“I don’t feel like it”

In Animals, Drafts, Hautvoir, Local projects, photography on February 21, 2014 at 7:56 am

“I won’t do it,” she said. Crossed her arms for good measure. “This is a drawing for babies, plus I don’t like you.” This last as the final and definitive argument. She’s serving it up with more and more frequency, so I suppose we’re getting somewhere.

“For babies and you can’t even do it?” I shove the sheet of paper back in front of her. “You can hate me for all I care. You’re such a grown-up, you don’t ask me to draw it for you. You do it yourself.”

She hates me all right. Mutters dark curses in a language she thinks I don’t understand. She’ll have to work on the potency of her curses. Of course, she’s only nine years old. Years of practice still available.

The other girl decides she’ll take a stab at compliance this time.

The hour goes by faster with the two of them than with the ten-year old who can’t name the numbers yet. One hour, thinking up different ways to get one through one hundred to stick in somebody else’s head? Make that two hours, so far. A third hour coming up next Thursday.

Now? On to sorting through one hundred and eleven (see? you work at it, your numbering skills improve) – one hundred and eleven photos to select about sixty of them for a storyboard. I don’t feel like it.

What else. Two people signed up for tomorrow’s workshop. Yayy, I’ll rake in the equivalent of minimum wage for my afternoon. Plus,  I’ll have some fun in the process – a promise to myself I intend to keep.

So. One hundred and eleven photos. I’ll save the one of the ram out in the field for the epilog, along with the letter said ram writes to his foster family. You kept me in the attic, he writes. Now, I graze with my one thousand two hundred friends. Watch the deer nibbling at the edge of the forest. The boars come and lie down with us in the afternoon. We head down to the river and bathe. Later, the farmer comes to rout us back with his dogs. We bleat and run. Great fun. That’s the way my life plays these days. Yours etc.


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