The rage has subsided. Disneyland was delightful. It’s amazing how little it’s really changed over the years. (I miss the Journey Through Inner Space, though, but who doesn’t?) We finished the day and then drove three and a half hours north up to my other sister’s house. I don’t intend to do any property damage up here, but the day is young.
We arrived at about two in the morning last night. All the girls are sleeping in one room, and all the boys are sleeping in another. My wife and I have taken over my thirteen-year-old niece’s room, which provides very comfortable but non-manly accommodations. (Pink walls covered with Zac Efron pinups. Yowsa!)
Anyway, we woke up this morning, and my wife was deeply touched by a quote my niece had written on a piece of paper and taped to the wall. It’s so majestic, so profound, so transcendently beautiful, I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to share it with you.
Here’s what it says:
“Sometimes, you don’t know what you are drawing… until you’ve finished. And sometimes, even then you still don’t know what you drew. That is true art.”
She’s right. She couldn’t be more right. If she were any more right, the galaxy would fold in on itself and ignite the universe in a bonfire of ethereal splednor. (I meant to write “splendor,” but sometimes, you don’t know what you’re writing until you’re finished. And sometimes, even then…)
See? After I started drawing, I thought this was going to be a washing machine. Now I don’t know what the hell it is.