I don’t know why exactly, possibly driven by the caffeine from the espresso or maybe the loveliness of fresh morning air, but as soon as we turned into our driveway I inexplicably wanted to return and lend a hand. I got out of the car, grabbed a couple of paint brushes and got behind the steering wheel. As I pulled out of the driveway, I saw Garv standing in the driveway, holding the basil, peppers and peaches we bought. He looked as confused as I was as to what had just happened.

It was the start of a typical Saturday when Garv said, “If you go to the Farmers’ Market with me, I will treat you to Starbucks”. I don’t share Garv’s enthusiasm for the Farmers’ Market but I wanted to be a good sport so I agreed. And, truth be told, I’d go just about anywhere if it entailed a Mocha! So, we drove over to Starbucks and then to our local Farmers’ Market.

We taste tested our way through the market, chatted with some neighbors and ran into some old acquaintances we once spent a lot of time with when our kids were in school.   We bought some produce and headed back to the car to leave. Just as I was about to get in the car I noticed something very out of place happening in a parking lot behind the local library.

There were people sitting cross legged on drop cloths, surrounded by gallons of paint in front of two white snow plows. Half in and half out of our car I stood there for a while trying to figure out what they were doing. I decided to walk over to inquire.

As I approached, I saw sketches on the bucket of each plow. One was a beach scene with toucans roasting snowmen marshmallows over an open fire. The other was a smash up of minions. One of the women sitting cross legged greeted me. She introduced herself as the artist and a teacher at one of our middle schools. She explained how the local Arts Council had underwritten a grant for two of the city’s plows to be painted every year. The first two plows completed the previous summer survived the winter favorably with little chipping or corrosion. So they were now painting the second pair of plows.

She asked if I would like to help paint. I declined saying I was not an artist. I told her I thought it was a very cool project and thanked her for her creativity and vision. We returned to our car and headed home but my mind fixated on the snowplows.

On the way home I started talking, very fast, “You know Garv, that is a cool project…there must have been a lot of naysayers insisting the project would not weather the elements and they shouldn’t try it, but they did it anyway and it worked! Imagine how the sight of those plows will bring smiles to people going to work or kids going to school on a dreary, snowy winter morning? I wonder if the people who work for the Transportation Department have a preference for driving their favorite plow. Art in all forms is so important for so many reasons, don’t you think?”

His enthusiasm didn’t match mine so I stopped talking but knew I wanted to go back and help. Then I heard her. Her name is Cruella de Critic and she lives in my brain in a lavish apartment in the lower left corner of my cerebrum. (Oh come on, you know you have one in your head too!) She is loud and bold and very, very judg-ey. She went off on my thought about returning to help paint the plows.

“Ridiculous! Frivolous! A waste of time! Instead of painting snow plows, do something worthwhile. Go volunteer at the food pantry, help mow the lawn or, I know, clean your house! What are you thinking?”

I began to waver and agreed that it was probably not a good use of my time. I mean painted snow plows would not bring about world peace or end childhood hunger or even help my husband mow the lawn. Then, I remembered something Thomas Merton once wrote.

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”

It was very hard to ignore Cruella’s continuing rants, but I returned to the parking lot, got out of my car and sat painting a snow plow for three hours until there was nothing left to paint.

So…what’s a boomer to do?

When inexplicably drawn to something, surrender to the pull regardless of how frivolous it may seem. You may just ‘find and lose yourself at the same time’. I also recommend naming the characters in your head…it makes them slightly more controllable.

Epilogue – I am now a card carrying member and financial patron of our Arts Council. Not a “Why don’t we build a new art gallery?” kind of patron but more along the lines of an “I will pay for the annual water bill and volunteer 20 hours a month” kind of patron. I will keep you posted on that!