Last week, when we were in the Impressionists wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art I came upon this sweet little piece by Claude Monet, along with this explanation next to it:
I thought to myself, “It’s a good thing Monet didn’t have a smart phone.” If he had, he may never have painted this picture of his small son. I love thinking about the Monet’s finally having enough money to move into a little house with a garden. This quickly executed painting is his version of a snapshot. The emotion that compelled a young father to pose his son and capture the image is that same emotion that drives me to plant my grand kids by the back gate, next to the peonies when they are in their spring bloom, and grab my iPhone to preserve the moment.
Since I’m not Monet, I am grateful to have a smart phone. That’s how I captured this little dandy of a photo at the tiny gym down the street:
When I made the decision, for the umpteenth time, to do something about my slug of a body last year, I joined this little gym that was open 24 hours. My sisters and husband joined, too. You got a membership to use the equipment, and no one was there at night, so most often we would all trek on down at 11 pm and rotate through the weight machines. Sometimes Mom would come sit and watch us. We could have our own privacy, cuz no one else was ever there. When you are not a young hip and healthy work-out kind of gal, a little privacy is kinda important. When my brother John and sister Ann Marie visited last spring we took them with us to show them how do-able exercise was. Here we are all taking turns doing a dozen or so turns on each machine. We were quite a sight. I wish I had recorded the sounds of us grunting and groaning and giggling and guffawing. I love my family!
That little gym closed down. Not enough business, I guess. No wonder. If you had come down and seen this crew working out…and I use the term “working out” loosely…would you have come in?
(As you can see, we wore our best work-out clothing.)