exempts you from speech assignments or other compensations, you should have presented it at the start of class, or I would have received it from the Office for Special Services. Continue.”
I saw other students squirm a bit in their seats. “There but for the grace of God, go I” was all I could imagine they were thinking.
“Um…okay. So, like the stuff I would really like to do would be like metal art? You know, like bent things that show my, the artists’ power. So, would I need to find the pieces, or is there a supply where we can get that stuff? There were a few snickers or snorts around the class as he sat down.
“Believe it or not, Mr. Zook, you have presented a legitimate form of artistic media. It might be considered construction art or, if you go out and procure the metal items, found art. Perhaps not the most eloquent description, but this is the second class meeting. And you offered something. We can take a five minute break and when we return, I want to go over some upcoming projects and we can identify resources.
The room cleared out fast. Five minutes wasn’t long, so we mainly congregated in the hall. I figured Jane and Zook knew each other since she had reinforced my suggestion, and it appeared I was right. They were together in the hallway. I moved a little toward them, but not too close. I noticed there were a few clusters of two or three people, but a lot of solo folks. We all were catching our breath.
I could hear Zook talking to Jane. “See how I nailed that speech thing? My art will be badass, for sure.” He looked different when he wasn’t sweating the approach of his name being called.
Jane turned to him, shook her head. “Seriously? That was lame. I swear she gave you pity points. Were you listening to what people were saying in there? You managed to kind of get an answer, but…” Her voice trailed for a minute. “You should…we all should thank Mr. Gaines for buying us some time and giving a good example of what we were ‘sposed to do. I wouldn’t have stood to give my speech, for one thing. Although I should be pissed at you for calling me up second.” She turned to me and winked. Now that was an emoji I would use! “Thanks Mr. Gaines – and you Zook, he saved your ass by getting those earbuds out before the teach came in.”
Jane turned in my direction and moved over where I stood. A few of the classmates had heard her speech and offered light applause. More than I deserved, definitely more than I wanted. I waved at the group.
Jane came up and said quietly “You really did save my ass with the tip off and I think you got me back up to at least even in here.”
“Well, it was an ass worth saving, Jane. Be involved in the class, read over the syllabus. Ask questions. I will help if you need.” I looked at my watch. “Time to head back in.” Just then I heard a couple cell phones go off. Some had set their phone timers so they wouldn’t be late. Equally as effective. We shuffled back in for part two of the class.
The class continued on, exposing all of us to different techniques, how certain materials went well together, others, not so much. If anything, we were “learning how to look”. Even if I never used the drawing aspect of the class, I had a better idea of how to look at items. And my handwriting had improved with use. I still used cursive, but I noticed all my younger counterparts printed. I was reminded of the comment/meme that cursive writing would become the “unbreakable code” for my generation. “We attack at midnight” usually followed. The class became a welcome break in my week, not just for the content, but for the contact with people I normally would not have crossed paths with. Like Jane, even Zook. Instructor Linda Lowe still remained a bit of a mystery. She conducted the class well, setting the tone early of being prepared and mandatory attendance allowed her to ‘back off’ a bit as the class became more of a cohesive group.
In some classes we were working solo, others we formed pairs and critiques each other. I found the insights from my younger peers to be rather insightful and aided in how to view different items. More than art, the class was moving into leadership and an example of how some projects can be improved by collaboration and some need one focused point of view.
About the only interesting side note from the class had been when Jane had let me know about a charity fundraiser her group was holding. “We’re trying to raise funds for the Children’s hospital and we can only do so many cookie sales or other typical things. We’ve hit a lot of the businesses in town, but they have either had a tough year or other groups got to them first. Got any ideas?”
“Sure. What you just did. Hit people up one-to-one. Ask. Brainstorm about who to ask, with your group and even with other donors. Try it out.”
“Okay. How do I try that out. Didn’t follow that.”
“Well, I just donated, making me a donor. See where I’m going?”
A lightbulb went on for Jane. “I see. So, Mr. Gaines… since you obviously support our cause, do you know any other like-minded people with lots of money?” She was clearly having some fun with it, but got the point.
“That’s the idea, maybe without the ’embellishments. And yes, I do. So do you. How about parents? Family friends. We used to have a saying about networking.. ‘Family. Friends of Family. Family of Friends.’ The three best levels of a network, and fundraising is networking. How about instructors? Ask Ms. Lowe? If you have a flyer, give it to her and see if she is interested in giving or if she would share it with other faculty.”
“A lot of that makes sense, and I’ll get my group to do that. But Instructor Lowe? I don’t think I could do that. Pass.”
“Then give me the flyer and I will pass it along to her. I won’t mention that you were scared to do it.”
“Fine. I’ll ask her. If she doesn’t run right out of class. And thanks for supporting our cause.”
The final class had finally arrived, and the syllabus had been quite vague about what was planned. Some classes had a separate final exam time, and I was a little surprised that wasn’t the case for our course. It was the instructor’s option, but I had figured she would opt for full class meetings as opposed to using the final period for the exam. But, as my classmates said “whatever”.
Jane was early to the class, and clearly excited. “Can’t wait to go to my meeting after class, I just got word that the hospital received an anonymous donation in our name for ten grand! It had to be from one of my contacts, because how else would they get my name except from that? It wasn’t you, was it? If it was, well thank you! If it wasn’t, care to match it?”
“Easy tiger. I got you to expand your asking network, and it worked. That was my contribution. And congratulations! That is a hefty donation. Good job.”
At exactly 5pm Instructor Lowe entered the room. “Good evening, and welcome to our last class meeting. I sincerely hope you have gained something from this course and I also hope that our paths may cross again in the future. This is our final class meeting and will be the final exam. I have a special final prepared, tonight we will apply what has been learned to the human form. Choose your preferred medium and sketch, draw or paint a final artistic project. I will be back in a moment with our model.”
The class buzzed as she left. “Wow. That sounds more like a treat than a final. I wish more classes were like this.” That sentiment was shared by several.
Zook, of course, added his own twist. “I hope it’s a hot model. And naked. Too bad I can’t do a metal piece about her. Big headlights, for sure, and big fenders. If ya know, ya know. Right?”
Jane shut him down nicely. “Hope it’s a guy and you get to see what a real one looks like. Got any big pipes for your sculpture? More than a little garden hose… Hey you might find your have a real attraction to him that you’ve suppressed all these years.”
Ms. Lowe returned looking a bit disappointed. “I am sorry class, but the model I had arranged for had to cancel, leaving me, us, without a subject.”
Zook raised his hand and waited to be acknowledged. We all cringed. The instructor waved him on.
“Maybe one of us could be the model. I mean if it is naked work, I’d pass because, well, you know how easily aroused us hot guys are. But there’s plenty of good looking women here.”
“Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Zook. But that would hardly be ethical. Of course, there is one option that your suggestion triggered. I need to check a couple of logistical aspects. Can I have you exit for five minutes? Mr. Gaines may I ask that you cover the window in the classroom door with this?”
She handed me a piece of brown craft paper the size of the window and tape along each edge. “Of course.” I took the paper.
“And Ms. Davis. Could you set a timer for 5 minutes to bring the group back?”
“Of course!”
We exited, I covered the window and Jane set her timer. I wondered what was the plan, and I was not alone. Only Zook verbalized it, in his unique way. “I wonder what ‘ol’ dragon lady’ has in mind? This is freakin’ odd.”
That pressed a button for Jane. “Shut the fuck up, you moron. That is major insulting to her, and to women and to…well, everyone. I hope I look half as good at her age, and until we know what she is improvising, cut her some slack.”
Looking at Jane’s eyes, I decided I never wanted to get on her wrong side. It wouldn’t end well. Zook appeared to have come to the same realization and quietly backed off, to stand alone to one side.
The timer went off and Jane went to the door. “The timer is done. Are you ready for us, Ms. Lowe?”
“A quiet “Yes, you may return.” Was heard from the room.
As we entered, I noticed the lights had been dimmed slightly and at the front of the classroom there was an object, it looked like a human form draped with a blue cloth. As my eyes adjusted and I could see better, I saw it was a human form holding the cloth, facing away from the class. The dark hair gave the only clue, it appeared that our instructor was to be our model! Honestly, I had not seen that coming. I was fully in agreement that this final was more of a treat. But I would never say that, I needed to maintain some artistic objectivity.
The class moved to their seats and the silence was absolute. Not a sound as all eyes turned to the model on a small pedestal at the front of the room. Slowly the blue cloth began to drop, aided by gravity and restrained by delicate hands. First the shoulders appeared. Translucent skin seemingly unblemished with a slight muscular tone. Ms. Lowe obviously exercised, I was guessing yoga or Tai Chi to maintain such tone without being muscular.
The fabric moved lower, exposing more of the back. The spine evident as was a slight hint of the ribs. Not emaciated, but I would be amazed if the body fat was more than 10% if that high. A good diet and lifestyle. Impressive.
The cloth continued and paused at the end of the spine, right at the spot two cute dimples presented themselves. I was recalling my basic anatomy, and enjoying the tantalizing show. It wasn’t that it was sexual, it was sensual. I began to look at the human form in front of me a little differently. Seeing beautiful, tender flesh coupled with muscular definition and bone structure. It really was quite an epiphany that I could look at this and appreciate the female form on several levels. Yes, it was arousing, but it was also fascinating to see it slowly revealed.
The cover finally descended completely. Past the buttocks, down the legs onto the floor. Our instructor turned model stood before us completely nude. The legs were also nicely formed and toned, not overly muscular but still showing shape. There was no ‘thigh gap’, but her upper thighs gracefully ouched as she stood, one foot slightly raised, almost as though the two body parts kissed gently together.
Her ass was curved and full, a gentle parting of each side, not unlike two risen loaves of excellent bread dough placed side by side. The urge to reach out and knead them was present, but rejected by a more rational part of my brain.
I looked around and while we were all silent, there were differing reactions. None were negative, but some had begun sketching. Some were looking closely to gain perspective, still others looked through their materials to choose a good medium.
The ‘star’ of the whole show though was the complete ‘work’. From the feet up the legs to the torso and on to the neck and head. The subject was truly a work of artistry and deserved to be shown completely rather than as a single part. I began my sketch as such.
I became lost in my sketching. I had opted for charcoal, making the sketch black and white. I looked at Jane’s progress and saw she had opted for pastels and it was a delicate shade of pink contrasted with the blue cloth and black hair. She too had opted for the entire subject. Quite nice. She also drew better than I did. I didn’t risk a peek at Zook’s offering, but I could tell we were all absorbed in our own works, as it should be.
A timer beeped from somewhere and our model broke the fragile plane that separated us. “That was a ten-minute warning. Begin to wrap things up and when finished set them on my desk.” Ms. Lowe presented the information as a fact, coolly. You would never imagine that she stood before us completely naked and had done so for nearly 90 minutes. I put a few finishing touches on my piece, but waited. I couldn’t look away. My offering had some artistic elements, but was crude in form. Heavy lines where a softer touch would have been better. Jane’s on the other hand flowed with a delicate line across the paper. I decided to include a note on my sketch.
“The coarse lines do not reflect the delicate image that was presented to my eyes. That mental image will always remain, while this physical version which shows how poorly the hand and eye coordinate will be relegated to the back of some file folder. Thank you for an amazing class and fresh look at the world.” I just signed with my initial “G”.
I moved to the front and put my work on the pile. Jane was still seated and got up as I moved away. I heard her ask Ms. Lowe a question. Quietly, sweetly. “Ms. Lowe, I am the last one here, may I hand you the cloth so you don’t need to get off or bend to get it? And thank you for an incredible class. I learned more about art and about myself.”
“Yes, that is very thoughtful of you Ms. Davis – Jane. The course is finished. I am Linda. Thank you for your consideration. I do hope we meet again.
“You are most welcome. All the papers are on the desk, I will walk to the door and remove the paper from the window on the way out.” Jane turned toward me. I saw Linda pull the cover over herself and move to the back exit of the room.
I grabbed the paper for Jane and held the door for her. Once outside, I commented to Jane “So who is the ‘Teacher’s pet’ now? That was a very nice act of kindness. I could not imagine doing that, even with her form. Nothing would stop her from achieving an objective she had set. Impressive.”
“Yeah, me either. I’m no prude, but having 16 relative strangers staring at my bare butt? Yikes. Still, I found it moving on several levels. You are right. Nothing was about to stop her from presenting the final she had decided upon. I hope to be that strong someday.”
“I’m sure you will be. You might be there now. Impressive how you told Zook off. Maybe he will learn a little.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Wow! I better hustle – my meeting and my great news!” And off she went.
I called after her “Make an entrance. Great news ALWAYS deserves a big entrance!”
-0-
Afterword
I saw Jane off toward the student union and I got in my car to head home. The nice thing was I had found several spots that had open parking after 5pm, so I didn’t have to buy a parking pass for the course. Great information for the future.
Once home, I got comfortable and grabbed something to eat. The shower was running, so I took my sandwich up to the bathroom to see how things were. The steam from the shower partially obscured the female form behind the glass doors. “Fabulous! Dinner and a show, all in the comfort of my own home. Although this will be the second show of the evening.” I let that announcement just float through the air for a moment.
“Whaaat? Do you mean from your class? Did one of those coeds share their ‘daddy issues’ with you?”
“No, nothing like that. We had a nude model as our final exam in class. Actually, the first one cancelled, and our instructor ‘filled in”. Quite nicely, too.” I ploughed through my sandwich realizing other appetites needed to be dealt with as well.
“That slut. Exposing herself to that whole class. All under the guise of ‘art’. Well, that takes the cake.” My wife finished her rinsing and stepped out from the shower, a trail of steam following. “How’s this for a view? You want to paint this?”
Linda, my wife could now drop the professional name she had adopted, ‘Lowe’. She moved toward where I sat, crumbs on my plate and around my mouth. She wrapped her hair in a towel and put a leg on either side of mine as she sat on my knees. “You have crumbs around your mouth.” She leaned in and kissed me, removing all the traces of the sandwich. One of my hands reached out and encircled her tender breast, hot from the shower, while my other moved and found one of the fine loaves of bread that had called out for kneading.
“I think I will pass on painting this, but it will remain an excellent image. I think we should continue this discussion elsewhere. Oh, by the way. Nice job on the anonymous donation.”
“I agree with the elsewhere. I still have the keys to my classroom, want to go back for some ‘extra credit’? Yes, Jane made a great pitch. I said I would pass it on, so I have ‘plausible denial’. And before you nominate me for the philanthropy award, half of it was from your account.”
“I’ll pass on the classroom. Now let’s go work out the details of that generous donation.” I reached under her and lifted her with legs still wrapped around my middle. Both hands enjoying what a short time ago they had struggled to sketch.
Clearly, they were more “hands on” in their artistic development.