I went to the post office this morning, dragging my dear First Reader along for company. I was going because I’d checked to see where a box I’d ordered was – my supplier is very reliable and fast, so I knew it wasn’t her – and discovered that the USPS had attempted delivery (in the rain, so I’m just as happy they didn’t leave it on the step) and left a notice… On Wednesday. Only there hadn’t been a notice. So off to the post office we went.
One of the reasons we wind up making all our errands together when they don’t need both of us, is that we get to talk. We were talking about chickens, and how cheap a meat they were for people living on a farm when he grew up, and how expensive for city folk, and how chicken is now the American go-to meat, not beef anymore. We stopped talking while we waited for my box to be brought out, and he grinned at me. “You’re excited for your toys.”
“They aren’t toys, they are tools!” I pointed out, “I bought them for the business.”
“They are toys. You can’t wait to get home and play with them.”
My box was brought out, and I may have hugged it. There might have been a tiny squee.
“If your Dad bought a new chainsaw, what would he do?” My dear man opened the car and I tucked my box of goodies in safely. “He’d go out and find something to cut, even if there wasn’t a tree needing to come down. That’s how you know, when you give someone a gift. If they thank you and politely tuck it away, it’s not their passion.”
“Well,” I admitted, “I did buy sable brushes not for face painting but for watercolor, because I’ve heard they are the best.”
“So you’re going to go home and paint?”
“It’s for science. I need to find out if they really are the best.” I put on my best virtuous face, trying to pay attention to the road.
“You wouldn’t be at all interested in what’s in my box, but yes, they are toys for me. Just happens that I can make money with them.”
“We all have different passions. People are like that. One person’s tool is another person’s toy.”
“Some things are like that. Hand someone a hammer and they start looking for a nail.”
And now we’re home and I got to unpack my box and see my goodies – after all these years, I do still get excited over the colors and possibilities inherent in the paints. It’s not a surprise, really, I know what to expect, but the weight of a 90g Wolfe Black in my hand makes me happy and the springy sharp tip and shape of the Mark Reid Brushes makes me giddy as I can see in my mind’s eye the smooth lines on someone’s skin as I work. Now I need to clean my desk so I can try out the sables with watercolors and see how they do.
Ok, maybe they are toys. I’m like a kid on Christmas morning. But there’s nothing wrong with that.