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| Grandma Edna before |
Grampy may be an old geezer but once upon a time even he had a mother. The loins from which he sprang were named Edna and she was born at the turn of the 20th century. I Never knew anything about her until a few years ago. At that time his half-sister in New Hampshire called to tell him that she'd been going thru her attic and found, hidden in the back of an old abandoned framed oil painting, a portrait that had been done of Edna when she was a young bride. Grampy told me about this phone conversation and said he'd forgotten what his mother looked like. His sister mailed it to him but wrongly sent it to my address instead of his. It was a justifiable mistake. He had lived with us for 6 months about 13 years ago and it takes awhile for old people to update their address books. Grampy's name was clearly written on the package so naturally I opened it up right away. It had been carefully wrapped in toilet paper (single ply) and scotch tape. The large, black and white portrait was of a beautiful dark haired woman dressed impeccably in the style of the day. She had a haunting look of innocence and fragility about her. It had been done in the early 1900's and it was stunning.The canvas was, however, badly damaged. It was ripped in some places, folded in others and covered with countless mold spots.
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| Grandma Edna after |
Right then and there I had an epiphany. By, jingle, I'd restore it! Contrary to what Grampy thinks— he thinks I'm some sort of secretary/typist ever since I told him I work on a computer—I'm the director of Creative Services for an ad agency and a graphic artist. This is what I do for a living. The next day I scanned it and spent several hours in Photoshop lovingly and meticulously repairing it.
I printed it out and had it framed and decided to give it to Grampy as a surprise—an early birthday gift. When it was done, I admired how well it turned out, and it looked so good in the new frame. I wrapped it in my best wrapping paper and took it right over to his trailer park, proudly presented it to him and waited impatiently for him to open his gift. Finally I'd come up with a gift idea for him that would easily top boring white socks and a half-priced can of peanuts. When he took off the paper and saw what it was he just sat back and stared at it in silence for a few seconds. It was such a tender moment and tears began to well in my eyes. Then, shaking his head, he handed it back to me, proclaiming in disgust "Yeah, that's my mother—the Slut".
(part 2 to come....)
