Wednesday, October 6, 2010


Patience has never been my thing.

Case in point: the ceramic angel I painted when I was about seven...

After a trip to LeeWards (Denver's version of Michael's in 1982) my older sisters and I stationed ourselves around the ping pong table in the basement and set to work painting our ceramic masterpieces. I remember taking the brush in my hand, and eyeing the beautiful array of angel was going to be stunning! I'd make her look just like the angel on the box; with long, blonde hair, shimmering blue eyes, and even a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. I'd take my time and do it just the way I wanted...

Two minutes later she was complete. And she looked nothing like the angel I'd imagined in my head. Disappointed, I ran to my mom to ask her what I could work on now that I'd finished the angel. She said, "Paint it again." So I did. About twenty-seven more times.

I'm pretty sure I saw that angel strapped to the hood of a Miata at the gay pride parade last year.

And so now I ask this question: Is Patience really a virtue, or is it just a royal pain in the ass that you're either born with or not?